Letters to Zoe

Right now, my mother is driving away from Chicago. She's in a rental car with my dad, my brother and a ton of stuff.
And I miss her.
I'm sitting here, trying not to cry about it, because I can be a huge baby, and well, because I have my own baby to take care of.
When my mom was here, nothing could go completely wrong. I went over to my parents' apartment everyday. She told me what to do when Zoe had a cold.
 I always had someone to complain to. On my worst days, I had someone to detail every little woe to.

Take two weekends ago: I was on a plane flying to N.H. for my grandfather's funeral. On the way back, I had to transfer in Pittsburgh. (On another note, who the heck doesn't get a direct flight from Chicago to Boston? Answer: Missionaries). I was with my brother (a nineteen year old BOY who has never had a baby, obviously), and I was carrying a :
1) car seat
2) stroller
3) sleepy baby with
4)baby hat
5) baby pacifier that falls out every 30 seconds and
6) suitcase
7) diaper bag with no diapers because I am a class A idiot
and 8) ababy blanket.

 Needless to say, trekking through security was a nightmare. I had to prod my freshman brother because he was internet-bound to his laptop and I-phone. If that wasn't bad enough, I was sick with Strep.

On the plane, just as we are about to take off, Zoe decides to do a big wet poop. Lovely.
Oh yeah, did I mention I forgot to put diapers in the diaper bag?
The man next to us kept calling my brother "my husband."
 Even better. Now the situation is miserable and creepy.

In such situations, there is only one person to blame.
My mother.
So I told my brother to call her on speakerphone so she could listen to the wailing, piercing sound of a poopy infant. So she could hear the misery in my silence, and so she could, perhaps, feel slightly terrible about the whole thing (she had made the flights).
Now, you may think I'm a bad daughter. I can't say that that's not true.

Let me give you another scenario.

Before I gave birth to Zoe, I was reading this book about labor. It said that the birthing process was a very psychological event. Basically, it said that if you had any reservations, you had to deal with them. You had to process them.
I thought long and hard about this.
Why was I afraid of labor? What made it seem so terrible?

Well, for one, I am known to be the one with the lowest pain tolerance in my family.  I complain when I am hurt or sick. People bring up memories of me crying during a mosquito infested hike.
I can be a hot mess. Everyone knows this. Especially my mom.

So what did I do? I followed the book's advice and I called my mom to ask one thing.
"Do you think I can go through with this?" I asked her plaintively. "Do you think I am strong enough for a natural childbirth?"

I think she humored me. She told me that I was capable. She said that the last year teaching a class of 32 kids had made me strong. And you know what? I believed her.

Then, when I was in the midst of the birth process, she was there in the background, waiting on me. She brought me juice. She helped Chris be an awesome husband. She was just...there.

She was everything I needed at that point in time.

And that is who I want to be. Someone who is there for my daughter. I know this is kind of cliche again, kind of cheesy, but I keep thinking that I can't do any of this without her. She taught me to be independent. She taught me to be strong, but half of that strength comes from watching her do it. I copy her strength.

Now, here I am, with this little baby, trying not to cry because my mom is gone from Chicago. I'm not sure that I can be as great as she was.
I'm even more unsure when she's gone.

I recently joined a "moms" group at my church because, well, I'm now a mom.
 It's official.   I am now part of a secret club that involves googoogaagaa.  I swivel my head when I'm at the mall to watch that little girl toddling into a toy store. It's like I have a radar on my head that searches through the environment for wet diapers and drool. I am becoming fluent in "googoogaga".

Last night at Dunkin' Donuts to the Indian cashier girl:

Me: I haven't seen you in a while (I get decaf everynight at this particular DD).
Dunkin Donuts Girl: I couldn't be here at night last week.
Me: I understand, I have to take my class at night because of my baby.
Dunkin Donuts Girl: Me too.I had to take care of my baby so I changed my schedule.
Me: YOU have a baby? Oh my gosh! ME TOO!
DD Girl:  I have a baby that is a one year old.
Me: Boy or Girl?
DD Girl: Girl.
Me: Oh my goodness! I have a girl too. She is three months old.
DD Girl: Where is she right now?
Me: My husband is taking care of her...I have to pump while I'm at class.
DD Girl: I didn't have enough milk....so I couldn't do that.
Me: You had to use formula? It all works out in the end anyways.


We talked for the next twenty minutes about our babies and compared notes until I left with a decaf caramel latte and a "talk to you later." I felt like I had met a kindred spirit. Whenever I meet anyone (literally anyone) who has had a child, I want to be their best friend. Since this is 50% of the strangers out there, I freak a lot of strangers out with my exuberance. "YOU have a CHILD?..... I LOVE YOU!"

Without sparing you the details, for the couple hours that I am away from my daughter during class, all I think about is...my daughter. I also have to curb my constant rambling about how chubby she is getting. I have to stop talking about the way she is now "razzing" by rubbing her lips together and producing the most incredible giant spit bubbles.
Oh, and did I mention that "razzing" usually happens at the end of four months and she is only at the end of her third?
Seriously, if I kept going you would probably give up reading this blog.
   
I do find it interesting.  I can connect with any other woman I have met who has a child. For some reason, it has propelled me more into the adult word than any other life event. (Whether or not my maturity level has caught up is a different subject).
I had no idea how much women talked about children, until I had one. It's like you filter all this "baby talk" until the time where it becomes incredibly meaningful and interesting. I want to soak up every single sentence that has the word "baby" or "child" in it.

Though I am now part of this club, I also feel a little bit sad. I am sad because I feel myself growing apart from most of my friends without kids--which is, let's face it, 95.5% of my friends. I think that they also feel like they are "growing apart" from me. I get less calls, and I call them less. When we do talk, I have to avoid spouting on and on about Zoe's poop, Zoe's toes, Zoe's lips...well, you get the picture.

When I reread this post, I'll probably realize that it's incredibly cliche. Basically, I'm just saying that I love babies. Does that really surprise you? I'm no longer this pseudo-intellectual, Christian, young-married girl. I've just descended into the ranks of....yeah, the baby-lovers.

You know exactly what I mean. I am unashamedly, crazily, one of those.

(And for all those of my friends who read this and think "Wow. That is so sad." Just you wait....)