March 24, 2008
I don’t think that it used to be this way.
Don’t ge me wrong. I’m happy to live in 2008. It’s an imperfect world, but I do believe that it’s a better, more just place than it was a decade earlier. And I’m optimistic for 2018, too.
But what bedevils me about modern living is something in our attitude towards parenting. Chiefly, this: our standards for good parenting are sky high, and our expectation is that parents will manage these feats without any (visible) outside assistance.
March 22, 2008
Why is it that pregnancy sites describe the size of your fetus in relation to food stuffs? A kidney bean, a small kumquat, a fig.
Let’s be honest - I’m not positive I could identify a fig if it were in my refrigerator. And while I have a sense that a kumquat is a small citrus fruit, I’d have no clue if the kumquat in question were of the extra large or petite variety.
Maybe it is because it’s still unbelievable that there’s a creature growing within. It’s almost possible to imagine that I’ve accidentally swallowed whole some random exotic bit of produce. But that’s not what’s happened. There’s a life inside me - a life that demands, tonight, mashed potatoes and Smartfood.
Eleven weeks. 208 days to go. And, God willing, I’ll have a whole new person in my arms.
Until then, I’m left to marvel at what type of nutrient the child will be compared to next week.
March 19, 2008
My husband usually has an intense but compact work day, one that delivers him home around seven. This is late enough to be annoying - the 3 y.o. can’t wait that long for dinner and neither can I - but early enough to be helpful - Daddy handles bedtime many a night.
Then there are the crazy days, the ones that end with the car service delivering him home after midnight. While I don’t get a break on those nights, it’s not a hardship. One, they’re relatively rare; two, I use them as an excuse to blow off the routine and order pizza for dinner, so there’s something in it for me.
But the days that try my soul are those funny in-between ones, and unfortunately, once they start, they can go on for days, even weeks at a time.
That’s right. Last night, tonight and probably tomorrow night, too, Daddy will walk in the door at the Witching Hour - just as I’m trying to put the 3 y.o. to bed.
March 19, 2008
When I was pregnant with my firstborn, my husband’s aunt used to offer this advice constantly. It grated on my nerves. I do not, I would think, have any time to put my feet up. I am going to have a baby in just a few months, and between now and then, there is much to accomplish.
She would then suggest I have a cup of tea - a ritual that I do not enjoy - and add that I should “take it eazzzy,” her Eastern European accent exaggerating the “z” sound.
There is almost nothing that a pregnant woman wants less than advice, and yet, it is never in short supply.
March 18, 2008
My child has discovered the world of stuff, and he wants in.
It started last summer at the beach. We ventured into one of a million sundry shops to pick up suntan lotion, and he made a beeline for a large set of sand toys contained in a plastic truck.
“I want to buy this,” he told me.
“Do you have any money?” I asked, hoping to flummox him.
He looked up at me with all the seriousness that a 2.5 y.o. can muster. “Yeah. In my piggy bank.”
My husband burst into peals of laughter.
March 17, 2008
“You? You have a kid? How old are you, anyway?”
It’s not the world’s most polite question, but then, it’s being asked by our 22 y.o. intern, a bright and likable young woman who is staring at me as if I just announced that I kept poisonous spiders in my desk drawer, or took pole dancing classes in my spare time.
And the truth is, it’s flattering to hear that a recent college grad assumed for months that those pictures on my desk were snapshots of a cute nephew.
