Week 36…(*dun, dun, duuuun*)

We are in the home stretch.  My midwife comes over today with her assistant to do a game day wrap-up.  Plan where the tub will go.  Talk about where to put the 6 vinyl flannel-backed table cloths I was asked to buy (they are polka dotted, so that will add some needed levity to the proceedings, I think).  All that jazz.

I think Will and I are both in a little bit of denial.  I mean, we’ve dutifully done the big stuff.  The kid has a bed and a freshly painted room.  I got out the baby clothes. Bouncie seat is fully operational.  And I also realize how going overboard with preparation isn’t really useful.  I mean, I’m a walking [waddling] baby food maker, we own a washer and dryer, pizza is deliverable, and there is a Target 10 miles in each direction, so nothing is truly critical from a survival standpoint. But mentally, we need to so some meditation on the whole thing, I think.

Our coping strategies are different.  Mine involves lists, busy work, and occasional outbursts. Will’s involves living on an alternate plane of reality.  Me: “Susie (our midwife) is coming on Friday, remember? She’s bringing Cindy to go over last minute stuff.  You’ve got to be home from work AT five.  Ok?!”  Will: “Uh, yeah. That should be fine. *mumble* *doesn’t look up from computer*” Me: “Should be fine?! SHOULD be fine?!? We are having a baby, for the love of all that’s holy! In a matter of weeks, too, you know. I’m not having a guy over to do a rug cleaning estimate, Will. A BABY, WILL!!”  Will: (quiet but not blinking) “I will really, really be home at five.”  So I’m pretty sure he’ll be here.

But still, even for my hysterics, I am working on remembering to let myself get excited to meet this little person.  The due date can feel like the apocalypse (for me, anyways.  I recognize that many moms go straight to the happy.  But I have made peace with my slightly darker nature).  And things are about to get crazy.  But it’s a crazy to be cherished when possible, and one you grow a lot from even when cherishing isn’t available to you at that moment.  So, little tummy baby, I am stressed and I wish my house was cleaner and my cupboards organized.  I wish my dogs weren’t a nuisance and that your sister wasn’t going to wake you up constantly with her rap-remixes of Baa Baa Black Sheep.  It would be great if I knew how I was going to manage driving with an infant in the car, or how I will keep the family fed those first few months.  But all of that aside, welcome little one.  We love you to the moon and we’ll be ready when you are, I promise.


Transplant Shock

                                           Didn’t we almost have it all?

I have never grown a fruit or vegetable.  I have managed to keep a plant or two alive, but that’s the extent of my green thumb.  But now I’m a mom and a homeowner and I live in a climate with a generous growing season.  Now was the time to garden.

I started at the local organic garden shop where an earnest, young urban farmer gave me a little information and a lot of enthusiasm.  And he sold me one of those flats for growing seedlings indoors.  Look at me, I told myself, I am really something.  I don’t have a middle name, but if I did, bet it would be Gaia.  Then, several weeks later, I actually planted the seeds.  This was rather unceremonious and I was very dubious that anything would grow.  It just seemed unlikely that me plopping a few dried up bits into some loose dirt would yield life.  I didn’t want to doubt my seedlings, but I did.

But lo and behold, sprouts sprouted! I had icebox watermelon, spring lettuce, chard, sun flowers, and basil in my future.  And so I tended and loved my seedlings.  After they reached a hearty height, I planted them into my raised bed.  They looked glorious in all of their promise.  And so they have stayed, neither dying nor growing a millimeter.  Dormant or comatose for the past month.  Each and every one.

I looked it up online, and apparently seedlings can get transplant shock.  I can relate. I am just getting over my transplant shock myself.  But if these seedlings think that life was so much better in Germany, with it’s art, culture and public transportation, maybe someone should remind these seedlings that we were going broke in Germany.  And rarely saw friends or family.  And that I’d never have found a job.  Or that having a second kid would’ve been extremely challenging.  And, you know what, seedlings?  There is no Shangri-La! Life’s pretty good here.  So buck up.  And grow me a melon.  Perhaps I am projecting.  But I don’t think so. I really think these seedlings are kind of snobby and they wildly idealize the past.

I am going to go buy a watermelon now.

A two year old’s gems

“And then, mama….”

I used to keep some kind of track of Edie’s monthly development, noting what she was into, what she’d learned, and things like that.  Well, I haven’t done that for many-a month these days, but the nostalgia for my disappearing baby is growing with a new baby on the horizon.  Since talking is what defines her waking hours (where in the world did she get that?) I thought I’d commit to memory some of her latest comedic gems.

1. Cash for Pets.  Edie likes to baby-talk the dogs, especially the little one.  A couple weeks ago I overheard her saying the usual, but with a new twist: “Oh, Sugar. I yove you. Oh, gimme hugs and kisses, Sugar. Oh, Sugar. Do you want some money?” Erm.  Don’t give that dog our money, please.

2.  Ruminations on a Father.  Edie and I were in the car to go get her dad from the airport.  We hadn’t seen him in several days, so she was pondering him aloud.  “Dad is a good man.  He helps his friends. … He LOVES food.”  In a nutshell, she captured why we love that guy.

3.  Baby Sister is Watching.  Edie keeps track of all people in her sight line.  She routinely approaches strangers, points at their nearby faces, and asks me loudly, “What that guy doin’?”  Yesterday, we were at a grocery store, where she saw a woman, whom she mistook for a man, wearing a bandana on her head.  Edie: “What’s that dada got on his head?”  Me (not wanting to draw attention to her gender mis-attribution): “Umm, dunno… *mumble*”  Edie: “Aaaaaaaa PIRATE!!”

4.  Telling it like it is.  A few weeks ago we went to Denver to visit my sister and her family.  On morning we flew home, we stopped at a Starbucks for breakfast where Edie ate too fast (no thanks to me) and ultimately threw up. A lot. After a hurried change in the coffee shop bathroom, a subsequent mad dash not to miss our flight, we finally sat down in our seats where a nice older man shared our row.  “Hello, little one! How are you?” says the nice man.  E (dead pan):  “I vomited. At Starbucks. *pause* A coffee shop.” Me: “She’s right.  She did vomit at a Starbucks.”  Nice man: [returns to Sky Mall].