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Singing Lessons

I have an endearing story about my dad singing to my sisters and me when we were babies. He would just repeat Silent Night over and over because that was the only song he knew all the words to. He wasn’t that much of a hands-on dad when it came to discipline (unless we were bothering him specifically) or day-to-day affairs, but he sure loved his girls. Especially when we were all cuddled into his arms about to fall asleep. Awwwwwww. I don’t quite remember this but I certainly appreciate the stories and the devotion.

I, of course, sing to my son the requisite “Hush Little Baby” and “Twinkle Twinkle” but am in the market for a new tune. I was just listening to an updated version of Amazing Grace and hadn’t even thought of that one! Swing Low Sweet Chariot. I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing. Sweet Child of Mine. Landslide. I am totally missing some good tunes! I need to get listening and bolster my playlist.

The Loss of a Much-Smaller Child

I participated in a mourning ceremony yesterday. Wait, wait…no one died, thank heavens! But it was a mourning ceremony nonetheless. I went through my son’s clothes from this past year and brought out all the new 24-month/2T stuff (whatever the heck the difference is). Some of my favorite little outfits went to the thrift store pile. Only a few pieces made their way to the attic for that just-in-case incident that another little fellow would join our family. As I went, the pj’s got a little longer, shirts got a little wider and shoes took up more space in the top drawer. While I don’t need to hang on to four bottle of Desitin, especially since potty training is in the works, I have a really hard time putting them in the donate pile when I really still want to be able to use them.

Hunched over for two hours organizing and purging that tiny little wardrobe not only did a number on my physical body, it also affected my store of momma emotions. That minuscule sweep of time from chubby thighs to long, stringy legs; that span of time between immobility and unstoppable energy; that wisp of time that carries the needy infant to the self-sufficient toddler passes nearly without notice until you’re caught off-guard eliminating that tiny-hood from your mind and home.

A mom must really prepare herself for that constant evolution. She must steel herself against that trap of continuously feeling loss that she could let herself fall into. But she must also revel in those miraculous moments where she notices that something she had a tremendous part in creating is truly thriving and all those doubts about having a healthy child fall away.

Home Sweet Nest

There’s no force greater than a mother’s nesting instinct.

I mean, I have never been more inclined to remove the dust from the baseboards or remove every stray string from my home as I have since I was “with child”.

No one can stop me when a small tidying-up project turns into a whirlwind rid-a-thon. As I’ve explained in a previous post, those little piles of junk provide great threatening pressure to my life-filled chest. They can also pose a threat to that small person that toddles around them. Not just physically, but emotionally. I mean, I don’t want this boy to grow up without seeing the value in the things around him. I want him to take care of his home. I want to prime him to be a responsible respectable young man who values order in his life, especially for the benefit of any future partners. So, I have to set an example for him by taking at least a little bit of care of our things.

Physical dangers do exist as well, I admit. I can’t tell you how worried I was after we put fiberglass insulation in the attic. After vacuuming below the door several times, I still worried about the microscopic pieces that still must be embedded in the carpet and what would happen if the baby got a piece stuck in a tiny digit and we wouldn’t be able to see it nor would he be able to tell us where it hurt. It would just kill me if our carelessness hurt him.

So, the nesting instinct is also married to that ruthless polygamist Guilt. When I found remnants of larvae (gasp!) in an old can of instant cocoa mix, I instantly pegged myself as a careless mother.

Who else thinks about how, after the dog pees on his foot during a walk, he will clean most of it off in the snow during the 3 mile trek, but will come home with God-only-knows-what-else on his feet and walk all over the house and the baby will pick up a banana from said floor and ingest it? And who gives their dog a bath more than once or twice a month anyway? Mommies have been blessed (cursed?) with such instincts for ages to keep their children safe.

Really, nesting is a force that cannot be reckoned with. Only after exhausting myself once in a while with tile and a bottle of bleach, and scouring away at some of that instinct, can I finally sit back and allow the 10-second-rule to apply. Only after!

Reinventing the Wheel

Why is it OK to use others’ ideas in order to prevent “reinventing the wheel”, but we have to constantly reinvent ourselves to every person we meet to earn ourselves any value?

So, you leave college, change jobs, and suddenly that perfect attendance, A+ average and raving reviews from your college professors mean absolutely nothing. You have to perform above average on the corporate tasks set before you over and over again to once again gain that superior reputation.

Then, you change doctors three times in the last five years due to your medical coverage, and along the way all those years in a row of normal results mean nothing, and you have to start out at year one again and again (even though you’ve been in the same monogamous married relationship for the past three years and tested normal for the past 10 and had every detail of your past medical history faxed over each time). The new eye doctor also doesn’t get it until you’re there three years in a row. Then he says, well, something must be wrong.

You graduate college, get married, have a baby and after that, fall off the face of the Earth. It is difficult to renew that sense of excitement or level of care people have for you during those times. If you’re not shopping for a gown or picking up a layette, you’re nobody. Unless maybe you’ve somehow found the key ingredient to erasing laugh lines. Even then, you’d have to pitch your product with a huge marketing budget in order for anyone to hear about it.

Then, you’re in a nursing home with no visitors and your most exciting feat for the day is planting a fricken’ tomato seed. Most situations, relationships, types of people, and news events aren’t “fresh” to you anymore. You can’t bungee jump from a New York building anymore. And even if you were a world-renowned artist a few decades back, no one would stop long enough to learn about it because you’re not “fresh” anymore.

This is why it is so important to not write people off because the first time you saw them, they had a toothpaste smudge on their sleeve. Every one of my best friends will tell you that they didn’t think much of me when they first saw me. It took a long time and a lot of exploration to find out who I really was and that I might be worth being around. I myself have been surprised to find out certain things about people that I never would’ve imagined and found love in an unlikely place. I despised my own husband when I first met him. That’s the trouble. Most of us are all too dismissive. Try not to miss out next time, okay?

By the way, Miss Bride-of-the-Year, while we’re overjoyed about your union, please remember that once this is all over, the hype will disappear very rapidly. Try not to ruin friendships, pine over icing colors for too long, or float your head too high, because we all need you back on Earth, and we don’t want to have to cringe at the thought of you when you come back.

P.S. What is happening to cinnamon-flavored gum? This cure for my boredom-of-the-mouth (more on that in a later post) is disappearing from every well-stocked candy shelf imaginable. Wrigley’s cinnamon? Are you out there somewhere?