Sep
2
I saw the baby doctor today. I intend to see the baby doctor two more times. The third time I see her, I will also see my daughter.
“If you don’t go into labor first,” the doctor said.
I made a fake scared face.
“You know,” she laughed, “about once a year, I have a patient with a history of c-sections go into labor and end up with a fast vaginal delivery.”
And then I made a real scared face. I’m about as ready for a vaginal delivery as I was for a c-section my first go round, which means NOT AT ALL. I’m okay with the c-section, now. After a respectable depression from failing at natural child birth with Julia and a blissful c-section delivery with Lucy, I came to terms with my surgical destiny and it’s a place I don’t mind living. This is why I’m fully convinced I’ll go into labor and give birth to Phoebe in the car on the side of the road next to a cow field in Amish Country.
This is me with three weeks to go.
She’s coming early, I just know it. She’s got nowhere else to go. I don’t think I can get any bigger.
I was shocked to discover I’d gained next to no weight since my last visit. The belly tape measure said I’d grown inches, though.
“It’s all that amniotic fluid,” the doctor growled when we couldn’t get Phoebe’s heartbeat on the monitor. We could see her kicking and rolling around under my skin, but even when we finally heard her heartbeat, it was so faint and muffled - going at a perfect rate, but far, far away, buried beneath amniotic fluid that I feel might burst out of my belly button at any moment.
I’m like the not-Veruca Salt girl in Willy Wonka. You know, the blueberry girl that they had to roll down to the juicing room. I don’t want to be juiced, though. I’d prefer a surgical procedure.
Aug
31
Tiny Dancer, You Had A Busy Day Today.
by Leslie
Lucy had her first dance class yesterday. She was SO EXCITED. Truthfully? So was I.
I’ve been working hard to keep up with Kindermusik and (at least try to) enroll! enroll! enroll! despite my pending due date, nearly unnavigable belly and doctors advice to stop, mainly so I can afford to keep my girls in activities like this.
It had been suggested to me that I shouldn’t worry so much, that I should just take it easy. Lucy wouldn’t know the difference if I put her in class or not. “She’s only two,” people have told me.
And I have said, “ARE YOU KIDDING?” This child has been begging to follow a leotard-clad Julia into the studio for at least a year. She’s been playing “ballerina” in the mirrors in her playroom alongside her big sister since she could stand. She wants to take dance class. It means so much to both of my girls. And I won’t lie - it means something to me, too.
Lucy wore Julia’s old ballet shoes for class. There was a time when this would have bugged me, because, from my “only child” perspective, I was convinced that Lucy deserved her own shoes. But, as the girls have grown and I’ve witnessed the bond of sisterhood, I now realize, wearing Julia’s shoes made it even more special for Lucy. There’s no one she’d rather be like. And though this may not always be the case, it is right now. So, I’m going with it. It’s sweet and it saves me $15.
Lucy dove right into class, jumping, twirling, bouncing and smiling. She reminded me so much of Julia that I had to go back and read what I wrote on Julia’s first day of dance:
Julia wasn’t hard to find. She was the bouncy one. The one that, when the teacher walked around helping the kids get into their positions, walked after her, straightening arms and adjusting feet, too. The one that had to run out into the waiting room about fifteen minutes into the class to declare, “Mommy! I’m doing it! I’m doing ballet!”
The difference? While Julia jumped in to assist the teacher, Lucy actually told the teacher that she’d like to teach the class and proceeded to shout out instructions while the girls played with a parachute.
Julia sat on the sidelines with me, fighting the urge - and my death grip that was holding her back - to join in, watching her sister.
“Lucy’s really cute, Mom. I can’t believe she’s so big now,” she told me. I could tell she was proud. I wished I’d taken some photos or videos the night before when Julia showed Lucy how to plie after bathtime. But I was stuck sitting on the floor until Dave made it upstairs to help me up and they were naked, so it would have been weird anyway.
When class was over, we came home and celebrated with popsicles. Julia toasted her sister saying, “Now, we’re both ballerinas!” and they clinked their frozen treats together like champagne glasses.
Ah, to be the mother of little girls!
Aug
25
Dear First Grade Teacher,
by Leslie
how incredible she is
this girl in your class
brilliant and hilarious
so eager to please
she respects you already
you are the teacher
not just of her head, but her
heart and her spirit
for answers, validation
make her feel valued
underappreciated,
tired, underpaid
talking and not listening,
or picking her nose
is the dark spot in your day
she’s the light of mine
won’t you remember, you’ve got
my world in your class
Aug
23
The Truth Revealed
by Leslie
It turns out Lucy did not cut her hair. And Julia’s conscience can only handle about seven hours of deceit.
Her confession came amid a flood of tears, which isn’t nearly as shocking as the fact that Lucy - at 28 months old - never gave her sister up. I questioned her all day about her hair. She was adamant that she did nothing to it, but she never ratted Julia out. The kid was as cool as a popsicle.
I’m not sure what to think of this.
Should I be impressed? Proud? Maybe a little scared?
Aug
23
Here is Lucy just a few days ago.
This is Lucy today.
And this is what she had to say about where her bangs went.
Aug
18
The Haiku Buckaroo Contest, Volume 7
by Leslie
So, maybe you thought I’d kicked the haiku habit. I mean, things have been a little light in the 5-7-5 verse around here. But that’s the thing about addiction - you can relapse! So let’s celebrate the hopeful return of the Daily Haiku with a reprisal of the semi-annual (and completely underrated) Haiku Buckaroo Contest!
Here’s how to enter:
Write a haiku.
(A haiku has 17 syllables:
seven in the second line
five in the third line
Just so you know.)
Bloggers: Post your haiku on your blog. I’d love it if you’d mention this contest in your post in a linky fashion. It’s the first step in establishing a cult following and it’d be nice to help a girl out. Once your post is published, submit a link directly to your entry post with the Mr. Linky below.
Non-Bloggers or Bloggers Who Don’t Want To Post It On Their Blog For A Reason I Don’t Understand But Support Because I Am Young and My Heart Is An Open Book and I Say, “Live and Let Live”: Submit your haiku via this entry form. I will provide a page on which all non-blogger haiku submissions will appear. Once your submission is received, it will be included on the non-blogger haiku submission page and a link to it will be added to Mr. Linky under your name.
You may enter more than once. Each haiku will be judged individually.
The contest winner (a.k.a. The Haiku Buckaroo) will receive:
The contest deadline is 11:59 p.m. EST, Wednesday September 1st. The winner will be announced on Monday September 6th.
Just seventeen syllables
And it could be you
Good luck!
Aug
14
It was during a softball game that I fell in love, or maybe it was lust, with my husband. We’d been to dinner for our first date and he invited me to come along afterward to watch him play his game, which is the reason I hesitate to say “love.” How can you know you love someone in three hours? At the very least, I knew I liked the way he looked out there and I wanted to learn more about that body. Oh, and the guy inside it, too, of course.
He loves to reminisce about the moment after the game when I reached out to grab his hand on our walk to the car. He says I touched both his hand and his heart and he was hooked. Little did he know, I was going for a butt grab but missed.
Since that first game, I’ve tried to be there every time my husband played softball, because I like to watch him play. He has a childlike joy for the game, like he’s doing it for the first time, every time. But in hot, sweaty, super-sexy man body.
Last night, he had the opportunity to play at Firestone Stadium for a charity game. He played it off like it was no big deal, but in reality, it meant a lot to him. He’s always wanted to play there. And I know he got a thrill at being called out on the field at the start of the game. So did the girls. Their Daddy was a sports hero.
He played first base during the first half of the game and made some great plays.
He wasn’t too happy with his hitting, but it all looked good from my angle.
The kids had the chance to run the bases during the seventh inning stretch.
My husband was the only player to run them with his kids. And that makes him more attractive to me than anything.
Aug
12
Summer, Please Don’t End
by Leslie
on the front porch with my girls
watching the sunset
Aug
11
I’m So Proud of My Kid for Screwing Up
by Leslie
It finally happened. After three years of near-perfect piano recital performances, Julia messed up. And I’m not talking about a little flub. I’m talking about forgetting the finger change in “Go Tell Aunt Rhody,” and taking an excruciating 72 seconds to stop, breathe and find her place again.
I thought I was going to vomit my heart during that 72 seconds. I wanted to run up there and save her, shout out a clue or something. But, I just stood there, clutching Lucy close, listening to the blood rush through my veins while she pulled it together and finished the piece.
After taking her bow, she walked toward me shaking her head. I could see the fear in her eyes - the fear of my disappointment, because I’ll be honest, I can be very critical of Julia when it comes to peforming. Ask her what her mom’s motto is. She’ll tell you: “Don’t just do it, DO IT RIGHT.”
“I messed up….” she began, putting her head down.
My first instinct was to say, “What happened? You KNOW that song. How could you forget the finger change? I guess we need to practice more.” But she knew her mistake. And it was just that, a mistake. And she was the one that had to live through it with the weight of the audience’s gaze and anticipation upon her. So instead, I opened my arms and embraced her. “You did great! You didn’t give up. You finished the song!”
I felt the tension leave her body. She pulled away to look at my face, to make sure I was serious, and gave a huge smile of relief. “It’s okay?”
“It’s okay. I don’t know what I would have done if that was me. You really kept your cool, Jules. Good job.”
She walked out of that nursing home with her head held high, knowing she had accomplished something great: she fell down, but got back up. And she did it with grace.
I am so glad to know she can do that.
Aug
10
Today, Lucy woke up with a dry diaper. She answered my good morning greeting with, “I have to pee.”
“Do you want to pee in the potty?” I asked.
She nodded her head and in 10.3 seconds she was naked from the waist down and sitting on the potty. Three renditions of Mr. Sun later, she had done it.
Julia and I threw her a potty party right then and there. Lucy beamed and shouted, “I did it! I did it!” She was so proud of herself. We called daddy and grandma to share the news.
“So, she’s ready to train. She should be done by the time the baby comes!” I’m told.
And my response is, “Maybe.”
I have no intention of punishing Lucy for her accomplishment by putting pressure on her. I’m going to let her enjoy her success fully and thoroughly. I’ll remind her of it, sharing the instant replay of the glorious time she peed in the potty. And I’ll let her choose to do it again. When she’s ready. I have faith in her that it will be soon.
I am a laissez-faire potty trainer, much to the chagrin of certain family members who cannot understand why I haven’t tried to “break” Lucy, especially with a new baby on the way. “Do you really want to change two sets of diapers?” they ask. And I say, yes, if the alternative is cleaning up pee puddles and poopy underwear, not to mention those hideous plastic mattress covers and the nightly washing of bedsheets. I don’t want to do any of that. And I don’t want to put my child through the humiliation of needing that kind of assistance. Take it from a “pee hog” who had trouble making it to the potty and keeping things dry at night, it is more inconvenient and shameful for the accident-maker than it is for the cleaner-upper.
And so, I’ve let my children take the lead on potty training. My role is simple: I make a potty chair available in every bathroom in the house along with potty books. I issue an invitation to use the potty chair when I go to the bathroom, because my kids are usually just a step and a half behind me, anyway. I make myself available whenever they want to try and I’m one hell of a cheerleader when they do. And I try to maintain an open dialogue about it saying things like, “Once you choose to pee in the potty, you’ll wear underwear instead of a diaper.” But that’s it. That’s all I do.
Some people call this lazy. I say, “If the shoe fits, I’ll wear it.” I’m all about free shoes.
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Stuff I Dig
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You Should Do This
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Ooooooh. Aaaaah.
