Month: April 2013 (Page 2 of 2)

Let me just apologize up front. You got shafted in the Crafty Mom department. 

You see, I’m a rock star at making sure you get healthy food at each meal. And sleeping? Boo-yah. I’m all over that. You’re growing up the best-rested kids on the block. I also worked hard at allowing some “creative freedom” and messes are excused in the basement in exchange for a bit of imaginative play. We have a never-ending supply of crayons, papers, even glitter (gasp!) glue. 

But your birthday parties are gonna suck. 

First, I cannot decorate a cake. I can bake one. I won’t burn it and I can even get something that is both gluten and dairy free to taste delicious. I once even made a pineapple upside down cake completely from scratch, without a box, and “poached” the pineapple. It was fantastic. I can also make sure that a substance filled with sugar, resembling frosting, will accompany said cake. You will declare it yummy. But the buck stops with flavor. 

It’ll look like a train wreck. With Christmas sprinkles, because that’s what I had in the cupboard. 

I once used a heart-shaped pan. The cake successfully appeared as if it were a heart. Total victory in my book. 

So, once we bring out the round cake with frosting dumped on, and you open your presents that everyone else brought (because gift-giving isn’t high on the list of skills for your father OR me), the excitement pretty much wanes. The decorations will be lacking – as in, absent – save the balloon wreath I made for H Boy on his 3rd birthday and have since recycled for every subsequent celebration. That balloon wreath might have been a birthday party crowning moment. 

And games, favors, and special treats for the party? Well, thankfully your Aunt Gigi is good at putting together a little bag of something something, or I’d never know what to offer. We might get one of those for the parties we share with your cousins, but the ones we fly solo… well, I’ll try to put it on the list. But I probably won’t remember (or want to purchase) those little bags to stuff it in because they’re too pricey just to have something to throw away later. 

I promise to do all that I can so that you grow to be happy, healthy, well-adjusted contributors of society. I even promise to remember your birthdays and mark them special and allow you to choose the menu for dinner (or the restaurant, if that is the case). But please, when you set the bar of expectations for your next celebration, remember who your mother really is. You will not be disappointed if you set your sights a notch or two lower than all your friends. 

Much love and Happy Birthday, 

Mom 

Many women relish their pregnancies. They “just love it!” Not so much me. I don’t hate pregnancy; I’m overall a very good pregnant woman in that I’m not a puker and haven’t had to manage other issues like gestational diabetes, blood pressure or anything health-related. I don’t hate needles and don’t balk at that orange drink they make you consume to test for sugar. 

However, even though it’s not been difficult, it’s still pregnancy. We’ve had a constant flow of pregnancy-induced sleeplessness followed by newborn neediness for several years now. After the weening of this one, I believe I’ll fall asleep and not wake up for a week. 

So, (while I retain the right to change my mind) in believing this is my final go, I simply must chronicle some of the things I’ve learned and experienced through my constant state of pregnancy. Someday this season of my life will seem like just a brief moment. The days are long but the years are short, right? 

I hope to remember what it feels like to have a tiny person move around inside. Jumping on bladders aside, it’s quite fascinating to watch elbows and feet protrude from my midsection. Sometimes I like to push back and see if we can’t get a little game of tag going. I wonder if the placenta doubles as a treadmill. I will confirm that there comes a point in time when the movement goes from sweet and miraculous to something more akin to a bad roommate situation. When it’s time for someone to move out, everybody is happier. 

The kids enjoy the belly as well, offering nighttime hugs and kisses and wanting to feel the kicks. I’m sure it’s hard for them to fathom that it’s an actual baby, a sibling, in there. We haven’t yet discussed the process of the baby coming out of mommy’s belly, but I do understand why someone came up with the Stork as an option. (A friend recommended a vague description of mommy “pushing it out” without details. I wouldn’t be lying but no anatomical definitions need to be given). 

I’ll be glad to part with all the maternity clothes. On average I require no less than 3 shirts to cover all necessary parts and pieces. 

Overall, it’s hard to imagine not doing this again. When I have a bad day or require a bit more rest, my husband encourages me that we’re on the home stretch. But this reminder is bittersweet – the closing of a door to another significant period in my life. Of course, my identity lies not in the production of my womb, but it’s served me well in creating such beautiful little balls of joy. One simply cannot participate in such miraculous work and quit it like a bad summer job. It’s a role that stays with you forever, even as the task of mothering takes new shape.