It’s Friday and what is she talking about?
Yesterday I was putting Col down for a nap (does anyone else find that expression disturbing? Putting your child down? Speaking of weird expressions, it reminds me of when the home health nurse who used to regularly visit Col, asked with a lockjaw smile “has he turned blue for you yet?” Wait – he’s supposed to hold his head up, nurse 8-10 times a day and now turn blue?)
But, I was putting him down for a nap and he had selected an amethyst from his rock collection to cuddle with and I was closing in on the lullaby when Col asked for Rammy, who was out on the couch. I retrieved Rammy. He then asked for Sealy and Baby Sealy, reportedly in the shoe area. I sighed, annoyed with the diversions from the gold ring of naptime and like a rookie lawyer grasping for a handhold, I asked if Rammy and the amethyst might be enough, just this time. And then of course I trudged out to get the two missing comrades, while musing on the oceanic efforts a parent devotes to retrieving and protecting a child’s lovey.
No one tells you about extreme lovey-care when you’re pregnant.
Nor, incidentally, do they tell you how much time will be devoted to your child’s poop. I mean you practically read those newborn turds like tea leaves, trying to decipher volumes about this mysterious, tiny person. (On Col’s “discharge date,” after 101 days in the NICU, we came to pick him up and take him home, but he hadn’t pooped since the previous day and the nurses wouldn’t let him go until he pooped and there we were with our carseat, ready to bring our baby into the sunlight for the first time, and we ended up waiting around nervously all morning for a 6-pound kid to shit).
But I’m still laughing at all your comments on my last post – fed exing loveys, a seagull named “Pecky,” interchangeable loveys amongst unknowing brothers, kids hiding loveys to postpone bedtime, risking speeding tickets to return a blankie before a ferry departs, and this one hit me the hardest: the mom of older children who visits her kids’ “tucked away loveys, all the time.” Someday I’ll be an old woman kneeling at an alter adorned with a Buddha statue, some scattered wild rose petals and a very scruffy Rammy, Sealy and Baby Sealy.
Oh and thank you for the sunscreen empathy, I think I’m just going to follow the kids around with an umbrella this summer, after I grow an extra arm. Here’s the link to the sunscreen site, in which you can find how your sunscreen rates: http://www.ewg.org/2010sunscreen/?inlist=Y&utm_source=sunscreen&utm_medium=email&utm_content=image&utm_campaign=toxics
Also, I went on that site backyardchickens.com, a place for people who love their fowl like children, and low and behold there is a forum called “Guess this breed.” So, I posted a picture of dear Penguina, remember her?
And within 30 seconds I was told she is a Silver Laced Polish Bantam, apparently a very special breed, a show bird of sorts. And then, someone broke the news: she is actually a he, a rooster! (contraband within city limits, and now we’re short one layer and Dan’s calling for retribution).
And goodness, it’s Friday and you’re politely wondering “what is she getting at here?”
I think it’s something like this. Here we are, us parents handling these filthy, slobbered-upon loveys like valuable jewels, sifting through and strategizing on our children’s poop, wringing our minds over sunscreen ingredients, and telling “the most silliest story” (as Col often requests) without blinking an eye. Some of us are doing all this while working fulltime outside of the home, while sleep deprived, while worried about money or weathering a challenged relationship.
And yet, these children and their love-worn ducks and holey blankies are the shining suns that we revolve around. My kids recharge me each morning like an electric pulse to my worn-out battery, reminding me in a thousand different ways why I am so lucky. And sure there will be literal blueberry shitstorms, (like the one my friend Audrey woke to, courtesy of toddler daughter). And there will be three, back-up loveys purchased frantically on ebay. And I know, someday these rarified days will sit like a golden trophy on the high shelf of my mind. No one will ever love me with the pure, uncomplicated love like these two do, right now. How lucky we are.
And…anyone want to trade a Silver Laced Polish Banty rooster for a laying hen?