The Simple Wife

Okay, so it’s been awhile, but this is what my big ten month-old is up to:

• He loves exploring the house, which keeps mommy motivated to keep it clean.
• Likes feeding himself.
• Likes eating enough to let mommy feed him.
• Loves playing hide and seek with mommy.
• Loves being on Daddy’s shoulders.
• Somehow, no matter where we go, he winds up being the center of attention…college graduation, Wal-Mart, church, etc.
• Has the sweetest smile and biggest blue eyes ever (and I am NOT making this up…people reaffirm the fact all the time).
• Will stand on his tiptoes to play the piano if no one will put him on the piano bench.
• Loves crawling to the back door to see Ruble. Ruble feels rather neutral about this…he used to get excited when Robbie would shake his food bag, now he starting to expect disappointment as he realizes that this little guy does not have all the moves mommy and daddy to (i.e. opening the door, handing out cookies, etc.).

Needless to say, my little boy is amazing and I seriously to update more…I don’t want him to just think nothing of interest happened in his first year of life. On the contrary, there’s just so much interest happening ever day with that little man crawling around that I have trouble getting the chance to sit down and record it all. Here’s to making wise times choices as a mommy!

Robbie can roll over! He rolled over for the first time on September 19th while we were having Tummy Time. I was so shocked! I just gasped as I looked at my amazing baby and gushed, “You rolled over! You rolled over! Good boy!”

I galloped to the other room to get my phone and call his daddy who was also thrilled with the news. Then I proceeded through my speed-dial list to give updates to proud parents and aunts while he rolled over three more times. On Saturday I captured a roll on video. Here it is:

Okay, now that I’m a mom some of those things I said I would never do in my carefree, child-free existence suddenly don’t seem so bad anymore…a main one being never letting my children sleep in my bed. I remember saying that vehemently many times while my husband would nod his emphatic agreement. Looking back now, I wonder if I had misguided zeal, OR if my convictions were/are correct and I have merely caved and thrown my convictions out the window when having a few extra minutes of sleep mean much more to me than following through on a zealous “I will never…” In the early morning when I would like to continue my beauty rest (which I need more of these days in order to retain the status quo), or while preparing for a Sunday afternoon coma (a favorite tradition in the Reed household) and Robbie begins to fuss and demand attention, disregarding his own need for sleep in favor of cuddling, I feel as though my former declarations were well-intentioned, but sadly misguided, and into bed with me he comes. In my more wakeful moments (like now), I wonder how I’ve become such a pushover, and vow never to let Robbie into my bed again…until…well…yaaaaaawn…

Robbie and I having a Sunday afternoon nap.

Obviously, I have not written in ages…my bad! However in my defense, I am now a MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Finally. It really happened. I went into labor, and seven and a half hours later, my little son entered the world. It was a simple as that. I had spent 24 years basically being just me, having my own dreams, plans, ideas, but in a few seconds on July 10th, 2008 I added a new identity that I will have for the rest of my life–a mom. I’ve always prided myself on understanding EVERYTHING–from an emotional point of view anyway. I would sigh and shake my head at adults who didn’t understand children because I could remember my childhood–and all the ups and downs accompanied with it clearly. I would nod sympathetically when parents, grandparents, and others would rhapsodize, complain, and share about children, grandchildren, spouses because even if I had never personally experienced it, I could imagine it perfectly. Therefore, I felt well prepared for motherhood and already knew that it would SUCH a life-changing event, and I would have all these wonderful feelings about my baby, and all that other stuff, because that’s just the way it was supposed to be (duh!). However, now that I’m a mom, I get it…really, really get it. It is not something that all the information in the world can prepare you for; the delight at my baby’s every coo, the urgency I feel to pick up the phone and call someone (and usually do) at every crooked smile, the elation I feel when he bounces happily on my lap. No…you can never really get it until you hear that first cry, then suddenly everything changes. Things happen and you know that the only people who will understand are other mothers; you look dotingly at other children in stores realizing that they all have a special story just like your baby, you looked sympathetically at other moms feeling a strong bond that comes from knowing we had both experienced one of the most miraculous, painful, wondrous, traumatic events in life: childbirth. It’s amazing…and I love it!

I’ve spent so much time talking about my pregnancy experiences (which I’m hoping will draw to a close in the extremely near future), that I thought this would be an appropriate time to turn the spotlight onto my baby daddy. Poor, wonderful, exhausted, caring man. While I give him constant updates about my ever changing physical status, he has to live them vicariously, in addition to living with a wife who is sometimes cranky and unreasonable (please, don’t gasp in disbelief too loud–it does happen on rare occasions). After explaining in minute detail how I felt during church Sunday night, he became convinced that I would go into labor that night. I haven’t been sleeping well at all lately, but on Sunday, every time I turned over David (who is usually a heavy sleeper, and never notices when I get out of bed for anything) would wake up and ask, “Are you all right? How far apart are they?”

In my state of wakeful exhaustion, I could not do much more than try mumble something about being all right…which sounded like a groan–not the best way to convince your anxious, adoring husband that you’re really fine, you’re just trying to get comfortable. He assured me the next morning that he had understood my mumbles, he just didn’t believe me. That’s my fault, I presume. I’ve told him I wouldn’t wake him the minute I started having contractions, out of fear he would rush me to the hospital only to be sent home after being told they were “false”. Of course, knowing my intolerance of pain, it could turn out that as soon as the first legitimate contraction comes I’ll be screaming, “Get me to the hospital and find an anesthesiologist! I don’t care if this isn’t the real thing!”

Still, when I say I don’t know what I would have done these last nine months without my husband, I mean it. He’s been patient, loving, kind, and never gets tired of rubbing my feet, taking me to Dairy Queen, or humoring any of my other little pregnancy whims (like vacuuming the baseboards for me). We’ve tried to make the most of the last few weeks, cramming in as many last-date-night-without-kids opportunities as we possibly can and have enjoyed spending time together at the movies, late night runs for ice cream, water fights in the backyard, and of course, LOTS of cleaning! He’s still my bestest best friend in the whole world, and I’m hoping I won’t be too jealous about having to share him with my son. Ah, well, if we can have fun with two, three should be even better

Still no baby, but yesterday my water broke in the car…water bottle that is. I was getting ready to leave for work, trying to maneuver my big ol’ tummy into position behind the wheel, along with my getting the water bottle in the cupholder and purse beside me when splash! All my lovely, cold water spilled all over the seat. –Sigh– It, of course, had to happen on a day when I had been busily congratulating myself on being so far ahead of schedule, and reveling in the thought of getting to work early. I had to go back to the house to get a towel to put over the seat, lest people see my wet skirt and think, “Oh my word! What’s that woman not doing in the hospital!?” or merely sympathetically shake their heads in acknowledgment of the fact that pregnancy had begun to affect my bladder control (sidenote: in a way it has–I have to be so careful when someone says something funny that I hadn’t been anticipating…or whenever my husband tickles me).
I keep giving Robbie updates on our schedule. Now it is only 5 days until Grandma comes, 6 days until Mama’s birthday, one week until his shower, and after that, he can just pop right out! Which, BTW, I have discovered is people’s favorite way of referring to my condition. I can’t even tell you the amount of time I’ve heard the phrase, “You look like you’re about to pop!” I think to myself, “Just give me a pin…’cause if I could, I would!”

“It sometimes happens, even in the best of families, that a baby is born. This is not necessarily cause for alarm. The important thing is to keep your wits about you and borrow some money. “ –Eleanor Goulding Smith

Since my little Robbie has the hiccups right now (making it hard not to think of him), I thought I’d write a quick update of what’s going on with he and I.

As of my last doctor’s visit, I weigh in at 157–believe it or not, I was actually thrilled that I finally seem to be tapering off, having only gained THREE pounds since my last doctor’s visit. In spite of many kind predictions from people who believe this baby will be “big like his daddy!” (it’s going to be disappointing if he only weighs six pounds…), I’m hoping that some of this weight is retained water. Yes, I have started swelling, and while it is still rather interesting to me, it’s becoming more and more annoying. My feet look like soda cans and my toes like vienna sausages. Gone are the happy days of aimlessly wandering through stores, just blissfully strolling along. Nope! Now all I have to do is make a quick trip to Wal*Mart for groceries, and before I’m done I feel like my ankles are going to explode. David now enjoys going for walks to get exercise, because I am no longer charging along urging him to pick up the pace. I now toddle breathlessly behind him as he saunters along.

Yesterday we bought a mattress for Robbie’s crib. Now all we need is some sheets and it’s ready for the baby! I’ve been talking to Robbie lately just to remind him that in just four more weeks we’ll hit the 37 week mark and he can arrive safely without being premature. His daddy keeps telling him to stay in until he’s ready, but whatever…he’s not the one with a precious baby hicupping inside him.

Speaking of my baby’s daddy, he is still the most wonderful husband in the world, and is so incredibly patient and sweet with me as we work through this whole pregnancy thing. Whenever I’m feeling too hot (and I mean in an our-a/c-is-not-working-again, not an amorous way), tired, and swollen to cook dinner, he’ll tell me to go sit in my rocker while he takes care of everything. He’s also very good at giving foot massages, humoring a cranky wife, and so amazingly wonderful that I don’t know what I did to deserve him.

One last thing before I go…I’m not sure if I’ve had any food cravings yet, but I am becoming very obsessed with Mexican food and chocolate. I’m not sure if that has anything to do with the baby or not, because I’ve always loved those foods, but I do desire them much more now…I can’t get enough burritos, tacos, or quesadillas. I have added one new food to regular inventory in my quest to give Robbie a taste for healthy food–tomatoes! A couple trips ago at Wal*Mart I noticed the tomatoes and they suddenly looked rather appealing for the first time in my life, so I added them to the rest of my groceries. Now I have begun eating them and been enlightened to find that they are not nearly as bad I used to think they were. This is probably the first time in my entire marriage that I’ve bought tomatoes since up till now, neither my husband nor I liked them…so, maybe that’s a craving?

Until next time!

On April 1st (no joke) I found out that the child I was bearing would be my first-born son. I’ve thought he was a boy ever since January when we had our second ultrasound, in spite of the fact that he was still too small to know such a minor detail as gender. His daddy had been positive thought he would be a girl, and his grandma and auntie were busy buying him dresses. Therefore, my first words after the technician softly said, “You’re going to have a little boy!” were “I was right.” (I love being right!)

Even though I’m the most girly-girl of all girls, and can’t help but gravitate towards everything pink in any store I’m in, I lay there with gel oozing and goozing all over my constantly growing tummy feeling an incredible sense of responsibility and awe. My baby will be the first boy born on my dad’s side of the family in over forty years.

I must confess that I’m still trying to figure out exactly what you do with a little boy. I knew right away that I wanted denim coveralls for him, so he could toddle out into the yard to dig in the dirt with them on. After that, my vision is a bit hazy, but I do know that his baby-childhood will be filled with cars, trucks, balls, army men, and lots and lots of dirt. And in spite of longing looks at all the lavender and pink baby bedding, I fell in love with a teddy bear and baseball set that I think I’ll use for his nursery. I am determined that this child, my little Robert Steven Reed (who is affectionately referred to as “Robbie” by everyone but his grandpa Robert), will be as 100% boy, as I am girl. It did occur to me today that I have no idea how a little boy’s hair is supposed to be fixed, cut, brushed, styled, etc., but I’m sure I’ll figure it out. The goofy grin on David’s face in the exam room, easily overcame any doubts I might have had about what one earth I’d do with a baby boy. Plus, I won’t have any competition for my tiara…it’s still firmly in place.