Boys perplex me....

March 28, 1982

I have a lot to write down so I am going to skip around a bit.

Aja is talking so much lately as of today she says: Ball (bha), Pop (bop), Juice (jewsh), Bath (bah), Gramma (dhadwa), Baby (bahbah), Cheese (cheesh), Hot (haa), Brr (as in cold - bwww), Foot (fuh), Nose (no), Jump (jah jah jah in rapid succession), What's that? (wazah), Goodbye (quite clearly). She says other words too but I can't isolate them all.

Aja is learning to run now and she runs so fast (about as fast as my normal walking pace) that she bumps into obstructions like walls, the desk, her table, even the door (when it is shut!). She is learning things so fast now, mostly words are her main concern, every day she learns something new. Today we were reading Tuffy the Tugboat (my name for it) and we went over the same words for about 5 minutes - boy, basket, boat and kitty (Kitty is another word she already knows - she says kiggy). She found the basket because it is in another of her books "50 Words to Grow On". Every time we come to that page with the basket she points at it and I say "Easter basket". Boy, does she get a kick out of that!

She is learning the parts if the body although she cannot say the words, she understands eye, nose, ear, foot, and belly button. When I tell her that there is a baby in my stomach, she points at my belly button and then lifts her shirt up and finds hers! Oh well, she is just going to have to wait until June to find out about the baby.

I am going to deliver at St. John's hospital in St. Paul. I just changed doctors. My new doctor is named Dr. Kuhlenkemp. What a funny name. He seems very competent and I am satisfied with him unlike Stratte. I didn't know if he really knew what he was doing.

Well, Aja woke up from her nap and we took a shower. She never took a shower before and she seemed to be a bit confused, but she put the stopper in so the water got deep and she sat in it while I got dressed. Then she hesitantly got out.

 March 29, 1982

Well, I really wanted to say a bit about the baby to come. Cris and I are considering naming her Bailey if she is a girl or Harrison if he is a boy. I don't really care what sex the baby is, but a girl would be nice because I had one girl and I know how to handle girls. Boys perplex me. They have different requirements - especially in the diaper region. That is one consideration - I am not saying that I couldn't learn, of course I could. Another reason in favor of a girl would be that since Aja and this baby would be so close in age, two girls would seem to be closer friends than a boy and girl.

This baby (going on to other things) kicks a lot. It seems to be more active than Aja was. Yesterday, he or she reached my ribs. Now I will be in discomfort for as long as the baby is inside of me. My back doesn't hurt unless I sit "funny" for a long period of time, which I try to avoid doing. I can't stand for long periods of time because my feet get all tingly but I can walk long distances.

I am constantly getting contractions. It kind of worries me because I wouldn't want the baby to come too soon. The doctor seems unsure of when the baby is due. maybe he will do an ultrasound on me. That would be nice. I liked that with Aja - and you get a picture! And of course they can see how the baby is doing.

I am looking forward to having this baby - maybe it is sheer insanity. I know how much work a baby is - not to say how much Aja and another baby will be, but still I am waiting. I have gone over all my notes on labor and that sort of thing. I am confident I can deliver without medication. Although, I would ask for something if my bags of waters (sic - lol) doesn't break like the last time. Of course we will take pictures and I will bring this book to the hospital and write down how everything went.

Wow, that is pretty funny. A list of words Aja can say. I think I should ask her to bring her baby book over sometime - I can show you how obsessive I was at listing everything about her life: first band-aid, first time she watched me cross the room, first  nail clipping, etc...

I am amused about my childish ideas about baby boys and their mysterious "diaper regions". I actually am laughing out loud. The same immature thinking really shows when I explain to my 14 month old child that there is a baby inside me. I am sure she was riveted by my explanations. I talk to babies and children as if they are adults. Anthony says I do, at least. I try to reason with them like they understand my arguments pro or con against having some cereal before a bite of yogurt, or whatever. Last weekend, ianthe scolded me for snatching a ball away from Sienna before she could take it from her brother. "Real mature mom. She is only two years old." 

When I do stuff like that, I am not even thinking. I am just acting on impulse. I make a decision. For example, "Sammie will like to go on top of the cupboards." I grab Sammie and thrust her upwards, over my head, up towards the top of the cupboards. Sammie doesn't particularly want to go up top the cupboards at the moment. She has been happily grooming herself near the hot air vent. Anthony catches me forcing the cat to climb to the top of the cupboards. "Put the cat down, Susan!" I can't stop. I am singular-minded. "Susan, Stop! Put the cat down!" Cat scratches and bites. There is much damage. Blood runs down my forearms and drips from my elbows. Then Anthony gives me the "Please wash those wounds carefully. Why did you think that was a good idea?" lecture. I feel confused because I don't know why I was trying to force the cat to climb the cupboards. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. I am in physical pain and want Anthony to comfort me, not lecture me. He helps me apply the bandages.

I remember reading the books and discussing things with Aja, then with the other kids too as they were growing up. I repeated things over and over again. I am like a parrot. I find comfort in repetition. I could read the same book over and over to my children. I would have it memorized. I wouldn't even have to look at the words. I continue to have the same conversation again and again with my grandchildren. I say the same thing over and over again to my students. Repetition is my friend. Before leaving the house for work, I look at one of the cats, and seriously announce that it is "in charge" for the day.

Since I am on Spring break, I took Anthony out for lunch today. I told him about yesterday's post. How I was frustrated that Aja spoke and squealed. I recalled that my mother was pretty angry that I had named my child "Aja". She had never heard the name before, so that made it unacceptable to her. She had called me the a couple days after I had taken Aja home from the hospital. She asked, "What are you calling the baby?" of course, I thought she was hoping that I had decided to call her by her middle name "Sue". I defensively answered, "Aja, what else would I call her". I remember that. I remember how weird it was to say. Cris was at school during the day, so I spent the majority of my time alone in silence with the baby. I didn't call her anything. I stared at her. I stared at all my babies. Why would I talk to them? They couldn't understand me.

This Stone is a Woman

February 14, 1987

This stone is a woman. I can see her delicate features her chin and nose, perfectly shaped head, long neck, wonderfully curved breasts. She has been formed of the earth and water, yet remains, rising above the massive weight of the past and into the unknown future. She has the past to turn to for help when she needs it. Her life was built upon the lives of others before her. They imparted in her the gift of life, of hope and love. She is alone yet there is no fear. She is ready to face the vast emptiness of the future before her. She has grown of this mass. She struggles to be free of it yet she never will. The past is always there, someday she will turn and face it.

February 16, 1987

How do I feel today...

I feel like a skeleton in death thralls. Contorted red pelvic area, where life began, must be where life would end last. Pelvic bones, skeletons, smaller bones for male, larger, wider for women, make room for the babies.

Chris (not Cris - this is a classmate I am speaking about) stole my Mr. Buffalo. He's bugging me, sitting against the wall - not writing - making me laugh. Doing Mr. Buffalo tricks reminding me of playing pigs: snouter, oinker...

General comments fly, "She's Hawaiian."
I say, "Who cares?"
Phebe Hanson says, "All Hawaiians are Americans."
Jimmy says, "She's a Communist."
I say, "She's Catholic."
Jimmy says, "She's an Existentialist."

Who Bloody Cares? Labels, Labels, Why all the Distinctions?

I have, all my life, carried around small trinkets, usually animals. Now-a-days, I have cats. I have real cats - four of them: Nivek, Gaz and Gir, and Sammie - but I don't carry them around - I have stuffed cats to carry around and squeeze. I take "Mrs. Norris" to the hospital with me. My husband, Anthony, will bring him to me unbidden with my toothbrush because he loves me. He knows I love my cats. Mrs. Norris is a weird gray cat that looks like a little old man. I talk to him when I am alone in the room - give him "airplane" rides on my feet. Nurses give me an odd look if they walk in on me playing. It never occurred to me before my diagnosis that this was uncommon behavior. I thought everyone played when they were alone.

I lived with Eeyore in my early childhood. My grandmother had sewn him for me out of a pale yellow lingerie fabric. I loved that donkey. His tail was held on by a button. By the time I was five years old, my mother had grown tired of sewing the button back on. She taught me how to thread the needle. She taught me how to tie a knot. She taught me to catch the knot in the fabric before I began. She taught me how to catch the fabric and move the needle through the button holes, back into the fabric, around, around. She taught me to tie off the thread. I sat in my little rocking chair and sewed. I sewed that button back on, sometimes more than once a day, sometimes even more than that! I attribute my sewing skills to that little donkey. 

Soon Eeyore was so filthy that my mother could stand him no longer. She took it away, maybe I was asleep, maybe at school. I think I was six or seven. I went into a deep mourning period. I was filled with such a deep sadness it was paralyzing. I remember singing a sad song with many verses about a pony. The chorus went like this...

My pony is lost to me, to me.

My pony is lost to me. 

He ran away one day, one day.

My pony is lost to me.

I think my parents realized I was not going to give up looking for my donkey. Where could he possibly be? Then suddenly, I found him! The "Easter Bunny" had left Eeyore under the cover for the typewriter. I was reunited and happy again, until Eeyore disappeared again in the same way a couple of months later. I was once again plunged into despair. I looked and looked for him. He must be hidden somewhere. I had found him once before...

When I was 10, my mother asked grandma for the pattern. Even though years had passed, I had continued to ask where Eeyore was on a regular basis. It must have driven her crazy. She sewed me a new Eeyore. He had gray fur and a black mane and hair on his tail. He had beautiful sad eyes. I danced with him in circles, in the backyard. I held him by his front legs and sang him a song. A song of rejoicing, of wonder, of joy at his rebirth.

 

Eeyore, Reborn!