Category Archives: Parenting

Yes, I’m ready….

Posted on January 2, 2012 | 1 comment

My love for KC of KC and the Sunshine Band does not extend only to his hits.  This morning I awoke (to a pile of sharp Emily elbows and Fisher breath and a cat howling at me, but that is neither here nor there) with a song in my head.

An often overlooked KC & Teri De Sario duet, “Yes, I’m Ready.”

I don’t even know how to love you
Just the way you want me to
But I’m ready (Ready) to learn (To learn)
Yes, I’m ready (Ready) to learn (To learn)

To fall in love, to fall in love
To fall in love with you

And I am.  What changed between yesterday and today?  I am ready to catch the leaks.

The first time you become a mother you are encouraged to pamper yourself and focus on your pregnancy and your post-partum period.  Celebrate this new phase of your life.  This time I felt like there was no need to do that.  I am a mother already.  And I know better this time than to think I need to buy every baby item under the sun, so the pile of Baby Stuff is much smaller.  I thought that was what was making me feel like I wasn’t ready.  The unknown gender of Baby D makes shopping for newborn clothes virtually impossible.  We own everything yellow that has a duck and a giraffe on it already.  And really, that’s more than enough.

And yesterday I realized what I was missing.  I needed to be prepared to catch the leaks.

Yesterday afternoon I assembled an army of old friends.  A package of pre-fold diapers to catch the slime that oozes from a baby constantly.  A package of flannel receiving blankets to put down in my bed.  I washed and dried and brought back to life my Lily Padz and a dozen sets of reusable cloth nursing pads.  I made a pile of underwear that I know will end up covered in blood.  All alone in the Target I stared at nursing bras designed for sleeping, camisoles with snaps and pajamas that button up the front.  I stood in the feminine care aisle longer than anyone in my family would have tolerated until I could remember whether I liked wings or not.  Until I recalled that an absorbent core is really just like having a plastic sack of jelly in your underwear and that I hated those.  I stashed those little packs of Kleenex in every purse I own, next to my bed, near the couch.  Because I know how quickly I will cry over the next few weeks as I fall head over heels in love again. While leaking from everywhere but my ears.

And now I’m ready.  To fall in love.  And to catch the leaks.

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I feel stupid… and contagious…

Posted on December 29, 2011 | 7 comments

Bi-polar.  Mood swings.  Mentally unstable.  Melodramatic.  Unfuckingbelievably bitchy.  These are all ways to describe being 37 weeks and 4 days pregnant, I am afraid.

It was last night that I said I was smiling, right? That was me.  I am almost certain of it.

Because that girl that slid her back down the wall, crumbling in to hysterical tears because her husband mentioned there was shitty water pressure and almost no hot water, that girl that shrieked that she won’t be treated like a second class citizen who isn’t even allowed to take a god damn nine minute long shower… she wasn’t smiling.  And maybe she had a right to have her feelings hurt a little, maybe he didn’t use the nicest tone of voice, but he had just woken up, too.  And she is not the only one with a lot on her plate right now.

The smiling girl was watching her from the outside.  Powerless to stop her hysteria.

Pregnant with Emily I had the full blown Crazies from time to time, but my life was so upside down then that it felt justified.

The last time I can remember feeling just like this I was about 15.

This feeling, like no one has ever been this tired or this scared or this overwhelmed or this unsure what could possibly make her feel ready to face the next chapter…. it can only be likened to being a teenager.   The belief that NO ONE has ever had it THIS BAD.  That NO ONE understands you.  Somehow in the moment I am sure that other women have had babies without ever feeling like THIS.  Just as I was sure that every adult I knew as a teenager managed to become one without EVER having to be 15 the way I had to experience it.

Only as a teenager I was totally self-absorbed.  This time it is like there are two selves.  The Crazy Pregnant Self and the Mom/Wife/Kelly Self that desperately wants to shake the Crazy Pregnant Self and say “Stop yelling at this man and let him help you!”

And I can hear it echo in my head now.  “help you, help you, help you….” I don’t know how to do that.   And yet in the darkest hours of the night I slide my head on to MQD’s shoulder and say “Promise me you will take care of me.”  And always, always he says “I will.” And for just a few minutes I really sleep.

When Em was tiny I poured my heart in to her. And I stopped taking care of me.  This time I hope I can do a better job of looking after me, too.  And not in that Cosmo/Redbook/Glamour magazine “Light a candle and take a long bubble bath, pamper yourself with luxurious bath products.  Get a manicure.” way.  Just in a simple take my book with me to the bathroom and sit on the toilet  with the door closed and the seat down and my pajama pants still up and read my book and drink a cup of coffee and ignore the “Do you know where my book bag is?” from the other side of the door.  And trust that MQD will find it.  And feed Em breakfast.  And brush her hair.  And the baby won’t develop a flat head if it sits in a swing for nine minutes.

Because that nine minutes can make the difference between sliding my back down the wall and crumbling to the floor come mid-afternoon or not.

For about eight months I have worried off and on that I won’t know how to love Emily and a baby and MQD.  That I will not have the strength or the stamina to love enough, that somehow I will let them down.  And now in the final hour instead of finding an answer to that question I am just adding another person to take care of in to the mix.  Me.

I have a knack for making simple things complicated.  All of this “Love yourself, let people help you, take care of you…” I think it is simpler than that.  Sometime I think I just need to grow the fuck up.  Because I am not actually 15.  Even if it feels like that sometimes.

Pouting. Not actually 15.

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Posted in Bad Mood, Parenting, Pregnancy

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The Star of the Show

Posted on December 24, 2011 | 2 comments

 

Whether it is an angel or a star or a 12 inch Elvis that you put atop your Christmas tree the chances are good that it is special to you.  In our house we have a brass star.

Last year MQD and I shared our first Christmas as a family.  As he lifted Emily up to put the star on our tree I grabbed the camera, my eyes filled with tears.   As she was the youngest person, it was her job.  I took a million pictures, hence the wild look in their eyes.  I think they were fed up with me by this time.

I failed to snap a picture this year of Emily as she placed the star atop of our tree.  We were all sick with a stomach bug so pictures were kept to a minimum, but today I had these two reenact the event.

I might not have shed a tear the day we topped our tree this year, but I have more than made up for it in the last few weeks.  Counting down the days to Christmas, one ornament or Christmas decoration or tradition at a time I have had more than a few occasions to get choked up.  And now it’s here.

I can hear Peanuts’ Christmas music in the kitchen as MQD cleans up from dinner.   Em is on the couch watching Christmas shows.  I have my feet propped up with ice as it seems my ankles are finally getting the pregnant lady swell.  Cookies are made and waiting for Santa.

Nothing left to do but snuggle up, close our eyes and wait for Santa. Thanks so much to all of you for spending this month with me.  Merry Christmas!

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I’m a sucker for a guy with a red nose….

Posted on December 23, 2011 | 2 comments

When I was a little girl Rudolph hung over the fireplace.  In my memory he looks just as he does above.  A sockmonkey sock transformed by my mother in to the “most famous reindeer of all.”

Christmas decorations were stored under the stairs in the basement.  In the twenty plus years my family lived in my childhood home the basement saw a fair amount of water and mildew as basements are inclined to do.  The dozen roses my dad gave me on my 16th birthday eventually got wet.  The 45s I had saved along with my Fisher Price record player succumbed to the moisture.   More than a few stuffed animals met their demise.  Shoe boxes of notes passed in middle and high school gave way to the wet environment.  (I can think of a few of you who might be glad to know that.)

Call it a Christmas Miracle if you like… But Rudolph survived.  He looks as young and vibrant hanging on the wall in my living room today as he ever did when I was a kid.  Don’t tell Snoopy, but if something ever happened to Snoop… Rudolph and those eyelashes could win me over in a hearbeat.

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Flapjacks & Baby Makin’

Posted on December 22, 2011 | 2 comments

There is a song by the Beautiful South, 36D, about a gal that doesn’t seem to see that she has more to offer than her 36Ds.  The chorus of which has run through my mind all day.  “36D, so what? Is that all you’ve got?” But not as it relates to my own 36Ds.

I had an appointment at the birthing center this morning.  The first thing they ask you when they come in is if you know how far along you are.  “36 weeks” I said mindlessly.  And immediately to the tune of 36D it started.  But instead of “36D, so what! D, so what!” it has been  “36 Weeks! Oh fuck! Weeks! Oh Fuck! Is that all that I’ve got???!!!”

For any of you unfamiliar with basic math or the duration of the average pregnancy let me spell that out for you.  40 weeks, subtract 36 and you have 4.  Three and a half if I am actually counting, which evidently I was not.

I find a belt can be a slimming accessory when added to an outfit.

I must have made an audible gasp as she wrote it down… “36 weeks and four days, so you’re due in just a little over three weeks” because the next thing she asked me is if another of the midwives had told me about her theory regarding second labors and pancakes. The Pancake Theory (as I have dubbed it) has set me completely at ease.

Emily’s labor and delivery was not as I had planned.   Like the first batch of pancakes.  The pan is either too hot or too cold, the batter hasn’t had a chance to sit.  The first batch of pancakes tastes fine, sure, but they tend to be a hot mess.

But that second batch?  Perfect every time.  As soon as you flip them you think, whoa, I wish had tons more batter, I could make pancakes all day, I am the master of making pancakes.  Rumor has it the second baby is like the second batch of pancakes more often than not.

“They” say that if you dream about making pancakes it means you are satisfied with your current situation and that you take pleasure in the simple things.

I daresay I will dream about pancakes tonight.

This second batch of pancakes has a tough act to follow. For "not perfect" - she turned out pretty tasty to me.

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Hurry home, Scott!!

Posted on December 20, 2011 | 2 comments

This is one of just a few of my “grown up” ornaments.  It is fancy. And sparkly.  And I put it carefully back in its box each year.  It was a gift from my brother and my sister-in-law several years ago.  And Lauren would likely blush if I said out loud the reasons this ornament reminds me of her.

To start with the easy ones, it is beautiful, as is she.  Not flashy and asking to be noticed but classy and gorgeous and fancy and understated all at once.

This ornament could wear blue jeans with pearls and high heels if it wanted to.  But it’s not likely it would need high heels, it is a good bit larger (to be read: taller, for those wondering if I am really about to call my sister-in-law LARGE in a public forum) than the other ornaments, just like the statuesque Lauren.  She has only an inch or two on me and yet she has always seemed taller, even to me.  Finally, a woman my brother has even a hope of seeing eye to eye with.

It is red.  And Lauren is a devoted  NC State Wolf Pack girl.  She taught Em to do the Wolf Pack symbol when she was teeny.  Just as we moved to Chapel Hill.  She didn’t seem to care it might get us run out of town.

What this ornament does not do… and Lauren is about to do… is make my baby brother in to a father.  I can’t think of a nicer thing for a girl to do.  I have mentioned before that my brother and I share little in common short of our love for one another.  But this change on the horizon will put all of us in the same demographic.  There is something about being a parent that changes everything. You share a kinship with other parents.  Perhaps this is what military veterans experience when they run in to another.  Perhaps their branch of service was different or the length of their active duty but there is a common bond.  And a relationship those of on the outside simply do not have.

Very soon three people whom I love dearly will join my Club.  The “I had a tiny baby in my house and I survived.  I was joyful and terrified, exhausted and more excited than I have ever been all at once. And I survived” Club.  My brother, Lauren and MQD.

Now just relax, girls.  Both of you.  Lauren and your sweet baby girl.  You just need to hang in there a little longer.  Scott will be home any day now.  And then … may your Adventure begin.

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A couple of misfits…

Posted on December 19, 2011 | 4 comments

The holidays are about family. They can be a time of forgiveness.  Of letting go of the past and coming together to share a meal and a laugh and company.

In every family there is a Bumble.  In 1964’s Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer christmas tv special  Bumble is the antagonist.  To “bumble” by definition is to proceed in a clumsy fashion, to botch or bungle, make a mess of things.

This weekend I thought a lot about how much I hope our Bumble can come around like Bumble the Abominable Snowman. At the end of Rudolph Bumble is smiling a toothless grin and places the star on the top of the Christmas tree in ChristmasTown.  He may not be beloved by the whole town but at least he has stopped wreaking havoc.

For years now our Bumble has referred to the island he calls home as the “Island for Misfit Toys.” It seemed appropriate to post this ornament this morning as he heads back out of town.

Family weekends can be messy for any family.  There was a moment this weekend when I wondered just how much more I had in me.  How much love, how much forgiveness.   In that moment  I looked down and Emily was just standing there.  She took my hand and smiled and said “Here.  I have this fortune, it’s yours.”

And in to my hand she placed a slip of paper.

“Love, like war, is easy to start and nearly impossible to end.”

If that’s true, it might be your saving grace.  Tighten up, Jer.  You got this.  Merry Christmas, Bumble.

They look alike when they first wake up.

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The Best Things….

Posted on December 18, 2011 | 1 comment

Growing up in my house the very best things didn’t always come from Santa Claus.  But they did come in small packages.

In fact, they came shrink wrapped in a small plastic bag.  As soon as I started to read I fell in love with Reader’s Digest.   “Laughter: The Best Medicine” was good for a smile.  “Word Power” was good for expanding the vocabulary.  “All in a Day’s Work” was sure to expose to me a new career idea.  I loved every page.

Reader’s Digest lovers know that the monthly magazine is just the tip of the iceberg.  Reader’s Digest will inundate you with special offers.  And in my house part of Christmastime was the big Reader’s Digest Book of Christmas.   This copy, published in 1973, was around long before me and my brother.  And I love that I am now able to share it with  my Emily.

We didn’t ever read it any other time of the year. But once a year it would come down from the book shelves.  And we’d read a little here and there.  It still holds up as a beautiful book to be enjoyed over the holidays.   Clement Clark Moore’s Twas the Night Before Christmas was a favorite in our house.  Last year my father sent Emily a package to be opened before Christmas, he told me it would make me cry and sure enough it did.  He had recorded himself reading this story and sure enough it got me.    And it tore me up all over again to read to Emily from the book we had read from so long ago.

This morning I set the book on the kitchen table to grab a few pictures and I stopped at one page.  Maybe it might not be the first thing that pops in to your mind when you see this picture, but I was giggling to myself as Roberta Flack was crooning away in my mind at Jacob Marley’s ghost.  But I do. I remember.  I remember “the first time, ever I saw” his face.  And I can’t wait to share it with Em.

I’ll let her have one more year of the Magic Of Christmas.  This year we will read Yes, Virginia There is a Santa Claus and Twas the Night Before Christmas.  Maybe even Mark Twain’s Letter from Santa Claus.  But next year I am bringing down the hammer.  We are gonna learn lessons of morality with The Gift of the Magi.  And then I am gonna scare the shit out of her with Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.

Merry Christmas, Reader’s Digest.

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The Man in the Red Suit

Posted on December 17, 2011 | 1 comment

So I am veering from my original course just a bit.  Not every post this month was about an ornament, but it was about Christmas, at least tangentially.

And you can’t talk about Christmas without mentioning the man in the red suit.  And if you happen to live in Bardstown, Kentucky (Bourbon Capital of the World!) then Santa Claus looks an awful lot like this.


And if you don’t happen to live in Kentucky and he still looks familiar… it’s because Santa Claus also happens to look an awful lot like this guy.

Merry Christmas, Dad.  You taught me that it IS next to impossible to keep a secret where a good gift is concerned.  So I blame you completely for my being a last minute shopper. I can keep a secret for a few days.  But if I bought Christmas gifts in November there’d be no stopping my mouth.

You taught me to pick up the trash as we unwrap presents.  Even though as a kid I thought this was absurd, the trash patrol mid Christmas morning unwrapping, as a parent I do it.  I can’t help it.

You taught me that it is perfectly okay to trick your kid on Christmas morning.  I will never forget the Christmas morning that I thought I really didn’t get a bicycle.  Because you left it in the laundry room until we were all done opening presents.  I never had to ask whose idea it was to do that to me.  Your cackling gave you away.

You are the biggest kid I know.  And I love that you spend December in a big red suit making Christmas for the children in Bardstown.


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When I was a little kid…

Posted on December 16, 2011 | 1 comment

Em pulled this ornament from the box and said “Ohhh, this is the one I made when I was a little kid…”  It slayed me.  It’s not difficult to reduce me to tears (as I have mentioned at least 800 times of late) but this was a different kind.

The nose tingling, eyes watering “I think I am doing this right” tears.  I have heard more than a few parents lament that if you”re “doing it right” they need you less and less.

Our "little girl" made this ornament just last year in pre-school.


In the past few months I have watched as my lap grows smaller and smaller and my “little girl” is literally pushed right out of “the nest.”  And it pains me.

I have come to terms with the fact that Love is infinite.  That I will find the Love that two children require.  But I can not deny that both Time and my lap are finite.  I struggle to envision how I will share them with two children.  Already I feel I do a less than adequate job sharing my Time with only one child between working and mothering.  How does one expect to blend another child in to the family without taking from the first?

And then I look at the face in the ornament.  She looks so different than the face I see today.

I see her flounce down the stairs in an “outfit” she has assembled.  Skinny jeans and a tshirt, her boots and a high ponytail.  I eavesdrop as she and her buddy discuss the best way to pass a baby to someone else without “flopping the head.”  I watch her practice being a Big Sister to her baby doll.  (A baby doll that has recently acquired a middle name.  A middle name that we have incidentally settled on for Baby D.)    Her teeny little self drags the empty trash can up the driveway without being reminded.  Stopping only to have me unlock the gate so she can put it away.  She empties the dishwasher while I make dinner, reminding me to check her back pack for a note from her teacher.  Last night after her shower her wet towel was hanging from the hook on the bathroom door.  Her dirty clothes in the laundry basket.

Maybe she isn’t my “little kid.”

Well, then. Merry Christmas to you, Baby Girl. In spite of this new baby and your big grown up self  you will always, always be my Baby Girl.

She hopped in to the front with me while we waited for MQD at the barber the other day. "Look at you in the front seat, Miss Thang!" She grabbed my glasses and began to pose. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

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