Well, you certainly took us by surprise this morning! You were due yesterday (but not to worry - take your time...), and we had a doctor's appointment this morning. Two weeks ago, I was already completely effaced and dilated to 1 cm, but that's pretty common. Last week, Ms. Eva, who's taken such good care of us for awhile now, gave me a pass on a pelvic exam. (They're uncomfortable and they don't tell too much, or so we thought....) But this morning, we decided we'd do one, to maybe help get things moving and to see if we'd made any progress. They'd like us to schedule an induction for Thursday, when you'll be at 41 weeks, or schedule additional monitoring, which would make it safe to let you wait at least a week longer.
We'd decided to let you wait - no sense in rushing and neither one of us seems to be uncomfortable, but then Ms. Eva announced that I'm already dilated to 7 cm even though I haven't had any contractions! (Getting to 7 cm, for most women, is what takes hours and hours of active labor at the hospital, but you've apparently decided to skip right over that, considerate little person that you already seem to be.) She sent us home with orders to come right to the hospital at the first sign of any regular contractions, even if they're 15 minutes apart, because once things start moving, it might not take you long to get here at all. Daddy came home, sorted things out a bit, we rechecked the suitcase to make sure we have all the important things, and then he went to work for a bit. (There's a big auction every Labor Day weekend, but so he can slip away if necessary, he's not going to be doing any selling, just helping out. He's on pins and needles waiting for you to make your entrance!) I'm sitting here, resting up, snacking and taking warm baths, and working on your baby book. Miss Love and Marvin are keeping me company while Manny is warming up your pack-n-play for you, so you can show up whenever you like. Your Grandpa and Grandma Davis, Grandpa Richmond, Aunt Robyn, Aunt Dana and Uncle Kelly are all ready to make a mad dash for the hospital when we call. We absolutely can't wait to meet you!
Friday, September 3, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Long Time No See
Sorry it's been so long since I've written much. We've been getting all sorts of things done around here, recovering from those rough days in early July. Your Grandma Sue passed away on July 6, the bathroom and kitchen were both in a state of complete disarray, and Dad and I managed to get something that felt an awful lot like bronchitis, which took me quite awhile to really get over.) And we drove to New Orleans and back - was too late for me to fly and your dad really wanted me to be able to go with him, both so he could keep an eye on us and so I could rest up some.
It was a great trip! We drove to Cincinnati, spent the night with your great-great-aunt Betty, who is so very excited about your arrival (she made you a crib quilt and her husband, Robert, helped make you a pillow), drove to Hattiesburg, Mississippi the next day, and then rolled into the French Quarter on Thursday morning in time for Dad to rehearse his talk. We stayed at the Hotel Monteleone on Royal, which is a beautiful old place, and were up on the eleventh floor with views of the Mississippi and the Quarter. Your dad was speaking at the Historic New Orleans Collection's Antiques Forum, where everyone thought he did a great job. We ate well and I fed you plenty of beignets, which we occasionally ate while soaking in the tub, so that I didn't cover you and the rest of my stomach with powdered sugar! Dinners at Delmonico's and Cafe Degas (and the Hotel Monteleone) along with lunches at K-Paul's and Bayona, so I think you grew quite a bit while we were there.
But we had to start home eventually, so we left New Orleans on a Sunday afternoon (after a patience-trying stop at Cafe du Monde) and drove to north Alabama where we spent the night with your great-aunt Judy, who also made you a crib quilt, and the next day we hauled ourselves the rest of the way home. Your Grandpa Gerald was positive that we were crazy and that you'd be born on the road somewhere, but we made it back safely and had a good time. And you can consider yourself inaugurated for road travel, which you'll probably be doing a lot of over the years. Dad and I like our road time, to catch up and debate and visit with each other, to listen to audiobooks and music, to watch the scenery roll by, seeing new places and finding new restaurants and B&B's. You'll be making your way to Deerfield with us in just a few weeks, I hope.
So now things are mostly ready for you. Bathroom still needs a bit of trim work and paint and the kitchen counters are stored in the barn, waiting for your dad to have a weekend free, but otherwise, we're pretty much set - just waiting for you! We can't wait to meet you - to find out who you are and what you look like and what you think and what you like. You've been growing in there so long and we've been planning on you, but we don't know very much about who "you" are, so we're (especially your dad) getting impatient for you to get here.
If you have babies someday, I hope you have as easy a time of it as I have had with you. The last few weeks have gotten a bit uncomfortable, as you're growing really fast now and needing more room on a near-daily basis, and I've cried a little bit, mostly frustrated with trying to sleep so I can be as rested up as possible when you arrive and need me, but otherwise, you've hardly been any trouble at all! I'll miss having you in there, as you've been good company, and I've gotten used to all your little wigglings and twitches and squirmings.
And if I'm not here to tell you when it happens, it'll all be okay and everyone has the kinds of thoughts, worries and concerns that you'll have. I've wished that your grandma Tish was here a lot, because I'm pretty sure she worried about me the same way: was this a good idea, will I be any good at it, what if we don't like each other, how will I manage everything, will I lose myself or my marriage, etc. That's all normal, normal about any big life moments, actually, because we typically want guarantees that things will work out the way we want them to. Babies, marriage, and the rest of life don't come with guarantees though, and you have to step out on faith and believe in your ability to cope with whatever comes along, which is scary sometimes. But I've done that a number of times over the years, and we'll talk about all that someday when you're here and interested, but it's always worked out well. Your aunt Erika likes to say that boldness is rewarded in life, so walking forward in faith and confidence ready to make things happen is a pretty good way to find out what's important to you and to make things happen. There aren't any guarantees, but if we knew exactly what we were going to get before we opened the package or exactly what we were going to see before we left home, there wouldn't be any point in anything, would there?
So, with just a few days before you're due, Sept. 2, I'll leave this here. Not sure if I'll have a chance to write again before you arrive, but I'll work to remember everything about the day you get here and tell you all about it. (And getting here soon would save your grandpas lots of phone calls - they're pretty much calling every day now for updates, like they think we'd have you and not call them right away!) Meanwhile, rest up - you've got a big journey and big transition ahead of you too, and we're all out here waiting to meet you. So many unknowns right now, but I know this and you should too: we love you and are looking forward to meeting you! Much love, Mama
It was a great trip! We drove to Cincinnati, spent the night with your great-great-aunt Betty, who is so very excited about your arrival (she made you a crib quilt and her husband, Robert, helped make you a pillow), drove to Hattiesburg, Mississippi the next day, and then rolled into the French Quarter on Thursday morning in time for Dad to rehearse his talk. We stayed at the Hotel Monteleone on Royal, which is a beautiful old place, and were up on the eleventh floor with views of the Mississippi and the Quarter. Your dad was speaking at the Historic New Orleans Collection's Antiques Forum, where everyone thought he did a great job. We ate well and I fed you plenty of beignets, which we occasionally ate while soaking in the tub, so that I didn't cover you and the rest of my stomach with powdered sugar! Dinners at Delmonico's and Cafe Degas (and the Hotel Monteleone) along with lunches at K-Paul's and Bayona, so I think you grew quite a bit while we were there.
But we had to start home eventually, so we left New Orleans on a Sunday afternoon (after a patience-trying stop at Cafe du Monde) and drove to north Alabama where we spent the night with your great-aunt Judy, who also made you a crib quilt, and the next day we hauled ourselves the rest of the way home. Your Grandpa Gerald was positive that we were crazy and that you'd be born on the road somewhere, but we made it back safely and had a good time. And you can consider yourself inaugurated for road travel, which you'll probably be doing a lot of over the years. Dad and I like our road time, to catch up and debate and visit with each other, to listen to audiobooks and music, to watch the scenery roll by, seeing new places and finding new restaurants and B&B's. You'll be making your way to Deerfield with us in just a few weeks, I hope.
So now things are mostly ready for you. Bathroom still needs a bit of trim work and paint and the kitchen counters are stored in the barn, waiting for your dad to have a weekend free, but otherwise, we're pretty much set - just waiting for you! We can't wait to meet you - to find out who you are and what you look like and what you think and what you like. You've been growing in there so long and we've been planning on you, but we don't know very much about who "you" are, so we're (especially your dad) getting impatient for you to get here.
If you have babies someday, I hope you have as easy a time of it as I have had with you. The last few weeks have gotten a bit uncomfortable, as you're growing really fast now and needing more room on a near-daily basis, and I've cried a little bit, mostly frustrated with trying to sleep so I can be as rested up as possible when you arrive and need me, but otherwise, you've hardly been any trouble at all! I'll miss having you in there, as you've been good company, and I've gotten used to all your little wigglings and twitches and squirmings.
And if I'm not here to tell you when it happens, it'll all be okay and everyone has the kinds of thoughts, worries and concerns that you'll have. I've wished that your grandma Tish was here a lot, because I'm pretty sure she worried about me the same way: was this a good idea, will I be any good at it, what if we don't like each other, how will I manage everything, will I lose myself or my marriage, etc. That's all normal, normal about any big life moments, actually, because we typically want guarantees that things will work out the way we want them to. Babies, marriage, and the rest of life don't come with guarantees though, and you have to step out on faith and believe in your ability to cope with whatever comes along, which is scary sometimes. But I've done that a number of times over the years, and we'll talk about all that someday when you're here and interested, but it's always worked out well. Your aunt Erika likes to say that boldness is rewarded in life, so walking forward in faith and confidence ready to make things happen is a pretty good way to find out what's important to you and to make things happen. There aren't any guarantees, but if we knew exactly what we were going to get before we opened the package or exactly what we were going to see before we left home, there wouldn't be any point in anything, would there?
So, with just a few days before you're due, Sept. 2, I'll leave this here. Not sure if I'll have a chance to write again before you arrive, but I'll work to remember everything about the day you get here and tell you all about it. (And getting here soon would save your grandpas lots of phone calls - they're pretty much calling every day now for updates, like they think we'd have you and not call them right away!) Meanwhile, rest up - you've got a big journey and big transition ahead of you too, and we're all out here waiting to meet you. So many unknowns right now, but I know this and you should too: we love you and are looking forward to meeting you! Much love, Mama
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Guardian Angels
It's been a rough few weeks and the next days are going to be especially hard. I hope you're resting well in there and not too crowded yet and that things are okay - feel like I haven't had as much time to think about you lately as I'd like. You already have more guardian angels than any baby I've ever known with your great-grandparents and your grandma watching over you, but you got another one this week - your Grandma Sue. She passed away July 6, so peacefully and still at home, but you should always remember that one of the last words she said to me was "Baby." I'm so sorry that she'll never get to hold you, and I know she is too, but I like to think that during the last few months, just the idea of you was a bright spot for her when she was feeling worse and worse. She was thrilled by the very idea of you, so I can only imagine how delighted she would have been by the you that is going to arrive soon.
I've asked your daddy to work hard to remember things about her, so that he'll have stories to tell you. After all, she's largely responsible for how well he turned out, and there's no disrespect intended - your grandpa's a great man and you're going to have so much fun together reading books and going places and your daddy certainly got your grandpa's wonderful brain - but I'm pretty sure his heart came from your grandma.
So now you have both your grandmas over there, maybe in the same place you are now, maybe you'll even have met them both. Initially, some people might think they were really different. Your Grandma Tish was a good student who loved music and books and all things school. She liked the outdoors, and while she was always fashionable, she loved bugs and snakes and anything that grew in the dirt. She was a good shot and a good hunter. She grew up very poor, the kind of poor I hope you won't ever know anything about, way out in the country where she walked to a one-room schoolhouse. Grandma Sue wasn't much interested in school (she'd have admitted that herself) and in the time I knew her, I don't think she read a book or expressed much of a preference for any kind of music. And while she went camping with your daddy and the rest of the family when he was little, bugs and slithery things weren't high on her list of favorite things and I don't think she ever shot a gun. She grew up pretty comfortably in a nice neighborhood outside of Cincinnati with neighbors close on all sides and well away from farms and livestock.
So, on the surface, really different, but I'm pretty sure I loved them both from the first minute I met them and maybe that's because, after talking with your dad the last few days, we've realized that our mamas may have been very different in their day-to-day lives, but they were equally adamant about the qualities they wanted to instill in us.
Compassion or empathy or just an awareness of other human beings was high on the list. Daddy says he was opening doors for other people as soon as he could wedge them open, and Grandma Sue made sure that he helped out when he was little by doing little errands in the neighborhood or accompanying her to the nursing home so he could see how much a little kindness means to those less fortunate. Grandma Tish would have approved, and from a very early age, she talked to me about other people's feelings, scolding me if she thought I came anywhere near making fun of someone, especially if she thought that I was being unkind about something they could do anything about. We weren't ever allowed to ridicule anyone, but the punishment was especially bad if she thought we were being cruel because of lack of money or their looks or their clothes. People don't ask for much of what they get in life, especially other children, and both our mothers wanted to make sure that we understood how fortunate we were just by virtue of the families we were born into and to realize that most people weren't as lucky.
Daddy says Grandma Sue was big on responsibility too. She wanted him to be responsible for himself, and so sometime in the future when he's making you do your own laundry or allowing you to get a bad grade on a homework assignment you forgot to turn in or insisting that you use some of your chore money to buy a more expensive pair of shoes than the ones he's willing to get you, you'll know why. You have to take responsibility for yourself in this world, and I'm not sure exactly how Grandma Sue learned that lesson, but I know Grandma Tish learned it the hard way - doing hard work early in life because her parents worked so hard to have even a little bit of money that she and her brothers often couldn't count on anyone else but themselves. Responsibility is a big word and a big concept, but our mamas started us on the path so early that it just came along gradually.
But, of course, like all mamas, they indulged us a bit too, and that was when it came to our curiosity. They couldn't have been more different in terms of their own interests in learning - Grandma Sue would hardly read a magazine, I think, while Grandma Tish would have read the label on every bottle in the bathroom if she'd had nothing else - but they both gave us free reign to learn and never discouraged any of our interests. When Daddy was little, he brought home snakes and frogs and bugs, and your grandma never complained. She helped him nurse some baby rabbits whose mother had been killed, and she taught him that he had to let them go be the little wild rabbits they were intended to be when they got big enough. I hauled in bleached jawbones from dead deer, ratty bird nests and all sorts of things, and Grandma Tish never missed the opportunity to help an injured robin rest up for a few days while teaching us about what robins ate and how they flew. She even brought home snakes sometimes to show us a little bit about how interesting and unique they were before letting them loose in the backyard. They wanted us to learn about the world on our own, to see things and figure things out and solve problems, because they knew that we needed that in order to grow up to be independent and to find the things that would excite us.
Three pretty basic concepts really - empathy, responsibility and curiosity - but they were at the core of what we learned from both your grandmas. Neither one of them cared much about whether we were rocket scientists or extremely wealthy or successful by anyone else's standards; they wanted us to be inquisitive, kind, and good citizens, figuring, rightly so, that the rest would fall in line somehow.
And those traits work well together. If you have empathy, you'll always use your curiosity and responsibility to help others. If you have responsibility, you'll be careful about what you do with your curiosity and you'll be guided to do good things with your empathy. And if you have curiosity, you'll be aware of when responsibility and empathy are necessary. Just know that when we're teaching you these three things, the things we think it's most important for you to know, you're learning what your grandmas thought was most important too and that they're watching over you all the time, loving you more than you can even imagine.
I've asked your daddy to work hard to remember things about her, so that he'll have stories to tell you. After all, she's largely responsible for how well he turned out, and there's no disrespect intended - your grandpa's a great man and you're going to have so much fun together reading books and going places and your daddy certainly got your grandpa's wonderful brain - but I'm pretty sure his heart came from your grandma.
So now you have both your grandmas over there, maybe in the same place you are now, maybe you'll even have met them both. Initially, some people might think they were really different. Your Grandma Tish was a good student who loved music and books and all things school. She liked the outdoors, and while she was always fashionable, she loved bugs and snakes and anything that grew in the dirt. She was a good shot and a good hunter. She grew up very poor, the kind of poor I hope you won't ever know anything about, way out in the country where she walked to a one-room schoolhouse. Grandma Sue wasn't much interested in school (she'd have admitted that herself) and in the time I knew her, I don't think she read a book or expressed much of a preference for any kind of music. And while she went camping with your daddy and the rest of the family when he was little, bugs and slithery things weren't high on her list of favorite things and I don't think she ever shot a gun. She grew up pretty comfortably in a nice neighborhood outside of Cincinnati with neighbors close on all sides and well away from farms and livestock.
So, on the surface, really different, but I'm pretty sure I loved them both from the first minute I met them and maybe that's because, after talking with your dad the last few days, we've realized that our mamas may have been very different in their day-to-day lives, but they were equally adamant about the qualities they wanted to instill in us.
Compassion or empathy or just an awareness of other human beings was high on the list. Daddy says he was opening doors for other people as soon as he could wedge them open, and Grandma Sue made sure that he helped out when he was little by doing little errands in the neighborhood or accompanying her to the nursing home so he could see how much a little kindness means to those less fortunate. Grandma Tish would have approved, and from a very early age, she talked to me about other people's feelings, scolding me if she thought I came anywhere near making fun of someone, especially if she thought that I was being unkind about something they could do anything about. We weren't ever allowed to ridicule anyone, but the punishment was especially bad if she thought we were being cruel because of lack of money or their looks or their clothes. People don't ask for much of what they get in life, especially other children, and both our mothers wanted to make sure that we understood how fortunate we were just by virtue of the families we were born into and to realize that most people weren't as lucky.
Daddy says Grandma Sue was big on responsibility too. She wanted him to be responsible for himself, and so sometime in the future when he's making you do your own laundry or allowing you to get a bad grade on a homework assignment you forgot to turn in or insisting that you use some of your chore money to buy a more expensive pair of shoes than the ones he's willing to get you, you'll know why. You have to take responsibility for yourself in this world, and I'm not sure exactly how Grandma Sue learned that lesson, but I know Grandma Tish learned it the hard way - doing hard work early in life because her parents worked so hard to have even a little bit of money that she and her brothers often couldn't count on anyone else but themselves. Responsibility is a big word and a big concept, but our mamas started us on the path so early that it just came along gradually.
But, of course, like all mamas, they indulged us a bit too, and that was when it came to our curiosity. They couldn't have been more different in terms of their own interests in learning - Grandma Sue would hardly read a magazine, I think, while Grandma Tish would have read the label on every bottle in the bathroom if she'd had nothing else - but they both gave us free reign to learn and never discouraged any of our interests. When Daddy was little, he brought home snakes and frogs and bugs, and your grandma never complained. She helped him nurse some baby rabbits whose mother had been killed, and she taught him that he had to let them go be the little wild rabbits they were intended to be when they got big enough. I hauled in bleached jawbones from dead deer, ratty bird nests and all sorts of things, and Grandma Tish never missed the opportunity to help an injured robin rest up for a few days while teaching us about what robins ate and how they flew. She even brought home snakes sometimes to show us a little bit about how interesting and unique they were before letting them loose in the backyard. They wanted us to learn about the world on our own, to see things and figure things out and solve problems, because they knew that we needed that in order to grow up to be independent and to find the things that would excite us.
Three pretty basic concepts really - empathy, responsibility and curiosity - but they were at the core of what we learned from both your grandmas. Neither one of them cared much about whether we were rocket scientists or extremely wealthy or successful by anyone else's standards; they wanted us to be inquisitive, kind, and good citizens, figuring, rightly so, that the rest would fall in line somehow.
And those traits work well together. If you have empathy, you'll always use your curiosity and responsibility to help others. If you have responsibility, you'll be careful about what you do with your curiosity and you'll be guided to do good things with your empathy. And if you have curiosity, you'll be aware of when responsibility and empathy are necessary. Just know that when we're teaching you these three things, the things we think it's most important for you to know, you're learning what your grandmas thought was most important too and that they're watching over you all the time, loving you more than you can even imagine.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Watching the Garden Grow
Just last week, we put in a garden. Or rather, we just planted things in every available spot, because the garden is tiny, and we need it for tomatoes, of course. Tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, zucchini, and lettuce all went into the ground. We're still waiting on the potatoes, onions, spinach, beets, parsnips, dill and basil to show up from seeds. It's strange to look at those things and know that you'll be here before we have a chance to eat some of them. I had to give my credit card expiration date the other day, and by the time it expires, you'll have been here more than two months!
So we've been doing a lot of talking about all the things we want you to learn, the things we felt our parents did a good job with and the harder lessons we had to learn on our own that we'd like to teach you if we can. We certainly want you to be curious. That was something your Grandpa and Grandma Davis were great at, and I'm still trying to work out exactly how they did it. They both started out as teachers, so it certainly helped that they were always on the lookout for an opportunity to teach something, and teaching started well before school actually did! I don't ever remember being anything but fascinated by nature, and we did little experiments all the time. Can't wait to show you how charcoal briquettes will grow crystals or let you learn how plants "drink" by watching celery change colors from taking in water with food coloring. And I'll have to get all refreshed on planetary movement in order to duplicate your grandpa's incredible description of the solar system and lunar and solar eclipses. (It involved a flashlight, a grapefruit, a Nerf ball and a golf ball and more arms than you can imagine.) Sprouting a bean seed in a paper towel is just the beginning, I promise.
Your grandma was focused on compassion. She valued kindness and empathy beyond almost any other trait, and learning to respect and care for someone other than one's self was important to her. Especially if they were less fortunate. She didn't make us feel guilty for having so many opportunities, but she made sure we were always very aware that there were people all around us who didn't have as much as we had and not just in terms of material things. She reminded us that we went to school with children who didn't have as much love at home or as many aunts and uncles or parents who would take them to the library and that while we may judge someone with how they handle the circumstances of their lives, we never hold those circumstances themselves against them.
And hard work! Both of them know a lot about hard work, but they'd probably have sent you to your great-grandparents to learn about that. Your Grandpa Gene and Grandma Rosalie did more work before 9 a.m. than many people did all day, and they did it for the best reason that anyone can work: so that the people they loved could have things, including advantages and opportunities they never had. Grandma Rosalie would wash clothes, bake pies or rolls or casseroles to take to people with sick or dead family members, fix Grandpa Gene breakfast, start something for an evening meal and wash all the breakfast dishes by hand before she went off to work for the day. Grandpa Gene would feed cattle in all kinds of weather before going to work and, until he "retired," he'd spend his evenings and weekends doing harder physical labor than you'll probably ever have to do in your life: baling hay, resetting fence posts, digging ditches, or walking ridge lines looking for a cow that might be struggling to give birth.
That's why it's important to appreciate the adults in your life; even when you're frustrated with them, you need to remember that a big part of the reason that your grandpa and grandma and mom and dad get out of bed every day is to make sure that you have as many chances and as much help as you need to get started in life. When they were growing up, which wasn't that different from where and when I was growing up, no one had any money, so what set families apart, what made them strong and successful, was how hard they worked with what they had, how many opportunities they created for their children, and what set those children apart was how willing they were to take those hard-earned opportunities and do what was necessary to make something of them.
It's a little like the garden - the seed does a lot of work in the growing, and the sun and rain are like parents, bringing home what you need, but your grandma Tish would want you to know that all the generations of people before you were part of preparing the earth you were "planted" in, part of enriching it and building it up so that when the day came that you were finally planted in our family that you had the best chance possible. That's why adults get a little frustrated sometimes, too - they did a lot of work to prepare for you, to make things better, and on the one hand, all that was done to make sure you'd have chances they didn't, but on the other, they want to know that you know how much work it was and they want to know that you're not just going to take from the soil but be ready to do your own preparing too.
Being your mother is frightening for those very reasons - I not only have to do my very best to make sure you have a good place to grow, but I have to make sure that when you're grown up, you're smart enough and appreciative enough to do the same kind of work yourself. The first part is the easy part, because part of being a mother is wanting a good place for children to grow. The second part is harder and where I see so many mothers fail. It would be so easy to do too much for you, to make the place where you grow so free of weeds and problems and challenges that you'd shoot up fast without any opposition, but then you wouldn't be a very sturdy little plant. You'd have had it so easy that you'd not be ready to contribute back, to do the preparing part when it's your turn, and what you'd produce in life wouldn't be very strong or valuable because you wouldn't have grown strong from your own struggles. Your dad and I aren't just preparing you to grow for your own sake, but preparing you to give back, to be ready when the time comes to do the preparing for someone else.
So we've been doing a lot of talking about all the things we want you to learn, the things we felt our parents did a good job with and the harder lessons we had to learn on our own that we'd like to teach you if we can. We certainly want you to be curious. That was something your Grandpa and Grandma Davis were great at, and I'm still trying to work out exactly how they did it. They both started out as teachers, so it certainly helped that they were always on the lookout for an opportunity to teach something, and teaching started well before school actually did! I don't ever remember being anything but fascinated by nature, and we did little experiments all the time. Can't wait to show you how charcoal briquettes will grow crystals or let you learn how plants "drink" by watching celery change colors from taking in water with food coloring. And I'll have to get all refreshed on planetary movement in order to duplicate your grandpa's incredible description of the solar system and lunar and solar eclipses. (It involved a flashlight, a grapefruit, a Nerf ball and a golf ball and more arms than you can imagine.) Sprouting a bean seed in a paper towel is just the beginning, I promise.
Your grandma was focused on compassion. She valued kindness and empathy beyond almost any other trait, and learning to respect and care for someone other than one's self was important to her. Especially if they were less fortunate. She didn't make us feel guilty for having so many opportunities, but she made sure we were always very aware that there were people all around us who didn't have as much as we had and not just in terms of material things. She reminded us that we went to school with children who didn't have as much love at home or as many aunts and uncles or parents who would take them to the library and that while we may judge someone with how they handle the circumstances of their lives, we never hold those circumstances themselves against them.
And hard work! Both of them know a lot about hard work, but they'd probably have sent you to your great-grandparents to learn about that. Your Grandpa Gene and Grandma Rosalie did more work before 9 a.m. than many people did all day, and they did it for the best reason that anyone can work: so that the people they loved could have things, including advantages and opportunities they never had. Grandma Rosalie would wash clothes, bake pies or rolls or casseroles to take to people with sick or dead family members, fix Grandpa Gene breakfast, start something for an evening meal and wash all the breakfast dishes by hand before she went off to work for the day. Grandpa Gene would feed cattle in all kinds of weather before going to work and, until he "retired," he'd spend his evenings and weekends doing harder physical labor than you'll probably ever have to do in your life: baling hay, resetting fence posts, digging ditches, or walking ridge lines looking for a cow that might be struggling to give birth.
That's why it's important to appreciate the adults in your life; even when you're frustrated with them, you need to remember that a big part of the reason that your grandpa and grandma and mom and dad get out of bed every day is to make sure that you have as many chances and as much help as you need to get started in life. When they were growing up, which wasn't that different from where and when I was growing up, no one had any money, so what set families apart, what made them strong and successful, was how hard they worked with what they had, how many opportunities they created for their children, and what set those children apart was how willing they were to take those hard-earned opportunities and do what was necessary to make something of them.
It's a little like the garden - the seed does a lot of work in the growing, and the sun and rain are like parents, bringing home what you need, but your grandma Tish would want you to know that all the generations of people before you were part of preparing the earth you were "planted" in, part of enriching it and building it up so that when the day came that you were finally planted in our family that you had the best chance possible. That's why adults get a little frustrated sometimes, too - they did a lot of work to prepare for you, to make things better, and on the one hand, all that was done to make sure you'd have chances they didn't, but on the other, they want to know that you know how much work it was and they want to know that you're not just going to take from the soil but be ready to do your own preparing too.
Being your mother is frightening for those very reasons - I not only have to do my very best to make sure you have a good place to grow, but I have to make sure that when you're grown up, you're smart enough and appreciative enough to do the same kind of work yourself. The first part is the easy part, because part of being a mother is wanting a good place for children to grow. The second part is harder and where I see so many mothers fail. It would be so easy to do too much for you, to make the place where you grow so free of weeds and problems and challenges that you'd shoot up fast without any opposition, but then you wouldn't be a very sturdy little plant. You'd have had it so easy that you'd not be ready to contribute back, to do the preparing part when it's your turn, and what you'd produce in life wouldn't be very strong or valuable because you wouldn't have grown strong from your own struggles. Your dad and I aren't just preparing you to grow for your own sake, but preparing you to give back, to be ready when the time comes to do the preparing for someone else.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Welcome to Motherhood
You are a wiggly baby and getting wigglier each day! Sorry to have taken so long to write to you/about you again, but you've been so considerate that there hasn't been much to report. (Although if I could make one request, I'd ask that you stop smushing my lungs - breathing for two with one set of lungs is challenging enough without having someone sprawling all around your lungs and diaphragm....) It's allowed us to get loads of work done around here in preparation for your arrival - upstairs bedrooms are reorganized and painted, along with some carpentry projects, and we just have to get the icky carpet out of the hallway. Then it will be time to demolish the kitchen and the bathroom! And we need to get the garden planted so there can be good homegrown vegetables in the pantry and the freezer for you to start out on next spring.
Don't know what we'd do without your grandpa and your uncle. They're both much more excited about you than they're letting on, I think, and they are planning to be here to get the kitchen and the bathroom work sorted out before you arrive. They aren't always good about saying how they feel, so their way of taking care of you is taking care of me, helping us get things ready for you, and making sure you have a nice shiny tub to take your baths in. I've got a long list of things to do, and while you're being very good, you're also growing very fast now, and I'm having a harder time keeping up, so help getting things off the list is so appreciated. And your grandpa did a quick repair job on your great grandma's sewing machine and then helped make up some curtains for our rooms and some pillow cases, so when you spit up all over them or spill apple juice on them (and you will), we'll be able to wash them right off. Right now, the pressure to get everything done is the only rough part of this process, and without much family, it's pretty daunting sometimes. But we're making progress!
I want that for you - to know how to do things for yourself. It's nice to have the convenience of paying someone, I suppose, but to feel useful, to feel like you contribute and can handle whatever comes your way, it really helps to be able to know how to do what needs done. Canning vegetables, patching drywall, sewing on buttons - all those little things let you live life on your terms so much more, and that's important. Not only that, but it means that you're always learning new things, not afraid to tackle a project that you haven't tried before, and a better problem solver because you have lots of experience to draw on. We're both looking forward to having you puttering around in the garden, making little things out of wood and fabric scraps, and learning to be useful to yourself and others!
Meanwhile, I'm happily learning that pregnancy is all about preparing for a baby. Growing you is important, but the whole process is pretty smart, because it also prepares moms some for how life will change once babies arrive. Feeling tired all the time? That's going to be normal after you get here. Feeling physically and socially limited a bit? Ditto. Learning that sometimes things around the house just can't be done as well as I'd like? Going to be the norm while looking after you. Too busy to shower or get my hair cut or find time for myself? Welcome to motherhood.
So, that's about it for now. Keep up the good work in there, stretch and grow as much as you need to (although again, keep the lungs in mind!), and we're looking forward to having you out here. Hardly a day goes by without your dad saying how excited he is to meet you, and that goes for both of us!
Don't know what we'd do without your grandpa and your uncle. They're both much more excited about you than they're letting on, I think, and they are planning to be here to get the kitchen and the bathroom work sorted out before you arrive. They aren't always good about saying how they feel, so their way of taking care of you is taking care of me, helping us get things ready for you, and making sure you have a nice shiny tub to take your baths in. I've got a long list of things to do, and while you're being very good, you're also growing very fast now, and I'm having a harder time keeping up, so help getting things off the list is so appreciated. And your grandpa did a quick repair job on your great grandma's sewing machine and then helped make up some curtains for our rooms and some pillow cases, so when you spit up all over them or spill apple juice on them (and you will), we'll be able to wash them right off. Right now, the pressure to get everything done is the only rough part of this process, and without much family, it's pretty daunting sometimes. But we're making progress!
I want that for you - to know how to do things for yourself. It's nice to have the convenience of paying someone, I suppose, but to feel useful, to feel like you contribute and can handle whatever comes your way, it really helps to be able to know how to do what needs done. Canning vegetables, patching drywall, sewing on buttons - all those little things let you live life on your terms so much more, and that's important. Not only that, but it means that you're always learning new things, not afraid to tackle a project that you haven't tried before, and a better problem solver because you have lots of experience to draw on. We're both looking forward to having you puttering around in the garden, making little things out of wood and fabric scraps, and learning to be useful to yourself and others!
Meanwhile, I'm happily learning that pregnancy is all about preparing for a baby. Growing you is important, but the whole process is pretty smart, because it also prepares moms some for how life will change once babies arrive. Feeling tired all the time? That's going to be normal after you get here. Feeling physically and socially limited a bit? Ditto. Learning that sometimes things around the house just can't be done as well as I'd like? Going to be the norm while looking after you. Too busy to shower or get my hair cut or find time for myself? Welcome to motherhood.
So, that's about it for now. Keep up the good work in there, stretch and grow as much as you need to (although again, keep the lungs in mind!), and we're looking forward to having you out here. Hardly a day goes by without your dad saying how excited he is to meet you, and that goes for both of us!
Monday, April 19, 2010
Safe and Sound
I have come to a basic conclusion about parenting and the differences between moms and dads. Moms and dads are, you know, very different, and you'll figure out exactly how, I'm sure, so that when you're eight, you'll be very adept at gauging your chances with each of us before deciding who to ask permission. Part of that probably is some deep hardwired connection in the brain, some basic chemical differences, but I think the biggest difference has to do with how you get here.
Your dad will never have the sense of complete safety and complete responsibility that I have for you now. (That's not to say that he won't love you as much. Of course he will, and it will be in a completely different way - that's why you get both of us, so we can take turns being the voice of reason!) You're inside ME. If something happens to you, it's my responsibility, and I have, in theory, the ability to keep you as safe as I possibly can. I realize there are external things that I can't know about or prevent, but still, for the most part, it's like you're tucked away in a box that I get to carry around with me all the time. As long as I feed you good things and stay out of harm's way, we're good, or at least so I can tell myself.
For the rest of your life, I'll make you nuts. That's because for the rest of my life, I'll remember my ability to keep you safe just by keeping myself safe, equating your safety with my personal responsibility, while he'll always view you as an external responsibility. Remember this and don't hold it against me when your dad will be more likely to let you do something crazy involving pulleys, an umbrella and water wings, while I'll be struggling to let you go get the mail without a bicycle helmet.
Your dad will never have the sense of complete safety and complete responsibility that I have for you now. (That's not to say that he won't love you as much. Of course he will, and it will be in a completely different way - that's why you get both of us, so we can take turns being the voice of reason!) You're inside ME. If something happens to you, it's my responsibility, and I have, in theory, the ability to keep you as safe as I possibly can. I realize there are external things that I can't know about or prevent, but still, for the most part, it's like you're tucked away in a box that I get to carry around with me all the time. As long as I feed you good things and stay out of harm's way, we're good, or at least so I can tell myself.
For the rest of your life, I'll make you nuts. That's because for the rest of my life, I'll remember my ability to keep you safe just by keeping myself safe, equating your safety with my personal responsibility, while he'll always view you as an external responsibility. Remember this and don't hold it against me when your dad will be more likely to let you do something crazy involving pulleys, an umbrella and water wings, while I'll be struggling to let you go get the mail without a bicycle helmet.
Happy Bump Day!
Actually, it's a Monday, but this morning we got our last look at you until you arrive. (We hope - no offense, but having another look probably means they're worried about you, so I can wait a few months to see you again.) Everything was fine. You're in the 88th percentile in terms of size. According to them, of course, because if you ask us, you're in a class by yourself. And all arms and legs, which must come from my side of the family, and a "Harvard-sized head" according to your doctor, which honestly you could have gotten anywhere in this family.... You were waving and wiggling, but you've been considerate enough to position my placenta between you and my stomach wall, so while I occasionally feel little twitches from you, there's not been much flailing and kicking felt yet. And you were very modest, making it difficult for the doctor to guess, but we had her make a note and seal it up in an envelope for us, just in case we change our minds or in case it comes to pass that anyone needs to know before you get here.
Mostly, I've been quiet for a few reasons - first, you've been quiet. Not much moving, not much making me sick. (Aside from that one bout of chest pain brought on by a cramped-up stomach - no worries about me confusing indigestion with a heart attack now, thank you very much, although I was thinking we were headed for the E.R. for a bit!) I can't say that I've ever felt calmer or more peaceful, and other than periodic frantic spells of whether or not you'll like me, whether or not you're okay in there, whether or not I'll be able to keep you safe, and all the other crazy things I worry about these days, we've been getting along swimmingly.
And we've been on the road quite a bit lately! Today's April 19th, and in the last 25 days or so, you've been to Delaware with me and your dad for a furniture conference at Winterthur, to Texas for a week where you got some of the first spring breezes and some needed sunshine, and to Oglebay Park in Wheeling where we went to an antique show and gave a few talks.
(And then your mother cried from Wheeling to Cambridge out of sheer homesickness. I hope you'll have a sense of place growing up, although it's one of the most inexplicable things in my life. "Home" for me is two places, sadly - West Virginia and where your dad is, and it's probably the greatest heartache in my life that those two places aren't the same place very often. Can't explain it, because it doesn't even have to do with people or specific houses, but a geographic location is home and always has been. Part of me desperately wants you to have it, and part of me, knowing the ache it causes, wants you to be free to go wherever you like.)
And finally, I've not had much to say because we've been working on getting the house ready for you and that's taken a great deal of free time. We're pulling up all the old, icky carpet, and we've painted the floors, walls, trim and doors in your room. We're rebuilding the bed in there too, although you'll be too little to sleep in it for quite some time. The guest room, which will eventually be yours, is almost done - should be reloaded this evening, and then we'll start on our room, where you'll be hanging out for awhile. After that, we're hoping your grandpa is going to come up and help Dad put in new countertops and a new sink, and finally, hopefully, before you arrive, there'll be a nice new bathtub with new paint and tile and trim so you have a clean space to splash around without flooding the foundation. Your dad wants tile around the tub, but your grandpa can probably tell him all about what my bathtimes did to his tile over the years! And then there's the garden - not doing too much there this year, but some tomatoes, cucumbers, beets, onions, rhubarb, lettuce, and who knows what else we'll come home with, will mean good eats for both of us while you're growing.
So, keep doing what you're doing in there while we keep getting ready for you out here!
Mostly, I've been quiet for a few reasons - first, you've been quiet. Not much moving, not much making me sick. (Aside from that one bout of chest pain brought on by a cramped-up stomach - no worries about me confusing indigestion with a heart attack now, thank you very much, although I was thinking we were headed for the E.R. for a bit!) I can't say that I've ever felt calmer or more peaceful, and other than periodic frantic spells of whether or not you'll like me, whether or not you're okay in there, whether or not I'll be able to keep you safe, and all the other crazy things I worry about these days, we've been getting along swimmingly.
And we've been on the road quite a bit lately! Today's April 19th, and in the last 25 days or so, you've been to Delaware with me and your dad for a furniture conference at Winterthur, to Texas for a week where you got some of the first spring breezes and some needed sunshine, and to Oglebay Park in Wheeling where we went to an antique show and gave a few talks.
(And then your mother cried from Wheeling to Cambridge out of sheer homesickness. I hope you'll have a sense of place growing up, although it's one of the most inexplicable things in my life. "Home" for me is two places, sadly - West Virginia and where your dad is, and it's probably the greatest heartache in my life that those two places aren't the same place very often. Can't explain it, because it doesn't even have to do with people or specific houses, but a geographic location is home and always has been. Part of me desperately wants you to have it, and part of me, knowing the ache it causes, wants you to be free to go wherever you like.)
And finally, I've not had much to say because we've been working on getting the house ready for you and that's taken a great deal of free time. We're pulling up all the old, icky carpet, and we've painted the floors, walls, trim and doors in your room. We're rebuilding the bed in there too, although you'll be too little to sleep in it for quite some time. The guest room, which will eventually be yours, is almost done - should be reloaded this evening, and then we'll start on our room, where you'll be hanging out for awhile. After that, we're hoping your grandpa is going to come up and help Dad put in new countertops and a new sink, and finally, hopefully, before you arrive, there'll be a nice new bathtub with new paint and tile and trim so you have a clean space to splash around without flooding the foundation. Your dad wants tile around the tub, but your grandpa can probably tell him all about what my bathtimes did to his tile over the years! And then there's the garden - not doing too much there this year, but some tomatoes, cucumbers, beets, onions, rhubarb, lettuce, and who knows what else we'll come home with, will mean good eats for both of us while you're growing.
So, keep doing what you're doing in there while we keep getting ready for you out here!
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