Thursday, December 10, 2009
Ducks and Cupcakes
I have a confession to make. I have the same inconvenient feeling of nervousness that used to gather in my chest before giving a speech in class. I realize I haven't felt this feeling in quite some time and me thinks this is because I have become quite comfy cozy in my little human-cubicle and haven't pushed myself (coaxed) to my edge in a long long while.
I was thoroughly tempted to delete the entry previous to this one, my first blog entry, or to revise, deconstruct and edit it down to an eight-hour-later, distilled, haiku version of itself, but I decided to leave it be in all it's first-time glory and move forward. Here we go.
My brain still has many non-mother habits. One being the laughable idea that things will go as expected. That time will, moment by moment, be filled mainly with what I have come up with (which sounds incredibly boring when put on paper).
Control would be an accurate all-inclusive word. During the past 7 weeks with Opal in my life, this habit has definitely lessened (from tight leather to forgivable elastic), but I still find myself having to consciously discard well-laid plans on a daily basis.
And this is how it showed up today:
This morning was bath morning, an exciting and adorable undertaking indeed, but one that requires a little preparation. Opal nursed for a few hours and we purposefully let some time pass so as to avoid any aquatic spit-ups. Space heaters warmed the bathroom and bedroom respectively. The diaper was changed, bath water at a perfect notch just above luke-warm. Towels, washcloths and shampoo strategically in place. After a dozen tries, I am finally getting the knack of this.
Opal is still so young that her little legs turn inward like a tadpole, the way they do for creatures who do not yet crawl or walk. She kicks around and licks at the water that drips down her cheeks as I wash her hair. Her skin looks luminescent like rice paper under the water and her eyes dance and flicker as if to say, "Oh man, make me a little older and give me some hand-eye coordination and watch me go!"
(Author's note: Opal has popped her head out of the Moby and currently has it resting on my right arm, head tipped and bobbing slightly as I type. She is sound asleep and snoring slightly. See attached photo.)
Post-bath we re-located to her sizzling bedroom (though bedroom is a misnomer because she sleeps with us.) for a fresh diaper and a baby-massage. (Her skin has been showing the effects of the dry climate coupled with the constant force-air heating so we've been doing massages with baby lotion that costs more than my own.) Clean pajamas and into the Moby sporting a dainty little skull-cap and I was feeling like I had just completed a piece of well-mapped choreography. Satisfied. Complete.
The ducks were lined dutifully in a row and I was prepared to begin doing some of the things on MY agenda. My big, grown-up mommy agenda. (Like, say, wash the sheets--heaven!-- or change the word that accurately describes the kitchen from disaster to fine. Or, as much a treat as a cupcake after the veggies, maybe she would nap in the Moby long enough for me to write a bloggy chunk! Boy oh boy.
No sooner had I stripped the bed and loaded the sheets into a basket did I hear a whimper, the pre-cursor, followed immediately by the largest, heaving vomit we have yet experienced. It dripped and puddled and pooled while, somehow, at the same time clinging in milky curds to everything. An impressive sight. (And I find it optimistic that the first place my brain traveled was scientific curiosity-- How in the world did all of that fit into her tiny belly??)
And in a single moment, as if to follow the sweep of a wand, a Groundhogs Day-esque do-over was required of the entire morning.
I don't know quite how to tie this up without sounding like a syrupy children's book lesson complete with Kenny G playing gently in the background.
You just have to laugh at yourself. You just have to.
And look, many hours later, I am indeed enjoying my cupcake and doing some writing!
But the sheets are still sitting in a pile on the bed.
Posted by Heather G at 12:19 PM