A Few More Thoughts On Motherhood

In an online post I was reading recently, a mom of two was talking about how much she loved the fontanelle on her baby. She said as her baby reached a year old, she kept running her hands over the open spot in her baby's skull to remind her of his infant-ness. While she was talking about it, she mentioned something that definitely struck home with me. Paraphrased, she said, All moms experience an irrational fear that a sharp pencil might fly across the room and strike them, pointy-end first, in this most sensitive area. Mostly, I am afraid that she will bang it against a sharp corner on the entertainment center, but anyone walking around with anything stick-like (remote controls, nasal decongestants) have all startled me into a graphic mental picture of them tripping on their own feet or a spot of lint on the floor and stabbing her in the head with the object - right in the fontanelle. Then I tell myself that I'm being silly and go back to trying to dig boogers out of her nose, or picking at her cradle cap. (I know you're not supposed to - I can't help it.)

I also worry, sometimes, that she will grow up to look like Brain. You know, from Pinky and the Brain? Viewed from behind, waving her giant melon-head around like a sunflower on a spindly stalk in the wind, the bulge of her brain under her skull is quite apparent.

We can try and take over the world every day as long as her eyebrows don't hang that low over her eyes.


She is breastfed, and it doesn't matter how many times I look it up on KellyMom, I still have to reassure myself that a glass of wine now doesn't mean a drunk baby later. My brain tells me that whatever I have comes out directly, like she's getting Nacho Cheese flavored breastmilk, or Chardonnay for dinner. Maybe it's the worry of her looking like this:

 

 

Tabernacle Night

From the year 2001 to the year 2004 it was a pretty good bet that I was grounded. I remember my ceiling being littered with pieces of paper with numbers and x-marks on it counting down the days to freedom that, like a lot of ex-cons, I found short-lived. I suppose I found my room, with its books, lack of bed (by my own choice) and perennial smell of cheese as comforting as an inmate finds prison bars. When friends invited me to a birthday they would inevitably say, "It's this Saturday, so don't get grounded!"

The one social event I was not grounded for (unless I had been really awful) was Youth Group. I started going because my best friend Andrea went. Plus there was food and I never said no to free food. Excuse me, let me rephrase that. I never say no to free food. So send any you like.

I was saved the year I started going to Youth Group. Technically, I was saved when I was eight, by this guy:

 The year I turned fourteen though was the year it became personal. My acceptance of a personal savior was followed by something called "Tabernacle Night."

They set up the Kid's Church room like an Old Testament tabernacle, which meant they pulled two big sheets out to divide the room into thirds and we lit a bunch of candles in the third room where the Holy Spirit was supposed to dwell. When we walked in, they gave us white tablecloths - sorry, I meant robes - to drape over our shoulders. Then they blessed us with holy water on our foreheads and big toes. Barefoot, we entered the second room, prayed and then entered the Holy of Holies, a.k.a., the stage where they kept all the props for Sunday School.

That night, in the dark sanctuary, wrapped in a church function tablecloth, I felt the presence of God for the first time. He told me everything would be okay, which I took to mean people would stop calling Andrea and I lesbians. God did not deliver on that one, but I felt confident as the years went on a miracle would happen. (It didn't. To this day people seem uncomfortable with our friendship. What can I say? We've been friends since we were ten, we've lived together, had a gay dog together...we even fight like a couple.)

The experience was so amazing and transformational for me that I invited my other best friend, Heather, the next time they had a Tabernacle Night. I had not realized until I got her there that it's a very different experience for someone who was not brought up in church and had not been attending Youth Group for the past year.

In the dark, surrounded by candles and expecting to look to my right to see a rapturous expression on her face, I saw terror. I suppose a bunch of fourteen-year-olds led by a couple of forty year old men in a chant that went, "The Blood of the Lamb, we accept the Blood of the Lamb. The Blood of the Lamb. The Blood of the Lamb. Wash us in the Blood. Wash us in the Blood of the Lamb. The Blood of the Lamb," is a religious experience best saved for those who have grown up singing songs with those same words. 

A word of advice to all of you hoping to evangelize your friends: Make sure you don't take them to Tabernacle Night. They might think you took them to be the ultimate sacrifice.

I continued going to Youth Group and even continued to invite Heather, who politely declined. If politely means that she laughed and said, "No way, that place is freaky."

A few years later, I gathered my courage and invited Heather to Youth Group again. It was led by a young married couple and everyone had a lot of fun there, even people who didn't go to church every Sunday. Guess what they were showing that night? 

Oops.

 http://www.onepennysheet.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/080513-hagee-vmed-11a.widec.jpgonepennysheet.com. "John Hagee." Photo. onepennysheet.com 07 Jul. 2010. 18 Jun. 2013.
<onepennysheet.com>.http://cdn3.whatculture.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/the-passion-of-the-christ-image.jpgwhatculture.com. "Passion of the Christ." Photo. whatculture.com 03 Mar. 2013. 18 Jun. 2013.
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An Appropriate Blog

I think that it's really only fitting to write a blog about having a baby because recently I had a baby. Right now she is cuddling with her binky - a tool I am now convinced must be done away with but I am too scared too take it away yet.

I kind of need to make this blog fast, so I'll break it down for everyone in the Five Worst Things about having a baby and the Five Best Things. Those of you who have also had babies may feel free to disagree with me or agree vehemently.

SIDE NOTE: Once my brothers were at a friend's house playing video games and my youngest brother said that someone was staring at him "vigorously." I thought that story was pretty funny and so did my brothers and we all use the word vigorously in an inappropriate context like it's normal. Now whenever I use the word "vehemently" I have to do a mental check on whether I should be feeling vehement or vigorous.

OTHER SIDE NOTE: There is a chip crumb under my space bar and it's making it very difficult to pressspacesoifwordsarestucktogetherjustgowithit.

 Anyway. This is not writing a blog fast, I am getting very side-tracked. Allons-y!

ONE MORE SIDE NOTE: Yes, there will be poop stories.

Five Worst Things:

1. The NUMBER ONE WORST THING about having a baby is not crowning. I thought that was what it was when crowning was happening but it turns out the number one worst thing is actually liquid poop. At first her poop was dark green/brown and absolutely disgusting. The first time Danny ever changed her diaper while she was poopy he took the diaper off and had wiped everything clean when her butt started to blow a bubble. It was a perfect sphere of poop coming right out of her, threatening to burst at any second. Danny panicked and looked at me with an expression reminiscent of one seeing a hand grow out of someone's nose. He had absolutely no idea what was happening or what to do.

2. The second worst thing after poop bubbles is what happens when a baby starts pooping real poo. The dark stuff is the poop that builds up when they're in the womb from all the chocolate and ice cream you eat and lie to the doctor about. After the meconium (fancy word for uterus-build-up-poop) is gone the poop is liquid as one would expect from an all-liquid diet. What one does not expect is the mileage this poop can get when a diaper is taken off prematurely. This happened to me at least three times before I finally understood the cues of when my little angel was actually done. If the meconium-bubble picture is too graphic for you I seriously suggest you do not look at this one.

There were S-shaped patterns in our carpet for a week.

3. Forgetting you even have a baby is my third worst thing. There were many times in the first month she was born I would think, "I'm going to go see a movie today!" Um, no, Megan. You will change thirty diapers and check that she's still breathing twenty times in as many minutes today.

4. LAUNDRY! My mother and my boyfriend will be very quick to tell you that I cannot fold. It's just something that is missing in my genetic make-up. I really thought that becoming a mother would just make me a better fold-er but it hasn't. I am still awful at it and as you might have guessed, liquid poop isn't great at staying in a diaper so I'm doing laundry every day and that means folding every day.

5. The advice. I call my mom all the time to ask for advice. I also have Danny's sister who has had three kids and I ask her a lot of stuff too. And so, old woman at the grocery store, I do not need your advice. My baby loves her front-carrier thank you very much. She falls asleep as soon as I start walking. Also, lady in the waiting room, I know how to get rid of cradle cap. Compliments, however, are always appreciated. I know she's beautiful and charming and I love hearing it, which brings us to:

The Five Best Things

1. Baby smiles. Oh my god. Seriously. Magic.

That's right. I get to hang out with that awesome blondie all day.

2. Funny faces! She is finally master of her face, but I got a few good pictures before that happened.

To be fair she was pooping here. You thought the poop references were done when you left the five worst things, didn't you? Well, let me tell you, when you have a baby you pretty much sign a contract saying your life will revolve around poop for the next three years and you have to inform your friends and family of poop-related incidents.

3. Achieving milestones is one of the greatest things to watch. She's grabbing stuff, holding her head up ninety degrees off the floor, rolling over and sleeping through the night! Going to bed at eleven,waking up at two and then five in the morning is not very fun. Going to bed at ten and waking up at six-thirty is so humanizing. Taking a shower is also great. Those are the mom-milestones.

4. The compliments. I already referenced it but I just love it when people tell me how pretty she is or ask how old she is. Yes, her hair is blond and mine is brown! It's amazing! Tell me more! Her eyes are very blue, yes? Smell her head! I know, it's amazing!

5. WARNING - SAPPINESS AHEAD!: Love love love. Love love love. All you need is love! Dun duh duh duh duh All you need is love! Fo shizzle there is no other love like this. I can and do stare at her like a creeper all day because I'm so in love I can't take my eyes off her. Wowzers it's so cool. I don't even care when I'm being spit-up on or when I have to get out of the shower five minutes into it because she's crying. I don't even care! She's so great! One day she will grow up and totally lose it over being told to get off the phone or stop watching TV but for right now she is totally adorable.