One day, you'll ask me something, and I'll have to tell you that you don't understand yet, but that eventually you will. You understand all sorts of things for the first time when you have a baby. Thanks to you, I understand new things regularly, so I'll come back to update this from time to time.....
You will, without thinking, lick your thumb and scrub someone's cheek.
You will peel an apple slice for your baby and eat the peel yourself. You will also crunch on the apple slice a few times to "get it started."
You will taste breast milk and marvel that someone can enjoy something that tastes so soapy.
You will bite off bits of a snack to make them a safe size.
You will, when left without a baby wipe, use your fingers to mop away baby spit and sticky liquid infant Tylenol and then lick them clean. You will contemplate the fact that it would just be easier to lick the baby's face....
You will wake up when a leaf lands in the gutter.
You will figure out how to prop a breast pump so you can type, dangle a toy, and eat breakfast all at the same time.
You will use your pinkie as a pacifier and will learn to sleep with it in someone's mouth.
You will at some point be so in awe of a dirty diaper that you'll be sure to point it out to your partner later.
You will develop new fleeting but alarming fears, like a roof leak over your baby's bed that will lead to drowning.
You will pick someone's nose.
You will allow everything in your life to be lukewarm - meals, baths, iced tea.
You will cry at 2 a.m. when a diaper change, nursing, and pacing the hall haven't stopped the crying, not because you're tired or in pain, but because you're sure that your baby is.
You will be tired enough that you will knowingly put on jeans with boogers, spit up, and/or breast milk on them and still smile.
You will leave home with a change of clothes, 700 diapers, a backup pacifier, blankets, gas drops, a spare bottle, a nursing pillow, baby Tylenol, two snack options, a plastic bag for dirty diapers, and with your shirt unbuttoned.
You will say things like, "Do not spit avocado on the cat!" without a hint of irony.
You will marvel at how someone immobile manages to get Cheerios everywhere. There is, at this moment, a Cheerio on top of the recycling bins on the back deck.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Neon Number
So, yesterday, May 10, 2011, was a big day. I was officially older than my mother was when she died. May 9 was not a good day. I kept feeling, not like I should be dying, really, but did catch myself thinking, "Mom only had about two more hours...." And I was short-tempered, but I think that's because part of me is a little jealous of you. You have me, a mother, who loves you and dotes on you, who is able to stay home with you and capture all your little smiles and charms. You have what I have wished for most of my life, and I'm sure there will be days that you'll be angry at me and I'll struggle to understand how you can possibly feel that way when you have me, when I'm still here.
But that was Monday and I was determined to mark Tuesday in some special way if I could. I thought a lot about what would be meaningful - driving off to spend the day in WV, tramping around in the woods, getting a tattoo, being with family - but what I kept thinking was a muddle of what I'd do with my mom if she were still here, what I think she'd have wanted to do if she had one more day, what I'd want to do if I only had one day left, and that all distilled down to spending the day with you and with myself. Not a cliched last day, with a trip to the top of the Eiffel Tower or blowing all the money in the bank account, but a last day of all the joyful small things in life, a good last day if you didn't know what was coming.
So, if your grandma was here and she came for a visit, we'd go out for breakfast, so first thing in the morning, we headed to our favorite bakery for a cinnamon roll. On the way, we saw a pair of great blue herons in flight. And then, of course, she'd want to shop for books and she'd be blown away by Half Price Books. She would, of course, buy me whatever I wanted and buy books for you too, so that's just what I did. I got you special editions of Charlotte's Web and Little House in the Big Woods, and I found myself looking for something meaningful or at least a favorite of your grandma's. But no Daphne du Maurier, no new Stephen King, no Taylor Caldwell. And then, just as I was turning around, I saw on the shelf the book I was reading when I suddenly, desperately knew that I wanted you - The Beach Street Knitting Society and Yarn Club (a terrible Americanized title for Divas Don't Knit - if it tells you anything there's not even a yarn club!). It's a light British novel about a woman taking control of her life and she has two little boys who are so imperfectly charming that they spoke to something inside me that wanted children. And the sequel, Needles and Pearls! I also bought myself three newer books - Sarah's Key, The Night Watch, and A Discovery of Witches - along with some pretty note cards, because, I reasoned, your grandma would have bought them for me.
And of course, she'd want to shop for you! So we went to Once Upon a Child and got you two cute dresses, four onesies, and two swimsuits.
Your grandma loved Chinese food, possible just because in West Virginia in the 1970s and 1980s, it was terribly cosmopolitan and hard to come by. So, we got Chinese takeout at Lucky House for lunch - some soup and lo mein - and headed home.
On our way, we stopped off to buy red flowers at Sambuca's. Red was your grandma's favorite color and when she died, there weren't any red flowers left at the three florists in town and there were hardly any left in neighboring counties, I imagine. I bought two big pots of geraniums for the front porch.
And for our last stop, we went to Linda's 3 in town and spent an exorbitant amount of money to have a photo of your grandma and me beautifully framed with Linda's impeccably tasteful assistance. And I picked up a little miniature monkey for your collection of small things and a little heart-shaped stoneware dish with glass in the glaze, because your grandma loved and collected hearts. When Linda started to pack it up in a recycled gift bag, she found a note that said, "You are a strong, faithful and sensitive person." It felt like a message, so I kept it.
We came home, you nursed and I ate my takeout, and then I did what I'd do if I only had one day left - laid down with you, read you stories, cuddled with you and napped with you for three hours. I tried to stare at you as hard as I would if I knew I were never going to see you again, but it either made me cry or I lost focus. I don't think we're meant to be able to really allow ourselves to think of life that way or else we'd be too terrified to really live it. I settled for just listening to you breathe and being grateful....
We got up, rushed off to pick up Daddy and stopped to get ice cream on the way home - if it was the last day, that would be a good thing. We had a lovely evening at home, just fixed a nice dinner together, gave you a bath, tucked you in and hung out on the couch. It was an awesome, perfect "last day" and I'm so glad you were in it. Being your mother is such a joy and a privilege and I hope I get to keep the job a long, long time. "But if I don't," my mind is whispering, but I've made it this far, so I'm not going to think about that. I'm going to think about having one more last day, and another one, and another one, and another one....
But that was Monday and I was determined to mark Tuesday in some special way if I could. I thought a lot about what would be meaningful - driving off to spend the day in WV, tramping around in the woods, getting a tattoo, being with family - but what I kept thinking was a muddle of what I'd do with my mom if she were still here, what I think she'd have wanted to do if she had one more day, what I'd want to do if I only had one day left, and that all distilled down to spending the day with you and with myself. Not a cliched last day, with a trip to the top of the Eiffel Tower or blowing all the money in the bank account, but a last day of all the joyful small things in life, a good last day if you didn't know what was coming.
So, if your grandma was here and she came for a visit, we'd go out for breakfast, so first thing in the morning, we headed to our favorite bakery for a cinnamon roll. On the way, we saw a pair of great blue herons in flight. And then, of course, she'd want to shop for books and she'd be blown away by Half Price Books. She would, of course, buy me whatever I wanted and buy books for you too, so that's just what I did. I got you special editions of Charlotte's Web and Little House in the Big Woods, and I found myself looking for something meaningful or at least a favorite of your grandma's. But no Daphne du Maurier, no new Stephen King, no Taylor Caldwell. And then, just as I was turning around, I saw on the shelf the book I was reading when I suddenly, desperately knew that I wanted you - The Beach Street Knitting Society and Yarn Club (a terrible Americanized title for Divas Don't Knit - if it tells you anything there's not even a yarn club!). It's a light British novel about a woman taking control of her life and she has two little boys who are so imperfectly charming that they spoke to something inside me that wanted children. And the sequel, Needles and Pearls! I also bought myself three newer books - Sarah's Key, The Night Watch, and A Discovery of Witches - along with some pretty note cards, because, I reasoned, your grandma would have bought them for me.
And of course, she'd want to shop for you! So we went to Once Upon a Child and got you two cute dresses, four onesies, and two swimsuits.
Your grandma loved Chinese food, possible just because in West Virginia in the 1970s and 1980s, it was terribly cosmopolitan and hard to come by. So, we got Chinese takeout at Lucky House for lunch - some soup and lo mein - and headed home.
On our way, we stopped off to buy red flowers at Sambuca's. Red was your grandma's favorite color and when she died, there weren't any red flowers left at the three florists in town and there were hardly any left in neighboring counties, I imagine. I bought two big pots of geraniums for the front porch.
And for our last stop, we went to Linda's 3 in town and spent an exorbitant amount of money to have a photo of your grandma and me beautifully framed with Linda's impeccably tasteful assistance. And I picked up a little miniature monkey for your collection of small things and a little heart-shaped stoneware dish with glass in the glaze, because your grandma loved and collected hearts. When Linda started to pack it up in a recycled gift bag, she found a note that said, "You are a strong, faithful and sensitive person." It felt like a message, so I kept it.
We came home, you nursed and I ate my takeout, and then I did what I'd do if I only had one day left - laid down with you, read you stories, cuddled with you and napped with you for three hours. I tried to stare at you as hard as I would if I knew I were never going to see you again, but it either made me cry or I lost focus. I don't think we're meant to be able to really allow ourselves to think of life that way or else we'd be too terrified to really live it. I settled for just listening to you breathe and being grateful....
We got up, rushed off to pick up Daddy and stopped to get ice cream on the way home - if it was the last day, that would be a good thing. We had a lovely evening at home, just fixed a nice dinner together, gave you a bath, tucked you in and hung out on the couch. It was an awesome, perfect "last day" and I'm so glad you were in it. Being your mother is such a joy and a privilege and I hope I get to keep the job a long, long time. "But if I don't," my mind is whispering, but I've made it this far, so I'm not going to think about that. I'm going to think about having one more last day, and another one, and another one, and another one....
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Tina Fey
I found this by Tina Fey and wanted to keep it here for you to read someday. The "all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love" is so very, very true - the most accurate description. And so is the poop everywhere. One of the things that breaks my heart is that if something were to happen to me now, you might never understand how much I loved you, how much I cared for you, how much I gave to you when I was so beyond having anything to give. I want you to know that someone loved you like that, because now that I've done it, I can safely say, no one, ever in your whole in entire life, will love you as much I as do. And no one will love me as much as my mother. Knowing that is the gift you gave me....
A mother's prayer:
First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.
Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance.Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.
May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.
O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that shit. I will not have it.
And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,”she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.
Amen.
A mother's prayer:
First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.
Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance.Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.
May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.
O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that shit. I will not have it.
And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,”she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.
Amen.
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