I thought my life was full…bursting really to the brim. And then I became a mom.
NOTHING beat that.
The morning sickness of pregnancy (Which means-all day, all night, all 42 weeks into labor itself)…Glorious!
My 1st labor went a little like this:
“Here, Rich, hold my hair…Puke. Puke.”
Doctor to me, “Are you ready to push now?”
“Can you push again? She’s crowning…”
And, of course, my husband being a first time daddy had no clue…
Doctor to Richard, “Okay—count to 10 for her and she’ll push the entire 10 seconds.”
Richard, “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…..20!”
By now, my brain is exploding, my eyes have popped out of my head, my face is blue. I.AM.DONE.
Finally, after Richard’s doubled “10 seconds” are over, I loudly proclaimed, “Don’t you EVER count to 20 again!”
While he thought, “Oh, the longer I count, the longer she’ll push…maybe the baby will pop right out.” Typical man.
My body thought, “Lord have mercy! I need oxygen! Why is this man still counting? Who married him anyway?! Get rid of him and find someone new!” No joke.
But finally, after many more sessions of 10 seconds (ONLY 10 seconds) and lots of puking, we had our first bundle of joy.
Ah. Such pride.
Wait…is that a girl? Is she mine? I am decently cute, her daddy is hot…She looks as if she has been boxed in the face. Is that normal? No, I mean…I love her. Sure, give her to me.
Kiss. Kiss. Cuddle. Cuddle (All for show, folks. All for show. Wanted to make sure that they didn’t take my baby away from me because I was an unfit admirer of this new, blotchy, boxed-looking creature :))
Kiss. Kiss. Cuddle. Cuddle.
Surprisingly—no more puking.
And overnight our lives changed.
And the baby did some of those things, too.
And then, just like the sage wisdom my mom passed on…It too did pass. Both the baby’s crying and my crying.
Sleep invaded our home once again.
I began to feel less like a zombie and more like a … Well, like a…Hmmm. Well, let’s say less like a human delivery truck.
Anyhow—and the months flew by! And then the years.
In Poland, they say that time runs. Truly—my daughter won the Olympic Gold of the 100-meter-dash, because, in no time, she went from my boxed wonder to her very own version of her very own self—and that was FUN to watch.
Let me insert something here—had I been thinking clearly, I would have prepared myself for an independent-minded young lady with a style all her own.
But no. I prepared myself for—I shall dress you in pretty dresses and bows and put you in pageants (okay, not really the pageant part) and decorate you like a dolly. Oh how I love dollies!
Why did she NEVER let me do this?
It seems like as soon as she could take off her own diaper—I had no control over her clothes. Her beautiful girly-girl clothes.
Those dolls sometimes make better babies. (Okay—I’m just kidding. Don’t take my kid away from me.)
But because of Adelyne’s uber-I am my own kid and style-self, I have been gifted the greatest gift…Memories of the uniqueness of her life—called childhood! And I wouldn’t trade one moment for a frilly dress and beautiful bow. Although there are times when I would like just ONE picture in the photo album where she is a little less her and a little more compliant. Nah. Who am I kidding? I love her sense of HER!
And, so friends, I give you Adelyne as your very own encouragement…
May you be the YOU that you are…
Whether it is a kite-flying,
That sells lemonade to virtually no one (notice all the neighboring homes???)
While dancing down the streets of Europe (and even gets her grandparents to join her party)!
Why be anyone else?
Be your own self and fly!
And, yes…She wore these wings to kindergarten registration.
Smile and take pictures, Mom. Smile and take pictures!