Tag Archives: parenting

The Ballad of Penny Joanna

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83 phone calls.

That’s how many times I dialed Chicago’s Galter Life Center to try to register Posey for their Aquababies swimming program.  Think that sounds nuts?  I forgot to mention that I set my alarm for 4:50 a.m., as the registration began at 5. I thought it was going to be overkill.  Instead, I quickly found out I should have had six phones to dial simultaneously.  Apparently, these are the only indoor lessons that take infants as young as six months, so classes fill up quickly.  Finally, on the 84th dial, I got through, and it felt like I won the lottery.  “Let me guess!” a chipper voice sang on the other end. “You’ve got an AQUABABY!”

Well, now I do.

My kid loves the water.  You’ve never seen happiness until you’ve seen Posey splash around in her bath tub.  So now it’s official–  I’m one of those parents who goes to insane lengths for their kids.  Or in my case, my baby.  It’s still sinking in:  I got up before 5 A.M. to make 84 PHONE CALLS to score SWIMMING LESSONS for a BABY who WON’T REMEMBER THEM and probably will still NOT KNOW HOW TO SWIM when they’re over.

And it felt awesome.

In 1984, I wanted a Cabbage Patch Kid.  So did every other kid in America.  Unfortunately for my Mom and Dad, there was no internet yet.  No pre-orders, no eBay, just empty shelves in every toy store across the nation.

Shortly before Christmas, my parents got a tip from a local store (which sadly, went out of business years and years ago) that a secret shipment was coming in.  They literally had to meet an employee at a back door to get the doll– which was disguised in brown paper wrapping.

And Christmas morning, I met Penny Joanna, a Cabbage Patch Preemie, her weird little tuft of yarn hair all yellow and fluffy. She was hidden, Red Ryder BB Gun-Style, behind a chair in the living room.  The Grand Finale.  I still remember how she smelled and the crinkly sound that the box’s plastic window made.

Swimming lessons start August 23rd, my birthday.  I can’t wait.

She must be really, really thirsty.

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TMZ posted this photo of Uma Thurman out getting juice ONE DAY after giving birth:

How is she even out of the hospital already? The day after I gave birth, Beef picked us up a pizza from Gino’s East, and we ate it IN THE HOSPITAL.  Like normal people.

Posey’s first outing was a walk to Starbuck’s when she was over three weeks old.

When was the first time you took your new bundle out and about? Do you think one day old is too young?

Just the Facts, Ma’am.

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It’s a fact.  All women are caught off guard and deeply offended the first time they are called “ma’am” by a stranger.  I don’t remember WHO said it to me first, but I do remember scolding them and strongly suggesting they slow their roll to “Miss.”  After all, the title Ma’am suggests bags under your eyes, flaps under your arms, and, more than likely, capri cargo pants and a pair of Naturalizers.

So it struck me today when, after paying at Whole Foods, the cashier said, “Have a good day, ma’am,” I balked– and then sighed.

Today is the first time I deserved the Ma’am.

My mother-in-law recently broke down the key factors of any episode of Judge Judy for me, and she explained that Judy doesn’t tolerate any “I thoughts” or editorializing.  She just wants to hear the facts. So let’s examine them:

FACT: I was a good ten to twelve years older than the cashier.

FACT: I had a baby with me.

FACT: I was buying radishes.

FACT: My wallet was brimming with old lady things, like Costco, Petco and any other place that ends in “-co” membership cards.

FACT: Every single item of clothing I was wearing was purchased a place called “Insert Mall Store Name Here”  Outlet.

Did he draw the right conclusion? Yes, ma’am.

I Guess That’s Why I Blog

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I buckled her into her car seat and leaned over to give the straps a yank-test. She grabbed my finger, looked up at me, and smiled.  “Isn’t it a shame,” I said to her out loud, “that years from now, neither one of us will remember this moment?”

She didn’t answer, but when I saw her eyes of love beaming at me, I didn’t care.

 

 

Don’t Steal My Idea (C in a circle)

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There have been many times in the last 8 months when it’s been suggested to me that I join a Mom’s Group.  I feel like whenever I spend time with another woman who also has a kid, well, that makes us two moms, which essentially qualifies us as a Mom’s Group, so I don’t need to join one.  While I do think that becoming a parent instantly allows you to have an opinion on whether or not to use dryer sheets, I do not think that just because someone else is a mom that we will be best friends forever.

But I also think the opposite of that.

I live on a historic boulevard lined with gorgeous graystones, trees, flowers, and a well-manicured green parkway running right down the middle.  When I take Posey for walks, I’m just one guppy pushing a minnow along– in a sea of BOBs, Bugaboos and Phil & Ted’si.   We’re all just hamster-wheeling around the same one-mile loop.  It sort of makes me sad that there are these dozens of women, all alone, lost in their own baby’s routine, walking lap after lap in a circle, when we could be connecting.  Then I remember my mantra and tell myself I’d probably have nothing in common with any of them, anyway.

And then I saw her.

She had a Snap ‘n Go.  The baby was probably pretty little, because the telltale gauzy swaddle blankets were elaborately draped over the car seat– the way only a brand new mom does.  But I wasn’t looking at the baby. I was looking in the underneath compartment.  There, just hanging out, was a little pooch.  Happy as a clam.  And I knew the woman who had a pet riding in the under-sidecar was someone I wanted to know better.   She had headphones on and only took them out for a second to politely acknowledge my squeal of delight.  You see, my beloved cat, Phillip, loves sitting underneath in the same spot, but as he’s an indoor fellow, I’ve never taken him outside.  He’s not allowed. In my head, I’ve developed some very elaborate netting plans that would enclose the enclave, so we could family-stroll, but it hasn’t happened yet.

Since this first sighting, I haven’t seen the mom/baby/pooch caravan again. But I think of them every day.  And I also think about this:

  • They make baby strollers.
  • They make double baby strollers.
  • They make pet strollers.

WHY DON’T THEY MAKE A BABY/PET COMBO STROLLER?

I think it’s the one material object that could make my life complete.

Fly, Little Birdy

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Yesterday, my favorite partner in crime and I took our under-ones to the Kohl’s Children Museum in Glenview, IL.  Turns out, every other parent in a 50-mile radius had the same idea.  The weather?  Pouring.  The parking lot?  Full.   And the line– it was a scene out of sitcom.  One in, one out.  A velvet rope.  Insert Diddy joke here.

Once we got inside, it was pretty awesome.  TAKE YOUR KID HERE.  Sure, Posey was too little for the tiny grocery store, vet, or baby hospital, the mini-library or and even the tot-sized Potbelly (complete with toy sammies).  But inside the cushiony confines of the infant areas, a miracle occurred.  There, on maybe a 10-inch high baby ballet barre, in front of a shatter-free mirror, my 3 lb., 3 oz. helpless lump HELD HERSELF UP AND STOOD.  By herself.  Sure, in the :01 I looked away to grab my camera* she fell forward and smacked face against the barre, resulting in a puffy goose egg a few minutes later, but she did it.  And laughed and smiled like a goon in the mirror the whole time.

And I would have never even given her the chance.

It was my friend who wound her up and let her rip while I struggled with the museum-mandated protective booties on the other side of the partition.  I expect so little of her, because she’s a preemie, because she has no teeth, because she’s little, but mostly–  because she’s my baby.  But she’s ready to do so much more, even if I’m not.

Today, I took her to the gym and forced myself to let her be in daycare for twenty-eight minutes (the “fat burn” cycle).  You’d better believe I cried the whole drive there and that I was glued to the nanny-cam channel the entire workout.  It was the first time someone that is not a blood relative of ours watched her, even if I was still technically “watching.”  She did great.

And so did I.

*Still got this one:

I Mind the Gap

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When I quit my job last fall, the main reason was to be a stay-at-home-mom.  But the other reason was to have sort of gap year, I guess I’d call it.  If I were 18 and British.  I wanted to have the time and energy to do and try all the things I’d been talking about for years.  As my old job was quite demanding, I had very little of myself left at the end of each day to devote to other, more personal creative projects.  Like this blog.

You may have noticed I’ve slowed down with the posts. It’s not because I ran out of things to say or I’m bored. Quite the contrary. I’ve been working for several hours a day on material for some writing program applications. I won’t go too into it because:

  • I don’t want to jinx it.
  • Nothing will probably come of it.
  • As someone said to me at a party last weekend, I might be afraid to succeed.

But today marks a big milestone.  Not for Posey, but for me.  I finished the applications, and I sent them in. Cheers to me.  Now what?

I think I may have been devoting so much time on this one thing to avoid another thing. I need to start looking for a job soon. Maybe.

When is the right time to go back to work? I’ve had so many interesting conversations about this topic lately…

Stay tuned.  We’ll be right back.

 

4 Things I Am Not OK With

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I am kind of paranoid.  And due to said paranoia, I was pretty certain I was doomed to be an over-protective parent. It’s how I was raised (don’t deny it, Mom & Dad), and I reckoned it was encoded in my genetic makeup. And when she came out a preemie? I expected myself to have 8,000 items in my cart at http://www.plasticbabybubble.com.

This week, Posey will be 8 months old. I’m happy to report that I’m not as cuckoo as I expected myself to be.  Wanna hold her? Sure! Dirty hands? That’s cool– it builds up her immunity.  Nap time is lax– it happens every day, but not at the same exact time– and nothing is baby-proofed yet. However, there are a few things on my list that have recently floated to the top of my motherhood ocean, and I cannot skim them off.

They are:

Dogs

When I push the stroller past a dog on the street, my whole body tenses.  I am sure the leash will snap when that pit bull mistakes Posey for a Cornish game hen.  Today, we went to a barbecue, and the host’s giant pooch came a-sniffin’.  Beef didn’t react, so I decided to take his lead and not freak out.  Then the dog stuck its schnoz in the Pose’s face… and licked her.  She smiled. I did not. Later, Beef told me he didn’t jump because he didn’t want to scare the dog, but he was pretty sure our baby was gonna get dingo-ed.             So dogs = baby eaters.  This is a proven fact. Horrifying.

Slings

At this same barbecue, some friends were toting their infant in a fabric sling. The baby was so happy. She was sound asleep, curled up in fetal position– which is the first time I’ve ever used that phrase about someone who was recently an actual fetus.  It was so Mother Earthy. My baby, on the other hand, was sweaty and mad, strapped in her heavy-ass car seat that’s giving me forearm wrinkles from the increasing weight.  I was so jealous of the sling. But I have to stick to my guns. Slings = Baby Suffocators.  Also a proven fact.

The Sun

Huge sun hat, gobs of baby sunscreen.  Her skin is so perfect– how would I ever forgive myself for ruining it? All winter, I looked forward to taking her to the pool. She might have to wear a swimming snow-suit. For the coverage.

Nuts

I am nutty about nuts. Beef is, too. We also eat a lot of granola bars. I can’t tell you how many times one of us has eaten a peanut butter granola bar, smooched the baby, freaked out, and ran to wash her face. At least I’m not alone in this behavior, because it’s pretty specific.

What weird is that last week, we were both totally okay with her putting a pacifier in her mouth that had fallen on the floor of a church. You know, the kind that’s never had its floor washed ever since being built in literally 1899.

113 Year Old Dirt = Puts Hair On Your Chest.

To Market, To Market

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Is it ever the “right time” to start a family?  And how do you know when that time is?

When Beef and I decided we wanted a baby, part of our motivation was the fact that stuff wasn’t as fun as it used to be.  It felt like a lot of places/holidays/activities would become magical again if only we could experience them through the eyes of a child.

Of course, I wanted to be a mom for all the “right reasons.”  But I also wanted to be one of those women rolling a stroller down the street with big sunglasses and an even bigger coffee.  I just wanted that.

Today, I lived one of the moments I’d dreamed of. The farmers market.  Read about it here on the HuffPost.