The phone call came at exactly 2:11 today. The nurse went down the list of instructions. No eating for 8 hours, wash with a special soap. She forgot to mention the most important one…don’t freak out!
Tomorrow at 1:00 pm they will wheel me into the operating room and I, with the help of modern western sterile medicine, will have the least natural birth possible. I’m okay with it. I mean I’m petrified down to my very core. But I’m okay with it. Let’s face it, I was never going to give birth in a bathtub to chanting monk music and positive mental images anyway.
Mostly I’m just excited. Tomorrow I get to be a mom again. Tomorrow we become a family of four. Tomorrow life changes drastically once again, and for the better, once again. I know it will be hard and exhausting. I have faint recollections of those early days with Gigi. I also know it will be more challenging this time around, because “sleep when the baby sleeps” might work when you have one kiddo but not when there’s a toddler who will be demanding every inch of your sleep deprived attention.
For today there isn’t much I can do but worry, and wait, and pray that everything goes smoothly.
I haven’t posted on this blog all summer. It’s been a busy one.
- We moved. Yikes!
- I started a new job.
- Minime #2 will be here in less than three weeks. Yikes again!
To say things have been a bit of a roller coaster is an understatement. Not to mention…
- Minime #1 got her big girl bed. Yikes!
- Minime #1 started a new daycare.
- Minime #1 still refuses to use the potty. Oh well.
Oh and then there’s this…
I’ve been busily crossing the T’s and dotting the i’s on the page proofs for my new book. Yay!
And yet so many things stay the same.
The hum of the quiet morning as I sip my cup of coffee. The click of computer keys. The whir of my mind.
And even without my own classroom I’m still comforted by the buzz of childrens’ voices on those first days of school, the early morning runs to Starbucks for my vanilla latte (half-caf these days), and the promise of a new school year. This year is fill with new faces, new places, and lots of new learning experiences. I am reborn.
Here’s to another great year and more exciting things to come!
Nine years. I dig slowly through the book bins, checking for beloved texts. Sometimes flipping through, sometimes putting them in my box, most times returning them to the bin. As the books tilt forward I see a sea of my name scrawled on the top of so many of them. Nine years left behind.
The boxes I pack are few. What good will these items be in a basement? I leave them behind as a mark, as something to say “I was here.” I taught in this room. I learned in this room. I laughed, and cried, and grew up in this room.
I’m left in the wood floor, the scratch behind the door. I’m still here in the book shelves, the left over chart paper, the closet of neatly organized book club books.
Like a siren fading away, loud at first, then slowly disappearing with echoes off the buildings. Silence.
I hope you had the time of your life.
Moving forward into the unknown. Hope for new learning, new energy, new connections, new inspirations, new idea, and new memories.
Like a Phoenix I’ve come to the end, burst into flames, now I sweep up the ashes of my own cycle, to be reborn again.
Things have been a bit crazy here lately. But I won’t give up on the challenge. So back to slicing it is. Here’s one reason why life has been getting a little nuts.
Gigi was playing with her baby doll, rocking it in the crib and feeding it a bottle. ”You’re so good at that!” I said. ”You know, you’re going to be a big sister soon.” She looked at me for a moment and then went back to playing. ”Gigi a baby is coming. We’re going to have a baby come live with us. Do you want to be a big sister?” She looked at me quizzically and said “baby?” then she looked around. In theory, Gigi really likes babies. She helps with all of the babies at daycare, feeding and rocking them just like she does with her dolls. But I’m not too sure how she will react to having to share her mommy. I guess only time will tell.
The first thing she goes for is the swings. Running past plastic towers of fun to creaky comets launching through the air. First the baby swing. “Up, up!”
push, swing, push, swing, push, swing. Over and over and over again. She never wants to stop.
You’ve never seen such joy in a child as when she’s flying though the air, shouting “Whooooaaaaa!”
Once she finishes with the baby swing she wants the big girl swing. I carefully wrap my hands around hers on the chains and tell her “hold on, hold tight.” Hoping she understands.
With each push my heart drops a little. “Faster! Higher!”
She yearns to swing, yearns to fly.
You sit stacked on my nightstand. Your pile somewhat disheveled, a never-ending revolving door of friends. Each one of you holds a story; waits patiently, hoping for your turn to be unfurled. Some of you are lucky. You barely sit at the top of the pile before I’ve snatched you up and devoured you, before passing you on. Others of you continually pushed to the bottom of the pile, gathering dust. You are good, I’m sure you are, it’s just that there others who stand out from the crowd begging. You sit stacked on my nightstand. Waiting for your day to shine.
Routines, routines. They guide our life. Sometimes I don’t even notice the routines in my day. Today I wrote a list about my morning routine.
30 Steps to my Morning
- Alarm goes off.
- Alarm goes off.
- Alarm goes off.
- Get dressed.
- Wake up toddler.
- Get toddler dressed.
- Argue with toddler about getting dressed.
- Attempt to get toddler dressed.
- Bribe toddler.
- Attempt to get toddler dressed.
- Fight toddler in epic battle.
- Take toddler to daycare.
- Drive to work.
- Stop at starbucks.
- Order largest coffee they make.
- Get to work.
- Trudge up stairs.
- Realize I forgot my key.
- Trudge downstairs saying bad words.
- Trudge back upstairs more slowly.
- Dump stuff in chair.
- Check email.
- Gaze at giant pile of papers to grade.
- Get distracted by interesting article I want to share with class.
- Bell rings.
- Get kids.
- Day begins.
The open windows let in the sound of
children set free
from the icy confines
buzzing back and forth.
Coats unzipped, hat tossed aside.
Feet sloshing in the still frozen ground
mixed with melted
bits of winter.
The open windows
reveal a taste of spring,
hope on a breeze
excitement on a ray of sunshine
and smiles all around.
Toddler clean, carseat clean.
Ahhhh the scent of Murphy’s wood soap.
Dishes clean, counter clean.
Pans scrubbed with elbow grease and love.
Toys put away, book on display.
I’m starting to feel right again.
Laundry done, folded and neat.
Bathroom sparkling white.
Thanks Mr. Clean.
The stenches of yesterday long gone.
What is the old chicken? The sick kid?
A winter too long?
Windows cracked, crisp fresh air in.
I think I can think again.
Do you know what you don’t want to hear? A sound that can really ruin your drive home on a Friday evening. You know what would just make your long tired day from dreams of flopping on the couch and catching up on DVR to minor emergency status? The sounds of your toddler barfing not once, not twice, but three times all over herself, her carseat, and your car.
<The rest of this slice has been censored due to disgustingness.>