Life in the Slow Lane

Dear Child of Mine, I realize that I shall always be "old" to you, but I have a few truths I would like to point out today, on this, your first Mother's Day. When, in forty years, I can't hear you, it is not because I am old. It is because you've chosen to do so much of your wailing while only half an inch from my ear. My balding head won't be because I'm old, either. No, that would be because of the many times you used my hair to keep your balance or test your strength. Let's hope there is even enough hair still attached to my head that you can make it go gray. The way I will shuffle? No, that's not age, I promise you. That is merely a habit, picked up for self-preservation in order to avoid all of the toys, soggy Cheerios, and other precious paraphernalia of yours. And yes, come that day, tears may drift across my vision at the slightest provocation, but it won't be because of unpredictable female hormones or very predictable female emoti...

This is the post I almost didn't write. And before I can actually write it, let me put in a few disclaimers: This is the life I know. This is not intended as a statement about the lives of others or of how lives should be or even of how my life will be tomorrow. This is right now, in my little house. I sit long-ways on our rocking couch, the laptop topping my lap, my legs resting on the pile of yet-to-be-answered letters I dreamed would be considerably smaller by now, my feet hanging off the armrest on one side and my shoulders hanging over the other side. The toy box is tipped on its side spilling out a conglomeration of toys, baby books, wooden spoons and other miscellaneous kitchen items that worked particularly well as distractions at some point during the last few days. There is a basket of laundry that includes a load of clean, dry towels and clean, wet diapers. The sink is full of dirty dishes, the drying rack is full of clean dishes, and the table is full of everything tha...

Granny Cam. I've decided I need a granny cam. Most of the world knows them as nanny cams, but it's not the nanny I'm worried about. And before CutieBoyBaby's wonderful grandmothers take offense, it isn't the grandmothers I'm worried about either. Each Wednesday my son goes to Weight Watchers and takes his nanny along. Maybe it is the other way around, but you would never know from the stories that come out of it. For it isn't only CutieBoyBaby and his nanny that go to Weight Watchers. Three of my co-workers meet them there. Including my boss. Four women and a baby. Let me clarify. Four women at the "Grandbabies!" stage of life and a baby. Like I said, I want a granny cam. It is not that I don't hear about things that happen during CutieBoyBaby's time at Weight Watchers, it is that I do hear stories. One day I hear about the not-yet-granny entertaining CutieBoyBaby with her glasses which he promptly gagged himself with. She took it away an...

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the heavy responsibility of these first few, formative months. For instance: a) In this short time before my child becomes verbal, I must settle on the best way to read each of the children's books destined for endless repetition. If the dog in the story barks, what should it sound like? If there are words to a song, but no notes provided, what tune do I borrow? Because once my audience gains the ability to protest, I am stuck to one method per story and one method only. b) Unlearning bad habits. I have frequently mused that young adulthood is the time to learn all sorts of bad habits not permitted while under your parents' roof that then must be unlearned before your children are old enough to mimic. Fortunately, I didn't pick up smoking, chewing, or going with girls who do, but I've begun to use horrendous amounts of cluttering... It's like I um... sort of put in words that are kind of unnecessary. And it is, you know, really sloppy ...

S.O.S. and I might need more sleep. As we were parking our car at the post office the other day, a man carrying a huge diaper box crossed in front of us. I'm not proud of this fact, but I started thinking how I could distract the man long enough to put my address in the "to" spot. Or maybe after he left the box to be mailed I could sneak behind the counter and change the address. I hadn't really come up with a good way to make sure the box was mailed to me, but it turns out S.O.S. was brainstorming on his own. "Ok," he said, "I'll take him out with the car and you grab the box." The thing is... if we had been getting more sleep, we probably would have realized just how unlikely it was that the box was still full of diapers.

I have now been a parent for twelve weeks. This means that I am only moderately less certain of how to raise fabulously well-adjusted and attractively well-behaved children as I was thirteen weeks ago. I have also now been a working mother for five weeks. I work from home three days a week and am in the office the other two. I will let you in on a few secrets: with 473 square feet of living space for two adults, a baby, a home office, and a mostly dead plant, everything but the plant and baby had better be multitasking. The other day S.O.S. and I had company over for dinner and as I was pulling the pasta off of our stove (doubling as counter-top), I quietly asked S.O.S. if he thought we should clear off the dining table so our guests could eat there rather than using barstools as TV tables. He whispered back that if we had wanted our guests to feel welcome and comfortable, they probably should not be witness to the conversion of diaper changing table to dining table. Oops. The bar s...

One day, in mid-pregnancy, S.O.S. and I were out for a drive and a large truck bearing the picture of a bag of Sun Chips turned onto the street in front of us. I yelled "Follow that truck!" Because right in that moment, there was nothing that sounded as delicious as eating an entire bag of Sun Chips. Now for those of you who know me, this might sound slightly out of character. S.O.S. thought so, too. "Really?!?" "No, I mean, yes. I mean, no. If we did go buy Sun Chips, then the advertising on that truck will have worked, and that would make me feel like I had given in." But three minutes later we were pulling into the Vons parking lot, at my request, to find some Sun Chips. S.O.S. drove the car around the parking lot while I ran in, went straight to the chips aisle, and found a bag of temptation itself. *CRINKLE, CRINKLE* The noise of the bag nearly made me jump. What was wrong with it? Some new-fangled packaging that was biodegradable... and extra noi...

I think I can tell you almost the precise hour when my Newbaby grew up. I knew it was coming based on a number of factors: his increased hunger, the famous "six week" spurt mentioned in all of the baby development calenders, and the inevitable truth that a Newbaby doesn't stay new for forever. His growth has actually been the topic of one of the pieces of advice most shared with me: Don't blink! The thinking, of course, is that if I blink I will completely miss him growing up because it really does happen that fast. And so it was that in the middle of the night Friday, my small baby got big. Why can I pinpoint this so accurately? When I put little T down for the night, he was happily ensconced in a diaper size "N". Three hours later when I needed to change him, the clean size "N" diaper wouldn't fit. And to think! I missed watching him grow because I was following one of the other most-frequently shared bits of advice: Sleep when baby sleep...

New babies draw people. This is an accepted fact of life. (To more accurately address this truth, we will be using the orthography newbaby, since this is the most widely employed term for this phenomenon.) Newbaby dissolves the city-stranger mentality: when it is impolite to make eye contact, creepy to greet, and unforgivable to initiate a conversation with a personal question.* In this altered reality, it is not unheard of for cashiers to squeal over newbaby, parking spot neighbors to gush through their open window before putting their car properly in park, and for condo neighbors to yell at the yappy dogs next door because "SHHHHH! You'll wake the newbaby!" I haven't yet gotten comfortable with the full range of comments and questions, but strangely enough, this is not the characteristic which unnerves me the most. Gaze at my newbaby long enough and I will confess to everything. I don't deny that the gazing is natural and understandable; I do it myself a good m...

Dear Child of Mine, You can come now. I know I've been telling you all along that you can come late, but late is now. I really appreciate your cooperation thus far. The kitchen is clean (until dinner time), the bills are paid for the next month, groceries are stocked, the trash has been taken out, the floors are clean (no thanks to your off balance mother), the pantry is organized. Doesn't that make you want to come and mess it all up? Yesterday marked a year since your dad and I bought our little house, and I am happy to report we finally unpacked the last box. And hung pictures. And put out door mats. So really, we are never going to be more ready for you as we are right now. Of course, everyone these days is asking about how we've decorated your room. "Room" is a generous term. Or maybe I should say the entire house is your room. You have more clothes than your parents do. And your father complains about how all of his "man space" has become dia...