“Okay, where do I aim the gun?” Mare asks. I am holding the clipboard, she has the scanner, and we are looking at a bright pink Boppy pillow.
We are standing in the very same store where I came — just about this pregnant — to register for all the doodads, gizmos, gadgets and trappings of my first baby.
Her.
“We don’t need that,” I say, remembering the first Boppy, the big red one I dragged to the hospital that never proved as helpful as a regular old pillow. I think I gave it away to some dew-eyed new mother a few months later.
“We totally do,” Mare says, plopping down on the linoleum with that thing around her waist, cradling her arms. “When Renny and I hold her, it will help us not drop her.”
Oh. Kedokee then.
Mare zaps it and we move on to bathing.
“I LOVE this!” Mare breathes, aiming at a large blue plastic tub with all kinda slings and harnesses and stuff.
“Now that I know we don’t need,” I say. After a few weeks of dutifully filling one of those for her I discovered the magic of a Kitchen Sink and a Towel.
I find a $3 spongy designed to hold a newborn in a sink, we zap that and make our way toward Feeding.
“Does it really hurt a lot, Momma?” she asks. It has started to hit her. Someone will take a knife to her mother. It will take days for her mother to walk normally again. And there will be a new baby. Nothing will ever be the same.
“Yes, it really hurts a lot,” I say. “But I don’t mind.”
“How can you not mind?”
“I get a prize at the end,” I smile.
She has found a wall of bibs. She zaps a bunch that say things like, “Princess … just give me a credit card!”
“You wanted me that badly?” she asks.
The orange glow of the operating room. The pain that wouldn’t end. The ripping ache in my belly.
“That was when I really understood how much I wanted you. That it could hurt that much and still seem so small compared to you. I realized after that that pain isn’t very important. It goes away. Who cares how much it hurts as long as we’re together?”
She zaps a pink Bundle Me, and I suggest the one for warmer weather, too, and she insists on the dark pink and zaps it.
We come to the cribs, and I tell her we don’t have the space for those and steer her toward Pack-and-Plays.
“What happened to Ren’s?” she asks.
“Oh, she smeared it in poop. She was a very angry napper.”
“Ah,” she nods. She examines each Pack-and-Play, checking it for softness, for height (to be sure she can lift the baby out herself) and for storage convenience.
Then she picks the pink one.
She zaps some pink sheets, and a blue gingham one that struck her for no apparent reason.
“Do you think Eden will be annoying?” she asks
“Oh, I am sure of it. Everyone is annoying, particularly if you have to live with them. Have you noticed Daddy, lately?”
“Have you noticed YOU lately?” she giggles. “You’re pregnant!” We both laugh and I can’t believe that’s the little milky-sweet baby I kissed that night so long ago.
“There is good and bad to everything, Mare,” I say. “Nothing worth having is easy. Eden won’t be perfect.”
“She’ll cry a lot.”
“Yeah. And she’ll take your stuff. And she’ll pester. But — here’s great news — she’s going to annoy the heck out of Ren, too.”
“Hehe,” Mare says.
“She’s going to love you so much,” I say. “Just like Ren does. And the love you three have for each other will be just for the three of you, forever. It is very special.”
We’re at high chairs.
“Did Ren smear poop on that, too?” Mare asks.
“No, she was a happy eater. I don’t actually know what happened to the high chair,” I say. I just can’t find it.
We zap a nice-looking booster that promises to do everything the big chairs can do.
We turn our zapper in at the counter, where they print out a list of what Mare has selected. It is all pink, poufy, covered in bows. Nowhere on it is a single gizmo that promises to entertain, enlighten, or bestow musical talent and higher earning capacity. Eden will play on the floor with her sisters, with Barbies and stray blocks. She’ll nap at gymnastics and I will spend absolutely zero time contemplating her wardrobe.
Hard to say which kid had it better. There is good and bad to everything.
Before we go, Mare asks if she can buy an outfit for Eden. I take her over to the discount rack and grandly gesture that she should take her pick. She manages to assemble an outfit entirely of boutique pieces in varying shades of pink.
“She’s going to love the bonnet!” she gushes. “And the tutu and the slippers! She will be a ballerina like her sister!”
It costs $50. D’oh!
We head out to the parking lot, holding hands. I think that Mare also is noticing that Spring is coming. The days are longer, the sky is bluer, and the air is losing its bite.
“Are you scared?” she asks me.
“Yes,” I say. “Only a little of the pain. I know that’ll be bad for a week or two and then I will be my old self. But I am scared about how hard it will be to have three kids. I am afraid of failing you.”
“You could never fail us, Momma,” she says.
“No one is perfect,” I answer.
“Yeah, but you’re a great Momma. You always figure it out.” I turn my head so she will not know that she has undone me, will not guess how much her mother doubts sometimes.
I promise to take her to the pet store to hold the puppies if she promises to be patient through a Starbucks run. She agrees, I put the Loser Cruiser in gear, and we head for home.
Oh, Liz, you have completely undone ME! I have been reading your blog for years and this is one of your best entries! I am quite familiar with the doubts, especially after giving birth to our third (a daughter) six weeks ago. Mary, Karenna, and Eden are incredibly lucky to have you as their mother. Best wishes in the coming weeks!
Liz, your ability to give such eloquence to the thoughts of all mothers is just incredible. I was only able to have 1 son (3 other fails) and that was 19 years ago, but you can instantly transport me there again. Thank you for reminding me why they are worth the pain and college money!
You just made me cry. Pregnancy hormones suck sometimes… on vacation a few weeks ago, I let my son pick out an outfit for his sister#2 to come home in. He picked seven and I bought them all.
*tear* She sounds so grown up!
What a lovely entry. Like J above me, I can’t believe how grown up she sounds.
Why ya gotta make me cry at 3am??
Lol – thank you for this. Thank you so much. The pain is worth every precious, blessed minute with those prizes. Thank you for writing what I feel.
Such sweetness between a mother and child. Imagine Mare reading this as she prepares for her child… an unbelievable gift yet to be given but ready for her when she is ready for it. Now, THAT is beauty.
I hope you print your entries so that your daughters will be sure to have them to read when they are older.
Many blessings! … and thanks for sharing.
What an awesome post and event for you guys.
Mare does sound like such an old soul sometimes.
Every bit of pain, every tear that falls, I’ve found kids to be so worth. I loathe returning to work and I’m trying to figure out how to make the most of this last week of maternity leave.
She’s right. I can tell. And you’re going to love having 3. Especially since the first two are older and can help. It’s been great for my family. All the pain –definitely worth it.
We have one child by choice. One whose 8th b-day is quickly approaching. But, damn, it’s posts like this that make me want to start maing babies again!
Isn’t it amazing how much baby things have changed in the past few years? I’m sure it different picking things out for your third because you know what works for you and what doesn’t. I remember buying every gadget and not using half of them!
Thank you for sharing these special moments…so sweet.
Curse you, woman. There’s something in my eye….
Seriously, I usually hold it together pretty good reading here, but “You always figure it out”…that just kills me. You guys sound all…functional and stuff.
Congratulations on…well, everything, and good luck, again, to you all.
I am openly weeping. You have such a way with words it’s angelic. Your unabashed love for your family comes through in radiating waves. It’s beautiful. Your girls are so lucky.
My two kids are very close in age to Mare and Ren and I read these posts trying to imagine introducing another child to the mix. (and then I shudder and have another sip of beer).
You really are a gifted writer, thank you for sharing your motherhood with us. I never feel this enlightened or engaged when shopping with my kids, I am usually just annoyed at MY version of Ren for taking off her socks or something. But like Mare my 6 year old can be so insightful and grown up. Bless you and your kids. And thanks for being an ‘Anchor MOM.’ You always put things into perspective and hold things steady. Mare is right, you could never fail them.
Wow your daughter is amazing ! (You’re amazing too of course
No worries, Damomma – look how good your first pancake came out.
hey, liz, where are you registered? can we send you gifts?
Good luck. I have been reading your blog since I was pregnant with my first kid. Has a second one a month ago, and I totally love your part about how the hurt seems small compared to the kid. Take care of yourself
Oh, Mary! What a good egg. I’ve been reading for years; today she made me cry. Thank you so much for sharing your family with us. If I ever have kids I hope I can teach them, and learn from them, as much as you do yours.
How can she be so wise for her few years? Your cup runneth over, Liz.
You are a fabulous mother. Mare has undone me, too.
Eden is a very, very lucky little girl to have a mother like you and sisters like Mare & Ren.
that was lovley
Undone me…..check~
I love that.
One day, if I am blessed enough to have kids, I hope to have such a good relationship with them.
Wow.
Thanks for the nice comments. They really do make me smile. Yes, my cup runeth over, every day, and I am more grateful than I could ever express.
We are registered at Babies R Us. You can peek and laugh at all the pink Mare picked.
I don’t know how you do it… I have 2 girls, like you, and my little one is evil, like Ren. My husband desperately wants a 3rd, but it scares me beyond belief. Nothing has ever scared me like the thought of having another child, and I’ve done some crazy-ass things in my life. For me, there is just so much loneliness to being a mother, I am filled with dread by the idea of any extension on that time. So I guess I’m saying, I don’t share your experiences, but I’m glad to know that you are out there, having them.
Kady — Mothering can be so lonely at times. I found it particularly so right after the birth of my second when it was just me and two young kids all. Day. Long. I do think the great hope for all of us parents is that the phases of childhood come and go so quickly that when you don’t like a phase, if you hang on long enough, the next one might be better. I think it’s hardest to have more than one little one, under the age of six. A lot of experienced moms have told me they didn’t start to have a good time until both kids were in elementary school and they got more of their lives back and were able to have adult-like conversations with the kids and really get to know them.
I hope that is the case for you, that the good part is right around the corner, and you will look back on those hard early days and see yourself as the rock star you are for getting through it.
You make me with I was home hugging my daughter AND hugging my own mom.
I love that she said “you always figure it out”.. I feel the same way about my mom. I’m 28 and I call her for everything. She always has the right answers. Which is odd as me and my siblings talk about what a basketcase she is. The most amazing basketcase ever
The only difference between three and two kids, is you have to switch from man-on-man coverage to zone coverage. You, my dear, are more than up to the task.
Thanks, K. There really isn’t anyone in the world whose opinion I value more.
I’ve been reading since I was pregnant and love to read your stories. My daughter is 6 1/2 months and we have the high chair you have registered for and it works great so far.
Fits nicely on the chair and doesn’t take up too much room.
Julia — I’m so glad! I like having the baby at table-level with the family, and our living space is quite small so I don’t want a huge chair. I am hoping this does the trick! I’ll let you know!
Good Lawd! I’m so glad I was procrastinating instead of confronting the sink of dirty dishes. As I aimlessly surfed the net, I stumbled upon your blog. This post took my breath away with its beauty and wit. The dishes, the house, my writing work, will wait a little longer. I’ve already bookmarked your blog. I love the post where you tell the girls while driving, “No talking!” As a mother of 3 girls, especially when they’re small and have a constant flow of words just bubbling out of them, I have used the no talking directive myself. It’s a survival tactic. Bad news about raising three girls: The loveliness of little girls is replaced by teenage hormones in the blink of an eye. Good news: If you’re a writer, those hormones can give you awesome material.
Good luck with daughter number three. And by the way, the third one will be an amazing human being. She has no choice in the matter. The third learns to roll with what comes their way from the minute they’re born, a fantastic quality to have in life. Three daughters are a delightful journey. Welcome to a fantastic club.
The boppy truly does allow big sister’s to hold their baby sisters (and takes some stress off of us trying to make sure that baby’s head is supported) and when baby gets older…you can do tummy time with it so that she can watch her crazy sisters run around!