When I peed on that stick (What I didn’t know then.)

When I peed on that stick, and, miracle of all miracles, got two lines to appear, I knew that I wanted to be a mother.

I knew that my life was only beginning

and that in living my dream, I would find joy and love like I’d never before imagined.

Yes.

I knew all of that.

But then, there were also things that I didn’t know.

So. Many. Things.

Basically, all the things that I have done in the past 6 hours, since I first woke up this morning.

Today, I saw my child sick.

And when the emergency care nurses on the phone line told me that she could be seen by her Pediatrician, but only if I could make it there in 15 minutes, I ran…

….to get ready. Ran to throw on clothes over my pajamas. Ran to my sick daughter.

Today, as I raced to get out the door, I had to ignore the fact that my daughter had gotten sick all over my bed.

All over her beloved stuffed animal.

All over my shirt.

Today, I put a fresh shirt over my disgustingly dirty shirt, to get to the Pediatrician on time.

Today, I didn’t make it on time.

Today, I managed to make it to the other doctor’s office just in time to wait an hour for her to be seen.

Today, I fought back tears.

Today, I told a Pediatric Nurse Practitioner that I did not agree with her plan. I told her that I thought she was wrong.

(Today, I was right.)

Today, I got my dehydrated daughter to drink one small cup of diluted Gatorade by squirting it in her mouth with a tiny syringe, one milliliter at a time.

Today, I did the laundry. And I didn’t mess it up.

Today, I couldn’t fight back the tears any longer.

No, when I peed on that stick and saw one line become two, I never imagined that I’d be sitting in a doctor’s office, with tears in my eyes, and knots in my hair, and poop on my clothing. I never imagined that motherhood, in all of its amazing, love-filled, beautiful glory could also, sometimes, feel

(and please excuse me for this/pun inteded)

pretty darn shitty.

But, I did it.

And after my shirt was changed

and hair was combed

and proper Pediatrician was called

and correct medicine was given

I held a sleepy, sick baby in my arms and read her a favorite book.

And sang to her.

You are my sunshine

I sang.

And, my little girl looked up at me,

her tired eyes half closed

and said “Sunshine”.

A new word.

And then I was OK again.

So what I didn’t know then,

way back when when we were just two people with two lines,

was that the little person that was beginning her journey with me

would be my sunshine;

and always, always make me happy when skies are gray.

 

It was bound to happen…

My poor little angel face.

She was up during the night with a fever.

Boooooooooo.

Nothing makes a mama sadder than a sick little chick.

But, I can’t say our day has been a total wash;

We got to lie on the floor together, consumed in fits of giggles;

We got to bundle up in fleece jackets and breathe in the fresh autumn air;

We got to play pretend with her giant stuffed monkey, tucking it into the crib for a nap and giving it “special kisses”;

We got to make a big ol’ pot of chicken soup together, for the very first time;

And we got to see my Mommom,

who asked if we needed anything

(I said yes, the baby could really use an apple and a banana)

and showed up at our doorstep with four overflowing grocery bags.

Oh, and did you catch that? I said it was my Mommom. My grandmother. The baby’s Great-Grandmother.

Yeah, I know.  She’s amazing.

So, as I stand here, comforting my under-the-weather baby,

I rock her on my hip as I feel her temperature with my cheek against hers,

and I sing “Mommy loves the baby, Daddy loves the baby, Everybody loves the little girl.”

(A song that my grandparents once sang to me),

and I use my two free fingers to stir the chicken soup,

and I realize

I have become a real, live Jewish Mother.

What can I say?

I’ve learned from the best.

 

Oh, hey! Look at what I just so happened to find in the trash can!

When you become a parent , you learn the art of flexibility.

Of compromise.

Things will always evolve,

inconsistency becomes the only constant,

and “right” and “wrong” no longer exist, as all absolutes fade into a spectrum of gray.

Except, of course, for this.

This is never ok.

(**Note to self: If ever again, you should hear “Shoe! Uh-oh!” from some faraway corner for the house, INVESTIGATE. (!!))

A Time Out.

Originally published on Little Four Eyes

I have to admit something;

In my career as a mommy, there have been moments that I am not proud of.

Like this weekend, when I told my husband that he just had to watch the baby for a few minutes. I had something important to do.

(Really, I just had to go down to the kitchen and eat cookie dough straight from the refrigerator).

Maybe not my finest moment.

Or later that evening, when we took my daughter out to dinner.

As I walked up and down the sidewalk, waiting for our food to be ready, we were stopped by a couple and their young son.

“I have to ask, how do you get her to keep her glasses on?” Asked the woman, lounging in her chair.

And in the same breath, she choked, “But she’s still sooo cute.”

And, in that moment, I loathed her. Loath is too kind a word. I hated her. I didn’t hate her for the question. The question is fair enough. In fact, it is the second most popular question we get.

I hated her for the implication. For the tone.

Why shouldn’t my daughter still be cute? She is beautiful. She is perfect. The glasses are irrelevant. Are you saying they’re not?

My words were acrid in my mouth as I responded to the woman.

“She keeps them on because she can’t see very well without them.”

And then I walked away.

My blood felt hot and my stomach felt heavy.

I did not feel particularly proud of that.

***

But, if I’m being honest, there was another moment.

A moment that I am nearly too afraid to describe.

A moment that was so painful and confusing and embarrassing that it still makes my heart hurt.

I was taking my daughter for a walk. We strolled around a beautiful, outdoor shopping complex, and as I pushed my precious girl in her stroller, we chatted and she laughed with me. I felt so happy. I felt love.

And as we walked, I saw a pregnant woman sitting on a bench. She looked up, studied my daughter and smiled. But, for an instant, I thought I caught a glimpse of her face contorting…I thought I saw another emotion begin to creep across her features…

And that’s when it happened;

My least proud moment:

I worried that this woman, this pregnant vessel to a new life soon to be born, was looking at my daughter and hoping that her baby wouldn’t have to have glasses like mine. I thought I saw pity in her eyes.

And then, I died inside.

Not because I cared what the woman thought–

not at all–

but because I hated myself for letting my mind go to that horrible, terrible, scary place.

I felt ashamed.

I did not feel proud on that day.

So, I gave myself a time out.

I asked myself why I read sadness or fear in the mist that had gathered in the pregnant woman’s eyes.

And in my time out, I recognized that while I have totally grown to love and accept my daughters eyes,

all four of them,

it still hurts sometimes.

It hurt when the woman in the restaurant this weekend asked me how my daughter kept her glasses on.

And it didn’t hurt because of what she was saying and how she said it,

even though it felt that way at the time;

it hurt because of how I had to answer:

“She keeps them on because she can’t see very well without them.”

It hurts. It hurts that my daughter has eyes that don’t work perfectly. It hurts that at night, when I tuck her into bed, kiss her, and tell her how much I love her, that I have to remove her glasses from her face, stealing her sight from her as she drifts towards slumber.

It breaks my heart.

But in my time out, I realized something else; I am allowed to feel crummy. I am allowed to look into the scariest depths of my anxieties, as long as I can shake them off and go on living. Because the truth is, my daughter can see.

The truth is, she looks adorable in her little pink frames with her magnified eyes.

The truth is, the pregnant woman was probably looking at my daughter with misty eyes because she was thinking,

I can’t believe I will soon have one of those. A child with whom I can walk around and talk and laugh with on a beautiful day. How lucky I am. How lucky they are.

***

And so, this weekend, as we strolled up and down the sidewalk waiting for our food to arrive, I shot a smile down to the woman who had asked about my daughter’s glasses. She didn’t mean any harm, after all. And when Another young couple with a little girl stopped us to say how cute my daughter was, I felt wonderful, and the smile that spread across my face was genuine and bright. And when they complimented her on her adorable glasses and fabulous shoes, I felt happy, as I told them, “Yes, my little girl sure does know how to accessorize an outfit.”

And once again, I felt proud.

I remember remembering.

On this day, we still remember.

On this day,we pray for the future.

On this day, we “imagine all the people living life in peace”.

May peace be with you.

“WOFLLF”

Or, as I like to call it, “What our feet looked like, Friday!”

Cute, no?

Gee, I really love you…

Today, my little girl and I had a mission on our hands:

We had to pick up a very special dress for a very special someone’s very special day.

(ohemgeemybestieisgettingmarriedintwomonthsahhhhh!!!)

So, despite the flooding rains, baby girl and I donned our slickers, rubbed some Moroccan Hair Oil through our tresses,

and braved the elements, in the pursuit of our white-tulle filled haven.

And, I kid you not, as soon as we walked through the threshold of the bridal salon, shaking freshly fallen raindrops from our foreheads and feet,

my girl said “Down!” and bolted from my arms, towards the white, shiny, mirror and tutu and sparkle filled mecca.

And, and I still kid you not, as soon as she took off, racing across the marble floor, literally squealing so loudly that she caused everyone in the store to turn around and look (and smile!), “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” began to blare from the speakers overhead.

My propensity-for-princesses-peanut spent a half hour prancing around the salon.

She crawled up on the pedestals, posing across the room full of mirrors, smiling and making faces and blowing kisses at her reflection;

She climbed up on the big, velvet chair as it were here throne, stroking the fabric with her tiny hand;

She made a beeline for these bad boys:

(She’s my kid! She’s my kid!)

She even participated in her very first focus group.

She rocked it.

(I would expect nothing less.)

And, most of all, she gave me so many reasons to smile on a dreary, post-Summer, Thursday morning.

I have still yet to get over the fact that she’s my girl, and that I get to have adventures with her every single day.

My little partner. My best friend. My girl.

So yes,

“Have fun”, we did, indeed.