Just a Dream

The path in front of me curves around a lake.  The weather is perfect.  I can feel the sun heating my face.  I'm not wearing sunglasses but I'm not squinting or shading my eyes.  The brightness is pure and glowing, not blinding and harsh.  There is a slight breeze gently whispering past my ears, but otherwise it is quite.  There seems to be no one in this park except me and the stroller filled with soft pink blankets.

As I proceed around the bend, the lake is to my right, and up ahead on my left is a small clearing in the trees.  There sits a bench and on the bench sits a woman.  I can't make out her features but I know who it is and I can feel her warm smile even from this distance.

In a moment I am standing in front of her.  She is looking up at me with her wide grin and she looks the same.  Wonderfully the same.  She is not the sick woman with a swollen face and bald head.  She is not that fragile being I remember hugging all those years ago, not knowing it would be the last time.  She is strong, like I remember from my youth.  She is the woman who baked spaghetti sauce all day on Sundays, who made jam on her back porch from the berries we had picked, who canned the sweetest corn.  Even now, all these years later, I can close my eyes and recall the precise smell of that sauce, the exact sweetness of that jam and the firm texture of that corn.

She is beautiful and she is looking at me like I am her everything.  It is exactly the look I remember from her, the inviting smile that always made me feel safe and special.  I never doubted her love for me.  I never doubted that I was special to her.  So much so, that sometimes I'm convinced she loved me the most...thought I was the most special.  Right now, I need that confidence.  I need her to hug me and make me feel like everything will be okay.  Reassure me that my world isn't crashing.

The baby is crying now.  She stands and touches my cheek.  Then she turns and gently lifts the pink bundle out of the stroller.  She stares down into the blanket and smiles.  The sobs fade as the small being melts into the creases of her elbows and softness of her chest.

I open my mouth to protest, but she stops me.

It's okay.  I'll take care of her.

Knowing what that means forces hot tears out of my eyes and down my face.  I lean in to look at the small baby in her arms, but she pulls her close, shakes her head slowly and takes a step backwards.

She'll be safe with me.

I take one step back.  Her smile grows as she floats further and further from where I stand until all I can make out is the bright light in her eyes.  I want to remember this moment.  A moment that isn't quite real. I want to remember this light, this smile, these promises.

Mommy?

Mommy?

The sun is peeking in through the window and playing across my eyes.  I squint and blink away the sharp edge of the light.

Mommy?

Ainsley's nose is almost touching mine.

Mommy?  Why are you twying?

I wipe the tears from my cheeks and force a smile.  My grandmother's sweet face still fills my mind and though my doctor's appointment is 2 days away, I already know.  The vision of my grandmother provides a small sliver of peace.  But the sadness and the fear are heavy on my chest.  The knowing is hard, like a knife pushing deep in my gut, relentless and without mercy.

Why are you twying mommy?

I pull her into my lap and hug her close.  I close my eyes and breath in her soft baby scent, slowly it is being replaced with the aroma of childhood. 

I kiss her soft curls and say Just a dream, baby.

Leave a Message

I hate answering the phone.

I hate answering the phone so much that very often I let it go to voice mail and call the person back.  My stomach drops when the phone rings and I'm not sure who it is.  Mostly this happens at work.  On my cell phone, if I don't recognize the number then it's usually someone I don't need to talk to, so that doesn't bother me.

But at work, I'm supposed to answer the phone and speak to people.  I mean, that's not my main job, but I am the client in my industry and people who are calling me have questions that need answered and comments that need heard and issues that need resolved.  That is why I hate answering the phone.  I don't like being put on the spot.

I am an email kind of gal.  Send me an email and I can think about it, research it, compose my answer, read it 19 times and then give you what you need.  I can't do that on the phone.  On the phone I'm supposed to think on my feet, speak intelligently, banter back and forth.  I am not the bantering type.  I often feel like an idiot in spontaneous conversation.  I'm so worried about what I'm going to say that I can't always focus on what's being said.

I rehearse conversations in my head hours before they happen.  When I know I have to call someone or meet with someone, I play it all out in my head over and over again until I know exactly what I'll say.  But inevitably, a question or comment arises that I was not prepared for...and then that incompetent feeling seeps into my gut.

If I had my way, I'd do everything in writing, but that's not the way of the world.  So today I told myself that I would answer every single time my phone rang and just deal with it.

I made it half the day.

I'll try again tomorrow.

First Hair Cut

No not Freddie's.  Ainsley got her first hair cut last weekend.  Crazy considering she's 3.5 years old, but I'm sure most of you remember how bald she was.  I see other three-year-olds with long luscious locks...not our Ainsley.  Although she has beautiful hair, it has not come in as full as some of her peers.  So I never found it necessary to cut.  However, recently I was noticing some serious tangling at the very bottom of some of the longer pieces.  I was almost ripping out tangled little balls.  I figured it was time.

So, below are some tips on your first child's first hair cut.

#1 - If your child does not like getting her hair washed, most likely a huge green elephant will not help.

Ainsley does not like getting her hair washed.  She doesn't like water in her face and she hates when I have to rinse her hair.  Some nights it's almost impossible to get all the soap out.  She won't lie back in the tub, I have to use cups and then try to gently but forcibly push her chin up so the water doesn't drip to her eyes.  At the hair salon, there is a large green elephant mounted on the wall and the stylist uses the trunk to wet hair.  Although she was a trooper, Ainsley did not enjoy this and looking back I probably should have just said no to the shampooing.

#2 - Probably best to be prepared when the stylist asks what you want.

Or, you could, like me just stumble over your words.  Not sure what I want done, don't take too much, and please save all the curls, and not too short, and I'm not sure, bangs? well... Yeah, that's what I sounded like.

#3 - If you are PMSing...maybe wait for another day.

Or you could end up in tears...yeah, I'm a lunatic.  It became this huge symbol of Ainsley growing up and her baby essence just disappearing.  Which I guess it kind of is, but I expected it to be exciting and not so emotional.

#4 - Expect to feel like you over payed.
We were there for a total of 17 minutes from the time we walked in the door until the time we walked out...$19 later.  And I'm pretty sure I could have cut it the way it was cut.  But oh well, it's all about the experience and the certificate...which they were out of.  Most likely, I won't go back.

And here is the result...

Sweet Boy

Since I posted about finding out if Ainsley was a boy or a girl, I wanted to do the same with Freddie.  I'm going to be honest, so don't hate me for it...


I never wanted a boy.  I mean, really, a boy just seemed like big time trouble to me.  If you would have asked me years and years ago how I pictured my future family, I would have answered Four girls, no boys!


I was so sick during those early months with Freddie.  That feeling of utter queasiness mixed with fatigue always reminded me of a Sunday morning hangover.  I had often had the same feelings with Ainsley, but I never actually got sick with her.  Freddie was a whole other story.  It was a welcome discomfort after a pregnancy where I never felt pregnant, which led to a miscarriage and 4 months of trying for another baby.

Looking back on those first 16 weeks of ickiness, I think I knew it was a boy, but I never wanted to admit it.  I would tell Clif that it was probably a boy because the pregnancy was so different.  The sickness, the heart burn, the gas, the way I instantly gained 20 pounds in my belly and rear end the moment I peed on the stick.  But I never wanted to commit to "it's a boy."  Most likely this was because deep down, I was really hoping for another girl.

Ainsley had been a dream child and I was so head over heels in love with her that I just couldn't imagine loving a boy the same way.  I wanted another Ainsley.  Also, I so bad wanted to give her a sister.  A sister close in age to her that she could grow up with.

Just like with Ainsley, I was nervous the day of the ultrasound but in a whole different way.  I was so afraid of reacting badly if it was a boy.  I didn't want to cry, I did not want to be that person, I wanted to not care, I wanted to want a boy.

The ultrasound tech got right down to business this time.  Did we want to know the sex?  Yes.  Well okay, it's  a boy.

I wasn't shocked, because a part of me knew...but I would be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed, and I'm not going to lie.  I was disappointed.  I had been hoping, hoping, hoping for another girl.  What would I do with a boy?  I felt so guilty as we called family members to share the news and I couldn't even fake excitement.  I kept thinking what a horrible person I was.  Here, I had lost one pregnancy and then tired for months for another, and now I had this healthy baby boy growing inside of me and all I could feel was disappointment.

I spent a lot of my pregnancy feeling guilty for that feeling.  Feeling sad that it wasn't a girl and getting used to the idea of a boy.  Boy clothes are not as cute.  Boy nurseries are not as stylish.  Boy toys are not as fun.

And then...

March 18th, 2010, Freddie came roaring into my world.  And I was completely. in. LOVE.  All of those insecurities about raising a boy were gone.  All of the disappointment just vanished.  He was this perfect, precious being and he was so different from Ainsley - yet I loved him because of those differences.  And the love was just so instant and surprising because I had spent so long worrying about my feelings.

And now...

When that little crooked grin spreads across his face or those little pudgy arms wrap around my neck or his small bow-shaped mouth opens for a big slobbery kiss, I wonder how I could have ever felt disappointment.

That feeling is so foreign to me.  All I feel for this troublesome little boy is pure, unconditional love.  I am his momma and he is my sweet boy.

Finding Out

I wrote this post as a response to a prompt at The Red Dress Club:  This week, we want you to imagine that after you have died and your daughter/son will be given the gift of seeing a single five-minute period of your life through your eyes, feeling and experiencing those moments as you did when they occurred. What five minutes would you have him/her see? Tell us about them in the finest detail.



The ultrasound gel they put on your belly isn't cold like you'd imagine.  It's actually warm and soothing, which is nice considering how on edge and jumpy I feel.  My mom is sitting at my feet rubbing my ankle.  I'm glad she's here.  I'm so nervous, I just can't get the butterflies out of my stomach.

Clif is sitting to my left side, with his mother beside him.  It's the first grandchild for both of them.  Excited does not cover the way they are feeling. 

We invited them both to be here and afterwards the three of us will go register based on the outcome.  I've wondered if we should have.  Should this just be a moment for me and Clif?  But now, I'm glad we did.  They'll always be able to say they were there when we found out the first time.

I know it's a girl.  I can feel it down to the bottom most trenches of my heart.  The moment I saw those two pink lines appear on the stick, I started thinking of girl names.  I've only looked at girl clothes and girl nurseries.  I've told anyone who would listen that it absolutely must be a girl because I've never felt something so deeply before...but what if it's not? 

What if right in this moment I have to completely change my whole thinking? 

What if all my instincts and all my thoughts have been wrong?

She moves the probe over my skin and begins speaking:

There's his heart.

His?  Did she say his?  Did she mean his?  Or does she just refer to all babies as "his/him/he" until the sex is actually known?  My heart is pounding even harder now and hot tears begin to blur my eyes.

I want to ask but I don't want to seem too eager...of course I care more about HER heart than I do HER sex.  But I just can't be wrong.  I hate being wrong.  Then she talks again:

Now I'm measuring his head.

There it is again...his!  I can't contain myself any longer.

So it's a boy? I blurt out, a bit too harshly.

She glances at me sideways.  She is definitely judging me.  She thinks I only care about the sex.  I don't only care about the sex, but seriously?  It's all anyone talks about.  Shouldn't you just get that part out of the way so I can really focus on the important stuff?

I refer to them all that way, until I know for sure.

My pounding heart calms a bit, but I'm wondering if here and now I should announce that it must be a boy...just in case. 

She continues through all the checks: head diameter, abdomen size, arm and leg lengths, umbilical cord.

So, are we finding out the sex? she asks dryly without making eye contact.

I can't believe she just asked me that.  Did we not just have that very awkward moment 2 minutes ago?

We all nod.

She turns back to the screen, pushes my abdomen to get the position right, clicks a picture and types G-I-R-L on the screen.

My heart leaps.  It seems surreal.  I've known all along but I can barely believe it.  A girl!  A sweet, pink, chubby little girl with bows and dresses and pink and purple.  My first baby will be a girl. 

I smile, look at my family and say Told you!

Are You Kidding Me?

I meant to write this post yesterday, February 12, 2011 - 6 years later, but between dance class, bridal showers, shopping and parenting, a post was virtually impossible.


Looking back on the weekend, I should have known what was coming.  I had never been to New York City.  I had always dreamed of being there. I had wanted so much to live that life. I had envied that fast paced, urban lifestyle.  So when Clif told me we were visiting his brother in Connecticut, I hoped that we would make it into the city.

Clif had more than just a surprise Valentine's Day trip up his sleeve.  After surprising me with Phantom of the Opera on Broadway, a hotel room in Times Square and dinner at the Rainbow Room, we were headed to the Empire State Building.

Getting to the top took some time.  There ware security checks and stairs and elevator rides and lines, but finally we stepped out into the brisk February night and looked down at the center of the universe.  At that height the wind was fierce and it was hard to stand still without shivering.  But I wanted to take in every angle, every detail.  For me, this was the highlight of the trip.  Standing on that balcony, looking over the edge, you could feel the pulse of the city below.  I took my time walking around the railing, stopping ever few feet to memorize the new view.

Before I knew it we were back where we'd started and I felt a little sad to say Well that's it, let's go to the gift shop.


Clif hesitated, Let's take a few more pictures.


I was cold and I had looked at everything, but I followed him to the closest corner.  He snapped a few pictures and stared down at the tiny cars and blinking lights.  A few minutes passed and I couldn't take the wind anymore Okay, I'm cold.  Let's go in.


I turned to leave, but the feeling of Clif's hand on my shoulder stopped me and I heard him say I have one more surprise.


I turned around and there he stood with a tiny blue box in his hand.  He said things that I remember, but I don't.  It's like trying to explain a dream.  You remember it and how it felt, but putting it into words is impossible.

He knelt down and said Will you marry me?


Are you kidding me? was the first thing that spilled out of my mouth, but eventually I said yes.

Sixteen months later we vowed for better, for worse, in sickness, in health, for richer, for poorer.  Six years later, we've seen most of those come to pass.  We've experienced the heartache of miscarriage and the joy of child birth; scary high fevers in the middle of the night and shrills of laughter at the dinner table; the uncertainty and fear of unemployment and the stability and relief of new jobs.

We'll celebrate our 5th wedding anniversary this summer and I look forward to the next 50.

Clif, thank you for being an amazing husband and a wonderful father.  I'm so lucky that 6 years ago on a cold winter's night, at the top of New York City, you picked me.  I love you.

The Best Part of My Day

My commute to work in the morning is long, but my commute home always seems much longer.  I find myself racing the clock...can I get there quicker today than I did yesterday?  If I make these lights I'll beat my best time.  Maybe there's a shorter route, a quicker cut-through, a less traveled path.  I'm always trying new roads, new ways, new directions all to get to the same place.

In the evening the radio station is replaying the exact same talk show I listened to that morning, so normally it's just background noise that fills the silent air.  My mind wanders to chores that need to be done that night, what I'm making for dinner, bills that need to be paid, things that need to be done in the Richmond house...but mostly I think about them.  I think about the moment that I see them.  It's always the best part of my day.

Ainsley will be telling her teachers stories of our plans for the night.  She'll go into great detail about visiting aunts and uncles or dance class or going to Richmond.  Freddie will be with a toy.  Pushing it, shaking it, pounding it or whatever is most fun and loud to do with that particular toy.  Then they'll see me and they'll drop whatever they're doing and make their way to me.

Those thoughts push me to get there sooner.  They're the reason I hate the traffic and curse the other drivers.  My life with them is crazy and hectic and forever on the move...but any time I spend away from them, I spend missing them.

I park along the curb and walk up the driveway to the large house on the corner.  This is where they spend most of their day.  I let myself in and slip off my shoes...no shoes allowed in the daycare portion of the house.

I walk down the stairs and I hear them before I see them.  They are happy, I hear it in their voices and laughter.  I emerge into the spacious basement.

Hi Ainsley!


MOMMY!!!!


She runs to me and wraps her thin arms around my upper thighs.

Did you have a good day? I ask.

By this time Freddie hears my voice and he is squealing like we rarely hear him laugh.  He toddles toward me, faster every day.

Hi Freddie! I say as I scoop him up and give his soft, squishy cheek a big kiss.  He giggles and wraps his chubby arms tightly around my neck.

The three of us are one giant hug of laughter and love.  Yes, this is definitely the best part of my day.