Beginnings

I am starting a blog at the insistence of my insane, persistent, Italian friend. Writing about my experiences as the second oldest living human to give birth. The first being that 68 year old Romanian woman. She and I will probabally do daycare for each other. I am 47 with a three year old who is the other baby from the title.

Since I rarely re-read or even think as I write, there will be spelling, grammatical and syntax errors. Which my Italian friend will change when she sees them.

I once mispelled public on a big sign that sat infront of Web center, I forgot the L. It read pubic welcome, and they were. True story.

Anyway I digress, there may be others close in age who had similar experiences, experiences like sitting in a waiting room full of dewey skinned 20 somethings who rode their mountain bikes to the obgyns, while I sat there dewey as the crypt keeper quietly sobbing so sure that I had miscarried. I was the most nuerotic pregnant woman ever. Ever!!! My obgyn used to let me come back and have a sonogram to stop my crying so I wouldn't scare the babies in the waiting room waiting to experience natural childbirth.

Sophie, or Rosemary's other baby, was a C section, absolutely greatest easiest thing ever. I know a lot of you are saying "Oh but what about the Joy of natural childbirth?" WHAT!!! Okay anyway I got through the pregnancy and have beautiful little Sophie. Due to only ingesting coffee and coffee icecream throughout the pregnancy she is a little hyper. Strangers, in an attempt to be kind, say "determined" but the truth is she is channeling Osama Bin Laden. She has completely knocked all the arrogance out of me. I have spent 20 years working with children with emotional problems, problems like stabbing people when they didn't get what they wanted and stealing school busses, but my tiny darling seems more challenging then all of them put together. I knew absolutely how to do this and how all of my friends needed my advice. They all got the last laugh this time.

This picture, "sunblock" was taken yesterday. The tiny terrorist was sitting quietly while I stacked little cans of paint for a mural. She was apparently juggling them while I went for more paint. I heard her say "I'm sorry mama" (always a bad sign) and saw the puddle of white paint. I stripped her naked in the front yard, it's ok: naked is her favorite, and ran for the hose; meanwhile she darted out and put her hands and feet in the paint and rubbed it over her body and said "look, sunblock", this was happening simultaneously with my perfect neighbors Lenny,& Sand Adam & Maggie, walking up the sidewalk , on their way to a block party. These are the kind of neighbors who are always flying off to Paris or Guam and going to heavy metal concerts when not involved in spontaneous games of touch football and seem really put together. There I am ready to spray down my freshly painted infant with the hose while she prances around the yard in her dora underpants. The picture was taken by said neighbor Maggie the pregnant jetsetter while I tried to act casual about my parenting skills. These are the kind of events that those how-to baby books don't touch on. So if I did have the attention span to read them it wouldn't do any good anyway.

I had one of those episodes not covered in the baby books the other day. Little angelface was eating popcorn in the living room, naked, really good marshmallow flavored popcorn. When I went in, she said "look mama", very pleased with herself for having arranged the popcorn artistically in her little vagina, that should get a chapter all its own. I just stared at her dumbstruck, my friend Kat would have celebrated this with song and verse and congatulated her artistic sensabilities, I could just envision the horror of the CPS investigation. where I was forced to repeat the word vagina 100 times while telling my sordid tale, anyway I dont' know what to do in situations like this. I had her stand up and shake out the popcorn told her popcorn wasn't good when inserted in the wrong end of the food chain, and then we vacuumed up the vagina flavored popcorn. End of life lesson. When she asks me why we have to do things my way I tell her "it's because I'm bigger and stronger", but since I am old and she is very tall this logic may not get us through the third grade. The letters at the end of my run on sentences are not a secret language or a term of endearment, like my friend Victoria thinks, but merely all the mistake letters that I shovel to the end and leave. more later Valerie rinly a. found pv e agpioroahd ma