“Before we were conceived, we existed in part as an egg in our mother’s ovary. All the eggs a woman will ever carry form in her ovaries while she is a four-month-old fetus in the womb of her mother. This means our cellular life as an egg begins in the womb of our grandmother. Each of us spent five months in our grandmother’s womb and she in turn formed within the womb of her grandmother. We vibrate to the rhythms of our mother’s blood before she herself is born….”
— Layne Redmond, When the Drummers Were Women
Great epigraph to the new book by Ashley Audrain, The Push. As sweet as the above quotation is, the book is a suspenseful psychological thriller about a mother who increasingly suspects her daughter is dangerous. One of the blurbs on the back cover claims the book will set your nerves “jangling in both horror and recognition.” Gulp. Recognition. Is this what I’m in for, with our 14-month-old? Will I, like the narrator, wonder if her behavior is normal toddler antics, or something more…sinister?
My husband said he already worries our daughter has a mischievous side. I slowly set The Push down.
“What do you mean?”
“Like when she picks her nose even though she knows we don’t like it, or drops food on the floor.”
As the mother of a baby girl, I feel my ears prick up in newly painful ways whenever I read about gender disparity. I’m currently reading Boys & Sex, by Peggy Orenstein, having appreciated her previous Girls & Sex. Also reading Fair Play, by Eve Rodsky. I forget which of these books clued me in to the “pink tax,” but, I’d just read about it before going to Amazon to look for bottle-cleaning brushes.
Lo and behold….
Click here for pictures of products in stores–blue and pink, side by side–with the mismatched price tags as proof.
But, that’s because I put it there.
Or, more accurately, my husband put it there.
A huge mattress stuffed into the bathroom, taking up all the floor space, so that walking to the toilet requires three steps across the squishy foamy square.
This is my new plan for dealing with 5x/night potty breaks: Sleep in the bathroom. The walk from the usual bed to the bathroom was just too long.
The move happened just in time, because I’ve been battling a head cold/sinus infection for the past week. Now the bathroom bed is surrounded by Sudafed tablets, glasses of water, a box of tissues, a trash can, an eye mask, a pair of earplugs, a book light, a pregnancy book, a tube of chapstick, a pillow for my heavy legs, and the night guard that would keep me from grinding my teeth, except I can’t sleep with my mouth closed anyway, because I can’t breathe out of my nose, which is perfect, because third-trimester pregnancy doesn’t give you enough dry-mouth as it is.
But I can’t complain! I can, but not on a deeper level. Because I still get to feel those baby rolls and reflex kicks…I still get to see the surface of my stomach move with this growing child…I still get to talk to Little Swan and be as one. I’m not yet ready for pregnancy to end.
said the mother who lost her 19-year-old son in a car accident to the mother who lost her 7-week-old embryo.
- helicopter parents – hover too close
- karaoke parents – try too hard to be cool
- dry-cleaner parents – drop their kids off for others to raise
- volcano parents – erupt over minor issues
- drop-out parents – let their kids down
- bullied parents – don’t stand up to their kids
- groupie parents – treat their kids like rock stars
- commando parents – let rules rule over the relationship
I have seen 1, 4, 6, and 8 in person. Mean Girls showed #2. The Nanny Diaries featured #3. I think I’ll be most tempted by 4 & 8.
courtesy of Tim Elmore
I remember when I first got my driver’s license, I couldn’t imagine how anyone ever falls asleep at the wheel — or, for that matter, eats/texts/fiddles with the radio while driving. There was so much to worry about! So much to keep track of! I would hunch over the wheel, back tense, and give it my undivided attention.
Then I got used to driving and became as drowsy as the rest of them. (A horrible game to play with yourself is to look at the faces of other drivers as you pass them on the other side of the road. They are invariably a) half-asleep, b) actually asleep, or c) looking down at their phone.)
When I imagine staying at home with a newborn and toddler, I imagine it to be full of endless stimuli. How could I ever get bored? There is so much to worry about! So much to keep track of! Parenting is such a new concept — to me, anyway — that I doubt I’ll ever lack for distraction or something to do.
Am I wrong?