Labor Day

Like Mrs. Chicken said recently, I've been feeling rather blogstipated. Not much going on, and what is bugging me I can't necessarily blog about because I don't know if those people read me, and I think you're probably getting rather tired of the "what I did with the random crazy veggies in my CSA basket this week!" posts. (I know I am.)

This weekend was Labor Day, and we had no plans. As a kid, I always dreaded Labor Day. We'd be at the lake, it would rain, we'd have to turn on the space heaters and light a fire, wearing jeans and tennies with our big, thick, hooded sweatshirts. It was so dark, we'd have to turn on lamps to read, Jerry Lewis would be on the little black-and-white TV, and the next day was always the beginning of school. I would wake up with an ooky feeling in the pit of my stomach, and honestly, I can feel it right now just remembering. It was the end. The end of the summer, the end of the good weather at the lake, the end of the freedom to pack up and just go whenever we wanted. We were back to responsibility and tests and deadlines, school and rehearsals. Mom always looked so sad on Labor Day.

Being an at-home mom, I figured it would be different. No schedules, no set in stone plans, no school tomorrow. Of course, it would be sunny and we'd go to the pool and grill burgers.

Our grill broke. It was cold. It rained. I had to put on socks and turn on the lamp.

But, I did have Dr. B home for the day. So I made a plan. And we had fun.

We took Rowan to her first in-theater movie. "Up!" was playing at our cheap theater, so even if she got "skeered", we'd only be out 3 bucks. But she did fine. She spent much of the movie hugging me facing the back, but by the end she was loving it, and only cried when I told her she couldn't lick the seat backs as the final credits rolled.

We came out of the theater, and she smiled up at us and said, "I loved my first movie!" We decided to make a night of it, and had dinner out at Damon's, followed by tag-team book browsing at Barnes and Noble while Rowan played trains at the Thomas the Tank Engine train table. We bought nothing, but got ideas for library requests, and enjoyed the smells of new paper and coffee, bright colors and fresh pages.

We made our stab at defeating the Labor Day Blues. Can't do anything about the weather, but a movie, buffalo chicken pizza, and some retail therapy did help lift our spirits a bit. Sometimes, that's all it takes.

Thanksgiving: Mother, Daughter

What a difference a year makes.

How many days, weeks, months. Mornings, afternoons. Evenings. Nights. Feedings, meals, snacks. Tears, giggles. Cuddles, baths, walks, books. Games, toys, songs, dances.

How many moments.

How blessed.

Comfort

She took a two hour nap this morning. I mopped the floors after seeing the grunge that was on one knee and one foot of her sleeper pajamas. Her crawling is, um, very interesting. (And I swear I just mopped last week, but YUCK!)

She had a bath, we played, had lunch, and I folded laundry, which she didn't throw on the floor. She let me watch Ugly Betty online and didn't pull the laptop to the floor while chewing on the charging cord.

Then she took a two and half hour nap this afternoon, waking up smiling. We went for a walk. Then, it was time for goûter. Rocky Road for me and grapes and bread, chopped into tiny bits, for her. Now she's running around her playstation carrying the top of a cardboard box, and giggling as the dog licks grape juice from the tips of her fingers.

She hasn't destroyed anything. She's slept when asked and for long periods of time. My hair hasn't been pulled, my mouth hasn't been probed, she hasn't drawn blood. No screaming. No crying. She didn't go back to the dog's dishes after I said 'no' and moved her away. She's been happy, in a good mood, easy to be around.

She gives me big hugs when I pick her up. After curling my hair for the banquet tonight, she looked at it in wonder, touching a curl gently with her fingertips and smiling.

Mom's been gone ten years today, but there's no doubt. She's still watching over me. And our little girl.

Thanks, Mom. Today has been a wonderful gift.

Mother's Day

My very first Mother's Day is today, though the blessed event hasn't occurred yet. I guess it counts, since it's pretty clear there's a real, live human being in there, ready (pretty much) to join us, though it's still very surreal to me.

I've been remembered, with cards, gifts, fresh pain au chocolat for breakfast, and flowers. Dr. B gave me a very special gift, to remind me that just because I'm a soon-to-be Mommy, I'm still a Hot Wife to him, though I may feel not so sexy due to hormone fluctuations, hot flashes, mega-zit explosions, leaky bits, funny smells, constipation, parts of my body I can no longer see, tight clothing, funky cowlicks, puffy feet, interesting color changes, cankles, parts of me that now sit permanently on other parts of me, and of course, the ubiquitous enormous bump in the front. I won't mention my thankfulness for certain other pregnancy symptoms I haven't had to deal with, because it's not over until it's over. (Or until the Fat Lady sings, and I have a feeling I'll need some recovery time before I'm in any mood to do that.)

But today, I admit, I've got the blues. Maybe it's due to hormones. Or the weather (it's rather gloomy here.) But I think it's more due to missing my mom, who we lost in 1998, before we could celebrate Mother's Day that year. My anger over the reasons for her death is long gone. I understand now. I've accepted it. I know that I couldn't have saved her. I tried, so many times. But it wasn't up to me. I know this. But it still hurts, that she's gone. That she left us so early. Knowing what she is missing.

I've been missing her more and more as this pregnancy has gone on, wishing she was here to share our excitement, joy, and impart the practical and frank wisdom she was known for. I've had a few dreams of her, and I know she is watching, but it still aches that she's not here. It's amazing how fresh it can feel, even after nearly a decade. I've carefully washed and pressed the little dresses she saved for me, the blanket she bought for our baby over 9 years ago, when we were only newlyweds, and the baptism dress and blanket she stored away from my own baptism in 1973. I've hung the antique lithographs of children she collected in Zizou's nursery, and placed the "Mother's Prayer" plaque that hung above my own crib nearby. I'm grateful to have all these things, reminders of her, and of how much she already loved her grandchild, years before she came into the world. But I'd rather have her.

I worry. That I am not prepared. That I'm not going to 'do it right' when it comes to labor. That something will go wrong. That I won't be able to handle it. That I'll make some major mistake. That I won't be a good mom. That I won't be as good as she was.

I know that all these fears are irrational, and that I've been preparing the best way possible for as long as I can remember. (Ten years of teaching is nothing to shake a stick at.) I know I'll do fine, and will have great support from family and friends, that my instincts are good, that she'll love me no matter what.

But still. That little voice won't stop saying, "what if?"

I wish there was a direct phone line to Heaven.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I miss you.