My dad would have been 71 today. This picture is from 1976. My dad is the middle with the lady on his lap. The lady is my great grandmother. The other man is my uncle Jim.
He would have loved my kids. The man seriously loved babies.
The most vivid dream I've ever had came about two weeks after he passed away. I honestly don’t know if it was a dream or if I was meeting him at the Great Starbucks in the sky.
He and I were meeting in a beautiful room with a tall ceiling and a wall completely covered in greenery. One wall was all windows and it looked out over a beautiful lake.
He sat across from me with a cup of coffee in a simple mug. I remember crying in the dream.
He asked me why I was crying. I said that it was because he was gone and I couldn’t talk to him.
He told me that I could talk to him whenever I liked, I just might not get a direct answer.
“Besides,” he said, “you wouldn’t want me back the way I was. I was so sick. Think of me like you remember me when you were just a little fart.”
So today, I’m trying to think of my daddy the way he asked in that dream. I am trying to remember him calling me “little fart” or telling me that we were having “a bait of boiled buttholes” for dinner.
I’m trying to not remember the harsh words spoken between us or the almost violent arguments we would get into. I’m trying not to remember the ache of not being able to argue with him about religion or politics.
I know that when I tell him I love him today that he will hear me.
I was talking to a young woman the other day who is expecting her first child. She sees me as something of an expert since I’ve had one and lived through it to get pregnant again.
She asked my opinion about strollers and wipe warmers and bottle sterilizers and such. I told her the only gadget that I recommended was the Itzbeen Baby Timer because it covered all the bases with a newborn.
Why did I need such a thing, she asked. So I explained that Moo and I had found that newborns are much like combinations with only 4 numbers on their lock. These things are:
Feeding
Changing
Sleep
Holding/comfort
and that with this little timer, I knew what I had done last and could try something else if baby wasn’t happy.
“Don’t you just know what the baby will need?”
She has bought into the mystical mothering lie that we all buy. Mothers are supposed to form a bond with their children so deeply that nothing else is like it. And that part is true.
99% of the time, I know what Phoebe needs without her telling me – something that’s bitten us in the butt with her speech development – but I digress. She wasn’t born with me having this knowledge nor was I born with the ability. No magic wand of motherly pixie dust was sprinkled over me in the surgical suite during my c-section nor did a switch get flipped somewhere and I just KNEW what she needed.
When you are pregnant with or, for those of you adopting, preparing for your child, you think that when that child is placed into your arms for the first time that you will fall instantly in love with this creature.
This is true for some women, but not all of us.
We have this picture in our head that our child will look like pictures we’ve seen of ourselves or our spouses as newborns – the truth is very far away. After all, you aren’t giving birth to a clone of yourself or your husband – you’re birthing a completely new and different person with their own mix from the gene pool.
So, we are handed this creature that we know is our child but doesn’t look like anyone we know. All babies look vaguely larval to me - the same smooth features, mushed noses and squinty eyes.
This tiny creature is completely reliant upon you but doesn’t really know you that well either, but you smell familiar and your voice is familiar.
So we have this creature, we’re exhausted, our hoo-ha’s hurt or we have an incision, our entire life has just been turned upside down, our family dynamic has just changed, our marriage has just changed, our financial picture just changed. You name it, it’s changed.
And somehow, we expect to have learned or acquired or been blessed with the magical glow of motherhood.
That, my friends is magical, mystical bullshit. And I think it’s part of the reason why women have serious trouble with postpartum depression or babies are abused or neglected or why some women have so much trouble adjusting to motherhood. They feel like there’s something wrong or that they are personally missing something or the hormones tell them that the problem is the baby, etc…
Let me tell you this: I’ve talked to more than one woman that didn’t instantly feel that bond with their children. I felt no huge bond to Phoebe when she was first born either. But I think the difference is that somehow, either through friends or family or television, we found out or were told that it’s ok.
It’s ok to feel overwhelmed when you have a newborn. There will come a time when you are exhausted, you haven’t showered in a couple of days, the house is a wreck, all you seem to eat are sandwiches and you have this tiny creature who has needs and you are the number one person on the list who can fulfill them.
It’s ok to wonder “what the hell have I brought upon myself?” at 3 in the morning when the kid won’t sleep.
I’ve been there and I expect that in a couple of months, I’ll be there again. But what you learn is that you get through it. You learn that everything will work out. One day, you will look down at the baby and the baby will smile – even though you know it’s gas – and you will know that it’s worth it and, in that instance, that’s when bonding is really happening.
I have no scientific back up for any of this, of course, but I do know that the bond of motherhood and the love you feel for that child, your child, is something that you learn and experience every day as your child grows.
Today is my dad’s birthday. He would have been 70.
My father was not a perfect man. He was not a good husband. He thought, like many men, that if he provided for his family, that was the best he could do. As a result, he missed many school events, family events and ruined his health.
But I am not here to talk about the things my father did wrong in his life. I know he realized a lot of this towards the end of his life.
I am here to talk about he taught me.
He taught me three things that I hope to teach my own children.
ONE: Don’t be a poodle.
This means, don’t let people run over you. Don’t let people take advantage of you.
Two: Don’t be a Sheep.
This means: don’t follow the crowd. Sheep are stupid and believe anything anybody halfway reputable tells them. If you want to have a strong belief about something, think it through as completely as possible from as many angles as you can.
My dad would have a field day with Fox and MSNBC…
Three: Don’t take any wooden nickles.
This means: figure out what motivates someone else when they want to help you or give you something for free. If someone is telling you the sky is blue and you know that it’s raining outside, think about why they are interested in you believing their story.
Because of my father’s influence, I am a major skeptic. Moo gets frustrated with me because I can be rather stubborn and sometimes have to be shown things to have them proven to me.
But at the same time, if someone debates me about something, they better be ready to hit me with some facts. And those facts had better be good and reputable. I am good at this because if my dad heard me say something about what I thought or believed, I had to justify my thinking – even if he agreed with me. If I couldn’t support my thinking, I would be given homework to find 3 pros and cons to my premise and I had better be prepared to defend it.
Because of this, I carefully examine my thoughts. I carefully examine my beliefs. And I have facts to support what I say. And as my dad could and would punch holes in theories, I have to keep my thinking in line with previous beliefs.
And for everyone who gets frustrated with me when I won’t change sides on something – you can blame my dad. He was the 2nd most stubborn man to walk this planet. Only his dad – who did the same thing to HIS children – can be classified as more stubborn.
Why is it that it rains almost every time I need to drag the garbage can to the curb?
Baby girl has some sort of rash. She's had it a couple days now. She appears to feel well otherwise. No diarrhea, fever, or rash anywhere else. I've got a call in to the pediatrician so we'll see...
Biz stuff: I am having a Stamp-A-Stack next week. A Stamp-A-Stack is an event where I provide all the tools, materials and instructions to create several projects and you bring yourself and put them together! This time we're creating 12 Christmas cards with 6 different designs. If you'll be in the Tifton, GA area and you're interested, let me know and I'll get you an invite. I'll be hosting these here in Douglasville during the rest of the month. Again, if you're interested, shoot me an email at amanda@hyppychick.com and we'll chat. If you want to see a sample, check out the last post about it on my creative blog here.
Related biz stuff: I am working on getting ready for the above event. Funny thing about working on the biz is that everytime I sit down, I think about all the domestic stuff I need to do and begin to feel as if I should work on domestics instead.
My parents were divorced December 1999. In the divorce decree, my dad had to pay for my mother's health insurance through COBRA for 18 months.
Fast forward to the winter of 2001, my mother fell at work and hurt her back. She crushed 2 discs and nearly crushed a third. Her employer had good Worker's Compensation insurance and she was given really great care. Because of the damage done, surgery is ruled out but pain management seemed to keep the pain under control.
Fast forward a few more months: COBRA ends. My mom now tries to find health insurance on her own. Due to preexisting conditions (the bad back and rheumatic heart disease - left over from two bouts of rheumatic fever as an adult but which NEVER bothers her nor does she even take medication for) she is denied by company after company.
Fast forward to Spring 2003: Mom gets a cold.
Over the next few months, the cold progresses to bronchitis. Her doctor wants a chest x-ray. She asks how much an x-ray will cost. $2000 she's told. "I don't have $2,000," she says. She takes a breathing treatment and a script for antibiotics and goes home.
A few weeks later, it's worse. She can barely breathe and after I beg her, she allows me to take her back to the doctor. $300 dollars later, they tell her they think she has pneumonia and still want an x-ray. Still she says she can't afford an x-ray.
Another breathing treatment and more antibiotics and back home.
A few days later, right after Thanksgiving, she calls me at 10PM. "I can't breathe." She pants into the phone. "Can you take me to the hospital?"
She can't afford this either but it's too late for that.
When we get her there, her blood saturation is at 84% and an x-ray shows a left lung almost completely solid white on the screen. It's pneumonia they say. But I can hear in their voice that they think it might be more.
She needs to be admitted. Mom fights back just a little, but she's thankful for the oxygen tank making breathing easier so she doesn't fight too much.
Daily breathing treatments and oxygen make her feel better over the next few days while the doctors run their tests. She's worried about paying for all this but she's told that Medicaid may pay for part or all of it. After all, her only income is worker's comp and a little disability check we were finally able to get for her.
I'm Mom's advocate in this. She's given me power of attorney so I can keep things going and sign whatever needs to be signed. I meet with Medicaid. I come up with TONS of paperwork and copies of bills. It will take a few days to process.
Meanwhile, we've finally got a diagnosis. Pneumonia yes. But also 4th stage small cell cancer. Mom rejects the doctors' advice to take chemo. She wants to feel as good as she can for as long as she can. She comes home for a few days, then needs to go back to the hospital. She gets weaker.
I'm still waiting on a decision on her bills. Mom asks me everyday. I tell her truthfully that I don't know and that I'll call. I leave message after message and get no reply.
Finally, I find out that the caseworker on the case is on maternity leave and they are still sorting through her files. Her replacement is unfamiliar with the case or even with Medicaid cases. He generally works in Child Protective Services but will get back to me in a few days.
The next notice I get is that Mom's case has been denied. She's got too much money. I appeal, including a copy of my mother's checking account statement which shows a balance of just over $1000. I also include a copy of the bills that have come in so far amounting to over $50,000.
Mom, meanwhile is getting worse. Her doctor, who is also my doctor, suggests hospice and gets her into the lovely hospice that is part of the hospital.
Mom seems to hold it together mentally until after the move to hospice, then she deteriorates quickly becoming paranoid and delusional. The cancer, the doctors have told me, has spread to every part of her body including her brain. She is increasingly incoherent, but has occasional lapses of coherency. "Have you taken care of the bills? Did the Medicaid come through?" she asks.
I lied.
I lied to my dying mother and told her that yes, everything is fine.
Meanwhile, I'm worried. The hospice wants to know how they will be paid. The doctors are beginning to send nasty letters. Even the ambulance that took her to the hospice from the hospital are getting antsy.
I lie to my mother every time she comes around enough to understand. Even when she and I talk three days before her death, she brings it up. I lie to her again and tell her, "Everything is taken care of. Just rest."
What else could I do?
Two weeks after her death, I get a letter. The temporary caseworker has been reassigned and the new one on the case approves her care and all the bills disappear almost overnight. I have to send a letter with the case number to a few, but for the most part everything is taken care of.
I don't tell this story to prove why government shouldn't be in charge of our health care. The caseworker who denied Mom's coverage didn't know what he was doing and wasn't even in his proper department. So I don't blame Medicaid. My mother still received the best possible care, I think, because everyone knew that Medicaid would pay.
I tell you this story because I feel that if my mother had had health insurance when she first got sick then she might have gone to the doctor sooner. We might still have the same result - afterall, my mother had smoked for nearly 40 years. But she would have had some assurance that everything was taken care of and I wouldn't have had to lie to my dying mother.
You cannot possibly understand how a situation like this tears your soul apart unless you live through it.
During the grieving process, I attended therapy and one of my biggest problems was the guilt I felt for lying to my mother while she was dying. Now, I just get angry. She should have had another option. There should have been another way.
My mom wasn't a deadbeat. She wasn't someone riding the coat tails of society. She was someone who paid her taxes; who voted in every election; who baked brownies for my class when I was school; who was active in her community; she was just LIKE YOUR MOTHER.
What does your mother smell like? Smell is one of the most primal of our senses capable of reviving intense memories and emotions.
My mother, gone now 5 years, smelled of cake donuts and My Sin perfume.
When I was kid, she worked for a large Income Tax preparation company during tax season. The rest of the year, she was a stay at home mom. During tax season, she'd go by a local bakery/restaurant and pick up scrambled egg and cheese biscuits for herself and her co-workers a couple times a week. That's where the smell of cake donuts came from. The bakery had the best cake donuts you have ever had but it was the smell that permeated your clothing.
She'd come home from work and hug me and ask me about my day and I would smell that combination of perfume and donuts and feel completely loved and cared for.
To this day, if I smell either of those scents, I instantly think of my mother.
How do you smell to your kids? I hope Phoebe remembers me from the Dial soap I use and the lemon verbena cologne I wear.
What does your mother smell like and what do you as a parent smell like?
When you are pregnant and right after the baby is born, everyone and their brother is giving you advice or telling you how your life is about to change. The best advice that Moo and I received however, came to us via our internist. He said:
Remember, she came to live with you, not the other way around.
I think of this advice on a daily basis. I think people put way too much emphasis on their children and I don't think it does the kids any good. Now, I am doing the stay at home mom thing but beside being good for everyone involved, it's the result of a financial decision too.
If you live for your children, what will you do in 18-20 years? Can you go cold turkey? Can you let them go?
My daughter turned 8 months old earlier this week. In the last few days, she's managed to cut her top two front teeth, learn to pull up and break my heart.
She's babbling a lot. Ma-ma, ba-ba, bwa-bwa, squealing, screaming and misc other noises are her favorites. I don't think the sounds mean anything to her but are just fun to do. However, when she's standing in baby jail (the pack and play) crying and screaming MA MA just breaks my heart and I can't help but talk to her.
She has a love/hate relationship with baby jail. She's got toys in there that she only get to play with in the pack and play. And I don't put her in there a lot - maybe a total of 10 minutes a day. She's only there when I can't watch her every minute or I need a break. The rest of the time, she's on the move.
I'm babyproofing the way my mom did - very minimally. She only believed in using common sense and socket plugs but otherwise she said that keeping close watch over kids and removing or distracting the child when they got in trouble was the best way to do it. She always believed that kids should be able to go to anyone's house. She said that most folks don't need to babyproof their home as they had no baby! So it was better to teach a child to leave stuff alone rather than put the pressure on the host to babyproof their house for this one child.
My mother often told a story about taking me to see an elderly aunt when I was about 18 months old. The aunt starting removing her knicknacks from tables and low shelves and my mother stopped her. "Amanda will leave them alone." Then she told me to look but not touch. She would laugh at this point, because I primly placed my hands behind my back so that I could look at the pretty things around the house without the temptation to touch them. "Temptation get behind me" my mother would always say.
So babyproofing for my little one has included moving my laptop from the living room (she loves the velcro on the cord and the little reel I use for my mouse), being extra careful with beverages, and making sure that small things like beads and eyelets are kept off the floor. My kitchen floor has never been cleaner.
We spent the afternoon with our friends. Their son, almost 20, is in the Navy and about to be shipped off to Hawaii. Life must suck when you have to work in Hawaii.
Baby girl did just great despite not taking much of a nap. By the time we were ready to leave, she would lay her little head down and then pop back up again. There was just too much going on to sleep.
In follow-up to yesterday's post regarding the Bachelor, I can honestly say that I am glad that the Bachelor Jason Mesnick seems happy with Molly. I wish them all the luck. He's still a prick.
I have a giant to-do list for the next 45 days or so. We're going to Walt Disney World next month (!!!!!) and I have meetings and appointments galore before that. So, I'm trying to get a lot of things done like spring cleaning, getting ready for a children's consignment sale, hosting my card club, stuff like that.
I met with the sweetest young woman this morning. Moo and I have been longing for adult interaction. For the most part since Phoebe was born, we've kinda done what we wanted to do when we wanted to do it. My chiropractor told us when Phoebe was less than a week old to remember that little babies are highly portable and will sleep anywhere... and this is true. You can easily throw your newborn into the carrier at 2AM and go to Waffle House and they will mostly sleep through it. However, when your pre-toddler hits the hay, you don't want to move, you don't want the phone to ring, you want to make sure that kid sleeps when she needs sleep or there will be HELL TO PAY with much talking and playing and cajoling. So Moo and I decided we needed a babysitter 2-3 times a month so that we could go out as a couple. I talked to folks around about who they used and I got a lot of "well we don't go out that much" or "we use my/his parents". No one could recommend a sitter. So I went through this website and posted my job. I got 72 applicants. After going through background checks and reviewing references, I narrowed it down to one who I think may be perfect for us.
Went to my local Mom's Club meeting yesterday. If you're a stay at home mom, see if you have a chapter of this near you. The ladies in this group are fantastic.
I'm heading off tonight to a Stampin Up party. This is a catalog party. I will spend money. And it will be GOOOOOOOOOD.
We just got home from visiting Moo's family over the weekend.
We decorated their house for Halloween since they get kids by the truck load and we get NO - I mean ZERO trick-or-treaters. Halloween is Moo's favorite holiday so we got to try out several props... I've got pictures coming.
So, this is a short post, but I'll share a picture of my little monster with you.
(Writer's note: I've been estranged from much of my extended family on both sides for several years now. I won't go into the details now...)
Ok, I give up. I've tried on numerous occasions to offer an olive branch and make peace with you.
For those of you on my father's side, I know we disagree regarding several things, but you could have at least informed me of my grandmother's death yourselves. The first notice I received from an actual family member was when I received a check with my father's share of her estate almost SIX MONTHS AFTER SHE DIED. I thought that was pretty tacky, but I can forgive it. I'm sorry that Aunt Kay passed away. Like my grandmother, I found out about her loss from the same family friend - who you also seem to be punishing for her contact with me.
For those of you on my mother's side, specifically those of you that decided to out and out ignore me at the mall Sunday. I have tried to make peace. As far as I can see, the sins I'm being punished for were my mother's. Mother could hold a grudge as well as any of you and did in the last years of her life. But I don't know why you punish me as well. I've only ever wanted to be friends with you. For my aunt particularly, your behavior hurts me the most. Long before I met my husband, you and I were buddies, going to shows and galleries. I thought we enjoyed each other's company and I miss that. I've hoped that we could at least be civil with each other and to that end, I made sure you knew that I was pregnant and were informed when Phoebe was born.
So, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for whatever it is that you think I did. If I knew what I did, I'd apologize for that, but I don't know and you won't tell me. What punishment you deal to me, I can handle, but you are the losers here because I have a daughter who looks just like those you loved the most. It's in not knowing her that will be your punishment.
If you could see her puzzled look, you would see my father and grandfather. I swear every time she gets a thoughtful look, I feel like my father is watching me. She has the same wonky knees and long legs.
But her smile - oh, her smile is my mother's and uncle's. When she smiles, she lights up my heart and I am reminded of my mother laughing at some joke or my uncle Larry at some mischief.
This is what you are missing and for this I am sorry for you.
When Phoebe was born, I found myself missing my mother and father so much. In the first few days after her birth, particularly during late night/early morning feedings when it's quiet and I have time to think, I could barely make it through a feeding without weeping all over her tiny head.
I never knew that the hormones would be this crazy nor that having Phoebe would open up so many old wounds. She reminds me of my parents and other loved ones in so many ways and during the quiet of the night, I look at her in wonder and love and think about all those people who would love her so much if they were here.
It seems like having her has ripped the band aid off of things that I thought were healed but in reality were just scabbed over. Do we ever really heal from the death of a loved one? Or do we just kind of get used to their loss?
While I am able to think about my parents and remember the fun and aggravation of both of them, it's during the late nights that I think about how much they loved me and how much, were they here, they would have loved Phoebe.
Saturday, we spent the day with Moo's parents shopping. We went to my FIL's (father-in-law) favorite shoe store - I didn't buy anything, but Moo found some really cool shoes.
Then we went to Baby Valhalla, otherwise known as Babies R Us and picked out the cutest bedding set. Here's the quilt:
Amazingly, neither Moo or I have seen this set at our BRU before Saturday. My MIL got us the bed in a bag set that comes with the quilt, fitted sheet, bumper pad, dust ruffle, window valance and diaper stacker. I went ahead and picked up the night light and the switch plate cover. We got the room painted last week, so we'll get the room together over the next couple of weeks and put up a photo once we've gotten it together.
Sunday, Moo and I went to Iron Man. That was an AWESOME movie!! Of course, I've always been a Robert Downey Jr fan - besides being HOT, he's a great actor. And he was fabulous in this movie. Really unlikable in the beginning as Tony Stark is supposed to be and as the character grows, you can see RDJr's acting skills really come out.
During the movie, Spider Monkey was really active. At one point during the movie, everytime there'd be an explosion on screen, she'd jump. It was really kind of cool. I was watching my stomach more than I was watching to movie.
Last night, Moo and I went to the hospital where I'll deliver for a newborn care class. The instructor was really funny. She had us introduce ourselves and wanted to know what the sex of the baby was. After that, she'd go into another little room and bring out a newborn baby doll of the appropriate sex and race. We were instructed to hold these "babies" during class and we were not to put the baby on the table or floor and if we needed to go to the restroom, we had to work it out as to who would hold the baby.
We saw a particularly disgusting but fascinating presentation of normal newborn appearances with the instructor pointing out stork bites, infant rashes, etc. I say it was disgusting because there was more than one shot of a kid freshly born still covered in blood and goo. But we did learn a few things and Moo and I were able to practice a few holds that we've read about but never put into use.
Yesterday, I returned for my 28 week ultrasound. I got a great sonographer and we were able to get some amazing views of the SM. She's head down - which I was informed was early, but not too early. Her head has caught up to her belly, so she's now a solid 2 weeks ahead on growth putting her in the 85% percentile for babies at her gestational age. And she's weighing in at a hefty 3-1/2 pounds. They are estimating that if the current growth rate continues, that she'll be a 10 pound baby and after measuring my pelvis, they're telling me I probably won't be able to deliver a 10 pound baby vaginally so my odds of early induction and/or c-section have just gone up.
This picture shows her little face. Turn your head to the right to see her eyes, her nose and her mouth. She's got her hand up on her face, with her little finger over her left eye.
Yeah, I know it looks like some kind of crazy Rorschach test!!
They are concerned about her size, but they don't think she's big in the way that babies exposed to Gestational Diabetes are. They want me to continue monitoring my food intake (even though I'm still 15 pounds under my pre-pregnancy weight) and have another glucose tolerance screen. Moms with PCOS are more likely to experience Gestational Diabetes than other mothers. So it works out well that I had another Glucose Tolerance Test (the 1 hour thank goodness and not the 3 hour - blech!) scheduled for right after the ultrasound appointment. We'll know the results of that in a day or two.
Additionally, during this ultrasound session we were able to confirm the sex. Here's a photo of my daughter's girly bits as viewed from the bottom (you can make out her legs and the arrow marks the "spot" so to speak):
Yesterday was my 24 week ultrasound. I got Paperbag Girl again - you know, the one with no personality? - and she worked hard to see everything she needed to see. Once again, our Sea Monkey has been less than cooperative at these sessions and yesterday proved to be more of the same.
The baby continually moved, kicked and punched. Paperbag Girl was getting a little frantic. She'd get a good view, start to measure and then SM moved. She finally got to where she was just snapping pics so she could get the measurements.
It looks like the kid is inheriting my father's absurdly long legs and arms. My dad was 6'6" and had long long legs and arms. He inherited them from his dad - also 6'6". While the gestational age was 24 weeks, 1 day, the arms and legs were measuring in at 26 weeks 6 days - nearly 3 weeks ahead. The kid's noggin is measuring a week ahead - just 25W3D - they aren't really concerned about that.
I had noticed in another ultrasound that the baby's knees looked vaguely like x-rays I've seen of my own wonky knees. I inherited my knees from my dad. We all have knee caps that don't quite fit on our knees the way they should. In my case, it makes my knee pop out of joint at inopportune times (like walking thru the zoo or on vacation). For my dad, it was arthritis. But strangely enough, my paternal grandfather - from whom my dad inherited them - had no problems. I'm sure it has to do with the fact that the man never had an ounce of superfluous flesh on his bones and thus avoided many of the problems that my dad and I have had with our wonky knees.
Getting the little booger to get into a position that would show the sex was difficult as well. The sonographer actually went out and got another sonographer to come in to take a look. After some poking and probing, they finally decided that they were about 70% sure that the baby is ...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
A GIRL!!!
Good grief, I'm having a girl. Of course Moo didn't say "I told you so" or anything. In fact, he just acted satisfied at being correct.
Yesterday was my mother's birthday. She would have been 64 years old.
She was the second born child to Bill and Iva Noles. My grandparents were still so young then, just 18 and 23 when my mother was born. They lived in a mill village in west Atlanta that by many recollections was just about perfect. Mother always said that she didn't know that she was poor since everyone else around them was poor too. My grandparent's employer provided excellent medical and dental care and my mother's memories of her home (rented to them by the mill) described a well built, well maintained, but small house.
She met my dad at the Varsity, a locally famous drive-in restaurant. She was initially attracted to his cousin, Jerry, who was there with him, but later she and my dad got together and the rest is history.
She worked for 28 years for a major tax preparation company - you know the one that rhymes with "clock" - and was a damned good tax preparer. She instilled confidence in her clients and had a large clientele. She took pride in being a professional and she was good at her job.
My relationship with my mother was great, but irritating. How do you explain a relationship with a person that is so wonderful, caring and nurturing, but at the same time is aggravating, annoying and overbearing?
My mother was simultaneously the best mom and the biggest pain the ass. She knew exactly how to push my buttons and then would lecture me about my temper after I hit the boiling point.
She was paranoid about my safety to the extreme, demanding that I call her the moment I got to my destination or fearing that I was "dead in a ditch". She never understood boundaries. She never understood that she had done a good job raising me but needed to trust that I could handle things on my own.
I talked to my mother 4-5 times every day. Most times, not because I wanted to, but because she demanded it. Left to my own devices, I'd probably have still called her at least twice a day, but she insisted on knowing what was going on at all times.
But even as she was irritating, she was knowledgeable. She was one of the smartest people I've known and could calculate strings of numbers in her head. She had a wicked sense of humor and loved playing poker. She was incredibly generous. She had no problem sending a friend down on their luck cash to tide them over with no expectation of gratitude or repayment.
Kids and animals loved my mother. She could calm down a newborn or a puppy with a single touch and the sound of her voice.
In an emergency, she was calm, but skillful. Hysterics had no place in an emergency or a hospital room and she'd stay calm and optimistic for as long as she needed.
Now, as I close in on the half way point of my pregnancy, I long to talk to her. To hear her calming and sympathetic voice as she told me everything would be ok. To listen to her maddening air of superiority as she told me about her pregnancy with me.
I miss her so much and even 4 years after her death, I still sometimes reach for the phone to call her when I hear a funny story or have a bad day.
At some point on Thursday, my back went out. It was pretty bad and I was quite lopsided (I get muscle spasms and my left hip goes all funny so that I'm crooked when you look at me from the back). I left work early on Friday and went by my chiropractor's office for an adjustment. He talked at some length about natural childbirth.
In an ideal world, I'd say that I was excited for the day when I would experience the joy and pain of childbirth and the wonder of it all. But the truth is that we live in a modern society and while I believe that pregnancy isn't a disease, that childbirth isn't sickness, that our bodies are well equipped to deal with the pressures - I also believe that we have many years of science that has taught us how to eliminate the pain of childbirth. In other words, I want drugs. I want all the drugs that the medical establishment will allow.
Spent the weekend of New Year's with Moo's parents. They live about 200 miles away on a fairly easy drive. We took our critters with us. We've got a mini Macaw named Cosmo and a Pembroke Welsh Corgi named Indy. Cosmo has been a real butt lately. He's been cantakerous and has been screaming a lot.
I wish I knew what his issue was. It mostly started when I was working a flex schedule of 4 10 hour days and one day off. He didn't like that schedule at all - of course, I didn't like the schedule either. I thought he'd settle down a bit once I moved to a more normal schedule, but he's still screaming a lot.
Anyway, we travelled 200 miles with a parrot and a corgi. Both did quite well on the journey. Once there, we were united with Moo's sister and brother-in-law and niece and we all really had a good weekend. My inlaws are truly delightful people. I don't say they are great people because they might be reading this (hi Mom and Dad!!) but because they truly are. After my folks passed away, they adopted me as their own and they have been just great and I couldn't ask for better in-laws.
As the weekend progressed, my back got progressively better. It's sore today after the long drive, but still much better. I did have one day where the nausea was really bad. I threw up a couple of times and then took some of the anti-nausea medicine the OB/GYN's office called in for me. It worked quite well and it seemed to last into the next day as well.
When I went to the doctor the other day, the midwife, Michael, encouraged me to begin to ramp down on the Effexor. At the time, I felt positive, but as I thought about it, I decided that I wouldn't scale down. I didn't think pregnancy, especially as anxious as I been, would be a good time to come off the Effexor.
Having done a little research and thought through it, I've changed my mind again. While Effexor seems to show no signs of causing long term problems or birth defects, when taken during the last trimester, Effexor can cause the newborn baby to suffer from withdrawl and have side effects at birth such as lethargy, crying, not sleeping or feeding well.
So, I have decided that the best choice would be to slowly ramp down from my current dosage of 75mg daily to 37.5 mg daily and from there, slowly ramp down to nothing. I have to admit I'm pretty scared to do this. I dread the withdrawal but I don't want my baby to have this stuff in her bloodstream.
I was put on this med on the day that my mom passed away - am I holding on to it as a crutch? Or do I really need it?
So, we told my in-laws over the Thanksgiving holiday. They were elated! I think they were thinking that we might never give them a grandchild.
Meanwhile, Moo and I are beginning to make plans and think through things related to the baby. Moo has always been convinced that he'd have a girl, so I've mostly been thinking it's a girl. It will still be a few months before we know for sure, but somehow a girl seems appropriate.
So far, we're going with Phoebe Elizabeth or Zoe Jane for a girl. Boy names seem to be trouble - Moo doesn't like anything I throw out there.
All content on this blog, except where noted or linked, is the work of Amanda Saye. Stealing my content probably won't put you in jail but it will give me the right to call you a big poopy head and then bad mouth you all over the internet. So THERE!
My dad would have been 71 today. This picture is from 1976. My dad is the middle with the lady on his lap. The lady is my great grandmother. The other man is my uncle Jim.![41UTViw UdL._SL160_](<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000MEB3GE?ie=UTF8&tag=nervobreakare-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000MEB3GE"><img border="0" src="41UTViw%2BUdL._SL160_.jpg"></a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=nervobreakare-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B000MEB3GE" width="1" height="1" border="0" alt="" style="border:none !important; margin:0px !important;" /> "41UTViw UdL._SL160_")
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