Here’s to tradition! We ate a slice from the top of our wedding cake tonight. I hope our marriage holds up better than a vanilla cake with cannoli filling. But then again we should probably not put our marriage in the back of the freezer for a year.
Several nights ago MQD mentioned that while Emily might not actually be keeping score that he definitely was. Evidently I have not showered him with the love and appreciation he is due here on Excitement on the Side. I laughed and suggested that I write 31 posts about him in the month of May, the Baskin Robbins of Husbands, 31 flavors of Mike. Our wedding anniversary is today, April 30th, so perhaps it is an appropriate month to focus on my main squeeze, in spite of the fact that it is my month. Mother’s Day. My 36th birthday.
I enjoyed counting down the days to Christmas with our decorations. So, May…. I offer up 31 days devoted to my better half. To marital bliss. Brought to you with accompanying wedding pictures.
I’m kicking off Mike month a day early!!
MQD
More than a pretty face, he’s a snappy dresser, too
A lot has changed in the last year. Big stuff. A baby. A house. But by far the biggest change in the day to day has been Mike’s commitment to looking fine.
Note the time. We used to stay up late.
I fell in love with this boy. Perhaps you remember him. He wore camo pants and profane band tshirts. And he needed a hair cut. But he was mine. And I was crazy about him.
Was this some kind of Ridiculous Hair contest?
I really liked this guy with crazy hair and a goatee. But holy shit, did I LOVE this guy with a fresh new haircut.
And then sometime last spring he started wearing a shirt and tie to work everyday. His shopping for casual suits provided this super Easter gear. And Honeymoon Cruise attire galore.
Now shopping for Mike has become a hobby. He is always on the lookout for something. Bow ties. The perfect dress shirt. Saddle shoes. A belt. It is not uncommon while watching television with Mike to find him googling “casual men’s shoes” on his phone.
I was not the only girl falling for that long haired boy.
I watch more television now than I have in years. A nursing infant allows for that. Instead of getting myself sucked in to the daytime tv sinkhole I have been recording a few shows to fill the 30 minutes here and there I find myself in the rocking chair underneath a sleeping baby.
The talk show. There are more than enough to choose from. But I keep coming back to the same one.
Last week I kept seeing one sharp outfit after the next. Nothing revolutionary. Just a plaid shirt and a great sweater with corduroy elbow pads. Loosely tied tie and a really crisp white shirt, untucked with penny loafers. A cardigan sweater and khakis. The other night we were talking about the break of a man’s pant and I was saying that it is impossible to wear pants with no break without looking like you are waiting for a flood, but recently I saw it in an outfit and it was cute. Navy pant, polo shirt and saddle shoes, no socks. It worked. A glen plaid vest with a monochromatic shirt, tie and pant. Things I don’t think I’d think of wearing that come together beautifully. All classic pieces.
So, how do I bring it up? Honey, I love the look you’ve been developing. And I think I found a style icon for you. I swear, any outfit this person wore last week would have looked great on you. Give them a google, baby. It’s Ellen Degeneres.
Happy anniversary, sweetheart. I love you more every day. I couldn’t love you more if you were a lesbian talk show host.
I woke this morning and felt like a B movie actress in an old-school Skinemax flick. My bed has been more Slip and Slide than Soft Core in the last three months. Now would be a good time for my male readers (in particular those to whom I am related) to just move along.
My post partum bleeding was average. But my hyper focus on doing and being everything to everyone meant it came back for round two. “You’re doing too much,” said the midwife. But I have a six year old and an infant and a husband and I am trying to justify in my own mind why I do not have much of an income anymore!! So that means I need to spread mulch and clean my ceiling fans, right?
And then I decided that jogging at 6 weeks post partum was important to my sanity. And the post partum bleeding came back again.
If that weren’t enough fun… my period returned at 9 weeks in spite of my frequent night nursing and the voracious day time appetite of my nursling. Lucky girl, right? Exclusive breastfeeding is supposed to postpone the return of your fertility.
I have a three month old baby this week and will be celebrating my one year wedding anniversary on April 30th. Do the math. I am plenty fertile. We may actually have gotten pregnant at the altar. So back to the midwive’s office I went for a new IUD.
In spite of my issues with my last one there is no better non-hormonal way to prevent pregnancy. Unless you count infant-induced abstinence. The new IUD brought with it the week long “spotting.” Have all the sex you want, just ignore the bleeding, right?
So that about sums up the leaking in the southern regions. Upstairs? My side of the bed has smelled like sweetened condensed milk for the last three months. If you’ve not ever been or loved a lactating woman perhaps you are unaware of this fun fact – milk does not let down only from the boob to which the baby is attached. Boobs are on or off. There is no fade. No balance, like the car stereo. Nursing pads have been my constant companion. And one must hold them in place with something. So add to the equation a sports bra, a nursing tank, something. All. the. time.
Add it all up. The exercise, the hair cut, the positive outlook, the husband and the newlywed status (for three more days!) and I still didn’t really feel like a Woman. Contrary to any kind of logic, all of this very female leaking does not magnify my Womanliness in my own mind.
But this morning I woke up feeling like a capital letter W Woman. I still had a wiggly baby to my right. And a bed rail. And a towel I had stuffed down my shirt next to the opposite boob and dark circles under my eyes because a certain someone woke up four times last night to eat (thank you very much three month growth spurt.) So why did I wake feeling more Miss Universe and less Mother of the Year?
I went to bed last night in black underwear and no nursing bra and a black tank top with easy access (for the kiddo! don’t get excited.) And I woke up dry.
Unencumbered by leak-catchers of any sort.
And damn if I didn’t feel smokin’. Who knew the absence of my own bodily fluids is all it would take? Sitting right now with my laptop perched on the arm of the rocking chair,drool running down my arm, in the clothes I was wearing yesterday I threw on so I could peel myself out of bed to pack lunch for school… I still feel unstoppable.
I snapped a picture this morning to remind me who I am under all of this Mom-ness. My stomach may only be flat when I lie down. And my stretch marks are still visible, even in the early morning light. But there is a hip bone under there. And a bare shoulder. And they need some attention.
* Shout out to Keller Williams for the title. All morning I have been singing Freeker by the Speaker to myself. Subbing out “Leaker” for Freeker and tweaker. Try it. It’s catchy. “Leaker! Right by the speaker, never seem to get enough. Priceless expression when space is possession. Like yeah, that’s the stuff…”
I just might bust out a windmill or a backspin at the grocery store today.
Posted in Family, Parenting, Pregnancy
Tagged bleeding, Breastfeeding, gross, healthy-living, Humor, keller williams, Pregnancy, Sick sense of Humor
My brother went to the Naval Academy. He was 19. I was 23 when he began his Plebe Summer. We walked through campus on Induction Day, we stood in lines. We waited and we hugged him a lot. The whole time I kept thinking how in the hell do you make a decision so permanent? This one day… you are saying “today I will begin a career in the Navy that may be life long…” and that blew my mind.
I kept wondering when he would start to look like a midshipman. Would it be over Christmas when I saw him next? I can tell you when it was. The moment was the same for every one of the boys and girls that became men and women that day. It was when they got their hair cut.
Scott looked like a baby and a grown up all at once. He’d had his ears lowered. It was summer and his tan didn’t quite go all the way up to his hair line anymore. All these young kids filed in to this hall and we saw them spilling out the other side with this “oh shit, I’ve really done it now” face. Young men and women that had a plan. And a new do.
I didn’t have my ears lowered today. Nor did I sign up with the United States Navy. But I did have one of those “Sign me up and cut it off” moments.
I got a Mom haircut. There’s no turning back. I’m giving Lucy twenty good years and then I am retiring. Heh. We’ll see how well that works out for me, huh?
Lucy seems slightly less suspicious than Em. Em said "Hmm... it's creepy, I want my Mom back." Here's hoping Mike is more open to change.
Tagged hair, motherhood, mothering, nonsense, parenthood, usna
Em, I wrote your sister because she is three months old today. And in my ongoing quest to keep things equal I thought I’d write you, too. I’m not sure if you keep score, but I do in my head. … Continue reading
Dear Lucy,
This morning you slept in. I woke up when your dad was getting ready for work. He has been going in early so that he can spend even more time with us in the evening. I got up with your sister and helped her get ready for school. She climbed in bed to give you a kiss goodbye.
I was feeling overwhelmed yesterday so I took advantage of you sleeping in and cranked out a speed clean. A little before 8 I climbed back in bed with you.
I tried to just let you sleep. Really, I did. I just gave you a couple of kisses. Maybe three. And you wiggled a bit. Like you do in the morning.
And you opened your eyes. And you smiled. Like you do every day.
Everything is new to you. Every day a new experience. Each time you open your eyes and you see my face you smile. I pretend it is because you picked me. And that you are happy because while you’re ready for a day filled with new you are over the moon that the day will feature that same mom from yesterday.
I know that of all the babies that you might have been you are Lucy Quinn because I wanted you. Just exactly the way you are. I picked you.
And this morning when you opened your eyes and you grinned ear to ear, your eyes shining bright, I think maybe just maybe you picked me, too.
I am perfectly well aware that having a TiVo box is not too unlike having an ancient flip phone. No one that has ever noticed my old TiVo box has failed to inform me that the cable company can record tv shows on my cable box for me. I know this. But Time Warner’s cable box doesn’t know me. Not like my TiVo box. And not too sound like an old lady, but I really love my remote. And I totally know how to use it.
TiVo records anything with Sarah Silverman. Because I used to keep the episodes of Crank Yankers when she co-starred. And anything with Peanuts or Charlie Brown in the title. So I never miss a holiday Snoopy special. (And once a month it records the episode of Frasier where Silverman plays Maris’ sister and at least that often the episode of Will & Grace titled “Big Gay Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.” TiVo records new shows about restaurants because in my ten year relationship with TiVo I have watched nearly every cooking show premier. TiVo records garbage reality tv that I can’t even bear to watch just because I have never missed an episode of The Real World.
We go way back. Me and the TiVo. And when you have a long relationship it is hard to pick your favorite thing. TiVo knows my viewing habits. And it doesn’t judge. But my all time favorite thing is the Season Pass.
Yesterday I deleted a Season Pass. Em doesn’t watch tv during the school week. But Saturday mornings are for cartoons. I jumped for joy when I noted that we had unwatched episodes of Dora. Dora the Explorer wasn’t getting the love she used to to from Emily and I wasn’t sorry to let her go.
But Word Girl? Becky Botsford and Dr Two-Brains. I’ll miss them. Hell, I even have a soft spot for Chuck the Evil Sandwich Making Guy. Word Girl isn’t getting as much play as The Wizards of Waverly Place and the rest of the teeny bopper garbage. None of it holds a candle to Saved by the Bell. I hope My So Called Life is still streaming on Netflix when Em gets old enough to watch it.
It’s funny the things that draw attention to the passage of time. The training wheels last week were so obvious. But deleting Word Girl … if it weren’t for Scooby Doo I am not sure there’d be a single animated series on the Saturday morning lineup at our place.
My big girl just keeps getting bigger. We have another loose tooth. Last night I made her climb up in my lap in the rocking chair. She still fits, those long legs hanging over the side. I’m not sure I could have handled it if her feet touched the ground.
I love that you could easily select Ru Paul's Drag race when you were trying to watch That Metal Show. And if you want to come over and watch Garfield Gets Real you'd better hurry.
Sunday morning in my rocking chair. Baby girl has fallen back asleep on my chest. Big girl is outside playing and I can hear her laughing. My sweet husband has fallen back to sleep after his morning snuggles with his little lady.
There is nowhere I’d rather be. Absolutely nowhere.
Sometimes I write because I want to remember a specific moment. And sometimes I sit down to write because I feel so much that I know something real might come out if I let it. Right now? Tapping letters on my phone, looking around me to find a picture to describe this moment. There is nothing. No words, no image to capture a moment Iike this.
That’s all I’ve got this morning. Me. And Lucy. And the quiet of the morning broken up by the laughter of my first favorite girl. This is it. If this is as good as it gets I’ll take it.
This week Emily took off her training wheels.
We took them off once before. And we gave it a good shot. She just wasn’t ready. So we put them back on and we figured they would come off again when it was time . Predictably, “ready” came as soon as Kellan, her buddy across the street, took off his training wheels and rode across his yard.
We had plans to start working on it this weekend. But she decided she simply could not wait that long. Wednesday after school we headed to a local park. MQD had plans to help Em with her bike while I got a little exercise with Lucy in her stroller. I took off down the walking path leaving them to adjust her helmet. As I rounded the corner some ten minutes later and they came back in to my sight I could see that there had not exactly been a lot of progress. She was standing next to her bike. Her posture alone told me she was crying.
She hadn’t even fallen. I’d warned her. You will fall. And you will get up and get back on your bike. The last time we had tried she had fallen and had still not been so upset so I wondered as I got closer just what exactly was under her skin.
The stakes were higher this time. And she seemed paralyzed. “What are you afraid of,” I asked her. “Falling. Breaking my arm. Going to the hospital. I am so, so afraid….”
And I saw myself in her face.
MQD and I switched places. He pushed Lucy around the track in her stroller for a bit and in less than twenty minutes Em was riding.
To be both brave and afraid all at the same time. I feel this all of the time. And my heart broke for her. She wanted to ride. She was ready. But her fear kept her from peddling fast enough to keep from tipping over.
For so many years I thought what I wanted was a partner that would hold me as I wept. “I’m scared,” I would cry. “You can do it,” they would say as they swept my hair from my face tenderly.
Turns out that isn’t what I needed at all. A little bit of MQD’s tough love has gone a long way. I am brave more often than I am scared.
“You can do it,” I said. “Get back on your bike.” And she rode. Crying. Three feet at a time because she kept stopping to wail about how terribly afraid she was. She is afterall my daughter.
And soon the three feet became ten feet. And the firm hold on her bicycle seat became a less firm grip under her arm. And then I had one of those delicious parenting moments where I was running along side her as she rode her bike. She was yelling “don’t let go, don’t let go” and I was yelling back (having already let go) “you’re doing it, you’re doing it.”
I watched her ride down that path and tears streamed down my face. She was free. A bike with no training wheels. Equal parts brave and afraid.
In our wedding vows MQD and I quoted part of Tom Robbins’ Still Life with Woodpecker to one another “my love for you has no strings attached. I love you for free.”
Riding a bike is just like that. I live without training wheels now. And I am equal parts brave and afraid.
I have missed my calling. If only I was in an 80s Hair band then I would write songs about folding cloth napkins. Hiding Under the Napkins would be the first hit off my album titled “Stay At Home Rock.” Lucy would be my number one fan.
(Sadly I just realized that my fantastic audio file will not appear on a mobile device. If “audio” appears as a link, have a listen. If not? Just trust me, it’s catchy. And in case you’re wondering “where is Lucy?” the answer is simple. “She’s hiding under the napkins!!!”)
Excitement on the side 