Friday, April 18, 2008

Grandparents have NO Sympathy

I am now (ahem) eight months pregnant. When you are that pregnant, one of the privileges that you have obtained it the ability to call and whine to your mother(s), grandmothers and any other female relative that went through pregnancy. This privileged should not be over-used though, or they will quit answering the telephone.

Usually, Mothers tell you, "Yes, that is bad, but it comes with the territory." Evidently the territory of pregnancy includes everything from body complaints to bad weather. In truth, your parents (AKA your child's grandparents) have no sympathy for you. They have been there. This is their revenge.

If it wasn't their revenge, my mother in law never would have spent hours of prayer to convince God that we needed a child with as much energy as my husband. I did pray for the exact opposite, but evidently she's further on the Big Guys good side. Now she politely listens to stories of her granddaughters escapades and says trite things like..."Well I expected her only to use that energy level when Pete was home." Thanks. Obviously the three months we spent talking about how I was going to be the stay at home parent never entered your mind.

My Mom is no better. I proceeded to tell her all about her granddaughters various explorations around the house. She said, in a terribly un-sympathetic tone of voice. "Gee, she's as curious as her mother."

Last night I called her up for some eight months sympathy. My little curious energy cell decided to take off across an open field toward a neighbors house. Too far behind to start with, I ended up needing to break out in a full out run for forty or so yards to catch her. Imagine running while clutching a twenty pound turkey to your belly, and a full bladder. Running is not what you want to do at this stage of pregnant. A three year old could keep up with me.

A few hours later found me bolting up the stairs to discover Cora had dropped a casserole dish on her foot. I either pulled a muscle in my thigh or I have a placental tear. As I described the adrenalin laced events, Dearest Mom interrupted to reminded me about a certain of her children (Me) she rescued from a two story tree at a similar point in her third pregnancy. The worst part was tthe evil chortle to her voice, as if she was enjoying the entire situation.

Grandparents have NO Sympathy, and revenge is evidenly a dish best served one generation cold.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Brave little girl.

Yesterday my Mom helped me take Cora to the playground. Yes, I'm finally THAT pregnant that I need help chasing a two year old over gym equiptment. My first (and ironically not stupid) concern is to ensure that there are no used hypodermic needles, condoms or enticing (and probably HIV ridden) food items lieing around. In case you are laughing at my overactive imagination, I've found all three at playgrounds in my life time, and two of them (fortunately not the needles) with Cora. I don't let her play in the sand boxes there though. The junkies probably bury them in there. Fortunately this playgroud contained none of the offending articles. It didn't contain nuclear waste or venimous insects either. Perhaps I should add those to my list...

I'm not sure whom I was prouder of. My daughter whose zest for life took her up the tallest jungle gym parts, around the gaping tire swing hole and to the curly slides that go down two stories, or my mother (Nanny) who chased after her while I sat on the benches pretending to be comfortable. Nanny has a fear of heights. She didn't even mention it when we pulled in to the play ground parking lot and she saw that the "swings" were part of a two and a half story structure with two curly slides.

Bravest of all, Nanny went down a curly slide with Cora. Last time i did that (also with Cora) I ended up vomiting in the trash can. We'll blame that on the early months of baby number two's development.

Taking your child to a playground is a great way to pump a few quarts of adrenaline into your system. The prospect of them injuring themselves, and the delicacy of their bodies becomes the central topic in your mind. Especially with smaller children, you look at the various "fun" toys, and think about all the places they could fall, bang, snag and flop.

In fact, Cora managed to fall an astonishingly low number of times (3) and only managed to seriously topple once. Taking turns jumping, she and a little boy turned a plastic bridge into a very fun launcher, and managed to bounce themselves off of the surface. Unfortunately, they both got excited and forgot to wait for the other to regain footing.

The toddler slide is probably responsible for any gray hair that shows up this week on both me and nanny. Every time Cora reached the bottom her feet would drop and she would be propelled onto her hands and knees. My heart gave a jump, my pulse quickened and I spontaneously jerked forward as if to catch her. She got up giggling and ran back to the top.

Funnier yet was watching Nannys hands. They would hold her camera with either a little firmer grip (thank God they build cameras to take stress) or if she wasn't behind the lense, flit forward in motions I'm certain my own limbs must mimic. Thrills are part of a two year olds existence, and through love and the crazy idea you can protect them from every harm in the world, part of a parents as well. I have new respect for each of the gray hairs my Mother bosts. I think I saw a few in the mirror this morning.

Monday, April 14, 2008

this is about Cows.

At least, thats what Cora said when I asked her what we should write about. Actually, Cows are very important to small children. The appear in all the books. They even appear in most of the TV shows they watch. Have you ever shown a child an actual cow though? At the fair cora saw several cows. She heard them say moo first hand, but i don't think the connection between Cow cows and cartoon cows formed.

Sheep too are completely irrealistic in childrens books. They are always white and fluffy. They are never dirty and they seem cute and intelligent. There is a picture of a lamb wrapped in the arms of a two year old Jesus in one of coras childrens books. Every time she sees it she yells at the little boy to put down the kitty. There is no connection between the pictures and the dirty piles of unshorn wool we saw at the fair.

Cora knows what sheep say too. They say BAAAAH. Only her sheep for some reason sound like they are choking and fading into the background. Perhaps they are geriatric sheep.

She knows what pigs say too, courtesy of Sandra Boynton. Pigs go "La La la." They are also named "Daddy" "Mommy" and "Nanny". Her observations about are nature are quite....amazing.