B as in Boy
We all know that things change after you have children. For example, right now as I try to spend 5 minutes on the computer I am being interupted every two minutes to decipher your Mariel's attempt to spell. Word at the moment: MARFEFNM. I do not know how to pronounce that.
Another example: Sleep. Deep, unworried unstressed uncomplicated sleep. I think that I used to know what that felt like.
The big change that I am dealing with right now, though, is what happens to a woman's body after children. It's just not really the same. Ever. No matter what people tell you. Some new items after baby 2:
My knees ache.
And they have mysteriously developed wrinkles, as though somehow post-pregnancy some extra skin slid down around my knees. Haven't noticed? That is because I don't wear shorts unless it is 100 degrees or I don't think anyone will see me. That policy developed after baby 1, with the increase in spider veins.
My hair curls in the back (note: this means in the back ONLY, as the hair on the front of my head remains perfectly straight).
My belly button just really has never looked the same.
And now, after nursing the second girl I face something that I have truly never faced before, as I think puberty took me from A to D in about 60 seconds. Pregnancy and nursing took me to the bizarre far reaches of G. Now, I may not recognize myself in a mirror. I am a B. I hope those kids really love me.
Follow up to the Daddies Patrick
Patrick (mine) thinks that this sounds like a band, but probably one that only sings Irish music.
His previous ideas of band names were things like "Unemployed in Greenland" and "Chewing on a Ball of Tinfoil" (actually, that might be the first album name). That was back in his early years, the years of Bon Jovi and the like. So I guess some things might change for men after children, too, even if they are not subjected to quite the same events as their partners.
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Sunday, May 02, 2010
Musical children and the Daddies Patrick
Somehow this turned into a very long and tiring weekend. Lots of things on our plate combined with fretting over Noella and her skin. Patrick even joined my state of general anxiety, heading to the drug store early this morning to buy special Eucerin Anti-Itch lotion. I declared her a victim of seasonal allergies, and said she was not allowed to go outside. This was not easy, her being a kid and it being a gorgeous day, and eventually I actually had to go outside (she could either come with me or stay home alone, which did not seem the best option).
Patrick spent most of today trying to take down the crushed gutter from our massive storm last weekend. (Side note: This weekend we got our family basement time at 9pm on Friday night for tornado warnings. We need a better basement arrangement! Sometime over the course of that storm a rear neighbor's tree split and is hanging over our yard. No damage..yet.)
Anyway- Patrick's day was devoted to the gutter with the help of various neighbors and "the other Patrick"s very very tall ladder. The other Patrick (this is what Mariel actually calls him) lives two doors down with two daughters of his own. His eldest, Beatrice, is just a bit younger than Mariel, and the two of them started off playing at their house, broke it off for lunch, then came to our house for several hours this afternoon, and then went out shopping with her mom, Amy, before dinner. We declared it "musical children" day.
It is an interesting study to see the moods the two of them go through in a day together. At their house, Mariel was polite, quiet, thoughtful, and well behaved while Beatrice and her sister fought and refused to share with one another. At our house Beatrice was sweet, well mannered, and so kind to Noella while Mariel descended into a frenzy of misbehavior. I wonder if there is something territorial about it all?
There was a time this afternoon when the girls were playing (nicely) in the living room while both Patricks climbed ladders outside the window and sliding doors. The girls watched, laughing, trying to identify which of the ladders belonged to which of the "Daddy Patricks."
Somehow this turned into a very long and tiring weekend. Lots of things on our plate combined with fretting over Noella and her skin. Patrick even joined my state of general anxiety, heading to the drug store early this morning to buy special Eucerin Anti-Itch lotion. I declared her a victim of seasonal allergies, and said she was not allowed to go outside. This was not easy, her being a kid and it being a gorgeous day, and eventually I actually had to go outside (she could either come with me or stay home alone, which did not seem the best option).
Patrick spent most of today trying to take down the crushed gutter from our massive storm last weekend. (Side note: This weekend we got our family basement time at 9pm on Friday night for tornado warnings. We need a better basement arrangement! Sometime over the course of that storm a rear neighbor's tree split and is hanging over our yard. No damage..yet.)
Anyway- Patrick's day was devoted to the gutter with the help of various neighbors and "the other Patrick"s very very tall ladder. The other Patrick (this is what Mariel actually calls him) lives two doors down with two daughters of his own. His eldest, Beatrice, is just a bit younger than Mariel, and the two of them started off playing at their house, broke it off for lunch, then came to our house for several hours this afternoon, and then went out shopping with her mom, Amy, before dinner. We declared it "musical children" day.
It is an interesting study to see the moods the two of them go through in a day together. At their house, Mariel was polite, quiet, thoughtful, and well behaved while Beatrice and her sister fought and refused to share with one another. At our house Beatrice was sweet, well mannered, and so kind to Noella while Mariel descended into a frenzy of misbehavior. I wonder if there is something territorial about it all?
There was a time this afternoon when the girls were playing (nicely) in the living room while both Patricks climbed ladders outside the window and sliding doors. The girls watched, laughing, trying to identify which of the ladders belonged to which of the "Daddy Patricks."
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