I was going to write about Callie losing her first tooth (how she was afraid she had caused the wobbling in her bottom front right tooth by biting a pillow because her hands were full of blanket, and how the tooth fairy forgot to come but she thought it was because Lucy clutched the ziplock-ed tooth under Callie’s pillow all night, so Daddy told her it was still night and to put it back for awhile and saved the day) but Dooce wrote about her six-year-old losing a tooth, and I can’t compete.
I was going to write about getting my first post-pregnancy zit today (how sad it made me because if I have to lose the effects of pregnancy, couldn’t it be my belly fat instead of my pimple immunity?) but NattheFatRat wrote about that and now I feel even bad-er about my neck (and double chin) (possibly more a side effect of eating entire batches from my new cookie press than pregnancy).
(Nat also has all these posts about living in New York City, and once I got over my feeling that it doesn’t really count if you have a cute building in a cute neighborhood with a cute doorman, I let the city-nostalgia wash over me.)
I was going to write about how cute (gullible) the kids are, writing confident letters to Santa, all of them swayed by the power of suggestion and also the singular spelling ability of their oldest sister into asking for “mechanical hamsters,” and “jelly bean candy canes,” but then they all assaulted my ears with agonized pre-pubescent female emotion this afternoon and I wanted to drown myself. (Because sound doesn’t travel in water, right?)
If I was feeling really brave, I’d write about how I’ve been troubled a little more than usual lately by feminist yearnings and reconciling them with Mormon doctrine and culture, and how it’s odd-er-ish because usually the Christmas season is just a warm, glowy extravaganza of baby Jesus worship and eternal family looking-forward-to-ness, but on the other hand if it’s a side effect of being home all day with four lovely specimens of incipient goddesshood, it’s no wonder, but Mormon feminism seems to be at an all-time high in the blogosphere, so really I don’t know where to start. (and I’m not feeling brave, I guess, too).
I want to say something about how much I enjoy the baby (we all still say “the baby” a lot of the time, when we’re not calling her Molly-Polly, Mollster, Chubbalicious, Urper-Queen, Pooper-Queen, or Ga-boo (I’m ashamed to admit that’s one of my default greetings, as in “Hi, Ga-boo” all in one sing-song-y trill)), but squeetus described how gloriously mammalian it all is. And here is an article about kangaroo care and how it’s for the mother as well as the baby, not least because it reminds me (the shiny, happy eyes and ecstatic-to-see you grin, the momentary crying I can solve with nothing more than this body that otherwise is not too pleasing) that once my other girls were this young too, and innocent and sweet-smelling, and probably I still love them even though they’ll never again be this easy to adore.
Molly nursing at dance class
Subscribe by email
Don’t you hate it when everyone else beats you to the punch–or rather, the post? I still love yours best.
You might want to look at TED.com for topics.
Shannon Reply:
December 15th, 2010 at 3:44 pm
but that sounds like WORK. sigh.
well I am grabbing on to a snippet of your words: do the cookie presses work? They seem messy to me, but I would definitely give it a try if you can recommend a certain one!
Shannon Reply:
December 15th, 2010 at 3:46 pm
I bought the 9 dollar one from Walmart and have only made one recipe so far, this shortbread: http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Shortbread-Cookies-II/Detail.aspx
I keep planning to dip them in chocolate or something, but then I just eat them off the pan. I guess it is another piece of equipment to wash, but it’s a lot quicker and less messy than rolling out and using cookie cutters, and my 9 yo loved using it.
I was going to write about what I was going to write about… but then you wrote it first.
Even in just writing about what you were going to write about you are amazing.
Loved seeing you and your sweet girls last night.
perhaps you could write about this odd, don’t know how to explain, feeling about having a baby that you know will be your last. How holding this child, seeing this child, feeling this child and all the time knowing there won’t be more makes you hold onto them a little longer, feel a little stronger. I don’t know – this time around (my third) I feel different – and for the life of me I can’t explain it to anybody. Perhaps you know that feeling too? yes? maybe?
Shannon Reply:
December 15th, 2010 at 3:51 pm
I know what you mean! (Although Tom and I have decided not to do anything permanent to prevent more kids, I still feel very sure Molly is our last, and we are taking other steps, believe me!).
Sometimes knowing she is my last is the only thing keeping me sane, but the other day I finally had that “don’t grow any more” feeling for the first time ever. Always before I’ve been so happy for them to get bigger. This one I just want to stay a baby. Until I don’t. And if I ever do start thinking of just one more, I tell myself it’s only 15 more years until I can think of grandkids, and that’ll be much better!