Life 3.9

I think about a lot of stuff all day. Important stuff like: why am I eating another cookie if I'm not even hungry? Who's the idiot that thought we should get a white rug? or Why does Jennifer Aniston always look so sad? See. I'm a deep thinker.

There's another question I ask myself with increasing frequency. For some reason it almost always hits when I'm refilling the Bug's glass. There's usually been some sort of protracted negotiation over what to drink, how much and whether or not finishing the drink will result in some sort of reward. "No juice. Milk or water. Which do you want? Lemonade counts as juice. Milk or water, those are the choices. No, you can't have a new glass. Do you want something to drink or not? That sort of thing.

It's in this humdrum-mom-in-charge-taking-care-business routine that the Big Question hits: "When did this become my life?"

Technically, it happened almost exactly three years ago when the Bug was born. I became a mother and I accepted a heap of new responsibilities, including but certainly not limited to refilling bottles and sippy cups and water glasses.

This is the same life that mothers all over the world take on every day. After a while, the diaper changing, the cup refilling, the dressing and undressing, the laundry? It's routine. It's just what you do because you're a mom.

The bigger question is: When did this become MY life? Because this what never what I had in mind when I pictured myself at 39.

I wasn't raised to be a mother. I didn't take Home Ec, I wasn't a Girl Scout and I never, ever remember my mom saying to me, "When you have children of your own one day......" My parents didn't do much to make parenting look like fun. In fact, my own mom seemed downright miserable most of the time so why in the hell would I willingly throw myself into THAT snake pit? My parents encouraged me to find a good man, travel, go to college, succeed in my career, but never to have children.

It's not that I don't like being a mother. Actually, I DO like it and I love my girls with all my heart. I just wish I were better at being a mother. I wish I had more "training" if there is such a thing. I wish it felt natural to me. I wish I had learned some good tricks or tips from my own parents, but locking the kids in the basement while I drink a 20-ounce Jack and Coke just isn't my parenting style. Yet.

Sometimes, Grinch and I ask each other, "Would you do it all over again?" The answer is usually "yes" which I guess is a pretty good sign. We're trying. We may not have been trained for this job, but we're learning as we go along. I'm learning a lot about being a parent. I'm learning a lot about myself.

Meanwhile, back in the real world

This week nearly kicked my ass. I have a nagging, death rattle of a cough that only fires up when I need to sleep. How convenient for the lady who has such a limited number of opportunities to sleep, right? On top of that, I had to hastily plan Dos' baptism with the added stress of in-laws being involved. People? Planning a baptism should NOT be a stressful thing. Seriously. I've seen some big time baptisms with crowds of 50 people or so and, ok, THAT can be stressful. But getting 10 people in a room on a Saturday afternoon should not cause nightmares.

Much to our surprise, things went well. The baby is no longer doomed to spend eternity roaming the halls of purgatory and Saturday night she actually slept through the night for the first time ever so maybe there's something to this after all. More than just getting our parents off our backs, I mean.

And, oh, the colonoscopy? All clear and not a big deal at all. Actually, I'm such a big fan of the drugs they gave me during the process I might just go back for another. Seriously. That was a damn fine sleep. You know the way you remember a great meal, or a good wine or sex so good you can't walk right for a couple of hours? That's the way I remember the nap I took during and after the colonoscopy. The best sleep I've had in nearly three years. To hell with Rum and Coke. Versed and Demerol is my new favorite cocktail. Straight up.

When the doctor told me I'd have to have a colonoscopy, I was pretty bummed. I automatically started thinking of excuses not to have it. Then I started thinking about who I knew who had had one and what advice they could give me. Then I remembered Belinda's story. Good. Great. What did she say again? Butthole. That's all I could remember. Belinda, in all her fancy word glory, used the word butthole. Giggle. I was still in the doctor's office, mind you, and I couldn't stop smirking. Butthole. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to giggle. In front of someone who looks at a lot of these things all day long and probably sees absolutely NOTHING funny about it. Which made me want to laugh even harder. I looked down at her desk in an effort to keep my composure and what did she have on her desk? A plastic model. Of a butthole. I finally left the office and got into an empty elevator where I proceded to laugh like an idiot over the word butthole.

My name is Heather and I have the mentality of a 10-year-old boy. It's Belinda's fault.

Whatcha Say, Sonny?

I was feeling pretty good about getting through my whole first week back at work. I did it without caffeine. I did it on four hours of sleep a night. I did it without crying...much. Everyone is still alive at home. We've eaten a lot of leftovers and some frozen pizzas, but we're still alive the kids are happy as far as we can tell.

So I was checking up on some insurance coverage details and came across some of the details of my recent claims, like Dos' birth. That's when I saw the words "Elderly Multigravida" next to my name. Dear Google, what is this interesting term and WHY is it being applied to me? "Elderly multigravida. Second or more pregnancy in a woman who will be 35 years of age or older at expected date of delivery." Well, yeah. That WOULD be me, wouldn't it?

Elderly. I'm elderly. I'm 39 years old and ELDERLY.

I feel a sudden need to wear pink polyester pants with an elastic waist, a flowery shirt, squishy shoes and go to Shoney's for the early bird special.

Didja hear me, sonny? I'm elllllllllllderlllllllllllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyy.