Mother is a Verb

Mother is a Verb

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Friggin' Guilt

I never used to get it when my mom would talk about feeling guilty... in fact, I thought it was ridiculous.  Then I had kids.  And not only did I start feeling guilty about two thirds of the time, but I also had pro-rated guilt from not respecting my mom's guilty feelings!

  I'm not Jewish or Catholic; well actually, I'm probably both based on what we know about our family's roots, but I wasn't raised with a lot of fire and brimstone. (One time I went to a Catholic church with a boyfriend as a teen, and after hearing the priest refer to us as lambs that were sinners, I indignantly swore I'd never set foot in a Catholic church again). 

Trying to decipher when the guilt is appropriate and when it is not is something I continue to struggle with.  This morning my eleven year-old is home sick from school.  He came home with a fever yesterday.  The day before his sister was home sick. And that was the same day that my older son and his partner finally went back to school after a 5 week winter break. It's been about two months since I've been home alone with my computer and my dog.  And I'm getting cranky.  It's not that I'm surprised that the winter crud, which our family has dodged for the most part, has finally landed here; it's just that I don't want to play Florence Nightingale this week. I want to play Emily Dickinson and hide in my room and write.
 Alas, there would be no blog, if there were no Plan B...

So let me take this opportunity to share another Plan B...

As I shared last week on my other blog, On a Wing or a Pair, I have recently met and fallen hard for mayoral candidate, Theresa Spahn!  Theresa is that perfect bridge between business and government that the city of Denver (and so many other cities) need at this moment in time.  She has the experience needed to understand the real implications of budget decisions, and the ability to implement plans while building and maintaining strong relationships with key players on all sides.

In order to devote enough energy to Theresa's campaign, I have decided to put my "book in blogress" on a new time-table; that may mean I have to change the title to 22 Years of Plan B, but how appropos...

I will be posting when I can, but not when I should.  I am pumped about this new focus and look forward to sharing the story of Theresa Spahn's successful campaign!  

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Reflecting Back on the First Plan B

In the 13 months since my Dad died, it's funny how many things I've realized we had in common. My nose, for instance. Used to be, I'd look in the mirror and think, Jesus, how'd I get saddled with this honker? (And it is a honker, believe me). But now, when I see my reflection, I see my Dad, and am grateful for this daily reminder of the man who made me.  

My Dad always kept a tiny datebook in his left breast pocket. And when I say tiny, I mean tiny. He had neat, precise writing - that, I did not inherit! He held onto these calendars the same way he held on to other stuff...from the rusty coffee cans filled with used nails, to his 40-plus year Playboy collection, Dad was a keeper. We found nearly 60 of those datebooks among the things in his study.

Having long prided myself on being a 'tosser', it was with equal parts excitement and chagrin, I realized that I, too, have saved every calendar since 1989, though back then
my days were pretty simple compared with what would come!

On January 13th, there were 4 reminders.

Dr. Sassoon 1:15. Sassoon was my OB. (He was what might now be referred to as a DRILF. Contact me privately if you need translation. Of course, when you're eight and a half months pregnant, that's kind of a waste.)

Call Bellini to see if bumper is here 212-362-3700. Bellini was one of the few high-end stores I'd ever set foot in. With gender being a mystery, yellow and green were the default colors of the day, and I'd been smitten by a two hundred dollar yellow ducky bumper. I loved that bumper. Ducks have always had a special place in my heart, though I'm not quite sure how that started... maybe it was some prescience of MidChix, or more likely the beak-like qualities often associated with that memorable nose I received from Dad!

Last Day of Work. With just a couple of weeks 'til my due date, I'd decided to err on the side of caution, and give myself a little wiggle room before the baby was due. And good thing, as those two weeks represent the only span of white space on my calendar in the last 22 years.

Stock up on Wine. Being on the wagon for a good part of the past nine months, I was eager to become 'legal' again.  Though I'll admit that the one glass per week rule was interpreted in my house, as one tankard.

Waking up on February 1st, I had a feeling that wasn't just my belly digesting the usual 2 a.m. snack of milk and cookies.  After a few hours, I hoofed it 23 blocks up 1st Avenue to see my heartthrob of a doctor.  My trek must have moved things along, and by early afternoon I'd managed to get checked into the hospital, and settled in a nicely-outfitted "birthing room" boasting a bed with stirrups for me along with both a television and recliner* for Phil.

When Dr. Bob decided to speed things up by breaking my water, Kris gave us our first taste of  Plan B.  Apparently that round thing that had felt like her head, was actually her bum, and I was whisked off for an emergency c-section.  Our oldest entered the world with her own agenda, and as we begin planning her wedding, we're bracing ourselves for whatever Plan B might have in store.

*That was the end of reclining for Phil...for a very long time!