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Comedy Blog: "The older I get, the stronger the current seems!"
Showing posts with label babies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label babies. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Friday, July 27, 2012
Sleep
Yesterday morning, shortly before five in the a.m., the whole household was jarred awake by the crashing and banging of a dramatic thunderstorm. Then, just as fast as it arrived, it departed. Sweet silence was restored to our world. Everyone here over the age of two was excited by the idea of going back to sleep. The under two crowd was just plain excited. We stayed up.
One of my earliest childhood memories is of being livid because I was forced to take a nap. Times change. Now I am in love with nap time - for the grandsons. Brody is an excellent napper but Baby Grayson has an iron will and he's not crazy about napping. Luckily, I discovered a trick on Wikipedia. He was yelling his angriest cry at top volume when I wheeled out the vacuum cleaner and turned it on. In seconds he was not only quiet, he was out like a light. The magic of white noise!
I mentioned this to one of Jessica's friends today and she said, "You better be careful. We burned up our vacuum motor doing that!"
I wonder if there's a white noise app for the iPhone?
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| Asleep! |
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| Awake! |
I mentioned this to one of Jessica's friends today and she said, "You better be careful. We burned up our vacuum motor doing that!"
I wonder if there's a white noise app for the iPhone?
Friday, June 22, 2012
Speaking of Clean...
My friend was talking to me about his cousin who washes every load of laundry twice and changes the sheets and blankets of the beds in her house daily. While he was talking, I was day-dreaming about how wonderful it would be to greet sleep wrapped in fresh-smelling sheets every single night of the week. Somewhere in the background of my reverie, he said, "She's a raving neurotic."
So. Does this make me a raving neurotic wannabe?
Speaking of clean, I'm going to Michigan next week to stay with my daughter and her family for five full weeks. During this time, I will be cooking, cleaning, doing laundry and playing with my grandson while we await the arrival of his baby brother. Then the fun starts! Sounds kind of perfect, right?
Why is it that I can get so much more done at someone else's house? I think the reason is that there's less distraction. The stuff isn't mine so I don't get knocked off-track so easily. I'm not really sure though. That's just a theory.
What does a toddler do when his mother is nine-month's pregnant?
Anything he wants to!
So. Does this make me a raving neurotic wannabe?
Speaking of clean, I'm going to Michigan next week to stay with my daughter and her family for five full weeks. During this time, I will be cooking, cleaning, doing laundry and playing with my grandson while we await the arrival of his baby brother. Then the fun starts! Sounds kind of perfect, right?
Why is it that I can get so much more done at someone else's house? I think the reason is that there's less distraction. The stuff isn't mine so I don't get knocked off-track so easily. I'm not really sure though. That's just a theory.
What does a toddler do when his mother is nine-month's pregnant?
Anything he wants to!
This time my work's cut out for me.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Little Men
My darling grandson Brody (a.k.a. the cutest toddler ever) welcomed his very own cousin Logan to the world today. The little guy has a shock of black hair that most men can only envy. A new life. What a reason for celebration!
How can you not remember the births of your own children when you gaze upon a brand-new baby?
Our firstborn was conceived during that phase of our lives when we were kids masquerading as adults. In the fall of 1976, at the ripe old age of twenty-three, we anticipated our baby's arrival together. Jerry and I moved from Louisiana to Ohio and had just bought a 1920's bungalow that we were fixing up.
We spent the day wallpapering the nursery. Wallpapering is tedious and all that running up and down the ladder tired us both out. We watched Johnny Carson then fell into bed, exhausted. As Jerry was drifting off to sleep and I was relaxing, I felt an odd sensation, a pang of pain.
"This is it!" I cried.
"Roll over and go to sleep." replied Mr. Compassion.
Instead of taking his advice, I leapt up and my water broke all over everywhere. Suddenly Jerry was wide awake. This was no fire drill, it was the real deal! I called our parents while he got the car. It was an hour's drive to the hospital and that was the longest ride of my life. Every time we hit a pothole, I flinched. I made sure Jerry was aware of my pain too. Turns out I'm not at my best during labor. Who knew?
For a while Jer was driving carefully, avoiding potholes. I was thinking that maybe I didn't really want to be pregnant after all, wondering if it were too late to back out. Suddenly I noticed that the car had stopped. Although somewhat distracted, somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that we were not in the hospital parking lot. No. We were at the gas station. My husband chose this moment to buy gas, something that I felt was totally inappropriate. I told him that, too.
"I have to drive home and the gas stations might be closed by then," he reasoned. He was not endearing himself to me. I was certain that I was about to give birth in the back of his orange Toyota Corolla.
Turns out that I didn't have to worry because I had one of those long, drawn-out affairs where the nurses tell you to "push" and when you do they say, "I can see the head. Push harder!" And when you push harder and nothing happens, they say the same thing over again. "Push!" "Push!" May I point out that I had taken birthing classes and, in my mind at least, was the valedictorian of the group, overachiever that I am?
This is not how the experience was supposed to be unfolding. We had seen the film in which the mom pushed roughly three times and the baby was born. No baby was emerging here and no drugs had been administered either. I pointed out this omission. "You don't want to drug your baby," they said. No, I didn't want to drug my baby. I wanted to drug myself, a small but crucial difference that somehow I was unable to make them comprehend.
Somewhere after hour twelve, the doctor came in and there was whispering about "the poor girl." Silly me, I thought they were talking about the woman in the next bed. I even felt sorry for her. My mistake. Shortly thereafter, the doctor ... I still can't believe this ... shoved the baby back up -- that's right, you read that correctly -- and said, "Don't push, you'll injure the baby." Now, this is after twelve hours TWELVE HOURS of being told to push. Nice. Real nice.
Ever the drama queen, as they are wheeling me into surgery, I am yelling, "Save the baby! Save the baby! Organ donor! I want to be an organ donor! Take everything! Just save the baby!" I don't remember anyone actually slapping me, but I bet a couple of people wanted to.
The nurse gave Jerry my wedding rings and glasses to hold because he was not able to go into the operating room with me. And so the Daddy-to-be sat and waited. He'd been up for over twenty-four hours by now and was getting sleepier and sleepier as the minutes ticked by. The surgery went fast and before he knew it, we were in recovery. Jerry assured himself that we were both okay and then went home to bed. Who could blame him? (Me, as it turns out.)
He drove home with my glasses still in his pocket and, in his sleep deprived fog, he also neglected to call my mother to tell her that we'd had a son. Heck, he even forgot to call his own mother. Not his smoothest moves, right?
Now Jerry's home sleeping and I am bitter that I don't have my glasses. I am telling this story to the medics as they are wheeling me down the hallway to my hospital room. I must have been louder than I thought ...
...because in that very room was a lady who was praying to God - earnestly begging him not to bring this loud woman (me) into her room. God, of course, has a wildly wicked sense of humor and that's how I met my friend Margaret.
When the mothers finally got to the hospital to see the baby, they totally forgot about being annoyed with Jerry, so strong was their love for their sweet grandson. Babies are like that, so adorable and full of promise that they make everyone around them want to be better people.
As they say, all's well that ends well. Congratulations, Brigit and Jeff.
 |
| Little Men |
Our firstborn was conceived during that phase of our lives when we were kids masquerading as adults. In the fall of 1976, at the ripe old age of twenty-three, we anticipated our baby's arrival together. Jerry and I moved from Louisiana to Ohio and had just bought a 1920's bungalow that we were fixing up.
We spent the day wallpapering the nursery. Wallpapering is tedious and all that running up and down the ladder tired us both out. We watched Johnny Carson then fell into bed, exhausted. As Jerry was drifting off to sleep and I was relaxing, I felt an odd sensation, a pang of pain.
"This is it!" I cried.
"Roll over and go to sleep." replied Mr. Compassion.
Instead of taking his advice, I leapt up and my water broke all over everywhere. Suddenly Jerry was wide awake. This was no fire drill, it was the real deal! I called our parents while he got the car. It was an hour's drive to the hospital and that was the longest ride of my life. Every time we hit a pothole, I flinched. I made sure Jerry was aware of my pain too. Turns out I'm not at my best during labor. Who knew?
For a while Jer was driving carefully, avoiding potholes. I was thinking that maybe I didn't really want to be pregnant after all, wondering if it were too late to back out. Suddenly I noticed that the car had stopped. Although somewhat distracted, somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that we were not in the hospital parking lot. No. We were at the gas station. My husband chose this moment to buy gas, something that I felt was totally inappropriate. I told him that, too.
"I have to drive home and the gas stations might be closed by then," he reasoned. He was not endearing himself to me. I was certain that I was about to give birth in the back of his orange Toyota Corolla.
Turns out that I didn't have to worry because I had one of those long, drawn-out affairs where the nurses tell you to "push" and when you do they say, "I can see the head. Push harder!" And when you push harder and nothing happens, they say the same thing over again. "Push!" "Push!" May I point out that I had taken birthing classes and, in my mind at least, was the valedictorian of the group, overachiever that I am?
This is not how the experience was supposed to be unfolding. We had seen the film in which the mom pushed roughly three times and the baby was born. No baby was emerging here and no drugs had been administered either. I pointed out this omission. "You don't want to drug your baby," they said. No, I didn't want to drug my baby. I wanted to drug myself, a small but crucial difference that somehow I was unable to make them comprehend.
Somewhere after hour twelve, the doctor came in and there was whispering about "the poor girl." Silly me, I thought they were talking about the woman in the next bed. I even felt sorry for her. My mistake. Shortly thereafter, the doctor ... I still can't believe this ... shoved the baby back up -- that's right, you read that correctly -- and said, "Don't push, you'll injure the baby." Now, this is after twelve hours TWELVE HOURS of being told to push. Nice. Real nice.
Ever the drama queen, as they are wheeling me into surgery, I am yelling, "Save the baby! Save the baby! Organ donor! I want to be an organ donor! Take everything! Just save the baby!" I don't remember anyone actually slapping me, but I bet a couple of people wanted to.
The nurse gave Jerry my wedding rings and glasses to hold because he was not able to go into the operating room with me. And so the Daddy-to-be sat and waited. He'd been up for over twenty-four hours by now and was getting sleepier and sleepier as the minutes ticked by. The surgery went fast and before he knew it, we were in recovery. Jerry assured himself that we were both okay and then went home to bed. Who could blame him? (Me, as it turns out.)
He drove home with my glasses still in his pocket and, in his sleep deprived fog, he also neglected to call my mother to tell her that we'd had a son. Heck, he even forgot to call his own mother. Not his smoothest moves, right?
Now Jerry's home sleeping and I am bitter that I don't have my glasses. I am telling this story to the medics as they are wheeling me down the hallway to my hospital room. I must have been louder than I thought ...
...because in that very room was a lady who was praying to God - earnestly begging him not to bring this loud woman (me) into her room. God, of course, has a wildly wicked sense of humor and that's how I met my friend Margaret.
When the mothers finally got to the hospital to see the baby, they totally forgot about being annoyed with Jerry, so strong was their love for their sweet grandson. Babies are like that, so adorable and full of promise that they make everyone around them want to be better people.
As they say, all's well that ends well. Congratulations, Brigit and Jeff.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Brody is ONE!!
Time does fly and our beautiful grandson Brody celebrated his first birthday last week. I have been lucky to spend so much time with him during this year and two weeks ago he came to visit, bringing his mom and lots of baby paraphernalia with him. What a joy to have him here! We're all crazy in love with him.
He's got three little teeth now, pulls up on things, stands alone briefly, is clearly thinking about stepping out on his own but for now seems content to crawl like he's in the Army - rapidly and with purpose. He also has a great personality, smiles a lot and laughs with abandon when he finds something funny which is often.
His Grampy taught him to crawl up the stairs and as soon as he learned this trick he spent a lot of time going up and being carried down. They both genuinely seemed to enjoy this activity and neither his mom nor I objected because it kept them busy for rather large chunks of time.
The next day Grampy had to go to work and Brody started to crawl toward the staircase, stopped and looked to be sure that I was following him then went up one stair to the landing, turned and looked at me again and waited. I had not started up behind him yet so he was sitting level to my face. Just for a second, the most impish, mischievous expression crossed his face then he smiled his angelic smile and leaned over to me.
I swear in that moment while waiting for a kiss from my first grandchild, I thought he was absolutely perfect in every way. Then, he leaned in further and.....
.....bit my cheek.
That cheek chomping hurt but I couldn't stop myself from laughing even though my daughter scolded me that it was an inappropriate response. Men! You can never truly know what they are thinking and that goes for cute little one-year-old men-in-training, too.
Happy Birthday, Brody!
He's got three little teeth now, pulls up on things, stands alone briefly, is clearly thinking about stepping out on his own but for now seems content to crawl like he's in the Army - rapidly and with purpose. He also has a great personality, smiles a lot and laughs with abandon when he finds something funny which is often.
His Grampy taught him to crawl up the stairs and as soon as he learned this trick he spent a lot of time going up and being carried down. They both genuinely seemed to enjoy this activity and neither his mom nor I objected because it kept them busy for rather large chunks of time.
The next day Grampy had to go to work and Brody started to crawl toward the staircase, stopped and looked to be sure that I was following him then went up one stair to the landing, turned and looked at me again and waited. I had not started up behind him yet so he was sitting level to my face. Just for a second, the most impish, mischievous expression crossed his face then he smiled his angelic smile and leaned over to me.
I swear in that moment while waiting for a kiss from my first grandchild, I thought he was absolutely perfect in every way. Then, he leaned in further and.....
.....bit my cheek.
That cheek chomping hurt but I couldn't stop myself from laughing even though my daughter scolded me that it was an inappropriate response. Men! You can never truly know what they are thinking and that goes for cute little one-year-old men-in-training, too.
Happy Birthday, Brody!
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