Thursday, August 13, 2009

Not a problem.

As a parent you never know what impact television viewing will have on your children. I jump up to change channels when the preview of a scary movie comes on because frankly, I don't want to deal with nightmares and such. Dotter, especially, tends to worry and be leaning towards the extremo anxiety side of life.

So when Dotter informed me she watched a show about 16-year old Minnesota conjoined twins Brittany & Abby I immediately thought, "Great! Here it comes... a thousand questions, tons of 'what if's', she's going to be a nervous wreck until this baby is born..."

But (as often the case with children) she surprised me wishing upon wishing that I would give birth to conjoined twins. "Wouldn't it be great to never feel alone?" she asked. "They wouldn't be afraid when they went to sleep, and they could just always have a friend with them."

"What if one wanted to watch one TV show, and the other wanted to watch something else?" She thought about this for a second before coming up with the perfect solution: "I would get them two little TVs and put them next to each other and they would each have their own earphones so they could hear their own show and they could also sit together and share popcorn at the same time!"

This is why I love her so much! And why I'm putting her on the next ballot for president.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Gymnastics Wannabe

I have always been impressed with gymnasts. Perhaps because I'm the least flexible person alive. I've never been able to do that bend & reach test in gym class. My legs don't even lay flat against the ground. It would take every ounce of my being just to reach down to my thighs. I'd be left grunting and groaning, begging myself to 'just. reach. knee....' while surrounded by the most flexible humans on the face of the planet. "Good job, Mary Sue!" the teacher would praise. "I love how you can get your head under you legs and reach out three feet past your toes!"

Jelly Bean took gymnastics for quite a while. All the coaches said the same thing "she's a natural." And she was. Is. She just has this way about her that screams "gymnast." But, as is most things with the Bean, she judges herself against everyone better than her, and quits. I'd point out she was only ten and these girls were 16 and their mothers put them in gymnastics the day they stopped breastfeeding. But she insisted that she wanted to quit. (If she's not the best, she doesn't want to subject herself to the redicule she believes in her heart she's going to get.)

Dotter takes gymnastics. She loves it. She is not good at it. She is all knobby knees and gawky arms. But she is SO PROUD and SO SERIOUS and I can't help but have tears in my eyes when I watch her.

But I have lots of faith in my future Gymnastics Olympian Cletus the Fetus. Last night s/he was practicing this amazing move where he placed his little hands down on my pelvic floor, bent his body into the perfect handstand, legs extended, toes pointed perfectly (I could tell this because they were in my throat and all I had to do was open my mouth and say "Ahh" and sure enough - perfectly pointed toes!). Then he lowered his legs into the splits - still on his hands - head bulging out right above my panty line, one leg sticking out of the right side of my rib cage, the other leg sticking out of the left side. And then, as if that wasn't amazing enough, he started to slowly move his hands in such a way that his legs acted like the main rotor of a helicopter! In a complete 360-degrees he circled my womb with legs stretched outright!

I am so proud of my little gymnast-to-be. However, I will have to speak to Cletus the Fetus about being aware of the space around him when he practices these moves. I believe I have a punctured spleen, my liver has been hacked in half and my kidneys are missing some pieces. I mean, some of this stuff may not be important to him, but it's special to me, and I don't want him disrespecting his surroundings or his mother's belongings... especially of the internal organ kind.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

An Open Letter In Response to Judgment

Dear School Board Chairperson,

Thank you for the five minute "entry interview" conducted last evening. I do hope that was plenty of time for you to decide whether or not my second grader will experience the honor and privilege of attending your school. Oh, wait... it's not actually your school, per se, you just happen to be the current school board chairperson. Well, I'm sure those other members who glanced nervously at the ground while you conducted the "interview" also believe you are the sole person in charge.

I was just tickled pink when you brought up the fact that I was unmarried. It's sometimes difficult for me to impress upon my daughter, who was sitting right next to me - you remember her, don't you? Nervous looking 7-year old... the one blushing, who couldn't quite look in your eyes... yes, that was her -- anyway, it's sometimes difficult for me to impress upon my daughter how socially shamed she should feel because her mother chose to get out of a very difficult and very unhealthy marriage. I won't bother telling you the sordid reasons why I chose to leave because, well, honestly you wouldn't care one way or the other.

Private schools should be for the cream of the crop. The best of the best! Which you made clear I was not. I think it was the passive question, "Is this just a short term thing or is this something that you can afford long term?"

You're right. I'm not rich, like you flaunt. Nor am I educated, as you like to enjoy reminding all other peons. (For the record, I tried to bow down to your Attorney Title, but my bulging stomach got in the way.) But I'm not wishing to send my child to this school because I think people will envy me assuming I am wealthy.

The most enjoyable moment came when you asked me if I regularly attended church "anywhere." You made it sound just like my face would look if I had to pick up someone's handkerchief they had just finished hawking up huge wads of phlegm in. I thought I answered well, and even may have presented myself in a different light by describing the MOMS program I was also involved in, and which I believe in wholeheartedly. Your response was a curt, "Well, we don't have that here."

I guess I was worried exiting the entry interview so soon after arriving... enrollment is down, this child wishes to attend, and I don't know many schools that would turn down $4,000 for school tuition during a slow season. But then again, I'm not the school board chairperson, am I? And the decision to attend is actually up to you and the rest of the board.

I do hope Dotter can attend. It's where she would feel comfortable, but whatever happens will happen, and we'll make the best of it. We always have.

Monday, August 10, 2009

6 weeks to go... or 34 weeks down (depending on how you look at it)

Cletus the Fetus has a new trick. I swear I'm not making this up. Big V was there. He saw the whole thing.

After a particularly harsh day of Ultimate Womb Fighting I was laying in bed attempting to relax my uterus, which was working as well as if you had been beaten in the abdomen with a metal bat and then expected to gently release the pain through visions of kittens and bunny rabbits, which is saying, it wasn't working at all and I was in a lot of pain and wanted to ensure that everyone knew how misearable I was.

Anyway, V, in his infinite pregnancy wisdom, leans towards me and makes the comment (while SMIRKING no less): "How can the baby just moving hurt you?"

At that exact moment Cletus the Fetus actually stood upright in my womb, extended his little arm and gave his father the finger right before completing a back layout with a twist.

In stellar response mode V jumped completely off the bed, back stuck against the wall, eyes as big as saucers and yells, yes, yells: "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!"

"That, my dear, is exactly why I'm twenty-two seconds away from performing my own c-section."