21 weeks, 1 day
Last night I lost my temper with Max. I was laying on my side on the couch watching Oprah talk about plural marriage. I was JUST about to doze off when he jumped on me. It wasn’t intentional. He wanted to see something out the window SOOOOO bad that he jumped up on the couch. Since I was already there, it made the most sense to just place his talon clawed back legs right on my hip rather than trying to find another foothold. I yelped, shoved him off, threw my pillow at him and gave him a stern talking to.
For the rest of the evening, he wouldn’t leave my side. If he could possibly wedge himself between me and anything he would. If he could find my hand, he’d just rest against it, hoping I’d pet him. He very delicately climbed back on the couch, found an empty spot and proceeded to lean on me, putting all his doggie body weight into the hug. When Ray got home, he came to the door looking humble and forlorn. I always, always hate losing my temper. Last night the guilt was particularly bad.
Part of the reason for my grumpification was the overwhelming allergy attack I was in the midst of. The grass count around here was TREMENDOUS (10 on a 10 point scale.) It’s too cool to really have the air on, so I just suffered through the night, finally breaking down and taking some Benedryl to be able to breathe enough for sleeping purposes. Gah. I’m complaining too much about how I feel. Overall, I feel great. My sinus infection that morphed into allergies (that I’m hoping does not morph back into another sinus infection), neither of which I’m not terribly fond of and could happily do without.
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My friend, Stephanie, (Hi Steph!) sent me a link to www.rookiemoms.com. Very cool website with lots of neat ideas. One of which was a page of new Mama Milestones. Rather than tracking what baby does, it tracks what you do. First walk with baby. First alcoholic drink after baby comes (I can almost guerantee that this will be a Manhattan made with Sazarac 18 year old Rye and two cherries. Not that I’ve been wanting one or anything.) First public breastfeeding experience. First movie with baby. I *love* this idea and plan to use it for blogwriting prompts here. The other thing it got me thinking about was the traditional baby milestones and if they’re really relavent or not.
All the cutesy, gingham and lace covered monstrosities talk about walking and talking and sleeping through the night. Those are lovely, sentimental things to know, but what good will that do me upon reflection? I’ll want to keep a list of the things that will put me back into the moment. Don’t get me wrong, I understand what a huge deal those things are, but I think I’ll want memory sparkers.
The first blow out diaper. The first time Pinchy uses a swear word in public (no doubt mimicing his father’s tone after dropping a screw–which means he’ll likely adopt the trait of cursing like a sailor when something small goes wrong, but turning into Marcel Marceau when he’s actually hurt. Infuriating.). The first time we’re ready to leave the house and he pukes all over me, forcing a rapid change of clothes and reevaluation of plans. The first time he looks like a little grown up instead of like a little kid.
I want the traditions that crop up out of nowhere. The spoonerisms. The first knock-knock jokes. The misheard lyrics. Whatever it is that makes him laugh that wild and uninhibited little kid laugh. The method and madness of bedtime routines. The first wholely inappropriate toy he gets and what we decide to do about it. If he likes or hates the swing. What scares him and how we manage. Foods he claims he doesn’t like, but secretly he does. The book that I hate most that gets worn out from reading it over and over and over again.
Being an older mom-to-be has distinct advantages, but retaining my elephant like memory is not one of them. I want to record and recall the stuff that makes it all real again, not just a prescribed checklist that indicates little more than “Yep. Check. Kid crawled. Now when will he get around to walking??” I want the stuff of it. The realness of it. The things that in the moment make me want to weep in exhaustion and frustration. The ones that end up being the things that will get laughingly told to college girlfriends over dessert and coffee. Much to Pinchy’s chagrin…
