Monthly Archives: February 2011

I was out shopping in department stores the other day.  Not specifically for baby clothes, but I always browse the selection in case I find something I love.  Now that my baby big boy is pretty much into 18-month size clothes, it’s becoming more and more difficult to find cute, baby things for him.  Not that I want to dress him like a newborn in mittencuff shirts, but I also don’t want to dress him like a teenager.  Really.

If you have a girl, you may not be as subject to this, because all the little girl clothes I see are adorable.  Especially right now, what with Easter coming in a month or two.  Chiffon lavender dresses, daisy appliques, ribbons and lacy trim.  Ah, precious!

Know what’s out there for boys?  Orange shirts with a dinosaur on it and the caption “Mommy’s little monster.”  Monster?  Or a lime green shirt with a red crab on it and the word “Crabby.”  Or how about a nice black t-shirt with a gray skull on it?  There was even a shirt with the caption “Mommy’s little mess maker.” 

Jeepers.  I kept waiting to see the shirt that said, “I shit my pants and it stinks.”  Or maybe “Watch me pick my nose.”  Do the makers of toddler boy clothes think we see our sons and crabby monsters who make messes and represent evil?  Can nobody out there come up with, say, sailboats or red propeller airplanes or cute froggies or caterpillars or rocking horses or something to embellish boys’ clothing that is sweet and cute and not awful or gritty?  Before long he’ll be choosing his own clothes.  Can’t I have more than one year of choosing cute things for him?

There is one other category of boys’ themed clothes.  Sports.  I apologize to all you sports fans out there, but I refuse to buy clothes that attempt to make my baby into a football or baseball player.  Mostly because it represents the whole gender pigeon-holing thing.  Oh, a boy?  He must love sports.  Now, indeed, he might very well love sports, as evidenced by his developing fondness for balls of all sizes and colors, and kicking them (and other things) around the house.  When he’s older and wants to be on a soccer team, he will get the uniform.  Until then, I’m not buying him any “Daddy’s little slugger” shirts.

My baby is neither a line backer nor a monster.  He is my honey bunny lovey lou precious petey sweetie darling.  Is there a shirt out there that says that?

Spring is springing around here, and my mood is improving.  Amazing what sunshine and daffodils can do to wash away the blues.

So, I will regale you with my mother’s recent antics. 

First, she brought over some kind of grass seed patch product in order to try to fix the brown spots in the lawn left by the piles of leaves my husband didn’t pick up (did I mention that I finally did the job one weekend morning?).  Sure, ma, go for it.  The grass will come back in any event, but if she’s got an urge to throw seed out there, okeedokee.

She vacuumed something this morning.  I don’t know what.  I just heard the little hand-vac going from the other room.  She also brought some kind of furniture polish which she claims covers scratches.  She went around the house rubbing it into furniture.  Mhm.  She did not like, however, that there is  lint and dust on the ceiling vents and said she was going to bring her screwdriver over one day to take the covers off and clean them. 

Anyone remember that our built-in microwave broke?  Like, probably when the baby was a newborn?  I predicted my DH would never get around to having it fixed.  I ought to find that post.  True enough.  Last Thursday all of us were here: husband, mom and myself.  I mentioned I was going to call a repair shop to have someone come fix it, finally.  Mom suggested I ask my father to try to fix it while he is here for four days next month for the baby’s birthday.  I said, no, he is not here to do household projects and besides, I really don’t want him messing with electrical wires.  Good grief, the last thing I need to do is have my Dad be electrocuted during his visit.  But do you think my mother would take “no” for an answer?  She kept egging me and saying “I’m sure he won’t mind” and “He knows what he’s doing” and “It will make him feel useful” and on and on.  I finally put my two hands up to her and said “Just…just….just.”  I called the repair shop, a guy came and the thing was fixed two hours later.

She’s rearranged furniture.

She saw that a container of the baby’s yogurt in the refrigerator had an expiration date of January 22. (He gets the yummy organic, full-fat stuff).  When she pointed it out to me (as she was preparing the baby’s lunch) I told her to throw it away.  She responded that she thought Mr. BWUB and I were going to eat it.  I snapped back “Well, we didn’t.  Just throw it away.”  Really, do I have to justify to my mother my right to throw away a $1 food item? 

Seriously, I look forward to the weekends just so Ican have my house and my family to myself.  No criticism, no one to try to please, no questions to answer, nothing to justify. 

Oh, things could be different.  I could take the baby to her house every morning – increasing my commute.  But I like that the baby is home.  And I like that either my husband or I are here to oversee things.  Just in case. Yeah.  Just in case, you know, my mom lets the baby eat the tip off a Nerf football or something (yes, another recent event).

I don’t mean to get all political on anyone, but the situation in Egypt is bad enough without the pressing running video of people being killed in the streets.  Being run over by trucks.  Walking in the street and being run down.  Getting shot.  It’s horrifying.  I know, I know.  It’s worthy of the press because, please, God, the violence has got to stop.  If jamming it in people’s faces will get the job done, then okay, I will suffer.  But those images are tearing my heart out.

Over the weekend I decided to treat myself to a luxury gift.  There is a story behind my selfish act (that post will be entitled “How my DH tricked me into paying for my own Christmas gift”) but that is for another day.

Anyway, I decided that after taking more than 4,000 photos of the baby, I deserve a really nice camera.  I went to the downtown camera store during my lunch hour today to purchase it.  The clerk and I had talked about cameras, lenses, memory cards and such, and he was beginning to write up the order.  I heard a voice to my right ask the clerk to see a particular camera.  I turned to look at the guy, wondering if it was the strange, artsy dude who was wandering around the store when I first came in.  Nope.  Different guy.  The clerk handed the Guy the $3,000 camera the Guy asked to see.  Guy asked if it came with a lens and the clerk said no.  At that moment, Guy lurches to his right and bolted out the door – yes, with the camera in hand.

After a stunned couple of seconds, the clerk came from behind the counter, out the door and ran after the guy.  Thirty seconds later I went out the door, wondering if the poor clerk was struggling with the perp and needed some help (I’ve seen too many episodes of “Cops”).  Guy was gone, but the clerk got a partial license plate number.  Both of us were shaking, pumped up on adrenalin.  The other employees finally discovered what had happened (they were in another part of the store) and the police were called.  Later in the day the police called me for my statement.

The whole thing is utterly disturbing.  Okay, at least there was no gun involved (thank God).  The guy basically grabbed and ran.  Still.  I’m unraveled.  He was clean cut and looked to be in his early 20’s.  I keep thinking about him.  What was his childhood like?  Did his parents cuddle him and sing nursery rhymes to him, or scold him and spank him for everything that wasn’t his fault?  Did his parents spew hate and jealousy about life?  Did he have parents?  How horrible to feel so angry/ desperate/ unbalanced/ jealous/ vengeful/ greedy…or whatever….to make a person rob a store.  I both despise him and feel sorry for him at the same time.  The image of his sudden turn about and lurch, of the camera in his outstretched arm, seeing his free hand grab the door as he made his escape  – all of it is seared in my mind.  Like the polar bears.

Then I rocked my baby to sleep tonight.  As he sucked his bottle and looked into my eyes, I pondered his sweet innocence.  He knows nothing of the horrors of Egypt.  Of drowned children or abused animals or hate or prejudice or robbery.  But one day, he will.  And my heart breaks for them all.

I’ve heard that pregnancy can change things about you.  I once heard about a woman who had curly hair pre-pregnancy, and stick-straight hair after pregnancy.  There are also tales of women whose skin type changed permanently after pregnancy.  Is this folk-lore, or do these things really happen?

I don’t know if what has happened to me is the result of some pregnancy-related chemical change or what.  But I’m having a hard time handling….my emotions.

Now, every time I read, hear or see on TV some story of tragedy – particularly involving children or animals – I become emotionally unglued.  I can’t finish reading or watching the story.  Certainly I will tear up and sob if I don’t stop.

Don’t get me wrong.  I wasn’t an unfeeling clod pre-pregnancy.  Then, if I saw or read a tragic story, I’d think, “Oh, how awful.  How sad” and go on about my business.  Now sometimes I get stuck – obsessed – with the story.  Rolling it over in my mind.  Every.awful.detail.

A few months ago there was a story in the news about a donkey in Russia that some idiots loaded onto a parasail and launched into the air over water as some sort of advertising gimmick.  When the donkey landed in the water, it nearly drowned before being rescued.  I cried.  A lot. For the donkey.  I imagined how terrified that poor animal must have been.

Worse.  Just happened in a place near here.  Four-year old boy snatched from grandma’s arms by mom’s drunk/horrible/abusive ex-boyfriend.  Days and days go by.  Every news story is about little Juliani.  Adorable little Juliani.  They found him.  Drowned.  I really had hoped they were going to find him alive.   Innocent little boy.  My heart breaks.

This morning I perused the obituaries (a regular habit).  Newborn girl lived 10 days.  She will be missed by her mommy, daddy and twin brother.  I was trying to read it aloud to DH and began crying.  I don’t even know these people.

My emotional sensibilities are heightened.  And I don’t like it.  It hurts.  Damned polar bear infomercials.  The loss of arctic ice is going to wipe them out.  And they look so sad in the infomercial.  Now I hear the familiar music and I have to immediately turn the channel.

So what is this?  And will it go away?