August 29, 2006
Baby Love
As I’m sitting on the couch watching Emeril on The Food Network, my sweet little boy crawls up next to me with his favorite book Ruby in Her Own Time and says to me, “Mumma, dis a bwook.”
I put the television on mute and begin to read him this story for the millionth glorious time. He listens intently, occasionally interrupting with various words like ‘ducka’ and ‘turdel’ and insists on turning all the pages for me.
It’s in this moment that I say a little prayer thanking God for giving me the gift of a child and allowing me the privilege to be Dawson’s mother. It’s a glorious feeling. A feeling that often brings tears to my eyes at sometimes at the oddest moments.
Often I’ll be at work, on the telephone with some crazy travel agent and I’ll miss my baby. The feeling that washes over me is like a flood and I feel like I don’t have a paddle to navigate through the waves of the hurricane of emotions. I start wondering what he’s doing and what he’s saying and who’s hugging him or kissing his adorable cheeks when I’m not there to do it. I’ll wish and pray to God for a million dollars in my bank account tomorrow so I can stop working and spend more time with my beautiful, precious boy.
I often wonder if all mothers go through these hormonal highs and lows of motherhood. Am I just the crazy one? (Don’t answer that.)
When I look at my Doodlebug’s sweet face I instantly go to him and give him a kiss and ask him for a hug. Most often he’ll oblige but on occasion he’ll say, “No. Mumma, go way.”
I know he knows not what he’s saying, he is just asserting himself. But I steal a hug anyway and he’ll whine into my ear until I release him from my hold. As I pull away he’ll smirk at me and say, “Awwwww. Mummmmma.” and reach over to hug me anyway. It makes me cry happy tears every single time.
I love this child more than my own life. If anyone threatened to harm him in any way, I’d give my own life in exchange for his safety.
I love him so much that I can smell his baby shampoo scent, I can feel his soft caress in my hair, I can hear his little toddler chatter even when I’m away from him. His existence consumes me. Is this a normal way to feel? Am I so emotional that I can’t contemplate life before him? How did I survive pre-Dawson? I cannot fathom this.
The love I have for my child is so strong that I don’t think I could ever recover if he left me. You know what I mean. If God decided to take my child to Heaven, he knows I’d be following after him.
Even when the ‘Terrible Two’s’ approach and I am frustrated because I don’t know why he’s crying or what he wants some days, I still love him so much I want to scream from the rooftops!
It’s an overwhelming feeling. Often when I read other “Mommy Blogs” like this post by Catherine, I find myself nodding and smiling and laughing and crying because I can relate to many of the feelings and emotions of these women.
And I realize that even when I feel alone, I’m not. I have a great support group out there and that makes me feel sane. It keeps me grounded. On my couch. Reading a story for the millionth glorious time to my Dawson.
Posted by Dana
7:07 pm •
Uncategorized •
August 28, 2006
Catechism Classes
Well, tonight’s meeting went well. Catechism classes begin September 13. I will be teaching 8th grade. This won’t be any different than the ninth grade class I taugh five years ago. Again, I’m the youngest teacher in the parish of St. Bronislava.
I’m going to have to relinquish my use of the F-word. This may be a little tough. And I suppose I’ll have to give up my childish ways in regards to the Witches of Stevens Point.
Other than that, things are good. I must break it to y’all that I’m not pregnant. I peed on the stick and no lines appeared. And I’m okay with this. God is in control and he made the best choice.
So tell me, what have you all been up to? I’m anxious to resume blog walking tomorrow!
Happy Monday!
August 26, 2006
Girls Night Out -To Be 21 Again
Last night, I was out on the town with my sister Rachel and my cousin Meghan. Rachel and Meghan are both 21 years old and love to have fun. Didn’t we all at that age?
We started at Big Todd’s Rumble Inn, a biker-themed bar in Stevens Point. Hell, it is a biker bar. Last night had a very familiar crowd in the bar. I saw 4 different people that I worked with at 3 different jobs. I hadn’t seen these people in years and they looked as though they’d just crawled out from under a rock.
I saw two women that I worked with at South Point Restaurant. These women were dressed in the most awkward clothing. One in a tube top and a long white skirt with cowboy boots, the other wearing what looked like a bed sheet. Or a tent. I couldn’t really be sure. They saw my sister and me (at one time, Rachel worked there, too) and started yelling, “Oooooh, my gooooosh! You two look sooooo grown up. What are you up to? Talk to me?” as they spilled their drinks all over my purse. The damn thing now smells like cheap whiskey and Squirt. Yuck.
I never cared for these women because they were pushy, sleazy and very forward. By forward I mean they were not afraid to say anything no matter who they hurt or what the repercussions were (damn, this sounds like other people I know). After smiling and nodding for 10 minutes and making the bare minimum of conversation, I told Meghan and Rachel to suck up because we were leaving.
We headed to 2nd Street Pub next, formerly known as Frank & Ernie’s my father’s bar. He’s leasing to Holly the One Eyed Sailor and thank God she wasn’t there. I really don’t care for her and avoid her whenever possible.
We sat on the elbow of the bar where our family picture is immortalized beneath a coat of polyurethane. I started to reminisce the days gone by. The days of bartending. The days of being carefree. I missed all the old customers. “Uncle” Bernie, Dave Schelke and so many more. Why didn’t I appreciate these people more when I was around them? I could kick myself for not spending more time really getting to know them. Was I so busy, wrapped up in my friends, gossiping with them instead of being kind and courteous to my father’s patrons? (And look at all the time I spent catering to my friends! What a waste!)
In the midst of my personal boo-hoo session, a tall, middle-aged man sat next to me.
“Hi, I’m Jeff, Holly’s nephew.” he said. My first instinct was to get up and move to a different seat, but I noticed there were no other available barstools. I decided to take my own advice and give this guy the benefit of the doubt. He must be nice, I thought.
“Hi, Jeff, Holly’s nephew. I’m Dana. This is my cousin Meghan and that’s my sister Rachel.” I replied.
“What do you girls do for a living?” he asked.
“Well Jeff, I work for Travel Guard.” I told him.
“I’m a stripper.” said Rachel. And I burst out laughing. Uncontrollable laughter. It felt good. To have a deep belly laugh after all the days of tears and anger, was a gift from God.
“She’s not a stripper.” I said. “She’s lying to you.”
“Ooh no. She works at the New Yorker.” Meghan chimed in.
“You’re making me look like a liar, girls!” I said.
Jeff proceeded to swoon us with his charm and his love for Metallica. He asked me if I’d ever dance to whatever god-awful song was playing.
“I don’t know how to dance to this.” I said.
“Oh sure you do, it’s like this.” He demonstrated his slick dancing moves which looked more like muscle spasms and knee-jerk reactions similar to having a doctor check your reflexes. I couldn’t stop laughing. Rachel and Meghan were in stitches. At that moment I wanted to hug this Jeff. I wanted to hug him for being himself. For not caring what anyone thought of him. For really putting himself out there. He didn’t give a rats behind if we thought he was crazy. Even if he was crazy, I didn’t care. At that moment I started to tear up.
“What’s the tears for? Is my dancing that bad?” he said as he sat back down in his chair.
I shook my head and said, “Oh no, no. That’s not it. Thank you for brightening my night.”
Jeff introduced us to his friend Nate. Turns out “Nate” was Nate Garski, a scrawny kid who’d ride his bike all over the neighborhood and he’d come into the bar to order food when my dad ran it. He looked so different. He was taller and more mature looking and I started to feel old.
“Oh my gosh, Nate. You grew up! I feel so old!” I said.
Nate told me he was 23 years old and followed that statement with, “I’m gay.” Which stunned me. Not something I expected to hear in a conversation! He then told me he lives in the area and comes into the bar every once in awhile.
Jeff proceeded to guess my age and his method included me putting my hand over his heart and closing my eyes. I think he was just being silly or flirty. It was a riot.
“You’re twenty-four.”
“No, I’m older.”
“Thirty-two.”
“No! Younger!” and I removed my hand.
“Hey! Wait! I need that!”
I just kept laughing and told him he just wanted me to keep my hand on his heart. He laughed and agreed he was just being a dork. I nodded because I’m a dork, too. It was at that moment that Jeff’s girlfriend Patty came in and started screaming at the top of her lungs that someone broke into her house and stole her clothes and photo albums but not her Harley. I had to fight back laughter. Clearly this women was crazy drunk and obnoxious. Jeff saw me smiling and he rolled his eyes in my direction as Patty told him, “Wipe that fucking smirk of your face.”
I knew it was time to go. But I still have to say thank you to Jeff, Holly’s nephew. Wherever you are, you made life just that much better.
We then left our old stomping ground and headed to Partner’s Pub. Packed. As. Usual. Too many college kids. Too many loud, drunk 21 year olds celebrating their birthdays. We spotted friends of my husband, Troy, Aaron and Dave across the bar and waved, but I’m not certain they were coherent enough to wave back.
After Partner’s Pub we headed to Post Road Pub (lots of Pubs in this town). PRB is owned by my cousin Kevin Tepp and his wife/fiance/significant other Mary Gerritts. They were just a bit drunk but bought us a drink and we were able to play the new internet jukebox. That was fun. After a few shots and discussions about our lives and relationships, we went to Jeepers Gin Mill. We didn’t stay long because some pervy guy was hitting on Meghan.
We walked down the road to Sandy’s Bar and I had a soda because I was driving. My father’s best friend Mike Kenowski was there. He is in town for a wedding and came over to talk to us. Mike and his family live in Maggie Valley, NC. He told us how he was going to visit with my Dad today and that Aunt Irene (his mom) is still hanging in there; still playing the game of life. Irene’s husband Greg passed away a few years ago. We all still miss him.
It was 1:30 before I knew it and told the girls to slam their drinks so we could go home. I had to work at 8 a.m today. Five hours of sleep just isn’t enough anymore. I’m not 21 anymore, and it shows.
Posted by Dana
8:39 am •
Uncategorized •
August 22, 2006
Baby to Be or Not to Be?
Because of our “oops” moment a week ago, I’m starting to anticipate this whole pregnancy business. I can’t help but wonder what the results will be, so much so, that I bought a pregnancy test. But I can’t bring myself to pee on the stick yet.
Call me crazy, but I can’t take the test until I’m comfortable with the results, either way. Isn’t that the weirdest thing you’ve ever heard?
Part of me really wants to have another baby. I always dreamed of having 5 children. I don’t think I’ll have that many, but I dream about it sometimes. I came from a big family. It’s just “normal” to me. My yearning for another baby became concrete in church on Sunday when I saw a co-worker and his family sitting in the front pew.
Joe works as an actuary at my company and his wife Wendy was pregnant with their fourth child the same time I was pregnant with Dawson. 18 months later, she had their fifth child. I can’t imagine having 5 children so close, back-to-back, but yet part of me wishes I could be that blessed. So, as I’m in church with my little one, I notice that Wendy is pregnant with their sixth child. I know that I will never have more than four kids (okay, more than 3 if Doug has it his way)…and I keep thinking if I wait too long to have another, I might have to go through all the fertility problems that I did with Dawson. This makes me hope and pray the result will be positive.
But then, there’s this part of me that realizes what the financial impact of a second child will cause, and this makes me wish the result is negative. This feeling is immediately followed by the Catholic guilt I was raised with. The guilt that tells me it’s wrong to wish to not be pregnant because I promised God that I’d accept children openly. Then the guilt is followed by uncertainties, followed by the realization that this is out of my control and God will make the right choice for me and my husband. And then I feel sad, because if the result is negative, I will be crushed.
If I am not crazy now…
Ugh.
Someone tell me how to feel, I can’t decide on my own.
Posted by Dana
8:32 am •
Uncategorized •
