I'm not at all surprised at how you look... shouldn't something click, like "wow, I had no idea you would look like that?" Instead, you look familiar to me...
Your legs are so defined... It almost looked like there was some definition in your calf muscles, like you're going to come out -- ready to go running!
Even from the womb, you have a little personality. The ultrasound tech kept telling me, "Here she is, making a mad face," and "I think she is mad that we woke her up."
You hear everything. Grandpa Bruce came over and started talking to you, and you uncurled your whole body and tried to get to the noise. I guess I should watch my language in that 5 o'clock traffic.
My books say you weigh 2.8 pounds, and that your lungs need more time to develop. But I wish I could hold you now! Seeing this glimpse of you only makes me want to hold you that much more....
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
Someone else's words
Heard this song today and cried like a 2-year-old... Which made it hard to drive, because of the blurry eyes... If you need me, I'll be the lady with the huge bubble belly in the chocolate aisle....
My Daughter's Eyes
Martina McBride
In my daughter's eyes I am a hero
I am strong and wise and I know no fear
But the truth is plain to see
She was sent to rescue me
I see who I wanna be
In my daughter's eyes
In my daughter's eyes everyone is equal
Darkness turns to light and the world is at peace
This miracle God gave to me
gives me strength when I am weak
I find reason to believe In my daughter's eyes
And when she wraps her hand around my finger
Oh it puts a smile in my heart
Everything becomes a little clearer
I realize what life is all about
It's hangin' on when your heart has had enough
It's giving more when you feel like giving up
I've seen the light
It's in my daughter's eyes
In my daughter's eyes I can see the future
A reflection of who I am and what will be
Though she'll grow and someday leave
Maybe raise a family
When I'm gone I hope she'll see
how happy she made me
For I'll be there
In my daughter's eyes
My Daughter's Eyes
Martina McBride
In my daughter's eyes I am a hero
I am strong and wise and I know no fear
But the truth is plain to see
She was sent to rescue me
I see who I wanna be
In my daughter's eyes
In my daughter's eyes everyone is equal
Darkness turns to light and the world is at peace
This miracle God gave to me
gives me strength when I am weak
I find reason to believe In my daughter's eyes
And when she wraps her hand around my finger
Oh it puts a smile in my heart
Everything becomes a little clearer
I realize what life is all about
It's hangin' on when your heart has had enough
It's giving more when you feel like giving up
I've seen the light
It's in my daughter's eyes
In my daughter's eyes I can see the future
A reflection of who I am and what will be
Though she'll grow and someday leave
Maybe raise a family
When I'm gone I hope she'll see
how happy she made me
For I'll be there
In my daughter's eyes
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Clean House?
What kind of home is suitable for a child? And who determines this? And can I find them on google??
I read and write about those stories everyday where a home is considered "unfit" and kids are pulled from their parents. Usually there is some level of disarray, and dirt, and neglect. Nothing like my apartment, right?
I woke up today, and looked around my house, and was horrified. My kitchen trash was overflowing (because I dread trying to haul it down my stairs); I couldn't remember if my full dishwasher had clean or dirty dishes inside; a curling iron, straightener, crimper and set of hot rollers crowded my bathroom sink (at least a week's worth of hair-dos); my refridgerator held pickles, mustard, an apple and BBQ sauce (oh, and an expired tub of cream cheese).
Minus the Pack N' Play bursting at the seams with newborn diapers, tiny shoes and 100 onesies, it was an official batchelorette pad. A place where a very busy girl stopped in and out here and there to shower and sleep... Not a home. A very unsuitable place for my little girl.
Maybe it's because I am planning a move to something bigger (more space to mess up), or because in my mind, her birth is still just an obscure thought off in the distance... Or maybe I'm just not the homemaker type. Everyone says I should be "nesting" and it's true that I've gone through a few days of organization and windexing. But where are my "arts and crafts" instincts? When will my desire to make my random surroundings into a baby palace kick in??
I read and write about those stories everyday where a home is considered "unfit" and kids are pulled from their parents. Usually there is some level of disarray, and dirt, and neglect. Nothing like my apartment, right?
I woke up today, and looked around my house, and was horrified. My kitchen trash was overflowing (because I dread trying to haul it down my stairs); I couldn't remember if my full dishwasher had clean or dirty dishes inside; a curling iron, straightener, crimper and set of hot rollers crowded my bathroom sink (at least a week's worth of hair-dos); my refridgerator held pickles, mustard, an apple and BBQ sauce (oh, and an expired tub of cream cheese).
Minus the Pack N' Play bursting at the seams with newborn diapers, tiny shoes and 100 onesies, it was an official batchelorette pad. A place where a very busy girl stopped in and out here and there to shower and sleep... Not a home. A very unsuitable place for my little girl.
Maybe it's because I am planning a move to something bigger (more space to mess up), or because in my mind, her birth is still just an obscure thought off in the distance... Or maybe I'm just not the homemaker type. Everyone says I should be "nesting" and it's true that I've gone through a few days of organization and windexing. But where are my "arts and crafts" instincts? When will my desire to make my random surroundings into a baby palace kick in??
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Puppy Love = Baby Love?
Unless you've been living in a cave for six months, you probably know I'm going to be a mommy for the first time in May. If you work with me, you probably know all the gory details, and the drama, and the craziness -- but most of all, how excited I am despite all these things. If you read this blog, you know the looming questions I've been asking myself about my how my life will be affected by my little girl. Yes, impending mommy-hood has me a bit on edge one minute, and bursting with joy in the next. Damn (oops, mommy means "darn") hormones...
But just in the past week, I've realized something that has comforted me. I've kind of already been a mom for almost two years. No diaper changes, or breastfeeding, or tiny pairs of shoes -- but a mom just the same. My child? A 60-pound, 8-year-old Golden Retriever mix named Goldie.
Since the night I pulled her out of a shelter just outside Chicago and took her home with me, we have been a family. I have moved to three cities since then -- once all the way across the country -- and switched jobs, and moved in with a man, and watched the man move out, and lived with a girlfriend for a month, and lived with my grandpa for three months, and become pregnant. I've been a newswriter, a Blockbuster video girl, a waitress, an archivist, a web systems analyst, a nanny and a freelance writer. I've been blonde, and I've been brunette. I've become an aunt and been a bridesmaid. I starred in a musical and joined my college Alumni association.
In two years, I have been probably 100 different versions of myself, but Goldie has remained the one constant. Every morning, she whimpers and puts her wet nose on my arm until I roll out of bed, make a cup of coffee and take her for a walk. Then I give her a bowl of dry-wet dog food mix and a Milkbone when she eats all her breakfast. She sleeps while I go to work, and then it's time for another walk when I get home and again before bed. When she feels she isn't getting enough attention, she nudges me or sits on my computer keyboard until I pet her. Goldie knows when I'm sad, and positions herself right next to me during those times. She doesn't know where I go during the day, but she's content to have some peace and quiet time to herself. When I come home from Outback smelling like ranch dressing, blooming onions and steak, she knows I will have at least a bite of something yummy for her and she waits for it. She knows me better than anyone, and loves me no matter what.
While taking her for a walk this week, I stopped to talk to a neighbor. He petted Goldie and commented on what a well-behaved and happy dog she was. I could feel pride swelling up. That was my kid he was talking about, the one that I had been raising. And she wasn't feeling well a few days ago, and I found myself worried about her all day at work and breathing a huge sigh of relief when I got home to find her well and rested and feeling fine again. I watch her sleep, and track her bathroom habits (gross, I know) and give her vitamins to ease her arthritis. She is my baby -- someone totally dependent on me who I feel I take very good care of.
And I know my daughter will be 1000 times more of a responsibility and there will be days when I doubt my mothering abilities. But I know I'm ready for the next step, as long as Goldie is by my side.
But just in the past week, I've realized something that has comforted me. I've kind of already been a mom for almost two years. No diaper changes, or breastfeeding, or tiny pairs of shoes -- but a mom just the same. My child? A 60-pound, 8-year-old Golden Retriever mix named Goldie.
Since the night I pulled her out of a shelter just outside Chicago and took her home with me, we have been a family. I have moved to three cities since then -- once all the way across the country -- and switched jobs, and moved in with a man, and watched the man move out, and lived with a girlfriend for a month, and lived with my grandpa for three months, and become pregnant. I've been a newswriter, a Blockbuster video girl, a waitress, an archivist, a web systems analyst, a nanny and a freelance writer. I've been blonde, and I've been brunette. I've become an aunt and been a bridesmaid. I starred in a musical and joined my college Alumni association.
In two years, I have been probably 100 different versions of myself, but Goldie has remained the one constant. Every morning, she whimpers and puts her wet nose on my arm until I roll out of bed, make a cup of coffee and take her for a walk. Then I give her a bowl of dry-wet dog food mix and a Milkbone when she eats all her breakfast. She sleeps while I go to work, and then it's time for another walk when I get home and again before bed. When she feels she isn't getting enough attention, she nudges me or sits on my computer keyboard until I pet her. Goldie knows when I'm sad, and positions herself right next to me during those times. She doesn't know where I go during the day, but she's content to have some peace and quiet time to herself. When I come home from Outback smelling like ranch dressing, blooming onions and steak, she knows I will have at least a bite of something yummy for her and she waits for it. She knows me better than anyone, and loves me no matter what.
While taking her for a walk this week, I stopped to talk to a neighbor. He petted Goldie and commented on what a well-behaved and happy dog she was. I could feel pride swelling up. That was my kid he was talking about, the one that I had been raising. And she wasn't feeling well a few days ago, and I found myself worried about her all day at work and breathing a huge sigh of relief when I got home to find her well and rested and feeling fine again. I watch her sleep, and track her bathroom habits (gross, I know) and give her vitamins to ease her arthritis. She is my baby -- someone totally dependent on me who I feel I take very good care of.
And I know my daughter will be 1000 times more of a responsibility and there will be days when I doubt my mothering abilities. But I know I'm ready for the next step, as long as Goldie is by my side.
Cubbie, You Will Be Missed
I want to take a few paragraphs and mention someone many of you probably never met... A man who I didn't know very well either, but who wore his heart on his sleeve, and his favorite team on his jacket.
Norman "Cubbie" Kaiser was at least 90 years old when he died over one week ago. He had lived through the Great Depression, several wars and 90-plus years of the Cubs not winning a world series. The Cubs were his favorite team. Even as he aged, he showed up at St. Joe's Hall everyday to drink some juice, say hi to his friends, and get everyone signed up for the next bus trip to Wrigley Field. In the summer, he wore a windbreaker jacket that drown his scrawny frame, but proudly displayed the infamous red and blue logo of his hometown team. Sometimes he wore a baseball cap. In the winter months, he wore red and blue t-shirts under his heavy coat covered with fresh snow.
He met me about 4 years ago when my 88 (then 84) year old Grandpa decided to buy me a drink, since I turned 21. Needless to say, after a few hours of driving around from the Moose Lodge, the American Legion and then to St. Joe's Hall, I was feeling tipsy. Actually, I was downright drunk, but he just kept ordering me cranberry and vodka cocktails -- telling every bartender that it was my birthday, and to "make it a good one". I was trying to hang in there, but it was only 10am. It was in this state that I met Cubbie.
I commented on his Cubs jacket, and started giving him my opinion on all the ways that Dusty Baker needed to improve the team. Surely this would be the year that they won a World Series, I told him, if Dusty would just take my advice. I thought I was making a good point, but in reality, I was probably ramblilng on and on and slurring my words. But Cubbie let me finish.
When I actually fell silent, my grandpa had given up on paying attention and struck up a conversation with the bartender. Cubbie just smiled and said, "Even if they never win another World Series, the Cubs are worth the trip every time." That was it. No opinion about the manager, or the players, or bitterness about the years that they could have, and should have, made it all the way but didn't. Just a satisfied grin for a team that he loved, who had never rewarded him with a World Series win for all his years of loyalty. It wasn't about winning to him. It was about a pure love for the game and a team steeped in history and superstition.
2008 will mark 100 years since the Cubs won their last World Series title. Since then, a goat has cursed Wrigley, a man named Bartman has been exiled from Chicago for catching a foul ball and thousands of fans have lost heart. And even though I'd love to see the Cubs bring home that trophy -- this year especially -- I can imagine Cubbie cheering them on, no matter what, from a bleacher seat in the great beyond, holding peanuts, cracker jack, a scorecard and an Oldstyle draft, root root rooting for the Cubbies.
Norman "Cubbie" Kaiser was at least 90 years old when he died over one week ago. He had lived through the Great Depression, several wars and 90-plus years of the Cubs not winning a world series. The Cubs were his favorite team. Even as he aged, he showed up at St. Joe's Hall everyday to drink some juice, say hi to his friends, and get everyone signed up for the next bus trip to Wrigley Field. In the summer, he wore a windbreaker jacket that drown his scrawny frame, but proudly displayed the infamous red and blue logo of his hometown team. Sometimes he wore a baseball cap. In the winter months, he wore red and blue t-shirts under his heavy coat covered with fresh snow.
He met me about 4 years ago when my 88 (then 84) year old Grandpa decided to buy me a drink, since I turned 21. Needless to say, after a few hours of driving around from the Moose Lodge, the American Legion and then to St. Joe's Hall, I was feeling tipsy. Actually, I was downright drunk, but he just kept ordering me cranberry and vodka cocktails -- telling every bartender that it was my birthday, and to "make it a good one". I was trying to hang in there, but it was only 10am. It was in this state that I met Cubbie.
I commented on his Cubs jacket, and started giving him my opinion on all the ways that Dusty Baker needed to improve the team. Surely this would be the year that they won a World Series, I told him, if Dusty would just take my advice. I thought I was making a good point, but in reality, I was probably ramblilng on and on and slurring my words. But Cubbie let me finish.
When I actually fell silent, my grandpa had given up on paying attention and struck up a conversation with the bartender. Cubbie just smiled and said, "Even if they never win another World Series, the Cubs are worth the trip every time." That was it. No opinion about the manager, or the players, or bitterness about the years that they could have, and should have, made it all the way but didn't. Just a satisfied grin for a team that he loved, who had never rewarded him with a World Series win for all his years of loyalty. It wasn't about winning to him. It was about a pure love for the game and a team steeped in history and superstition.
2008 will mark 100 years since the Cubs won their last World Series title. Since then, a goat has cursed Wrigley, a man named Bartman has been exiled from Chicago for catching a foul ball and thousands of fans have lost heart. And even though I'd love to see the Cubs bring home that trophy -- this year especially -- I can imagine Cubbie cheering them on, no matter what, from a bleacher seat in the great beyond, holding peanuts, cracker jack, a scorecard and an Oldstyle draft, root root rooting for the Cubbies.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Realistic Valentine's Day
If you are a hopeless romantic, this link might not be for you. A friend of mine here at the paper designed some e-cards for Valentine's Day with a slight twist... They are G-rated, and very funny! So open the link, click, and maybe send a few! He's hoping the more hits he gets, the more of these projects they will let him do...
http://www.orlandosentinel.com/features/lifestyle/orl-vcards-pg,0,3924417.photogallery
I have 3 blogs in my head!!! Just need a few minutes to get it all down in the next few days... Stay tuned!
http://www.orlandosentinel.com/features/lifestyle/orl-vcards-pg,0,3924417.photogallery
I have 3 blogs in my head!!! Just need a few minutes to get it all down in the next few days... Stay tuned!
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Tummy Time Article
Anyone with small children, or who knows someone with small children, should check out this article on the importance of tummy time.
http://www.orlandosentinel.com/features/health/orl-tummytime08feb05,0,6449269.story
http://www.orlandosentinel.com/features/health/orl-tummytime08feb05,0,6449269.story
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Home, Away from Home?
Pardon the narrative tone, I've been watching a lot of Grey's Anatomy on DVD since getting rid of cable...
When we are kids, we look at what our parents have and make one of two decisions: 1) we want the exact same life when we grow up or 2) we want something different (better?).
In the first scenario, we are comfortable with our surroundings. We like the life our parent(s) have established for us, and we want the same someday. People live healthy, happy lives following in mom or dad's footsteps.
The second choice involves a bit more of a balancing act. With change, comes instability. With success, comes some guilt. With distance from family members, comes a longing to have them near.
And as much as I want to say that I fall into the second category, there are days when I find myself living a life just like my parents.
Sure, now they live in the hometown where they met and fell in love in high school, but they traveled the country for 16 years of their young adult lives. It wasn't until they felt that their family was finally complete, and that their own parents needed a bit more attention, that they bought the big white house with black shutters and about 100 oak trees. It would take a few more years before they added the two car garage, and gave in to having two dogs, a deck and hardwood floors. As much as they wanted a life different, and maybe more exciting, than the one in which they grew up, home never left their hearts.
So people can pat me on the back, and say that it is so admirable that I moved all this way, and that now I am living alone (with Goldie, of course), and that in a few months I will taking on single motherhood so far from my family. They can make it sound like I am my own woman, with thoughts and dreams beyond what my parents envisioned.
But aren't I just doing exactly what my parents did? Aren't I just trying my best to meet people, and make friends, and challenge myself a little more each day? Yes, I love that the cashier at Target speaks to me in English, but speaks to the person behind me in Spanish (not so in MC). But I also miss warm June nights on the pier, when couples walk hand-in-hand not saying anything at all, and waves push gently against the cement. I love (can not stress this enough) that today was Feb 3, and I walked outside in a tank top and flip-flops and was neither hot nor cold. But somedays I wish I could see a yard covered in snow, and my Dad starting my car for me so the ice would melt before I had to leave for school. I like that there are any number of friends that I could call or see any time of the day here. But I miss my Mom.
The point is that whether our own childhood is one we want to remember or forget, there is a part of us that never lets it go. It either comforts us, or propels us to never revisit it again.
I want my daughter to dream bigger than I ever have, and go places I never will. But I also hope that my life is enough of an influence that someday she will look out her window in New York, or Paris, or Kalamazoo, and say "I miss my mom." Because I know I'll be missing her...
When we are kids, we look at what our parents have and make one of two decisions: 1) we want the exact same life when we grow up or 2) we want something different (better?).
In the first scenario, we are comfortable with our surroundings. We like the life our parent(s) have established for us, and we want the same someday. People live healthy, happy lives following in mom or dad's footsteps.
The second choice involves a bit more of a balancing act. With change, comes instability. With success, comes some guilt. With distance from family members, comes a longing to have them near.
And as much as I want to say that I fall into the second category, there are days when I find myself living a life just like my parents.
Sure, now they live in the hometown where they met and fell in love in high school, but they traveled the country for 16 years of their young adult lives. It wasn't until they felt that their family was finally complete, and that their own parents needed a bit more attention, that they bought the big white house with black shutters and about 100 oak trees. It would take a few more years before they added the two car garage, and gave in to having two dogs, a deck and hardwood floors. As much as they wanted a life different, and maybe more exciting, than the one in which they grew up, home never left their hearts.
So people can pat me on the back, and say that it is so admirable that I moved all this way, and that now I am living alone (with Goldie, of course), and that in a few months I will taking on single motherhood so far from my family. They can make it sound like I am my own woman, with thoughts and dreams beyond what my parents envisioned.
But aren't I just doing exactly what my parents did? Aren't I just trying my best to meet people, and make friends, and challenge myself a little more each day? Yes, I love that the cashier at Target speaks to me in English, but speaks to the person behind me in Spanish (not so in MC). But I also miss warm June nights on the pier, when couples walk hand-in-hand not saying anything at all, and waves push gently against the cement. I love (can not stress this enough) that today was Feb 3, and I walked outside in a tank top and flip-flops and was neither hot nor cold. But somedays I wish I could see a yard covered in snow, and my Dad starting my car for me so the ice would melt before I had to leave for school. I like that there are any number of friends that I could call or see any time of the day here. But I miss my Mom.
The point is that whether our own childhood is one we want to remember or forget, there is a part of us that never lets it go. It either comforts us, or propels us to never revisit it again.
I want my daughter to dream bigger than I ever have, and go places I never will. But I also hope that my life is enough of an influence that someday she will look out her window in New York, or Paris, or Kalamazoo, and say "I miss my mom." Because I know I'll be missing her...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
