At the end of this month we celebrate my second born's tenth birthday. It's amazing that we even have a second born. Partially because my first pregnancy was so horrible that I swore I would never have another child and partially because I'm amazed I haven't killed her or sold her to gypsies yet. You know when your parents offhandedly say, "I hope you have a child just like you when you grow up..."? Mine said that but I'm pretty sure there was nothing offhanded about it. God listened. On March 30, 2003, I was blessed with an absolutely perfect *looking* child, She had hair so blonde it almost sparkled in the sunlight, a complexion so flawless she could've been mistaken for a porcelain doll. She had big round eyes as blue as the Caribbean Sea and colic. One night, three weeks into her little life, I was so sleep deprived I put her to rocking in her swing and drifted off. When she woke crying (probably not an hour later) I jumped up in sheer panic! I couldn't remember where I had put her down!!! I checked her crib, she wasn't there. I ran to my bedroom, no baby. I could hear her crying so I knew she had to be in the house. I stopped for a moment and leaned against the door frame to let the fog clear from my mind and regain a small portion of my composure. Then I realized she was in the same room I had originally run out of like my hair was on fire.
When I spoke about it with my mother I was not comforted with sympathy...more like satisfaction.
"Oh, I know what it's like. You had colic, remember?"
Whether she she was asking if I actually remembered having the colic or the obscene amount of times she told me the stories of me having colic I'm not sure. Nevertheless, I have no doubt there was a little smirk on her face at the other end of that phone line.
The colic was just the beginning of the bumpy road I started down with my little cherub. She also inherited my amazing propensity to almost kill myself yet have no resulting injury. When I was about five, I made the totally harmless decision to slide down the banister rather than walk down the stairs from my bedroom to watch Saturday morning cartoons. I cannot begin to fathom how, but my hands grasped the half wall that hovered about 15 feet above the main floor rather than the railing I was aiming for. Instead of enjoying a quick slide to the landing I was going to fall to my death..or at least two broken legs. I started calling for Mom but I didn't want to panic her so I called in a tempered voice making it seem as though I needed help with the cereal box instead of dangling from a precipice. She came staggering out of her room rubbing the sleep from her eyes ready to give me the "Let Mom Sleep on Saturday" lecture when she saw her "baby" ready to plummet. With superhuman strength known only to a Mama whose child is about to die she yanked me back over the rail. Too exhausted from trauma to speak, Mom let the look on her face do the talking for her. I was never to slide down the banister again. I didn't...ever. When my little one was 2 she bypassed the banister in favour of taking a "ride-on" toy for a ride down the slate stair case. She stopped at the third step but the toy made it all the way to the bottom. Amazingly enough at the moment she did this I just happened on the phone with Mom. I called her back after checking and rechecking for injuries.
"Remember the banister incident?"
That's what I got.
Two other things this child was blessed enough to inherit from me were my sarcastic disposition and lack of brain-mouth filter. I've known from a very young age that I was a bit of a mouth piece. My parents had bars of soap reserved just for me. But, because of my keen sense of comedic timing and cynicism, I got away with a lot more than I should have. It's not very effective to discipline a child when you're laughing. When she answers the question: How many people live in China? in her Social Studies lesson with "a lot", how can you get upset? It's the truth! One night at dinner Hubby and I had been discussing the features that each of our babies had been born with. We told our oldest that she had a wee bit of a cone head and chuckled. Then we spoke about the strikingly blonde locks on my mini-me to which the oldest began to snicker. Big Sister learned very quickly not to refer to her younger sister as "Blondie" when Mini-Me retorted, "At least you'll always be able to find a job in construction as a PYLON!" If Hubby and I hadn't been cracking up we may have chided the both of them.
She is also wise beyond her years. On the way to church a few weeks ago we were conversing about the documentary March of the Penguins and how interesting and perhaps a little odd it was that the male penguins take care of the eggs while the females go out to do the fishing.
"It's not weird at all!" she interjected. "The moms get sick and tired of listening to the dads go on and on to each other about getting a good boat and the right gear so they just say, 'Never mind! I'll do it myself!'"
Yes, I do believe she got all my best parts.
When I spoke about it with my mother I was not comforted with sympathy...more like satisfaction.
"Oh, I know what it's like. You had colic, remember?"
Whether she she was asking if I actually remembered having the colic or the obscene amount of times she told me the stories of me having colic I'm not sure. Nevertheless, I have no doubt there was a little smirk on her face at the other end of that phone line.
The colic was just the beginning of the bumpy road I started down with my little cherub. She also inherited my amazing propensity to almost kill myself yet have no resulting injury. When I was about five, I made the totally harmless decision to slide down the banister rather than walk down the stairs from my bedroom to watch Saturday morning cartoons. I cannot begin to fathom how, but my hands grasped the half wall that hovered about 15 feet above the main floor rather than the railing I was aiming for. Instead of enjoying a quick slide to the landing I was going to fall to my death..or at least two broken legs. I started calling for Mom but I didn't want to panic her so I called in a tempered voice making it seem as though I needed help with the cereal box instead of dangling from a precipice. She came staggering out of her room rubbing the sleep from her eyes ready to give me the "Let Mom Sleep on Saturday" lecture when she saw her "baby" ready to plummet. With superhuman strength known only to a Mama whose child is about to die she yanked me back over the rail. Too exhausted from trauma to speak, Mom let the look on her face do the talking for her. I was never to slide down the banister again. I didn't...ever. When my little one was 2 she bypassed the banister in favour of taking a "ride-on" toy for a ride down the slate stair case. She stopped at the third step but the toy made it all the way to the bottom. Amazingly enough at the moment she did this I just happened on the phone with Mom. I called her back after checking and rechecking for injuries.
"Remember the banister incident?"
That's what I got.
Two other things this child was blessed enough to inherit from me were my sarcastic disposition and lack of brain-mouth filter. I've known from a very young age that I was a bit of a mouth piece. My parents had bars of soap reserved just for me. But, because of my keen sense of comedic timing and cynicism, I got away with a lot more than I should have. It's not very effective to discipline a child when you're laughing. When she answers the question: How many people live in China? in her Social Studies lesson with "a lot", how can you get upset? It's the truth! One night at dinner Hubby and I had been discussing the features that each of our babies had been born with. We told our oldest that she had a wee bit of a cone head and chuckled. Then we spoke about the strikingly blonde locks on my mini-me to which the oldest began to snicker. Big Sister learned very quickly not to refer to her younger sister as "Blondie" when Mini-Me retorted, "At least you'll always be able to find a job in construction as a PYLON!" If Hubby and I hadn't been cracking up we may have chided the both of them.
She is also wise beyond her years. On the way to church a few weeks ago we were conversing about the documentary March of the Penguins and how interesting and perhaps a little odd it was that the male penguins take care of the eggs while the females go out to do the fishing.
"It's not weird at all!" she interjected. "The moms get sick and tired of listening to the dads go on and on to each other about getting a good boat and the right gear so they just say, 'Never mind! I'll do it myself!'"
Yes, I do believe she got all my best parts.
Comments