Recently, I visited with my ninety year old Granny. It was the first time she had seen me in some months and there was definitely much more of me to be seen. At our last meeting I was still early on in my pregnancy. I looked as if I'd eaten a large lunch, not very pregnant at all. This time was a different story. I am now six months along and look as if I'd eaten a small hot dog stand, not just a large lunch.
We were enjoying watching Firstborn as he played with my aunt. During all this time my Granny complimented me on how good I looked and asked questions regarding the pregnancy. She deftly waited until my aunt took Firstborn outside to pick buttercups, and that's when she began the assault.
On outside appearances my granny looks like any ninety year old granny, but don't be fooled. She's a seasoned, war time general. She's lived long enough to learn the best tactile maneuvers, and she's not afraid to use them. Little did I realize that she had already been maneuvering her artillery into place in our prior conversation.
Granny: "You look good. You look like you've been eating well. And I see you're still out and about frequently. Is the baby giving you any problems? Hrphmph."
It all sounded so innocent to me as we were watching the antics of my aunt and son as they tickled one another with a feather duster. It's what she said next once we were alone, that set off the air raid sirens in my head.
Granny: "Don't you think you need to be in maternity clothing?"
Mommy: "Granny, this is maternity clothing."
Granny: "Hrphmph."
Oh no. There it was, the second Hrphmph! Just minutes before I had been lovingly rubbing my blissful belly as Granny had been speaking. I was caught up in the scene before me and not paying much attention to what she said. But quickly, I was jolted back to the battlefield that lay before me. I began running our previous conversation back through my head.
Granny: "You look good."
Translation: I see you've been performing your wifely duties.
Granny: "You look like you've been eating well."
Translation: Don't get too fat. You'll just have to lose all of that baby weight again, and we know how long it took you last time.
Granny: "And I see you're still out and about."
Translation: Don't you think you should be in confinement? You are after all, with child.
Granny: "Is the baby giving you much trouble?"
Translation: That poor child you're carryin' has to be miserable what with all the weight you've gained and you out gallavantin' about the countryside.
Granny: "Hrphmph."
Translation: I don't approve of this one bit.
Granny: "Don't you think you need to be in maternity clothing?"
Translation: You're in the family way. You should be wearing the appropriate tent like clothing, complete with Peter Pan collars.
Granny: "Hrphmph."
Translation: I really don't approve of this one bit. This is worse than I thought.
How had I missed it? I was a sitting duck. No, I was a sitting, pregnant duck with a giant bulls eye painted on my ever expanding belly. This was not going to be pretty. This lady was known for taking no prisoners. She left them in a pile of ashes and bones that had once been their self-esteem, strewn across the living room sofa.
It was time to hunker down. Firing back would have been in poor taste, after all, she was ninety. And her guilt game was far superior to even her war games. I would have to move quickly and carefully. I explained that not only what I was wearing was in fact, maternity clothing, but that it had been passed on to me from my younger sister. Ouch, sorry for throwing you under the bus like that dearest sister, but you know how the old bird operates. It's every man for himself.
I should have stopped there but I couldn't. My tongue marched on with prhases like, "this is how it's done these days" and "all the cool kids are doing it". She just sat there in silence with her left hand in a sort of fist under her chin and index finger covering her mouth. And just like that she had conquered victorious. With the entrance of my aunt and son her demeanor once again changed back into that of a jolly great-grandparent. I sat there on the living room sofa a shell of the once confident mommy to be.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
Trying Two
My dear, sweet, and strong-willed son, Firstborn, is not quite two. He won't be two until May, but has already decided to fully embrace the "terrible two's", a phrase I dislike greatly. It's a misleading phrase. Maybe a more appropriately alliterated phrase should have been the "trying two's". Because that's what it truly is. Firstborn is trying many things, not just my patience, but that's the one that comes to mind when I say, "trying two's".
Not only is he trying to learn who he is, but where he stands in this family. And that is going to be somewhat unsettling I'm afraid, once Secondborn arrives in July. He's trying out boundaries, of the physical and parental department. Three weeks ago he attempted ice skating in our narrow kitchen with each foot in a separate frying pan. Needless to say, he didn't stick that particular landing. He did, however, nail the one yesterday as he walked on the couch up and down its length until falling and cracking his head on the wooden armrest. I don't know about crossing his T's, but he certainly dotted his eye.
Firstborn is learning at an amazingly rapid pace that never ceases to amaze me. It's evident that he will be much smarter than I am. Maybe it was the fish oil pills I took the last half of the pregnancy to increase his brain growth and development. I'd like to think that us teaching him sign language starting at five months had a hand in it too. Most likely it's that he takes after his Daddy who I'm in awe of. Whatever the case may be, I'm both terrified and proud of my son's problem solving capabilities.
Recently we've had to replace the original covers on our electrical outlets. He had learned to pull the safety plugs out. The new ones require a steady and strong hand in sliding the plate over to its opening. We're taking bets on how long it takes him to figure this one out. Two weeks ago he learned how to unscrew lightbulbs. Two days ago he shorted out my nightstand lamp trying to figure out how it works. His favorite tool in the house for some time now has been an ever handy pair of kitchen tongs. He uses them to reach anything that's out of his reach.
Do you see where I'm going? Do we enroll him in some sort of Montessori Electrical Engineering program or duct tape him to his high chair? I've always loved working with children whether it be in daycare settings or one-on-one. I highly encourage thinking outside of the box. I believe a child should be independant and confident. I can't sit beside him and watch his every move. Not only would it wreck his self esteem but my house would be a wreck as well, what with all the neglect.
Every day is presenting new challanges and obsticles for both, Firstborn and myself. I want him to keep trying new things and seeing how they work. I also want a clean house (prefereably with all my electrical appliances working within the proper safety codes). But the question is, do I want these at the risk of raising a child who doesn't know how to think for himself void of any personality? No. As long as my child is safe, well fed, and fully aware of just how much he's loved, then I'm doing my job. As the older woman in my ladies group told me a few weeks ago, "Hon, your job is to give that child all the lovin' you got, and to keep him from breakin' his fool little neck...cause it's the only one that the good Lord gave him! The house can wait, but that boy will be gone in the blink of an eye." Amen.
So, for those who think I'm crazy because I let my son finger paint with chocolate pudding in the bathtub and play with Quaker Oats as he plows them into my living room carpet with his tractors I say this: I'm not crazy (err, that crazy), I'm just letting my son be the best "trying two" he can be.
Not only is he trying to learn who he is, but where he stands in this family. And that is going to be somewhat unsettling I'm afraid, once Secondborn arrives in July. He's trying out boundaries, of the physical and parental department. Three weeks ago he attempted ice skating in our narrow kitchen with each foot in a separate frying pan. Needless to say, he didn't stick that particular landing. He did, however, nail the one yesterday as he walked on the couch up and down its length until falling and cracking his head on the wooden armrest. I don't know about crossing his T's, but he certainly dotted his eye.
Firstborn is learning at an amazingly rapid pace that never ceases to amaze me. It's evident that he will be much smarter than I am. Maybe it was the fish oil pills I took the last half of the pregnancy to increase his brain growth and development. I'd like to think that us teaching him sign language starting at five months had a hand in it too. Most likely it's that he takes after his Daddy who I'm in awe of. Whatever the case may be, I'm both terrified and proud of my son's problem solving capabilities.
Recently we've had to replace the original covers on our electrical outlets. He had learned to pull the safety plugs out. The new ones require a steady and strong hand in sliding the plate over to its opening. We're taking bets on how long it takes him to figure this one out. Two weeks ago he learned how to unscrew lightbulbs. Two days ago he shorted out my nightstand lamp trying to figure out how it works. His favorite tool in the house for some time now has been an ever handy pair of kitchen tongs. He uses them to reach anything that's out of his reach.
Do you see where I'm going? Do we enroll him in some sort of Montessori Electrical Engineering program or duct tape him to his high chair? I've always loved working with children whether it be in daycare settings or one-on-one. I highly encourage thinking outside of the box. I believe a child should be independant and confident. I can't sit beside him and watch his every move. Not only would it wreck his self esteem but my house would be a wreck as well, what with all the neglect.
Every day is presenting new challanges and obsticles for both, Firstborn and myself. I want him to keep trying new things and seeing how they work. I also want a clean house (prefereably with all my electrical appliances working within the proper safety codes). But the question is, do I want these at the risk of raising a child who doesn't know how to think for himself void of any personality? No. As long as my child is safe, well fed, and fully aware of just how much he's loved, then I'm doing my job. As the older woman in my ladies group told me a few weeks ago, "Hon, your job is to give that child all the lovin' you got, and to keep him from breakin' his fool little neck...cause it's the only one that the good Lord gave him! The house can wait, but that boy will be gone in the blink of an eye." Amen.
So, for those who think I'm crazy because I let my son finger paint with chocolate pudding in the bathtub and play with Quaker Oats as he plows them into my living room carpet with his tractors I say this: I'm not crazy (err, that crazy), I'm just letting my son be the best "trying two" he can be.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
A Farewell To Buttons and Zippers
When I was pregnant with Firstborn I could hardly wait to get into maternity clothing. I'm not exactly sure what excited me most about wearing elastic band pants. Maybe it was the prospect of hitting up any number of all you can buffets. Maybe it was the ease in which I could now pull my pants down as I was running for the potty for the umpteenth time that day. Or maybe it was simply that I was ecstatic to have this wonderfully created tiny being inside of me. Whatever the case may be I jumped into maternity clothing much sooner than I should have.
This time around, however, I've tried putting off "the great switch" as long as possible. Well, dearly devoted, that time has come. Farewell buttons and zippers. Till we meet again.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Plunged Into The Icy Depths
I love my husband. He is a wonderfully thoughtful man with a huge reserve of patience. Let's face it, any man who is willing to commit his love and life to that of a stubborn, feisty, and often times erratic redhead is going to need HUGE reserves of patience. Having said that, it is time I tell you, my dearly devoted, of the grievous error he committed not once, but twice within a four day span.
The aforementioned grievous error took place the last week in December in the early morning hours. Some of you may know of my struggle to fall asleep. Since childhood I've had great trouble in getting to sleep. The older I become the more difficult it is. In recent years my doctor has prescribed Ambian, Ambian CR, and Lunesta to get me where I want to go. They've proven themselves to be everything they advertise on television. The problem is now that I'm pregnant I'm not allowed to partake in these aides. So once again I toss and turn for nearly two hours every night until I fall asleep. Now that I've given you the necessary background let me once more take you back to those chilly, early hours in the last week of December.
I was deep asleep and had only roused three times so far that night to relieve my bladder as pregnant women often do. I've learned not to drink anything after 7:00 including my night time ritual tea or else I'm up every hour performing this necessity. Still, it is normal for me to make my way to the bathroom, eyes shut, at least four to five times a night. I walk to the bathroom, eyes shut, in attempts to avoid waking myself to where I once more have trouble falling asleep. I even go so far as to keep the bathroom light off as well. I know the path by heart and more than once I'm sure that I've actually dozed for a few minutes while sitting in the upright position waiting to pee.
On this fateful night I was making my way, eyes shut, to the bathroom, completely dark, for the fourth time. It was on this fourth trip that I was plunged into the icy depths. With great force my hiney hit the bottom of our toilet bowl. Hubby had forgotten to put the lid down on the toilet. Not only was I cold and wet, but I was pissed - literally, physically, emotionally- anyway one could be. I can count on both hands the number of times my husband has left the lid up in the time that we've known one another. I tried to take this into consideration since he'd always been so attentive to it in the past, but taking anything into consideration in the middle of the night when your bum-bum is not only soaking wet and frigid, but slightly bruised from the force of the fall is difficult. After gathering my composure, hiney, and dignity from the bottom of the bowl I made my way back into our bedroom, eyes wide open. I recounted my ordeal in the calmest manner I could muster with a plea to always put the lid down. Hubby apologised and by the tone of his voice I could tell that he truelly was sorry. Hoping I could reclaim my night's sleep I rolled over and closed my eyes.
Two more nights passed by with no incidents. I would fight to find sleep, feel the need to relieve my bladder four or five times a night, and then go back to a warm and snuggly bed. The fourth night is a much different story, however. As you can already guess, yes, Hubby forgot to put the lid back down. Once more in the chilly, early hours of a December morning I was making my way, eyes shut, to the bathroom, completely dark. Once more I was plunged into the icy depths of our toilet with great force. You've got to be kidding me! What had happened to my once wonderfully thoughtful and patient husband? Did he not like my cooking over the past week? Had I been snoring too loudly? Was he seeing someone else and trying to find a way to "off" me, no matter how silly the cause of death might be? What was he thinking? Then it occured to me. He wasn't thinking. He was tired and simply not thinking. I don't know about you, but that reason made me angrier than any other reason he could offer. Not thinking? About his pregnant wife? If there is anything he should have learned from our previous pregnancy experience it's that he should always be thinking about his pregnant wife! I stomped back into our bedroom, eyes wide open and began my angry rant. My poor, sweet, and very tired husband felt horrible . And if I hadn't been so mad, then I might very well have felt sorry for him. But after all, it wasn't his hiney I had been toweling off just minutes before.
I'm not sure I ever got back to sleep that night. I fumed and fidgited in bed for what seemed an enternity. I must have made quite an impression upon Hubby because he has yet to leave the lid up again. God bless him. He's such a good egg.
The aforementioned grievous error took place the last week in December in the early morning hours. Some of you may know of my struggle to fall asleep. Since childhood I've had great trouble in getting to sleep. The older I become the more difficult it is. In recent years my doctor has prescribed Ambian, Ambian CR, and Lunesta to get me where I want to go. They've proven themselves to be everything they advertise on television. The problem is now that I'm pregnant I'm not allowed to partake in these aides. So once again I toss and turn for nearly two hours every night until I fall asleep. Now that I've given you the necessary background let me once more take you back to those chilly, early hours in the last week of December.
I was deep asleep and had only roused three times so far that night to relieve my bladder as pregnant women often do. I've learned not to drink anything after 7:00 including my night time ritual tea or else I'm up every hour performing this necessity. Still, it is normal for me to make my way to the bathroom, eyes shut, at least four to five times a night. I walk to the bathroom, eyes shut, in attempts to avoid waking myself to where I once more have trouble falling asleep. I even go so far as to keep the bathroom light off as well. I know the path by heart and more than once I'm sure that I've actually dozed for a few minutes while sitting in the upright position waiting to pee.
On this fateful night I was making my way, eyes shut, to the bathroom, completely dark, for the fourth time. It was on this fourth trip that I was plunged into the icy depths. With great force my hiney hit the bottom of our toilet bowl. Hubby had forgotten to put the lid down on the toilet. Not only was I cold and wet, but I was pissed - literally, physically, emotionally- anyway one could be. I can count on both hands the number of times my husband has left the lid up in the time that we've known one another. I tried to take this into consideration since he'd always been so attentive to it in the past, but taking anything into consideration in the middle of the night when your bum-bum is not only soaking wet and frigid, but slightly bruised from the force of the fall is difficult. After gathering my composure, hiney, and dignity from the bottom of the bowl I made my way back into our bedroom, eyes wide open. I recounted my ordeal in the calmest manner I could muster with a plea to always put the lid down. Hubby apologised and by the tone of his voice I could tell that he truelly was sorry. Hoping I could reclaim my night's sleep I rolled over and closed my eyes.
Two more nights passed by with no incidents. I would fight to find sleep, feel the need to relieve my bladder four or five times a night, and then go back to a warm and snuggly bed. The fourth night is a much different story, however. As you can already guess, yes, Hubby forgot to put the lid back down. Once more in the chilly, early hours of a December morning I was making my way, eyes shut, to the bathroom, completely dark. Once more I was plunged into the icy depths of our toilet with great force. You've got to be kidding me! What had happened to my once wonderfully thoughtful and patient husband? Did he not like my cooking over the past week? Had I been snoring too loudly? Was he seeing someone else and trying to find a way to "off" me, no matter how silly the cause of death might be? What was he thinking? Then it occured to me. He wasn't thinking. He was tired and simply not thinking. I don't know about you, but that reason made me angrier than any other reason he could offer. Not thinking? About his pregnant wife? If there is anything he should have learned from our previous pregnancy experience it's that he should always be thinking about his pregnant wife! I stomped back into our bedroom, eyes wide open and began my angry rant. My poor, sweet, and very tired husband felt horrible . And if I hadn't been so mad, then I might very well have felt sorry for him. But after all, it wasn't his hiney I had been toweling off just minutes before.
I'm not sure I ever got back to sleep that night. I fumed and fidgited in bed for what seemed an enternity. I must have made quite an impression upon Hubby because he has yet to leave the lid up again. God bless him. He's such a good egg.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Shame And A Sick Tummy
Shame and a sick tummy are all that I am left with at this point. I made the mistake of buying stocking stuffer sweets for Hubby and Firstborn over a week ago. Mini reece's cups and chocolate Santas have been calling my name from the bottom of my closet ever since. I thought I was showing considerable self control by only indulging one or two here and there. Obviously, I was only fooling myself. I realized this yesterday as I was adding more non-food goodies to the bag of stocking stuffers that almost all of the candy was gone.
I have two options for blame. I can accept sole responsibility as it's a widely known fact that pregnant women cannot be trusted wherever chocolate and peanut butter is of concern. Or I can try and lay blame on my husband who was alone in our house for the past five days. I'm not sure which path I'll take. I'll figure that our later. Right now I have to run out and buy more candy and some Tums.
I have two options for blame. I can accept sole responsibility as it's a widely known fact that pregnant women cannot be trusted wherever chocolate and peanut butter is of concern. Or I can try and lay blame on my husband who was alone in our house for the past five days. I'm not sure which path I'll take. I'll figure that our later. Right now I have to run out and buy more candy and some Tums.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Excuses, Excuses
It's been brought to my attention by several of my "dearly devoted" readers that I've been neglecting my duties in maintaining this blog. For that I apologize, but I have excellent excuses. Wanna hear 'em?
I'm pregnant. Maybe I should have punctuated that with an exclamation mark but I'm afraid to use my allotment. When I was in college Dr. Cross told us that at birth we are each given three exclamation points to be used throughout the course of our lifetime. We should use great care in when we make use of them. Yes, I know he was being dramatic about the overuse of this punctuation but it made quite the impression on me and I always think of it. I digress.
I'm almost nine weeks along. The morning sickness seems to have diminished greatly and I'm beginning to get some of my energy back. Those of you who know me personally know that I'm not a person who sits still often. I'm wound a bit more tightly than most people it seems. I enjoy keeping busy. So when I was spending most of the day lying as still as I possibly could on the couch watching Firstborn try to get me to play with him it made me feel all that much worse. It's not his fault that mommy and daddy wanted a fourth family member. It's not his fault that mommy was ready to yurp at any given moment. It certainly wasn't his fault that mommy didn't want to fix his favorite foods because she couldn't stand the smell of food. It was hard not being able to do the mommy things I treasure doing for my son. I'm still not back to my normal self, but I'm closer. And I can work with that.
The other excuses I have to offer up are company for Thanksgiving and Firstborn sick for over a week. Hubby's parents came out to visit us from Arkansas. We had a wonderful visit with them. I know I could have found the time to post then, but I was still lying as still as could be on the couch most of the time.
The night before they left Firstborn woke up with a case of exploding diaper and a slight fever. By the next afternoon the fever was up to 102.6. That night it went even higher. I had him at our pediatrician's office for the first available appointment the next morning. It was declared that he had a virus and to continue treating as we already had been. That night the fever was up to 104. The fever continued on for several days and didn't appear to have any interest in returning to normal so I made another appointment. This time I asked for a strep throat culture. Diagnosis: Positive. Usually kids don't get this until they're about four years or older but Firstborn has never been what you would call your usual kid. He's been on antibiotics for several days now and seems to be in a much better mood. He's slept the past three nights all through the night and that has made me extremely happy.
I hope this explains and excuses my absence and I pledge to be more punctual in my posting in the future. I go for my first ultrasound tomorrow afternoon so I hope to be able to post a few scans for you. Please pray for good health and development of our little chick.
I'm pregnant. Maybe I should have punctuated that with an exclamation mark but I'm afraid to use my allotment. When I was in college Dr. Cross told us that at birth we are each given three exclamation points to be used throughout the course of our lifetime. We should use great care in when we make use of them. Yes, I know he was being dramatic about the overuse of this punctuation but it made quite the impression on me and I always think of it. I digress.
I'm almost nine weeks along. The morning sickness seems to have diminished greatly and I'm beginning to get some of my energy back. Those of you who know me personally know that I'm not a person who sits still often. I'm wound a bit more tightly than most people it seems. I enjoy keeping busy. So when I was spending most of the day lying as still as I possibly could on the couch watching Firstborn try to get me to play with him it made me feel all that much worse. It's not his fault that mommy and daddy wanted a fourth family member. It's not his fault that mommy was ready to yurp at any given moment. It certainly wasn't his fault that mommy didn't want to fix his favorite foods because she couldn't stand the smell of food. It was hard not being able to do the mommy things I treasure doing for my son. I'm still not back to my normal self, but I'm closer. And I can work with that.
The other excuses I have to offer up are company for Thanksgiving and Firstborn sick for over a week. Hubby's parents came out to visit us from Arkansas. We had a wonderful visit with them. I know I could have found the time to post then, but I was still lying as still as could be on the couch most of the time.
The night before they left Firstborn woke up with a case of exploding diaper and a slight fever. By the next afternoon the fever was up to 102.6. That night it went even higher. I had him at our pediatrician's office for the first available appointment the next morning. It was declared that he had a virus and to continue treating as we already had been. That night the fever was up to 104. The fever continued on for several days and didn't appear to have any interest in returning to normal so I made another appointment. This time I asked for a strep throat culture. Diagnosis: Positive. Usually kids don't get this until they're about four years or older but Firstborn has never been what you would call your usual kid. He's been on antibiotics for several days now and seems to be in a much better mood. He's slept the past three nights all through the night and that has made me extremely happy.
I hope this explains and excuses my absence and I pledge to be more punctual in my posting in the future. I go for my first ultrasound tomorrow afternoon so I hope to be able to post a few scans for you. Please pray for good health and development of our little chick.
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