Birth of a... Blog?

Announcing the birth of Lauren's new blog:

Writing from Scratch

Born: Sunday, July 26, 2009
12:19 a.m.
Height: 169 posts
Weight: 64MB

Visiting hours are from 12:00 a.m. to 11:59 p.m.,
Sunday through Saturday.
Proud author is recovering fine.

* * *

It's true. I'm moving.

With all this talk of new birth, it's time to give my blog a new lease on life. A fresh start in cyberspace. Because, if you haven't noticed, I am no longer reluctant in my blogging. In fact, I rather enjoy it. So, with the help of my friend and creative genius Jeremiah (whom you should all hire to design your blogs), Writing from Scratch was born. Still the same general kookiness; still taking my scratch ingredients --- experiences, photos, impressions --- and kneading them together with words to create something delectable (and mildly fattening), as all writing should be.

So, in anticipation of the even bigger birth announcement soon to come, I am giving you all a day or two to update your bookmarks and visit my new bloggie in the maternity ward. Call me biased, but I'd say he turned out pretty cute.

Tough Love

Anniversary

Nine years ago today I walked down the aisle toward you, my love. Slippered feet treading on rose petals, petticoats rustling, eyes dancing.

You looked at me like I was the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen.

We were so giddy, the congregation chuckled when we recited our vows. Our smiles cracked our faces in half, pouring out light. It felt like we were play-acting, saying words like "husband" and "wife." It was too easy to remember the early days, when our moms drove us on our dates, to believe that we were grown up enough to marry. Still, we slipped the rings on each other's fingers; we kissed; we processed out to the limo where we slurped down glasses of champagne so fast you were dizzy for the wedding photographs.

Married.

Nine years later, I am still walking toward you. Bare feet treading on cereal and plastic army men, ankles swollen, belly heavy with child. Moving closer to that place of light and perfect union that we promised to love and cherish all those years ago.

And you still look at me like I'm the most beautiful woman you've ever seen.

I love you.

In My Survival Kit

You.

Dear Noah:

This will likely be my last full week with just you. Just one kiddo to tuck in at night, just one little face to scrub, just one small hand to grasp in my own as we go out into the world.

You are a mere two weeks shy of your third birthday, and I am amazed at the little man you have become.

You dress yourself. You take showers. You use words like "swashbuckle" in a sentence. You sing loud. You play air guitar. You call me "Mom" and ask for "Some privacy, please" when you use the potty. You know all of the Spiderman villains by name. You help set the table and ask to "earn some monies" to put in your teddy bear bank. You adore your daddy. You (thankfully) forgot the cuss word I taught you by accident. You make funny faces that get you out of trouble because your dad and I can't help laughing.

I have learned you, and you have learned me. You have brought out the grown-up and the child in me, both at once. You have witnessed my triumphs and failures as a mom, and it appears that you still really like me anyway. I can now breastfeed, change a diaper, install a car seat, collapse a stroller, identify signs of strep, tolerate Barney, bake chickpeas into cookies, and name almost all of the Spiderman villains, thanks to you. We both had a lot of growing up to do, and still do.


Whatever changes lie ahead, know that I love you. And that, despite your insistence on being a "big boy," you will always be the tiny baby I cradled in my arms after that first gasp of breath, the opening line to the amazing story that is you.

All my love,

Mommy

The Four A.M. Book Club

The Four A.M. Book Club
Meeting Minutes: July 17, 2009

A meeting of the Four A.M. Book Club was called to order at 3:56 a.m. (EST) by Chairman Pooky the Bear. All members were present, including: Chairman Pooky, Ms. Lauren (Secretary) and Sir Leo the Cat (Treasurer). The group convened in the living room.

Ms. Lauren set forth a motion to begin reading and Pooky seconded. The motion carried. Ms. Lauren read a novel; Pooky meditated; and Sir Leo bathed himself.

Ms. Lauren noted that the other club members were shirking their literary duties. Sir Leo replied that he had only joined the club for the tummy rubs and late-night snacks. Ms. Lauren chose not to press the issue --- acknowledging the scarcity of nocturnal participants --- and set forth a motion to snack. Sir Leo seconded. Orange juice, peanut butter toast, and flaked tuna entrée (for Sir Leo) were procured. A hearty chewing session ensued, followed by more reading, meditation, and a nap by Sir Leo.

At roughly 4:45 a.m. (EST), all participants fell asleep. The meeting was adjourned.

Interested insomniacs should contact Ms. Lauren for further information about the club. Open enrollment will continue through July 31, when an additional member is expected to join. This member, referred to only as "Baby," will be leading a discussion on Dickens' classics through the month of August, though he will likely be distracted --- with Sir Leo --- by the snacks and snuggles.

BUSTED

Let me paint a sad little scene for you.

Pregnant woman (2 weeks from her due date) waddles through the aisles of Target, picking up the few items that will keep her household running for several days hence (soda, cat food, laundry detergent). Woman pauses at intervals to catch her breath, feeling the now-familiar squeeze of Braxton Hicks contractions.

Woman proceeds through checkout line and exits the building, adjusting her eyes to the glare and heat of the summer sun. With teeth gritted, she hefts her 38-pound child out of the shopping cart and situates him in the car, offering him a bag of Goldfish crackers if he would please stop whining. Woman unloads groceries into trunk of car and exits parking lot.

Woman cranks A/C down to "Lo," which at first only blows heat. Sweat beads her forehead and back. She is thirsty and tired, anxious to make her way to her friend's house where they will chat over a glass of iced tea while the kids entertain each other.

Woman flips on turn signal as she approaches her friend's condo complex, noticing for the first time the string of policemen up ahead, radar guns poised, their squad cars parked in a menacing line along the roadside. One policeman holds out a hand to signal "STOP." Her stomach squeezes, but this is not a contraction.

Police officer asks woman if she knows why he pulled her over. "I guess I was going too fast," she replies, looking defeated. Cop tells her she was doing 36 in a 25-mph zone. Woman leans awkwardly over her large belly to reach for her registration and proof of insurance. Meanwhile, her son proceeds to spill half a bag of Goldfish crackers onto the car floor as he strains to see what's happening.

Woman hands documents to officer and waits as he returns to his squad car to prepare the ticket. She starts crying. She can't stop. This is horrible timing, she is hot and tired and sweating, her friend's house is only a few hundred yards away, and her toddler is whining: "Go! Let's go!" She stares down at her massive belly, which looms like a giant "Get out of jail free" card (meaning any punishment, considering her current physical and emotional state).

No such luck. Officer hands over ticket with talk of points and traffic school. Woman nods, crying. Signs at the X, crying. Nods, crying, as the officer asks if she is all right and instructs her to drive safe.

The aftermath: a semi-hysterical phone call to her husband, a hug from her friend, a glass of iced tea and a pep talk as the kids entertain each other.

Moral of the story: Pay attention to speed limit signs, even when your throat is parched and the temperature outside reads 99° and your child is whining and you are experiencing mild childbirth contractions. The iced tea can wait.

AND...

Don't cry over spilled Goldfish.

Scenes from Pete's 30th Birthday

Because this blog is about more than me and my belly.
At least 3.5% of the time.

Thanks to some very creative (and thoughtful) church interns.

Later that day...

Even later (post-Swedish massage at spa and pre-surprise Outback feast with friends)...A really, really, really good day.

Here's to many more!

And here I thought I looked good

A direct quote from Noah as we left the house this afternoon (I was dropping him at church for a playtime activity):

Noah: "But Mom, you just can't wear your pajamas to church!"

Apparently he has clued into my round-the-clock ultra casual wardrobe.

This baby better come soon. I am running out of T-shirts.

Look Who's 30!

"The great thing about getting older is that
you don't lose all the other ages you've been."

-Madeleine L'Engle

In that case, this happy birthday wish goes to the 2-year-old in my husband who still loves making funny faces with his son; the 8-year-old who hams it up (and makes me laugh like no one else); the 14-year-old I fell in love with; the 16-year-old who wooed me with roses and piano ballads; the 21-year-old I married; the 23-year-old I followed to Florida; and the handsome, wise, silly, sweet, strong 30-year-old before me today.

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart! I love you!

Inertia

Inertia (noun): indisposition to motion, exertion, or change: inertness.

Here is what I would like to do for the next 25 days:

• Sit on my couch.
• Read.
• Sleep.
• Watch mindless television.
• NOT COOK.
• NOT CLEAN.
  
• Surf the internet.
• Float in a pool.
• Talk to Beki.
  

Here is what I am actually doing:

• Entertaining a very active almost three-year-old who is not content to sit on the couch for more than 30 seconds, unless "Clifford" is on PBS.
• Watching "Clifford" on PBS so I can sit on the couch for a full 30 minutes.
  
• Getting the baby's clothes, bedding, and room ready.
• Standing at the splash park in my gigantic (but cute, I'll admit) polka-dot swimsuit, supervising Noah and beating the heat (99°, no joke).
  
• Visiting every drive-thru in a 10-mile radius. (My dream of not cooking is being realized, but at the expense of my waistline. Wait -- what waistline?)
• Doing laundry at a snail's pace. (Wash one day. Move clothes to dryer next day. Fold three days after that.)
  
• Sleeping on the couch, then the bed, then back on the couch, then giving up.
  
• Swimming in Beki's new community pool (HEAVEN).
• Relying on my husband for just about everything else.
  

And that's about it. I would write more, but... Who has the energy?

Pooky.

Here he is, world. Celebrity, diplomat, international bear of mystery.


Pooky is his name. Cuddling's his game.


Don't tease him for his hourglass figure or stubby tail. Pooky is a force to be reckoned with.


Pooky is the ultimate weapon against insomnia. You can forget counting sheep or a glass of warm milk. Tuck his plump little body under your arm and you will soon be sleeping like a baby.


Pooky has seen me through many a sleepless night, from middle school onward. In college during midterms, I hugged him so hard his head popped off. Thankfully, one of my hallmates was savvy with a sewing needle and recapitated him.

Pooky hung with me through the stresses of my first real job, when I worked as a marketing assistant at a law firm. Having to give presentations to a roomful of 30+ lawyers will spawn two things: nightmares and canker sores. Desperate for rest, I hid Pooky under the mattress so I could snuggle him after my brand-new husband fell asleep. The times Pete caught me clutching my teddy bear in the wee hours of the morning, he threw him across the room.


But Pooky is a survivor. And a bear of peace.


So in my recent battle with insomnia, I knew the time had come to bring out the big guns. I am not above creeping into my sleeping child's room at 1 a.m. to rummage through his toy hamper. And there, wedged between Garfield and Ducky, I spied that familiar pear-shaped backside with its stubby tail. Stealthily I tucked Pooky under my arm, eased back into bed (grunting like a rhinoceros), and slept soundly until the bladder alarm woke me at its usual 2-hour interval. Since Pooky has come back into the picture, my sleep has drastically improved. Now I hide him under the mattress to avoid the watchful eyes of my bear-hugging toddler.


There you have it. I am thirty years old and I sleep with a teddy bear.

Long live The Pooky.