Truths I Want To Tell You Before I Lose My Marbles To Motherhood

I've been thinking of how much more forgetful I am than usual since I've been pregnant with you, Mini... no doubt that whatever nature us doing to make chicken noodle soup smell like hunting boot socks and my dreams so possessively real these days is the likely culprit.  Hormones can be such temperamental little gremlins!

Since I currently have a bit more restful pondering-time than I believe I will once you arrive in our world, I'd like to mindfully take the time to relate some of the things that I've promised myself I'd impart to our children before I lose sight of this intention during the everyday dance of caring for a very New You.

So, without further ado:

Ten Things I'd Like For You To Know

1. Your daddy is the most handsome man I've ever seen.  When I first saw him (or rather, spied on him!) at work, just watching his smile illuminate his face was like watching lightning bugs come out for the first time in the summer.  He seemed so polished and outgoing, I could hardly envision him having as much interest in me as I did in him.  Good thing Mommy likes a challenge, otherwise you wouldn't be here.  The poor man never knew what hit him.  I'll teach you how to do that later.
2. I wanted you a long time ago, but my timing wasn't God's timing.  I made some foolish choices in my youth and as a result lived very far away from home, away from the people who truly care for me. In retrospect, I can see why He wanted you to be born here and in this time of my life.  “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord.  ~ Isaiah 55:8
3. As a result of the aforementioned turbulent period, I was living in Manhattan during the 9/11 attacks.  I was 19 years old, and I declare that I've never been as nerve-shattered before or since.  Fear aside, it was a fascinating time to be living in New York in the wake of that terrible event -- I saw some of the most generous and considerate human behavior in the days that followed.  One day I'll show you the pictures I took of the gathering I attended in Union Square the week after.  I'll pass them down to you when you're old enough to appreciate them.
4. Your great-great PawPaw Of The Mountains (or Thomas Henry Yarbrough, for the genealogists out there) bit your Uncle Daniel once.  It was your Uncle Daniel's fault for wanting to stick his finger in PawPaw's mouth, though.  I was there, and let me tell you... It.  Was.  Awesome.

My late great-grandparents Thomas Henry and Maggie Pearl Yarbrough...and some shy dog

5.  Choose your pets with wisdom considering your situation in life, and don't just feed and water    them -- enjoy them.  They'll never complain about you (except for cats, occasionally....AHEM, Miss Daphne!) or tell you that you just paid way too much for a stupid haircut.  They teach you how to be constant in love and how to be merciful and empathetic when facing injury or death.  I can't imagine what I would've done during the loneliest times of my life if it hadn't been for my pets.
6.  You're made of some tough genetic material -- a gift handed down from the women from both sides of your family.  They've survived broken backs, broken hearts, tornadoes, brain-frying viruses, painful diseases, poverty, and scores of children birthed in close succession.  Many have farmed well into their eighties, taken care of who needed taken care of without complaining, and put a fresh fella or two in their place with a swift kick when it was necessary to remind them how to treat a lady.  Keep your chin up and don't take no mess.  It's your birthright.
7.   I got to sing at Carnegie Hall not once, but twice.  It's not as big as you'd think, but it's nontheless a breathtaking space.  My favorite of the two performances was a goodwill concert following 9/11 hosted by The Netherlands, which featured a real princess from their country and New York City policemen and firefighters singing with my choir (the Young People's Chorus of New York) under the baton of Skitch Henderson.  The finale from that evening, "You'll Never Walk Alone", still makes me tear up.
8.   You have a predisposition to love ice cream.  This might explain your predisposition to diabetes.  Watch your sugar, hon.
9.   Your parents love each other devotedly and truly enjoy one another's company.  We've weathered a lot of tough stuff from the beginning of our relationship, and we know without a shadow of a doubt we wouldn't have made it through such times without one another.  Be assured that when the hooey hits the fan, we know how to stick together and hold you inside that safety. 
10.   And finally, redheads can wear pink.  Anyone who tells you otherwise is a self-righteous fashion Nazi.   

Don't listen to the haters, sweetheart.



That'll cover it for now, little one.  I'll tell you some more stories and tidbits as I scribble along.  

Mom NOMs: When the whole world tastes like poo, here's what I do!

On an unpregnant day, you could call me The Girl Who Enjoys Food.  Not binge-by-the-bag food or prepackaged astronaut chow, but rather the kind you have to sit down and show reverence toward.  I *heart* some spaghetti alla carbonara.  I scream for Jamocha Almond Fudge ice cream.  Pad thai just blows my taste buds offstage like Stewart Copeland back in his early days drumming with The Police (don't worry, Mini -- if you don't get that allusion now, you will by the time you can say, "Do do do.... da da da"!  Mommy loves her some Zenyattà Mondatta).
 
After supplying my body with such marvelous fare on a regular basis throughout my adult life, it seems like the ultimate betrayal that during pregnancy -- when I need the comfort of food the most --my Judas Iscariot hormones have made ALL of my favorites taste like a mouthful of spit wads.  As in wet paper.  Literally.

I'd heard about some preggies experiencing a "faint metallic taste" (as many pregnancy resources would so delicately put it) in their mouths, particularly during the first trimester, but somehow that phrase fails to capture the subtle bouquet evoked when your tongue insists that it's not a cheeseburger you're eating, but rather a french-fried hockey puck.

(Sensitivity check:  While I'm poking fun at one of the more unpleasant parts of our particular pregnancy, by no means do I consider myself unfortunate in light of what other, braver women have had to endure in order to bring their own Minis into the world.  Mad respec', ladies.) 

Thank God that, um, God put some nummy alternatives within my grasp to help me cope with the loss of my old fatty standbys.  I reckon that it's His kind way of saying, "Sugar will make your baby see through time.  That's why it tastes like phooey right now.  Try something simple and nourishing instead."

In case any of you are dealing with blargh-mouth right now or in the future, here is my list of Mini-friendly alternatives to the plush menu:

1.  Cocoa-dusted almonds.  With only one gram of sugar per serving, a 100-calorie pack of Blue Diamond cocoa-dusted almonds knocks that chocolate craving right in the head.

2.  Pears canned in their own juice.  Sweet.... but not as sweet as that chick in high school that used to hang out with you when your parents took you to do cool stuff but then talked behind your back when she liked your boyfriend. 

3.  Light popcorn.  It's white.  And fluffy.  Like me!  It also boasts a substantial amount of fiber, which is worth its weight in gold when you're with child.  It's like you're issued a stopper with a positive pregnancy test.  Umph!

4.  Dried veggie snacks.  I'm working my way through a bag of Nature's Harvest Veggie Crunchers as I compose this very sentence!  See how much smarterer I am when I eat my vegetables?

5.  Greek yogurt.  Hooray for soothing dairy and fortifying protein!  A nib of this stuff in the morning, and I'm chargin' hell with a squirt gun (this is a phrase I picked up from my Baptist minister husband, obviously.  Love ya, punkin!).

6.  Almond milk.  The vanilla kind tastes like melted ice cream, minus the wangy overly-sugared aftertaste.  Almonds are nature's little darlings. 

7.  Steel-cut oats.  Add milk (even the aforementioned almond!), peanut butter and a dab of local honey, and you have a cocktail for morning greatness. 

What are your helpful foods when you feel like walking donkeybutter, during pregnancy or otherwise?  Do tell!

And a special question for the Mini-moms out there in blogland: did what you ate during pregnancy seem to affect your child's tastes for certain foods as they grew?  Just wondering, because if so, sweet baby girl Clenney will eschew bananas and be doomed to a lifetime of garlic breath.  Viva Italia, my darling!

 

Girl Pretties!

Sorry, fellers -- this post ain't so much for you. 

I'm gonna girl out for a sec and show you a design board that I've been working on to help me come up with a feel for what Mini's nursery will look like.  We're planning on painting her nursery pale yellow, warm light gray, and off-white/cream --  I know that sounds like a lotta paint cans for just four walls, but much of it will be used in a tree mural that Jason's promised to paint for me. 

The idea is to keep the walls and furniture of the room gender-neutral and to add boy/girl colors in flattering contrasts specific to each child who inhabits the room.  For example, pale yellow/gray/cream looks spiffy accessorized with:

• Lavender
• Navy
• Light & Medium pinks & bright yellow
• Pale green

....and pugs.

I have a feeling that Mini's gonna be our lavender girl.

Hmmm...is that like a calendar girl?  Or maybe a cornflake girl?

*sigh*  I loved me some Tori Amos back in the day. 

Anywhizzles, I digress.

As Salt 'n' Pepa used to say, check it!:

The Anatomy of a Sweet Pea

Perfectum Sincere

I've stated it before in this space, but it bears repeating:

God's timing is perfect. 

Sometimes it seems humanly impossible to acknowledge this truth when I'm engulfed by a feeling of hopelessness because I'm not handed the outcome I desire -- the one I feel that I deserve.  Still, His unmerited grace has faithfully watered my soul, even when I cursed the clouds that carried that rain. 

Considering the positions I've put myself into over the years and the soulsickness that inevitably followed, it amazes me that my life is what it is today. 

Proverbs 16:9 A man's heart deviseth his way: but the LORD directeth his steps.

Not that my life is perfect by any stretch of the imagination.  But I know where I stand, and with whom.  I demand less of people than I used to because I know that God is the only one who will never let me down.

I'm learning -- or should I say, practicing -- how to place my fragile life in God's hands and say, Whatever you have in store for me is good.  Even when I'm disappointed.  Even when beloved friends and family just die.  Even when a house falls apart, a car explodes, or another cat runs away. 

I realize that asking God to give us a child should be a leap of faith.

What if he had said no, and that it wouldn't be our job to be parents?

What if I hadn't met the ideal man to be her daddy?

What if our girl has needs beyond what we have planned and prepared for?

I could fall into an abyss of what-ifs, but I choose to rejoice.  Not only because things have gone so well with our pregnancy thus far, but because I'm mindful every day that the events of the next few months will go precisely the way He has planned. 

Our Child

Oh child, do you know, do you know
where you come from?

From a lake
with white and hungry sea gulls.

Besides the wintry water
she and I built
a red bonfire
wearing away our lips
from kissing each other's souls,
throwing everything into the fire,
burning up our life.

This is the way you arrived in the world.

But in order to see me
and in order to see you one day
she crossed over the seas
and in order to embrace
her small waist
I walked the whole earth,
with wars and mountains,
with sand and spines.

This is the way you arrived in the world.

From so many places you come,
from the water and from the earth,
from the fire and from the snow,
from so far away you walk
toward the two of us,
from the terrible love
that has enchained us,
so we want to know
what you are like, what you say to us,
because you know more
about the world than we gave you.

Like a great storm
the two of us shake
the tree of life
down to the most hidden
fibers of its roots
and you appear now,
singing in the leaves,
on the highest branch
we reached with you.

~ Pablo Neruda





Can'tsleepclownswilleatme.

If our sweet baby is anything like her parents, she will possess a vivid imagination. 

With this realization, I will make you another promise, Mini: 

Nowhere in your crib, nursery, or home will you ever find a @#$&! clown.

Would you trust your baby with this Bozo?

I was a fortunate young'un.  My first memories are of the color yellow -- goldenrod linoleum, the sunshine-yellow siding on our house, my Winnie the Pooh mobile.  It was a placid, pleasant existence.  Everything just kinda...glowed.  I reason that this is why, to this day, I favor ol' yeller splashed all over our domestic dwelling.  It warms.  It softens.  It goes with a lot of other colors in unique contrasting ways.

Ya know what DOESN'T go with mental stability?

Clowns. 

And guess what wee ones thrive upon...

Stability!

It's a no-brainer. 

As I got older, I began to notice clowns everywhere.  The haircare place where mom had my hornet's nest of hair cut had pictures of droopy hobo clowns that would glare at me every time I climbed into the beautician's chair.  They even had a velvet one.  Bonus points: it was the 1980's.  They were so not new.

My aunt-by-marriage's niece and I got to be contestants on the Bozo Show on Little Rock's KLRT station when I was five.  All I remember is that he was really IMPOSING and RED and I sat on a balloon in my fancy-pants and when it popped, I was so on edge that I nearly pooped the aftorementioned fancy-pants.

My baby sister, Angela, was haunted by dancing primary-colored clowns on her crib sheets every night.  We slept in the same room from the time I was six, so I had a nice eye-level view of the creepy boogers dancing through her dreams from my bed across the room.

And then, the major psychiatric event of every child my age occurred in 1990.

Gah, I can hardly look at this post now.

I remember the TV Guide from the week the ABC miniseries aired -- it had Tim Curry as Pennywise on the cover.  It sat next to my dad's Lay-Z-Boy and gnawed at my soul until I gathered the courage to roll it up and run it to the trash can.  And I mean run.

Now I know this story reads as entertaining now, when you're in the throes of developing some serious pediatric coulrophobia, it's as serious as flushing your favorite Barbie Doll's head down the john. 

So, to recap:

Little Girl, I promise you a clown-free household.  And as much as parent-ly possible, a pretty clown-free young life.  I'm sure that you will have fears of your own that are unique to your little mind, and I will take them as seriously as you need me to.

But really, please don't like clowns. 

Mommy couldn't handle that.

Now here's a nice pug picture to clear your mental palette.



We are learning you...

We have seen your sweet face.

We are learning your name.

"For this child I prayed; and the LORD hath given me my petition which I asked of Him..."
~ 1 Samuel 1:27 (KJV)

Your movements reassure us.

Your motions delight us.

Behold, children are a heritage from the LORD, The fruit of the womb is a reward.
~ Psalm 127:3  (NKJV)

You are the best thing that's ever happened to us, Little Girl!

(Special thanks to Ms. Linda for taking the time to provide us with these beautiful images.  We are forever grateful for your expertise and reassurance that our baby is developing perfectly!)

To God be the glory!  His timing is good and worth waiting on.