search
top

Your Thoughts About Me Cost Too Much

I try hard to not care about your thoughts, really I do.
But there’s an underlying understanding that I need your approval. I need to be thin enough for you. Or pretty enough. Or smart enough. And you are everyone and you are everywhere. Even when I’m alone, you are still there looking through my eyes.

I want you to think I’m a really good mother. While today I might doubt I’m very good. My humanity, vulnerability, self-doubt, and need to get it right makes me easy prey for your thoughts that I am sure I can read.

How doubly heinous the world expects anything from you when you are pregnant. Like how many pounds are acceptable for you to gain during your pregnancy. The rule book ceased to apply because my body decided that in case of the plague, flood, or famine, I needed a belly fat pad the size of Norway.

When people were rude enough to point out my enormous gift of girth for my child, I proclaimed I was building a lounge for my baby. And tried to ignore their insensitivity. Now Fiona’s left the building and the lounge is still standing.

The entire time I was pregnant, I did not know how much I weighed. I just put my back to the scale and thankfully the nurses kept my secret.

I’m an approval seeker in varying degrees. I need you to like my writing enough to keep reading it. And I need friends to want to have lunch with me and to have me listen to their lives. I’d also tell them that my opinion of them didn’t matter. What they think of themselves is the most important thought out there.

If we are dependent on the opinions of others for our happiness, we are prisoners of perceptions. Their perception and your perception and her perception of us.  And we have forgotten or never knew we hold the key to freedom from this bondage. By the mere admission that we can not read or control the minds of others.

My opinion of me is the only one that matters. Your reassurances are however kind. I will be out strolling when the weather breaks. Say hey to me. And try not to look at my barf stained clothing. I’m not.

The Nursery Inspiration

So, if you’ve followed our baby story, you know that we didn’t know which flavor baby we were having. And that meant the redecorating effort went to Eamon’s room. I couldn’t even begin to think about a gender neutral redecoration of the guest bedroom cum baby’s room.

It was already very purple.

fiona's room purple  now

The quilt square was made for Fiona by my friend Jean

So when we had a girl I was relieved. The purple room was OK. But then again.

It would also seem I had already started shopping for new inspiration despite myself.The Goodwill curtain loveI found these curtains a while back at the Goodwill. The colors are sort of Kate Spade and the floral is unique and old. Rachel Ashwell would covet them.paper bird lantern

I acquired the paper lantern during my Christmas shop at Bella Luna. There’s that blue and the pink again from the curtains. Plus gold and green. Hmmm.chair and window fi's room

These bay windows and I stuck one of three valances I also found at Goodwill that I didn’t use for Eamon’s room. I love my pink chair and my faux rose from Allstate which look a heck of a lot like my favorite real roses, celebration roses. wood dresserThen there’s this wooden dresser. I really like the raw wood and want to do some wood and white combo that I’m inspired by some others I’ve seen. Check out my baby Pinterest page if you want to see the inspiration piece. Otherwise, soon enough.

Teflon GoodWe have more than a few wooden dressers. This one’s drawers were a little rough to pull out and push in. So we went to the Lowes and asked a guy if there were drawer gliders we could buy. He laughed at us and said that we should buy teflon spray. Say what? He said he’d used it on every drawer in his house. Well let me tell you, Dude was right on! I have begun to drag every drawer outside and douse them with DuPont Teflon Lubricant. It was only $4.

Fi and the hankerchiefAnd then there’s the lilies of the valley handkerchief. Boy how I love the girlishness of this. I’d frame it or make a pillow out of it. So excited to have an excuse to use it somehow. Isn’t she pretty in pink?

Yet to decide the wall color but I’m thinking something sunny and linen like.

Stay Tuned.

 

 

The Birds, Bees, and Kitties

I recently had to explain to my seven year-old why I was shooing the kitty away from the house and away from the girl kitty who was acting kinda funny. We were having a birds, the bees, and kitties talk in which we discussed how boy kitties have spikes on the end of their winkles to ensure their parenthood possibilities.

My poor son will never be able to shake the images of that conversation. Good. He did understand there’s a biological imperative for species survival. They don’t even realize they are programmed to continue their existence. People too. And our job is to ruin their job when propagation is a bad thing.

If left up to their funny business, this is how cats would multiply and procreate. One mommy kitty can have three kittens three times a year. So she can potentially spawn 9 kittens per year. Second year and you multiply those 9 kitties by three and three again and now you have 81 kittens. And by the third year, 775 cats in your backyard howling and spraying.

So we treated our girl kitty to a cab ride to the clinic and unkittened her. Because I feel that if you’re going to feed them, then you need to make sure there will be no other mouths to feed later.

We’re just lucky enough to have an old country vet down the road who’ll take their crazy furry butts out of the trap and fix ‘em up. My husband and I live near a river and this is a highway for all animals. We have taken care of at least 50 cats in one way or another in the past 12 years. And, although it’s been heart wrenching at times, it’s also the least we can do.

One week ago, we lost our Butthead to a surprise case of cancer. And although we got him from the streets of Denton, actually in a parking lot, that is no place for kittens. So please do an extra good responsible action toward an animal and spay or neuter or call the local authorities to humanely and compassionately end or deter future suffering of any animals. Our bigger brains suggest we are smarter. Right practices of any sort are a choice.o-ANDY-PROKH-A-GIRL-AND-HER-CAT-570

Over the Bridge

 

Here on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, when we say we’re going over the bridge, it usually means a 45 minute drive west over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge into Annapolis, MD and destinations beyond. A grand adventure since the big cities beyond, Baltimore or Wash DC, are way more exciting than out little rural town of Denton.IMG_20130418_134737_785

But when I said to my husband, “I’m going over the bridge for lunch” last Thursday, I meant I was strolling over our town’s bridge over the Choptank River to the West side to lunch with the lovely Christina.

IMG_20130418_134338_968

IMG_20130418_134721_731

She works for the Caroline County Office of Tourism which is on the water on River Landing Road in a restored waterfront warehouse called the Choptank River Heritage Center. IMG_20130418_134152_173That darkness above me is the bridge.

And so over the river I strolled with Fiona on a lovely spring day.

We sat inside the center at a table clad in a happy blue tablecloth that Christina had set for our lunch of grilled chicken, a green salad with Gorgonzola cheese, and a orzo salad. And we enjoyed the view of the boats going by.

lunch down by the river

IMG_20130418_134225_522

  I was so lucky to have my special waterside picnic lunch prepared by this beautiful lady who held my baby and spoke to her so sweetly.

And then we rolled back over the bridge and I marveled at all the little spring weed flowers, flowering trees, and finale-ing forsythia.

Christina and Fiona

IMG_20130418_134452_791

IMG_20130418_134539_564

I send my utmost gratitude to Ms. Christina who is soon enough to be a Mrs..

Congratulations!!

PS. And I’ve got my eyes on that Heritage Center to use for some special events. I know a guy who can fabulously light an evening cocktail soiree on the water.

Zombie Baby

Newborns are like zombies. Maybe it’s me missing those last Walking Dead episodes. But there are some uncanny similarities.

No one mentions this but those weird dark eyes we are born with are kinda creepy. Have you seen the opening montage for the Walking Dead and that sudden shot of the black eyeball twitching about? Aha.

Secondly, she’s trying to eat me alive. Albeit with the cutest little bowed lips and hopeful gulping sounds. But eating alive is eating alive.

And then there’s those weird jerking movements. You know the lurching and twitching and flailing that zombies do even if they are missing a torso. The spastic movements of a newborn are eerily similar.

The insatiable need for you is last on the zombie-alike list. Their hunger to have you satisfy their continued existence. Husband said she was like a vampire, sucking on his neck and staying up at night and we called her Fionicula at first. But zombies have an undying need for you too. The need for your brains.

Willingly and happily we invite zombie babies to come live with us. And they do and then proceed to eat our brains, one sane brain cell at a time, for the rest of our lives. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

« Previous Entries

top