flumpie: (Flumpie - Roo)
He came to pick you up - as a proper gentleman should. And he came to the door to get you - he didn't just honk from the driveway.

You were eagerly waiting:


He wore jeans which was a bit informal, but he balanced it nicely with a collared shirt and jacket. You'd had on a lovely pink outfit, but you soiled it right before he arrived - possibly from pre-date jitters, I guess. So you were in your pajamas when he arrived - which seemed a bit suggestive.

We all had a lovely dinner, and then you pretty much passed out on the floor. That's my party girl.

And here you are, ready for him to escort you home:




He sent you this email yesterday for Valentine's Day:
Dear Charlie,

I just wanted to say Happy Valentine's Day! You are the best Valentine
EVER!

Brooks
flumpie: (Kanga and Roo)
Dearest Charlie,

Today was your two-month check-up. You had to get four shots. And I was the one who had to hold you still while you got them.

One minute we were looking at each other - talking and smiling. The next minute, someone was piercing your soft skin - repeatedly. For your whole life, I've kept you warm and safe and tried to protect you. And all you know now is that I was there when you were hurt - and I wasn't fixing it. You looked so betrayed. It was the first time I've really let you down. But believe me, the pain you felt today pales when compared to pertussis or polio. Vaccinating you was the best possible choice; the only one really.

And today won't be the last time I let you down. Hopefully it will always be for such a good reason.

Love,
Mom
flumpie: (Eeyore - Floating Calm)
My darling child,

I really do think that, in the last hour, you've doubled in size. You've been kicking and stretching and now my belly is incredibly tight. So tight, in fact, that your big sister, Emily, has been bouncing quarters off of it. I don't think you can grow anymore in the next 104 days - there's just not room!
flumpie: (Kanga and Roo)
My sweet Flumpie,

If you do not stop leaping on my bladder, I will have no other choice but to put you in a lengthy time out on the Thinking Step as soon as you are born - so that you can contemplate your actions.

With great love,

Mom
flumpie: (Flumpie - Roo)
... and you're making me a mom for the second time. So thank you!

Sometimes babies are planned and wished for. And sometimes they are unexpected surprises. But, even the planned ones are, somehow, more than anyone could ever have imagined. And that's true if it's your first baby or, I guess, your 10th. (Not that I expect to have that many.)

Here's something Aunt Betty sent me which I thought might be kind of fun for you to read later on.

Being a Mom

We are sitting at lunch one day when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family."

"We're taking a survey," she says half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"

"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral.

"I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations."

But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes.

I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable. I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking, "What if that had been MY child?"

That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.

I feel that I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.

I want my daughter to know that every day decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom.

However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother. Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give herself up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.

I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor.

My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, and not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving.

I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time.

I want her to taste the joy that is so real it actually hurts.

My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say. Then I reached across the table, squeezed my daughter's hand and offered a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings.

Profile

flumpie: (Default)
flumpie

December 2011

S M T W T F S
    123
45678910
11121314151617
1819202122 23 24
25262728293031

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 24th, 2017 04:43 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios