Friday, May 31, 2013

Her Rainbow




Since we've moved, we have a great view of rainbows outside our front porch. Though Miss M never has to wait for a rainy day, she has her very own "rainbow" all of the time. At least that's what she calls her umbrella. You can imagine my enthusiasm for an actual rainy day so the old girl could get out there and take it for a test drive. She took to using it like a duck in water.

Friday, May 24, 2013

Super Dress Up

This is truly one of my favorite photos currently. With the help of one cool aunt, this girl really knows how to dress it up and accessorize!



It also helps to have a cool cousin game to play along too...

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Two Hearts Come Together



Sometime, somewhere along the line I read that having a kid is like watching your heart walk around in front of you. It's no secret miss M has lit up my life and having her walk in to the hospital room to meet "Deuce" really tugged at my heart strings - the feeling of my heart exploding, the sheer gladness she was there, and the realization that we had an even bigger bag of love to share now. To see her shine as a big sister and embrace another sweet soul who we get to share our days with makes me truly happy. To our newest member (soon to be officially "blog introduced"): we already love you so much!

Friday, May 17, 2013

Found


I've been trying to teach miss M to say she doesn't like something rather than just crying or screaming when someone does something to her and she wants an adult to intervene. It's been translated into a yelling statement she pretty much gives at the top of her lungs say if a friend pushes her or she wants something I won't let her have/do. She's fine tuning now as it gets to be more of a speaking less of a yelling statement. However, I woke up to it being the first thing I heard her scream from her room this morning. I thought she was acknowledging the birds that had been chirping since about 4 am (and I couldn't really blame her as my lack of sleep has me cursing anything that wakes me up) until she then started crying about Froggie, her lovey. The night before she "lost" him. I'm usually one to keep good tabs on him but I was in my own state of disrepair and froggie got forgotten in the mix. Needless to say, we couldn't find him in in all the regular places, or in the dark of the yard with the flashlights, so she and Froggie both slept alone (only the second time in their long friendship together). The morning was rough as we dealt with a toddler in heartbreak breakdown mode. Froggie was nowhere to be found. Later in the morning, our neighbor let us scope out his garage and the old girl found her friend where she had left him the night before: in an empty container bin on their back porch. I was glad she found him on her own (because I hate running around sometimes looking for him like he's a damn Busy Bee). I know there will be a day when he might be gone forever and truth be told, I'm okay with that lesson... just not four days before we rock her world with a newborn.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Dear Pregnant Ideal of Amy's Future,

I write to you from today for tomorrow, so that I remember wholly your dastardly beautiful ways when I pass some random peach-tree and lament my own unblossomed self. I write to you in anticipation of being in the sage place some friends have spoke to me from, the "oh I miss being pregnant" mentality. I don't miss you the way I think I do (sure time heals all wounds but I know I'm forgetting what you have done to me in the past).

Don't get me wrong, I do love the sweet baby murmurs in my belly. The round protrusion of an unnamed mystery below my shirt. The curiosity and kindness of strangers and the sheer nature of the whole experience. There is no question, you are a miracle of life in many ways. This is not a letter to this part of your experience.

This letter is addressed to your dark side. You, with all your keen hope and promise of great things to come, hide your dark side. It gets ignored at dinner parties, forgotten in the Christmas newsletter, and overlooked by the women who have already traversed your great divide (only to be remembered weeks before any given due date, as they retell the mom-to-be the truths they bore in carrying and birthing their young). I speak of the you hidden in the depths of books only to be discovered after the deed is done. It is also a call to arms against the space erased on the hard drive after the deed has been proportionately blown out of the water by a beautiful new being, now to be known as the first born.

This is for your true victims, the ones with no turning back.

You send the smack down early on and then build from there. We're women, we should be smarter than this but instead we hold out for the "honeymoon stage". I personally have found that you deliver quite well in this department. In fact, the early on is not too hard on me either. So why, you ask, should I complain about the last pesky months? At 9.5 months pregnant, I will tell you.

I hate feeling unable; feeling like I can't lift something over 30 lbs. and thus having to wait for someone to help me do something (this has always been an issue though). I hate feeling like my uterus is falling out of my vagina or that possibly someone snuck a tiny spoon up there to my offspring so she could dig her way out early; she's certainly trying at this point. I hate feeling neurotic; feeling like I can't eat cold deli meat or sushi because I might digest something that will turn my body or my baby sour. I hate having a glass of wine and feeling that silent Catholic guilt about it, like I'll find out in the future about the mistakes I've made today (I've come to be more at peace with this though in my second pregnancy and can only imagine the more children a woman has, the more she plays Wine Roulette). I hate feeling full, like a dung beetle; feeling angst towards a stranger parked too close to my car because I can't squeeze in to reach my seat. I hate strangers who say, "you look like you're about to pop" like it's some novel statement I've never heard... and would be something I'm happy to hear. I hate the guttural sounds coming from strange places in my belly because things are so shifted my colon is now "uptown" so to speak. I hate my inability to control my back end as air moves through my body at a swift rate; I wish I could say the same for liquid, but in that department a pea sized amount chimes each new hour.

Mostly I hate the waddle; the slow movement that makes me feel old and heavy rather than young and athletic. I hate the veins that have become my private battlefield on which we meet (every mother has her own). I hate their bulbous roundness during the day and the sinking lack of skin elasticity when I lay down and make them disappear at night. I hate that my husband wittingly observed that I currently look like I have a nut sack; and upon further investigation, I completely agree with him. I got "racked" the other day for the first time in my life when miss M ran head first into my lap as I was standing up. I now know truths I never wanted to come to know personally.

The general public has no idea what breathes fire under my skin (until this letter appears on the web). I have entered a space where I'm ready to bump chests with anyone thoughtlessly idiotic (and by that I mean not naturally funny people trying to be witty or non-thinkers). I feel the need to educate these people these days; it's a strange thing coming from a non-confrontational patron of life. Perhaps if I end up going rounds with a stranger in the middle of a grocery store, I will remember your manipulative ways and won't need to review this letter at a later date.


I miss my svasana sleeping pose - not needing or wanting the comfort of four pillows to make the night worth it. I miss running and swift movement. I miss chasing my daughter thoughtlessly and not worrying about pulling a ligament. I miss shorts or skirts, or clothes that don't go down to the ankles so I don't scare small children or adults with my blue leg.

There is really nothing left to say (now that I've said nut sack on the blog). I know we are parting ways soon. I know I will reap the benefits of this long run called pregnancy and look back fondly because the little soul that is now forming will be amazing in my eyes. But I will not date you again pregnancy; go find some other girl to be with.

Sincerely (and not just the ramblings of a VERY pregnant woman),
A

Sunday, May 12, 2013

5:15


We went out for a final pre-deuce date. Life is already changing as is clear in the 5:15 dinner reservation. Still, we had a nice time and I remembered to take a photo of just us two, before the second coming ages us even more and we look back lamenting how young we look (even if it's through a fuzzy, pixelated, poorly lit image). Even as our family grows, I cherish those alone moments with D so much.

Friday, May 10, 2013

Everyday Color and Texture

a Julie Howard original
We met up with Julie for lunch today at Cafe Rio. It's always such a treat to catch up with her. She brings this great element of creativity and perspective to conversation. She is a person who tastes things and then lets the concept marinate and then shares it with you so you too can stop to realize what wonderful elements are right in your everyday. Most of the time, it's not grandiose stuff; it's more focused on the simple pleasures that can almost be ignored or are not readily investigated by the mainstream public. Her enthusiasm always inspires me (it's not some strange cheerleader, "everything is perfect" high-pitched enthusiasm - it's more like, "look at how cool these chairs are painted" and then we examine them for a few minutes). She then takes a photo or paints a piece of artwork and all of a sudden I am in awe of the beauty in the moment. Of course, she continues on to the next thing, cool as a cat.

Friday, May 3, 2013

The Shape of my Heart


Miss M is at this stage where scissors are super enthralling. I read somewhere along the line that she needs to know how to do this developmentally before school, so I find myself asking if she "wants to cut" or saying "look they're cutting" at random moments (like it's some strange mental illness gone cool). It always makes me feel out of place to say it but she really loves cutting paper these days. I imagine it's the sensation she likes but perhaps it's her current way of feeling mature. She can't do it with one hand yet, so she needs someone to hold the paper while she cuts slashes. Still I love this shot: her sporting some safety goggles and a heart missing from the paper - she looks so grown up and capable to me.