change of plans

Today was supposed to be a snow day. We were promised a snow storm with snow that would stick, preceded by two days of sunshine! But instead, we got a slurpy machine explosion. Two grey days, followed by tons of snow all night (that stuck) and then rain to melt it all away. Somehow, we also got intermittent cable/phone/internet outages too, which is why I'm writing to you now instead of earlier.

Today, I was also supposed to meet with a friend to teach her the art of crochet. But her son is sick, and so we have pushed that lesson off another week.

Today, I was supposed to make something in the crockpot but I was afraid that the power would become intermittent too and I would have a steaming (then cold), half cooked pot of wasted food. So, it's on to plan B for dinner.

What is plan B anyway?

A change of plans is something I am getting used to. I used to be so punctual and reliable. I used to do exactly what I said I would do, be where I said I would be. I was a gifted procrastinator, but I always finished and I was usually on time.

Now, I roll with it. The other day, I arrived (on time) to the vet for the dog's shots. Actually, we were a little early and I commented to the receptionist that this was a minor miracle. She said, "Well, you have your little darling there, so there's your excuse." She meant it in the kindest possible way, and since I was early for the appointment, I didn't feel judged. I asked her how long this grace period lasted and she told me, with her tongue firmly in cheek, that it completely depended on how cute your kid(s) are. Whoa. Even though she was trying to be silly (I hope!), I ended the conversation there and took my seat to wait with my nervous doggie and darling daughter.

This tiny episode (and many other daily ones) has got me thinking about responsibility and changing plans. Children seem to be unreliable by nature these days. Maybe my memory is faulty, but I don't remember plans changing so much when I was little. We were flexible, but always reliable. I want to strike a balance. This is partly for selfish reasons, of course. I am the one missing the snow, crochet lessons, and a warm meal from the crock pot.

mommy talk

So, Cordelia and I just came back from baby story time at our local library. It is, unquestionably, the best part of my week. We read stories, sing songs, blow bubbles, do a little baby dancing, and then it's done. Thirty minutes! Afterwards, I chat with the other mommies and Cordelia engages with the other babies and stuff in the room (she has some bells she is particularly fond of right now - think jingle-bells - she'll follow them around the room and be sad whenever one of the more mobile babies takes the bells. The bells are very popular.). Sadly, I found out today that next Tuesday is the last Tuesday until JANUARY. I know! Too long. Sniff.

Anyway, back to the point of the story here. This time, none of the folks who I know were there. There are a couple of mommies that I know from my neighborhood who attend regularly. So, I had to just jump into conversation with these other mommies who are nearly strangers. This isn't terribly hard for me, but I don't like it very much.

They were having one of those conversations that starts like this, "Does your baby crawl yet? Mine is all over the place!" Inevitably, the next mommy jumps in and starts talking about their baby and their baby's crawling. Then, another mommy will chime in and share about their baby. It goes on and on, mommies interrupting other mommies to tell about their little darlings. I realized today that this kind of conversation is not for me.

Now, I am the first one to talk about my baby. The first. I LOVE to talk about her. I started this blog here to talk about her, geez. But, when I am out having conversations, I don't want to have an exclusively mommy-talk kind of conversation. I want to talk about the big stuff. I noticed that none of these mommies talks about her feelings or reflections, but just shares what her baby is doing or not doing. This "conversation" makes me think of the times when I have driven across the country by myself. When I would arrive at a rest stop/grocery/ hotel/wherever, I would try to talk to whomever crossed my path. After so many lonely hours in my own little car bubble, I needed to get out and offload some of the thoughts in my mind. Sometimes the words would come out all disorganized and sometimes they would be brilliant. Inevitably, I would enter back into my little bubble at the conclusion of the break and wonder, "What just happened?" These mommy talks feel like that.

Because I have always been the "Queen of Deep", I know that I'm not always in the norm. I understand that some women may not want to share their innermost thoughts and feelings in public, with strangers. That's OKAY. But getting past this stage is important to me. I don't really want to do mommy talk any more. I want to have some conversation. Of course, it can be about babies.

I don't know how to do this. I just know I want to.

cereal for dinner

Tonight was to be our first real date since Cordelia's birth. Scott's 40th birthday party in Seattle - a real event! We worked out the innumerable logistics and steadied ourselves for the worry of leaving our little one asleep at a the guest of honor's house with a babysitter. Our only escape hatch was if she was still stuffy and cranky, still sick, we wouldn't go.

This morning I knew right away that we would not be going to the party. We wouldn't have a date and we would not need to worry about the sitter. We will save those adventures for some other day, hopefully in the not too distant future.

Meanwhile, instead of birthday delights, I had cereal for dinner. Instead of a night on the town, we are watching (ho hum) the FOURTH disk in a FIVE-part series on the Civil War. Oh, friends, save me. And save me SOON.

today

Over the last week (since we returned from our visit to Butnerville) Cordelia has been sick. She's had a cold and her top two teeth coming in. Seems like quite a doozy of a combination because she just looks miserable. Snot, froggy voice, obvious discomfort in her ears, tiredness, and lots of crying. Our days have been full of little struggles. She's not even pooping well!

This morning it seemed that she was doing a little better. Her eyes were brighter and her snot was less. I took it as a sign that we should hit the road, get out! We have been staying close to home, just taking short walks and an occasional trip to the grocery or ferry terminal. Pretty boring stuff. I was feeling COOPED UP. When a dear friend encouraged my attendance at the local clergy lunch and sweetened the deal with the idea of shopping together, I packed the car and jumped in the ferry line. We went out! It was an unseasonably warm day, just beautiful. A perfect day for a jailbreak.

For the most part, Cordelia was a champ. She charmed my fellow clergy at the lunch and was a good sport about riding in the car. We had a pretty peaceful ferry ride over with me carrying her around, walking laps on the boat deck. But by the end of it all, things started to fall apart. I breathed a sigh of relief when she slept a little on the way to the ferry terminal on the way home. But the rest and the subsequent nursing were not enough and she started to scream as soon as I buckled her back in her carseat for the 40 minute ride home. She cried her heart out for that whole time. That kind of crying just kills me. And now I feel terrible about it all.

I guess I shouldn't have gone. But where do the needs of the mommy meet the needs of the baby? All of my effort is for her. It is all for her. But there are moments when I realize that I can't go much farther in the same direction. Something needs to shift now and then. These beautiful autumn days were breaking my heart, looking at them through the windows. I'm not sure my wanderlust or thirst for the wide world is satisfied, but I know that I'm not going anywhere until my little girl is better. Perhaps I can claim it was a rookie mistake?

She is sleeping now, down for the count, and I am hopeful she'll sleep all night. We'll have a quiet day tomorrow, catching up on rest and home. So much for the big, big world.

the soap mohawk

Yesterday, Cordelia and I reached a much longed-for milestone - the soap mohawk. Ever since she was teensy-weensy, I have been attempting to get her hair to stand up on top of her head with the aid of baby soap at bathtime. Until last night, her fluffy chick head just didn't have enough long hair to make it happen. After each evening's attempt, I would rinse her sweet head and move on. Last night, I called from the bathtub to Doug to GET THE CAMERA. It was a sweet moment, getting a picture of those curls of hair standing up on her head, just like I imagined they would. Cordelia seemed proud of herself, reflecting my pleasure in her smile.

Who knows why I have so looked forward to the soap mohawk? Maybe it is because of all the other little babies I tortured in the bathtub with this procedure. My little brother was probably my first victim, followed closely by all the other little sweeties I babysat for and loved.

Certain life moments have stood out for me as they have arrived in our life with Cordelia. It has sometimes surprised me which ones slide by with hardly a nod and which ones cause tears to well up in my eyes. Everybody says that the baby time flies by. I can not count the number of times I have been advised to, "Enjoy it while you can... before you know it she'll be off to college." Comments like that make me panic a little. And time does flow quickly by. I can hardly believe that Cordelia is nine months old already, that she sleeps through the night, and babbles and snuggles and smiles and has clear preferences for things. Certain things that she used to do constantly have faded into the past. New tricks emerge onto the scene daily, if not hourly. This constant change and letting go can act on a person like a whirlwind of grief. I can see why people are always warning me about the perils of the passage of time. But honestly, I'm doing pretty well with it. Rather than mourning each change like a loss, I'm savoring. I'm savoring the right now of our time together. I'm savoring Cordelia.

Many of you know that I looked forward to having a baby from the time I was a teenager. I knew I would be a mommy someday. I HAD TO be a mommy. Now that the time is here, I am savoring it. There are moments of challenge and struggle, fear and sadness, just like in any time of life. Savoring doesn't mean that there is nothing bad about this time, nor that I seek to enshrine these moments or hold myself in this place in time. I look forward to things as much as I ever did. I'm chock full of longing, just like always. What savoring means is that I'm trying to BE HERE NOW as much a possible. I'm trying to keep myself from being sidetracked by grieving what has just passed away or what is the next coming attraction. It feels like a spiritual practice, somehow. And, so far, I think it is shaping me into a pretty happy person.

Of course, now that we've achieved the soap mohawk, we will be doing it every single time we're in the bath. AND looking forward to clips and bows and braids and ponytails too.