BETTER THAN A BONUS CHECK? NO, BUT...

Mothering isn't a glamorous job. And it pays for shit. And the self-confidence building? Not so much. But just occasionally, you get a little glimmer of validation. Today I got it in the form of a comment at the park.

The Girl and I went to the park where we met an 8-year-old girl. The Girl shared her sand toys with the older girl and they played for a bit. We went for a walk across the park without the other girl, leaving our sand toys behind. When we returned about 20 minutes later, a couple little kids (under 2) were playing with the sand toys. The dad asked The Girl if they could continue playing with them and she answered, "Sure. If you bring a toy to the park, you have to share it with everyone." Suddenly, the 8yo realized her shovel and bag were also being played with by the little ones. She ran over, grabbed them and said they were hers. Then she asked Grace why she shared her toys. Again The Girl answered that it was a rule to share her toys at the park. The older girl just shrugged. And at that moment I felt validated. I have done a good job raising my daughter to share. Next up, world peace.

A COUPLE + A BABY = A FAMILY

The Girl will be four tomorrow. Four years ago I was a crabby miserable pregnant lady with swollen ankles. I had read all the birthing books, written a detailed birth plan, and compiled the phone list and email for the birth announcement. I had obsessed over pregnancy & the birth for seven months (when I peed on a stick I thought I was just one month along, but at my 4 month ultrasound, they said I was 5 months along, so yippee, I got to skip ahead a month). My most pressing issue was whether or not I had decent jammies to wear after the birth (FYI - comfy jammie pants/shorts and lots of camisoles with built-in bras are a must, Jo). I never really liked being pregnant. Maybe it was the fact that I had a hair-trigger gag reflex. I barfed nearly every day, but didn't feel nauseous, I just would suddenly barf. I had great fun telling The Hubby where I barfed each day - in the Target parking lot! at the corner of Seaward & Thompson! on the neighbor's lawn! in the sink (kitchen & bathroom)!

But on the morning of July 30th, I didn't care about the barfing. I woke up around 6:45 a.m. thinking I was peeing in bed. I ran to the bathroom, sat down and realized my water just broke. The day had arrived. I didn't wake The Hubby because I thought he needed his sleep. As I went back to bed, I realized the contractions my midwife described were just starting, "Picture a thick hemp rope wrapped around your waist and being twisted in the back." It was very mild so I laid in bed and waited till after 7 to wake The Hub and call the midwife. My regular midwife Denise was a scream, but alas, she wasn't on call, so we had the other one - capable and nice but not Denise. At her office (conveniently located across from the hospital) at 9 a.m. she said "Yep, the baby's coming." She also "stirred things up" aka stripped the membrane and said to wait an hour or so to go to the hospital.

We went home and I sat around calling family and friends, staying calm, but waiting for it to get worse. The Hubby's parents weren't answering (dial up! cell phone off!). I woke my sis in Maui (at a time share vacation so she will always be gone for The Girl's birthday) and packed my bag. The hospital is literally five blocks from our house. I could have walked. But we drove instead. The pain was getting more intense and I remember walking into labor and delivery with tears in my eyes saying, "I'm having my baby today." It was 11 a.m. when they put me in the room. I barfed in the sink for good luck. Then my girlfriend Gerri arrived with her camera and a CD player.

After the baby was monitored and I was settled in, we heard from the in-laws that they were on their way. I had invited them into the delivery room, along with my dad, but he had vertigo and couldn't drive. Even though it's only been four years, things are kind of fuzzy after that. There was some checking of the cooch, conversations, stronger contractions, cursing, classical music and hand holding. Then I met the most amazing man...the anesthesiologist. He ushered folks out of the room and went to work quickly giving me an epidural (part of the birth plan). I swear I felt better within one minute even though he said it could take up to 10 minutes. I professed my love to him and told him he deserved a raise. He laughed the laugh of a confident man. I just smiled a lot as The Baby made her way down the birth canal. After that, it was all lollipops and puppies. Until I had to push.

The midwife turned off the epidural drip so I could better feel the pushing. Ouch. As the epidural wears off, the midwife said feeling (read pain) would come back as if someone is opening a window, starting with a crack and eventually spreading across your lower half. My window felt like it was above my right ovary and someone was twisting and pulling it with pliers. I closed my eyes after the first push and didn't open them until I delivered. I was hot. Really sweating. My shins were sweating. There was a nursing student who was in charge of keeping a supply of cold towels in a bucket of ice water and draping them on my chest and wiping my face and head. The chant of, "Push, push, push! You're doing great! Almost there!" went on for over an hour. Her head was crowning but she would slip back after each contraction. I didn't want to cuss at the baby so I loudly said, "I WANT TO SEE MY BABY. GET MY BABY OUT. I WANT HER OUT." Obviously I needed to get motivated for the big finale so The Hubby said, "Touch her head." I gave him my hand and he put it on her furry little noggin. But even that couldn't get the baby out. The midwife said if she gave me an episiotomy, she would come out, so I said FUCK YEAH or something along those lines. With one snip, the baby literally shot out at 5:36 p.m. Then there was a flurry of activity (cord around the neck twice) and the baby went immediately to the warming table. GO WITH HER, I told the hubby. They waved an oxygen tube under her nose, made sure she was perfect (she was) and eventually put her on my chest. She rooted around and was still sort of slimy, but here she was finally. My little girl. We did this. I brought her into the world. She was held and cooed over by all. Pictures were taken. I was in love. Then she went off with The Hubby and a baby nurse to get weighed, measured, poked, and bathed. My girlfriend Vonnie arrived in time to see Nurse Ratchet holding The Baby upside down under running water and scrubbing off the goo. Ahhh, friends, family, and a brand new baby.

Somewhere along the line there was a placenta delivered and stitches given and I finally sat up and moved into a wheelchair to head upstairs to our room (much quieter than the rooms on the floor with labor & delivery and the nursery). As I was wheeled past the 7th floor classroom full of expectant parents learning about the birth process, I shouted, "It's not so bad. But get the epidural."

After The Hubby, The Baby & I settled into our room, we ate dinner from Ferraro's. Food has never tasted so good. I was ravenous. Birthing a baby is hard work. Later The Hubby went home to grab a shower and a change of clothes. It was the first night of the Ventura County Fair, so The Baby & I watched the fireworks. I told her they were to celebrate her arrival. Later that night, The Hubby didn't want to put her back in the bassinet after she woke, so he let her sleep with him in the other hospital bed. The tradition of the family bed began that first night.

And so on July 30th, a baby girl was born. A couple became a family. And life hasn't been the same since.

AN HOUR AND A HALF

Motherhood is hard. So is marriage. And both are difficult when your spouse travels. I don't mean to be vague, I just want a break. Not from marriage. Not from motherhood. Just a little rest from the grind. A fucking day off. Not coming anytime soon, though. Hubby got back at 8 p.m. from an exhausting four-day trip. We are tagging along on his next trip (Long Beach) this Thu-Sun. At least we'll all be together in the same spot. Then I have to head down south to take my Dad in for yet another foot surgery on Mon. Who the fuck knows how long I will have to stay down there taking care of him. My Sis will be in Maui on vacation and Dad didn't bother to check schedules until six days before his surgery. I just want a break.

I am actually looking forward to my yearly check-up today. I'm dropping The Girl off with friends so I will have an hour and a half off. I will enjoy the time in the waiting room. I will probably even enjoy the exam. Sad. Of course I may just break down in tears while sitting on the table in my paper gown and she will up my meds. Either way, I still have an hour and a half off.

HOW TO THREATEN A PRESCHOOLER

I have tried nearly everything to get my daughter to do things like stop jumping off high things or pick up her room. Nothing works. Bribes, also known as rewards, don't work. Threats of bodily harm don't work. Actual bodily harm doesn't work. Discussion of appropriate behavior does not work. Praise for good behavior? Doesn't frickin' work. So I shall list all the ways that don't work in order to brainstorm a new idea that will.

• Bad parent: Don't do that or I will give you a whuppin'.
• Concerned parent: Please stop that honey, you could get hurt.
• Loud parent: GET DOWN! I am NOT taking you to the emergency room!
• Graphic yet touchy-feely: If you fall, you are going to crack your head open and all of your brains will come out. How will that make you feel? It will make me soooo sad.
• Shame based: Stop that before someone who works here comes over tells you to stop.
• Bribe threat: If you don't stop, you won't get any gum/cookies/ice cream.
• Instant bribe: Stop it now and I will give you this gum. (Two minutes later threaten to take the gum back for non-compliance.)
• Errand-running parent: Stop that right now. We don't have time to go to the emergency room today. We still have to get dad's shirts at the dry cleaner.
• Teaching to hate the poor: Pick up your toys or I will take them to the Goodwill. I'm sure the less fortunate kids will take good care of them.

So by now I should have some fabulous ideas...but no. I ain't got nuthin. I am praying it is a phase.

OPERATION AGGRAVATION

This is what The Girl's agenda looked like on Friday:

• 6 am - wake up early (WTF? I usually sleep til 7:30! oh well!) and watch PBS while Daddy tries to snooze on the couch with me
• 7 - wake Mama up again, this time using the patented Cock-a-doodle-do (CADD) Method; Daddy goes back to bed
• 7:15 - annoy Mama by peeing in the shower (with Mama is in the shower too)
• 7:45 - wake Daddy up again using the CADD Method
• 8 - Cuddle up on couch wrapped in towels and comforter to watch more TV
• 8:30 - start snoring on the couch when Mama tries to feed me breakfast
• 9 - wake slowly and grudgingly as Mama tries to put tights and leotard on for tap class
• 9:30 - Wolf down a pb&j on the way to Starbucks (sheesh! Mama HAS to have a chai) then decide I need to pee just as we are getting back into the car
• 9:45 - tap my little heart out
• 11 - begin full frontal assault on Mama's nerves while at Costco by trying to touch everything and refusing to stay seated in cart (despite bribe of gum)
• 11:45 - back at home completely undress in order to go potty; get body wedged in toilet, butt in the water; drop tiara in toilet as I am helped out of predicament by Mama; gleefully climb into the bathtub for second bath of the day
• 12-12:45 pm - ignore hearty lunch, ignore new chalk for blackboard and continue to annoy Mama during her computer time
• 12:50 - ask to draw with chalk on front porch but actually run away to neighbor's house
• 12:52 - grudgingly return home when nosy neighbor thinks I shouldn't be outside alone
• 12:53 - Mama is mortified! Hahahahahahaha!
• 1:30 - wear Mama down so she agrees to take me swimming with friend
• 2-3 - as I get into the pool, say "The water is frickin' warm!" in front of friend and parent of friend; get out and pee on the grass behind planter at the pool (cuz I can't just pee in the pool like the rest of the frickin' kids); jump back in; swim; swim; swim; unknowingly splash Mama a lot; continue splashing after Mama points it out and asks me to stop; swim really well; jump in to Mama more
• 3-3:30 - get out, get dressed, have snacks, head for home
• 3:45 - look at fish store before going to Von's; writhe on floor after viewing all fish and anemones, dirtying pants a little
• 4 - continue Operation Aggravation in the brief 5-minute trip to Von's by first laying in the basket of the cart, then repeatedly squirming, completely dirtying my THIRD outfit of the day in the process.
• 4:30-5 - blah blah OpAg still going strong; play in backyard; chase cats around the yard; plead several times to be liberated from toy-filled backyard to unsafe & unmonitored front yard; say please; find only muddy spot in yard and squish it between toes; wipe most off outside, but attempt to "wash" feet in toilet; make mess; yell for help from mom; enjoy third bath (not counting swimming pool); eat apple & juice in the tub!
• 5:30 - Mama said I can't get out of bathtub until Daddy is home.
• 5:32 - Get out of bathtub without telling Mama. Oops, Dad's not home yet. Play in room with blocks and other fun stuff completely naked and wet because Mama says she's too crabby to deal with me.
• 6 - Daddy's home! Greet him as long lost hero.
• 6:02 - Begin Operation Aggravation on Daddy.
• 6:10 - Walk with parents to dinner up the street; dawdle; lose one fuchsia croc in middle of crosswalk as 10 cars wait; get indignant; drive Daddy over the edge while Mama walks ahead acting as if she doesn't know us; cry
• 6:30 - eat; talk loud; try to escape under table (BTW did you know there is gum under there?); put shoes on table; put feet on table; attempt to lay on table
• 7-8 - back at home try to stay away from Mommy and play only with Daddy, per Daddy's stern directions; follow Mama from room to room asking for stuff and telling her stories
• 8:30 - attempt to draw out bedtime by asking to read one million books; agree to three books
• 8:45 - lights out; tell Mama I'm not tired and run to Daddy; eat yogurt
• 9 - plead for teeeeeeveeeeeeee; get put back in bed; continue to anger Mama by saying "I'm not tired" despite red, droopy eyes and multiple yawns
• 9:02 - Uh oh, Mama called Daddy in for backup. Grudgingly go to sleep with mean Daddy while mean Mama does laundry.
• 9:05 - dream of ways I can perfect the CAAD Method and continue OpAg on both parents. Look sweet while sleeping.

So to recap: three baths, innumerable outfits, a tiara in the toilet, a stuck kid in toilet, feet in toilet, swimming, tap dance, eating, playing, making me crazy. Today was a bad one. Naps must be worked back into the rotation. Maybe tomorrow will be better. On the bright side, no one died.

FREAKISH SHOE & EARRING BUYING SPREE

I rarely buy shoes. The last two pair of shoes I bought were Crocs - black maryjanes last year and regular black Crocs at Christmas '05. Dude. But for some unknown reason in the past three weeks I have purchased three new pairs of shoes, all with peep toes and none of them made by Crocs. Red slingback flats with white piping & button detail from Urban Outfitters, black & white peep-toe sneakers by BC Footwear, and peep-toe flats in ZEBRA off Ebay! Damn, I really am crazy.

Then I lost my mind completely and bought jewelry. A sassy bracelet & earrings at Macy's and two pair of cheapy sorta-50s/sorta-80s retro plastic-y earrings at one of those tween shops at the mall. I know - crazy fucking lunatic is what I said too! And I think I'm gonna go to Forever 21 to go check out some rings and maybe another pair of under $5 earrings. I am teetering on the brink.

I really think my subconscious is driving this whole crazy buying spree because I'm going to Vegas in three short weeks. Nothing says Vegas like a new pair of zebra peep-toe flats and large cheap earrings (to match the very large hair I get in the desert).

Gawd almighty I need this trip. I need these shoes & earring. Maybe Vegas, Vonnie and zebra peep toes will save me from the daily insanity of a preschooler who naps irregularly and knows how to punch each and every one of my buttons. Peep toes to the rescue.

A DOCTOR OF LOTION

Tonight I rejoice for I have molded my daughter into the perfect child - a child who wants nothing more than to rub lotion on my 40-year old feet. Gawd bless her. And gawd bless America. I have dreamed of this day.

It all started innocently when she asked if she could use my lotion (yes it was Hempz lotion, and happy 4/20!) while I read a book with my feet propped up on the coffee table. She then rambled on about being a doctor and needing to take care of the baby (me) and tucked a blanket around my legs. There was some talk of "special Chinese lotion," as well. And then she said the baby's feet were not good and needed help from the doctor. She said she was a "doctor of lotion, not a doctor of feet," but that she was also a pediatrician sometimes. And then the angels wept. She rubbed and dabbed and "swooshed" my feet for more than five minutes. Five minutes of bliss where I realized that all the diaper changes, snot wiping, book reading, breastfeeding, balanced meal making, loving and hugging finally paid off. And I just sat in there my chair, reading my book, blanket tucked around my legs, feet slathered in lotion, thinking, "This is why we reproduce."

PEOPLE ARE PEOPLE

I truly believe people come into your life for a reason. Good people, mean people, random folks that just flitter in and then, poof, are gone. Today a good person was put in my path and made my day.

After dropping off The Girl at preschool, I was sitting at the beautiful new Starbucks (right by Lowe's, across from the mall) enjoying my twice-weekly reprieve. I smiled and nodded to a 50+ish woman who was also sitting in the sunny corner sipping and reading. Eventually we exchanged pleasantries and then she joined me for a chat. She is a NY transplant who is trying to "live in the now" and follows some Buddhist principals. I'm down with that. Then we started talking about Ventura, counselling at-risk kids, child rearing and whatever else popped into our brains in a 15-minute chat. What I left with was the feeling that a total stranger "got me." She understands why I trust The Girl to run all the way across the park to pet a dog. She agrees that celebrating and embracing The Girl's current age/stage is essential, instead of always looking ahead or back. I felt like I got a gold star from the substitute teacher. It's nice when a stranger says she can tell that what I am doing is making a difference. But I guess she's not really a stranger since we are having coffee again next week.

I don't know who or what put Kathleen in my path today, but I am so glad to have a new friend.

MY CRAZY JUNIOR BAG LADY

My child just rescued a scrap of wrapping paper from the trash can. (editor's note: Yes, I know I should have recycled it in the first place, but shut up for a minute while I get to the point, OK?!?). She is having separation issues with things. Things like tires, dead plants, water bottle caps and apparently, used wrapping paper.

I had a flat tire last week and as the tow truck driver was taking the "worn out" tire off, she asked, "What are you going to do with my old tire? But I loooooooove my old tire!!!" Waaaaaaaa/cue tears. Seriously. She continued to cry when he put the tire in the trunk for repair later (even though we both knew it was a goner).

That night at Costco, as we used some of The Hubby's hard-earned bonus on four new tires for my car, The Girl again started to wail about how she loved her old tires and didn't want new ones.

She cried yesterday as I pulled several brown sticks that used to be coleus plants out of pots on the porch and replaced them with pretty new flowers.

Today's drama was the wrapping paper from a gift from Auntie Gerri. How heartless am I? I tossed it in the trash. She found it, saved it and wailed about my misdeed.

Could this be her way of dealing with loss/death? Or am I over analyzing? Am I pushing my death-agenda on her?

I think I will ask her teacher and the preschool director tomorrow. They know all about that developmental phase shit. Or maybe I will just Google "crazy junior bag lady compulsive horder."

THE MOMTINI, THE MYTH & THE JUDGEMENT

Melissa Summers is one of my favorite bloggers because aside from being a witty writer and a mommy, she is sort of damaged. Like the rest of us. We all have our skeletons, Melissa just shares them with thousands of folks who read her blog, Suburban Bliss. Melissa was on the Today show on Friday discussing the "new" fad of cocktail playdates where mommies drink alcohol. (Side rant - WTF Today show??? Since when is this new? Have they never heard of Mother's Little Helper? At least it's only a drink or two and NOT AMPHETAMINES..."THEY WERE DOCTOR PRESCRIBED!!!!!" the 1969 housewife & mother of three screamed.) While I think Melissa did great, and loads of other mommy bloggers agree (and here too), it seems there is still a murmur of discontent. A current of judgement is bubbling up to the surface. Again, I say WTF? People. We are not drinking shots of Jack Daniels or Cuervo (or even Patron, but hey, that's a pretty good idea). When my mommy friends get together for a little soiree, we have *gasp* a couple mimosas or a glass of wine or even a TGIFriday's branded Long Island Iced Tea. At the park. With the kids. Apparently supervising them inadequately. And then we drive home. After an hour or two or three.

So, uptight America (and I'm gonna throw in Meredith Viera too because she was rather patronizing in the piece), LIGHTEN THE FUCK UP! It's a drink with friends while the kids are expending energy. How many parents will be sitting around watching the Super Bowl with a beer in hand? Are those parents not modeling good behavior for their kids? Geeez. Really. Lighten the fuck up, people. And if I have one more person tell me how they would just "never think of drinking in front of the kids," I will punch them right in the face. After I finish my wine of course.

Moms need to stick together. We need to tell Meredith Viera, that Dr. Lady and all the rest of uptight America that moms are on the job 24/7/365. My last day off? The day I got my colonoscopy. Woo hoo. Vacation. Moms need to decompress sometimes. We need a break. And when we don't get a break, a bottle of wine at playdate sure makes our lives seem a little less monotonous.

So in summary, just shut up about cocktails and stop judging. Let the moms have their little bit of whatever. And if you aren't a mom, for gods sake, call a friend who is and offer to babysit for her one evening. It could save the mommy from AA.

THE GIRL, UPDATED

The Girl has been well behaved lately, except for a huge daily drama from 4-5:30 p.m. At that point I look for the closest stranger and beg them to take her from me. I even offer them spare change and a Starbucks card with $3 on it. Still no one has taken her. Do you think I need to add something else, like a grilled cheese sandwich?

++++++++++++++++++++

We go to the park almost every day. If there are dogs there The Girl immediately heads over and asks the owner if she can pet them. They are always impressed by this and who the hell can resist a freckle-faced girl? She has actually made friends with quite a few dogs - Tiki the pug, Gidget the poodle, Rascal the lab, Kai the mutt, Kona the black lab, Spike the Boston Terrier - and lots more that we know by site. She is seriously into dogs and asks almost daily if she can get one. Of course I am a huge meanie and say no. I have explained that after cleaning up her poop for three years, I would like a break. Her new plea for a dog includes, "I can feed it and walk it and clean up its poop" said in a sing-song voice. My answer is still no. I can resist the freckle-faced girl.

++++++++++++++++++++

We started The Girl in a tap & jazz class offered through the city. She really like the movie Happy Feet (a tap-dancing penguin is shunned, then accepted, the end) and I figured it would be a good way to expend her energy. She liked it and was thoroughly exhausted after it. I can't wait till next week. I think I want a pair of tap shoes. They just sound so cool.

THE BIGNESS OF MOTHER-LOVE

Last night after reading a few books to bring on the sleep fairies for The Girl, I was laying in bed thinking I needed to put down on paper (or Interweb) some of my ideas for a book. It would be a book just for her. But not for now. The book is for when she is grown, maybe about to marry or have a child of her own. Or it could be a book to help other mothers express the depth of their love, attachment, being. Because you just don't know, can't know that bigness until you experience that unbelievable mother-love feeling that swallows you whole. I didn't have any idea.

MOTHER-LOVE

I kiss you on the top of your head, hoping that it will seep into your brain, becoming more than just a memory of my love for you. The kisses will become a part of you, muscle memory, an actual sensory experience that you feel long after my kisses are gone.

I touch your round belly button with my finger, knowing it is where you were once connected to me, wishing that connection will stay forever. Knowing that my belly held you and the physical evidence on your belly proves it.

I hug you with not just my arms, but muscle and mass encircling you, squeezing you tight as if to physically transfer my love into your body. Sending the warmth of my love to be stored through winters to come.

I protect you with my body - my veins and my flesh, guts, fingernails and bones. I will cover you with my body, as well as my soul, sacrificing both to keep you safe and well. Thinking that someday it will be a metaphor and not my physical presence that protects you. Knowing that sacrifices should be made silently.

I smell your hair and neck to remember what it is like before you learn worry or fear. It smells young and free and hopeful. Before the musk of adolescence and scent of womanhood come to settle in, I will put this sweet smell in my memory.

My hands hold your feet, knowing one day they will walk far away, but squeezing each of them just enough so you know I am there. Remembering when both feet fit in one hand, when newborn feet curled tightly by reflex, before you discovered they could take you places.

I cup your cheek and stroke my thumb on your chin, wanting to tell you that one day you'll need to turn that cheek and you will need to keep that chin up. But then I remember you are still my baby and always will be. I will fight the world for you, my sweet baby, and then with you, giving you the skills to keep fighting.

I squeeze your soft upper arm, your little butt, your leg, like a loaf of bread to make sure this is not a dream. You are real. You are mine. I am your mother and I always will be.

The sea, the sky, the heavens - none are big enough, vast enough to show you this thing called mother-love. When you came to me, a space was created in my heart. It was not an empty space or a hole, but an infinite space where more love and laughter and sand and candy and beauty come to be stored every day. Mother-love is bigger than that. It is a whirlwind that takes on all the bits of your life and builds them into a sculpture in my heart. It changes and twists and grows every day, every minute I breath. Every minute that mother-love shapes me. You shape it. You are my mother-love.