Baby Wren

There. It’s out there. This has been a stressful process. I started out thinking I’d do it differently this time. Just share whatever names popped into my head for instant and honest feedback from anyone who cared to comment. This time I wouldn’t hold back the REAL considerations. Everything on the table. And just like I remembered from last time, people are quick to spout off their opinions, good or bad. I’m not sure this method was any easier, but I will say that I got a LOT more suggestions this time. (Thank you, Suzanne Bean!) Really, the methods weren’t all that different. The only difference was that I threw Wren into the mix this time for feedback, whereas with Day, nobody heard me utter the name until it was a done deal.

I feel like our names are somehow already given to us. Parents just have to decipher, decode, filter down, until we figure out what it was supposed to be all along. The night Ken and I found out we were going to have another baby, I said, “Let’s name this baby Wren… boy or girl.” He said, “I like that. OK!” Neither one of us can remember if we had ever talked about that name or not before that night. Well, you know my nature is to discard any notion that it really can be that simple. So we set off on the path, treacherous at times, of coming up with THE name.

One thing that was different this time is that not only did we have to decide on one we both liked and felt like was right, we also had to consider it in relation to Day. Would either of them be jealous and like the other’s name better? (Probably, but we think they are equally as awesome.) Would one of them be able to ask, “Why did I get the weird/boring/etc name and SHE got the cool/pretty/etc name?” I guess it will be this way for a lot of other things. Having to consider two possibly very different perspectives, reactions, opinions, values of two probably very different people… and making fair decisions that affect them both.

When we went to find out the sex of this baby, there was a bird’s nest outside the window behind where we were sitting in the waiting room. Yep. It was a wren’s nest. And STILL… I continued to search while her name was being given to me (confused and blind sheep that I am sometimes).

Noelle came to me in a dream. And I take my dreams pretty seriously. Maybe He knew he could get to me more directly that way. I heard it loud and clear. When I woke up a memory flooded me of walking back from daycare one morning around Christmas last year. I was singing “Noel, Noel” and had an overwhelming feeling of… something. It was something significant. I didn’t try very hard to name it. I knew it was good. Turns out it was the name of my 2nd daughter, who at that time only existed in my very distant dreams.

An added bonus to the name Noelle is that Ken’s dad lost a brother named Noel in a car accident one New Year’s Eve. He was married to one of Ken’s mother’s sisters that was pregnant at the time and lost her baby in the wreck. She was the only one not killed out of the 5 (plus baby) people in the car. Ken’s dad actually lost 2 brothers in that accident. (Yes, brothers were married to sisters. It happens. Probably more frequently in the south.) But it seems fitting to honor someone that was well loved in your family.

So, here is how I want you to respond … Say you LOVE it. Say it is the exact name you would have chosen for your own child if we hadn’t thought of it first (not really). Say that it is the perfect fit for our family. Thank you! We agree.

PS - 25 weeks tomorrow!! The size of a rutabaga!

Colossal FAIL

Malco in Columbus has a sweet summer program through the end of July. $2 tickets, kid-friendly movies. And the chance of your experience failing so miserably is pretty slim, so maybe you should check it out. That is, if you choose to spend your money with a business that made a NOT-OK mistake.

I was so excited this morning to have a chance to take Day to her first real movie at the theater. Marmaduke was playing. She loves her dogs, any dogs, so this was sure to be a hit. I talked it up yesterday. Telling her about the BIG TV and the popcorn. She asked if Caston was going. I told her that he wasn’t. That it was just a mommy day. She agreed to go anyway.

This was a big deal. A first. We got there a little early. Time enough to buy popcorn and lemonade. She was pumped. We settled in our seats about 10 minutes to 10:00. We chatted like pals. We said, “Come on Marmaduke!” The previews started about 15 minutes late. Ok, I’m now a little irritated. Ten minutes is one thing to entertain a two year old. 25 minutes, another thing entirely.

But here we go! Cue the sound. Dim the lights. Giggles and excitement…



Then they play the previews for TRUE GRIT. I kid you not. Just so you know what my baby girl’s first experience in a theater was like, view for yourself. Please, listen through the ears of a child leery of the vacuum because it’s too loud. Watch through the eyes of a toddler who does not even have cable. Whose only experience with violence is Tom and Jerry.

I stupidly sat through the whole thing thinking, “maybe they play previews for the parents at kid movies?” I don’t know, but this just doesn’t seem right. She’s entranced. Flinching at the gun shots. Watching men fall of horses dead. She turns and says (whines), “It hurts my ears.” She’s about to cry. I’m starting to freak out. I can feel the pollution seeping into her innocent head and heart. I’m trying to distract her through it by talking about Marmaduke. “He’s coming up! Just another minute.”

Whew, that’s over. “Here he comes! Here comes Marmaduke!”

Then, another preview (I think). I didn’t stay through to find out. The intro was about a new baby coming home, meeting her sister, family cookout, swimming in the backyard pool. I guess the lack of happy background music and the documentary home video effect was what tipped me off. It was about to get scary. Next scene – the same mom is on the phone with the police. FRANTIC and screaming in her trashed kitchen. Their house has been broken into. I don’t know what else has happened because I grab Day and whisk her out the door. I left my purse, phone, popcorn… all of it. All I could think was to protect her brain from this TRASH!

I didn’t even have time to make it to the counter to complain before the swarm of LIVID mothers come rioting out behind me yelling, ”Turn that movie off! They’re saying the F word. It’s awful! You’re playing the wrong movie!” All I could get out was the old teacher word when all else fails, “INNAPROPRIATE!” That hardly describes it, but the parade of pissed mommas was saying it all for me.

My heart was beating so fast. Who knows what else that theater full of young kids got to witness before they stopped the film. Most mommas left, dragging their kids behind them, demanding refunds. I needed to redeem this experience if at all possible. I know my child. Had we left then, she would have NEVER agreed to try the movies again.

So, after another 10 minutes of getting the right movie on, another 10 of previews, we made it through the credits of Marmaduke. I just couldn’t stomach it. Day was fine at that point. Talking to Marmaduke, laughing. But we'd been there close to an hour, so I lied and told her it was over. I got a refund, took her to lunch, and went home.

I never heard an apology from the staff. I didn’t see anyone reacting in any way sympathetic. They were put out that they had to change the film. The 16 year old girls behind the popcorn counter could barely contain their amusement at the angry mob of mommas. It was disastrous. The whole thing.

And, yes, I see the potential of a funny story later on. MUCH later on. After I’ve recovered. And written a Letter to the Editor or something. This morning brought out Momma Bear in me in a BIG way. And I take my job very seriously.

Ignorance - Not Always Bliss

Friday is the day! Well, Saturday. I’ll explain.

Ken and I played around with the idea of not finding out the sex of this baby. Like, at all. Wait till delivery day. It sounds crazy, I know. But we wanted to see what it might feel like. Here were/are my reasons for that. I honest to God do not have a preference. (I said the same thing with Day but I was lying.) And it is already either a boy or a girl. Us knowing will not change that. Plus, I thought it would be an exercise in personal development for me, THE planner, to just not know. To sit with the wondering for 9 months. So, we tried that idea on for several weeks. We told people we were thinking about NOT finding out, and got some strange looks. Mostly got the question, “WHY???” Well, because we think it might be cool to wait. And be REALLY surprised.

Fast forward a couple of months. Plan A has fallen through. Here are my reasons. I want to nest. I NEED to nest. And let me tell you, gender neutral nursery stuff is NOT as cute as straight up boy or girl nursery stuff. It’s just not. My solution before now was that I would wait until after the baby got here and THEN do a nursery. This confused people even more. Create a nursery WHILE taking care of a newborn??  I must say, it was a little ambitious. Plus, at the very thought of not being able “nest” appropriately, I started re-nesting in Day’s room. Then I started adding up the expense of all of the new and great ideas I had there… curtains, bedding, rug… and I decided I had to reign myself in. And if I’m completely honest, the whole exercise in personal development was already pissing me off. You were right, Mom.

So, here is our compromise. Friday when we go for the ultrasound, we’ll have our technician write down on a piece of paper either BOY or GIRL. SHE will seal that sucker up and we will run to Cindy Watson’s house (neighbor and bakery good maker) as quickly as we can so that we’re not tempted to hold it up to the light. Yes, I’ve already considered on what type of paper and how thick the envelope will need to be to keep me from ruining my OWN surprise. Cindy will make cupcakes, and we'll have our moms over the next day. One of the cupcakes will have a clue in it (blue pacifier, pink safety pin) and just like a king cake… SOMEBODY will get the clue! And we’ll all find out together. Sounds awesome, right?

I’m already second guessing this whole event. How will I react? Do I really not have a preference? What if I cry? I know I will cry. What if I act like a freak? I’ll probably act like a freak. Then what if other people react in some weird way… like I want them to be more excited? Will I be able to tell who got their wish and who didn’t? Will I have disappointed anyone?

I know. Nobody asked to get that far into my head. I apologize. It’s not always that cluttered. I’m just so ready to check this box and move on. Start nesting appropriately. Start naming this baby. Start visualizing how it will all be…

And I really, really, don’t have a preference. I win either way.

Growing Again

Guess what? Guess what? Guess what? Day Ivy is going to be a BIG SISTER!

I’m not sure she really understands all that will involve, but for now, she seems pretty fired up about it. Ken and I are, too! Although, mixed with that excitement is this strange feeling of disbelief and confusion. This did not happen the way that I thought it would. Ok, TECHNICALLY it happened just like you would expect… What I mean is that considering all of the LOOONG years waiting to get pregnant with Day, I expected the struggle for baby #2 would be similar. I hoped it wouldn’t be, but I honestly was prepared for a challenge. NOT SO! And so I’m left surprised, shocked, and just overwhelmed that we GET to do this again.

Yesterday was our first doctor’s appointment, and Flippy was an active little fig-sized fetus. It was awesome to see him/her move around, kick and wiggle. Until that moment, I was holding up a little wall of protection around my emotions. Maybe that’s human nature, maybe it’s my personality, but I reserved some excitement until then. And now, the levees have cracked… JOY is spilling out!

We got to SEE our baby!

"Credick"

We like to take “credick” in my family. And we are not ashamed to openly claim it. Some of us ask for it more than others, but it’s generally accepted that no one is responsible for their own successes and/or accomplishments. Somebody else ALWAYS contributed in some way and they MUST be recognized. Not necessarily a bad thing, but believe me when I say it CAN be overdone.

So, to counteract the possible overemphasis on TAKING credit, I’m trying to teach Day how to GIVE credit (before it’s even asked for). She loves to give credit to her “Bebe” for most of the clothes and shoes she has. She routinely asks, “Who gave me this?” And I answer, ____. She’ll correct me (another commonality in my family) and say, “No, Bebe gave me this. THANK you, Bebe.”

The other night we were coming home from my mom’s house. It was getting dark and there was a beautiful sunset and rising moon. We were all looking at it and talking about how pretty is was. Day said, “Who did that?” I said, “God did that.” She said, “THANK you, God.” Melt my heart… just when I think it can’t get better than that she asks, “Who made me?” So, embracing my teachable moment for all it is worth, I told her, “God made you.”  Instead of the “THANK you, God” that I expected there was silence. She was thinking. Then she corrected me. “No, mommy. The doctor made me.” We fell out laughing. And of course, technically, the doctor deserves his share of the credit. THANK you, Doctor!

THIS is happy.

Easy Subject

makes for pretty pictures...

Props...

...to all the mommas out there who manage to make it look easy - even every once and a while. I don't know if it really IS easy for you or if you are a great faker, but either way... proper respect.

There was a time about two years ago when I lived in a bubble: newborn, no sleep, wonder at it all, ineptitude, lots of crying (both Day and me), etc. Survival mode kicked in, and and all else fell to the side while we adjusted to our new life. One of the things that helped get me through that time was knowing that it was not permanent, that I would sleep again, that I would get better at decoding the cries. And it wasn't, and I did.

Fast forward to the Terrible Twos. SLAM. Here I am again in survival mode. All those feelings of inadequacy and sleep deprivation have returned with a vengeance. "You thought you'd seen the last of me!" they snarl. Although I have not fooled myself into thinking it was going to be easy, I am still surprised to find myself here again. I try to keep it real, and I know (and knew before having a child) that parenthood is a constant struggle. But, DAMN. How do you please a frustrated, strong willed, strong lunged, two year old? This is WAY harder than I imagined.

Before I go any further, let me say that before I became a mother I would hear moms complaining about their children. My silent response was always, ("At least you have a child to complain about. Get a grip. Count your blessings.") I guess as with most life changing events, it was really hard for me to put myself in their place before I was there. Well, here I am. And while I'm disclosing some truths here, I also used to think that moms who weren't able to function optimally at their jobs because of their children were somehow less, not strong enough, lazy (gasp). I'm just being honest. I would roll my eyes at their "excuses". Well, GOD LOVE EM. I have seen the light.

Here are my two current battles: (Yes, 2. In honor of the Terribles.) 

1) This one really isn't new. It has just taken a different form. Shape shifted if you will. Striking a balance between letting her work it out and rescuing her. I realize in most cases rescuing her only perpetuates the cycle of her needing me (or manipulating me) and really, most times it just pisses her off when I try to help. But how do I not interfere when she's driving herself crazy to the point of tears/snot/red face? I feel helpless. And momma guilt is a bitch when I try to let her work it out.

2) What in the HELL is wrong with my child? Really. I go back and forth between thinking she must be sick and thinking she has ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder). I guess either way, something's wrong. Or is it just typical 2 year old behavior? Although I've been around other kids, somehow I still don't think that gives you the whole picture of what their life is like at home. I say this because there are people reading this now thinking,"Why, I'll be! I've never seen that sweet baby girl act like anything but an angel." To you I say, "Can she come stay with you for a few days?"

This morning I remembered a story my mother finds great amusement in telling. One where I (as a child) used to get sent to my room where I would lay at the threshold of the closed door and cry quite dramatically through the crack under the door. Well, not just cry. Also cough and choke, gag like I'm puking. You get the picture. I remember doing it. My entire mission was to somehow destroy the hearts of my already heartless parents who had exiled me. As my cousin says, "Apple. Tree." I love my parents more and more every day for getting through those years.

And I love my child. She's hilarious, brilliant, gorgeous, creative, thoughtful and strong, sassy, and independent. Everything I want her to be. Everything I had wished for her. I just hope I can navigate this journey with some patience and wisdom so that she knows just how great she is and that her mommy loves her more than life. 

Here's my little angel at her 2nd birthday party:

And if that wasn't enough cuteness for you, this should top you off: