Friday, July 27, 2012

Gigantic, A Big Big Love

Part 1: My belly is fucking huge. It was getting bigger, getting bigger, and then POW! huge. My back is starting to hurt a little and bending over the bathtub with Jackson, or carrying his majesty around when demanded, or just getting comfortable in bed is starting to be a drag. And this new little boy must be psyched for the Olympics because he is kickpunching the shit out of me like a gold medalist. But...I'm making some progress in getting his room ready, slowly but surely, and have been taking some time to make artsy-fartsy stuff for both boys. (Good lord, plural. Never thought I'd see the day.)  I sewed some stuff, you guys. With my hands. Granted, it looks hand-sewn, but whatever. I worked on that through a boring-ass conference call. It's surprisingly relaxing, even if it gives you hand cramps. I've also made plans for Jackson's second (what?) birthday party -- well in advance, you may note/snicker. But by September this big belly won't be any less inconvenient, so I want to have all of that squared away now. Done and done. Just a little more work in the nursery, buy a new crib, wash Jackson's old clothes, then done until labor. I'm counting down the weeks until client work is over and I can sit around and watch Daily Show reruns while eating spicy food and bouncing on an exercise ball trying to shake this baby out. Just a few more months (what?). It's starting to sink in.

Part 2: Jackson is fucking huge. I think he's grown several inches in the past month or so. I judge based on his pajama pants, which had to be rolled up to prevent tripping, and now ride up when he lays down to sleep. Crikey. He also just went through (and is still in) a crazy developmental leap that catches us by surprise every day. He baby-babbled with a few coherent words until recently, and now has a killer vocabulary and speaks in full sentences. A month ago, it was, "Mama, milk" or "More, please" on a good day, and now it's, "Mama, I want more milk, please." And then, "Thank you, Mama." Holy shit. (Although, his pronunciation sucks on a comic level and half the time he sounds like Borat.) For a while I thought his words were a little behind some other kids' (friends, classmates at school) but I guess he just needed to be ready. It's a good parenting lesson -- let them do their thing, because they will when they're ready. We've met other parents who helicopter the hell out of their kids and push educational agendas onto every activity, and I feel for their children. I don't really care if Jackson can recite his ABC's yet; I'm more concerned that he's learning how to be a good citizen (he says "please" and "thank you," gives kids hugs when they cry or tantrum, shares toys [when he's not hogging them, so: rarely {what? he's not perfect}], seldom melts down in public and only occasionally at home, and sleeps well most of the time) -- and has fun. I'll take that over "My Baby Can Read" any day. He has his whole life ahead to get serious about things and study and have responsibilities and be mature, but for now, I want to see him enjoy being an almost-2-year-old secure in the fact that his family loves him to bits and be free enough to express himself and become who he is meant to be. I want that for all my many children. On a related note, he seems to understand the general "baby in Mama's tummy" situation and will run up to me, throw his arms around me, kiss my belly, and whisper, "Hi, baby." Love.

Part 3: The shooting in Colorado is fucking depressing. And scary. In the same way that an unexpected natural disaster could sweep through your town and destroy everything you know and love, without warning. And the gun control debates that have followed....shut the fuck up, everyone. The kid was armed to the teeth, wearing full-body protective armor, and released gas canisters into the theater. A second or seventeenth armed citizen wasn't going to improve anyone's odds that night. It was unstoppable, by his design. I'm not saying that there's a strong case for increased gun control coming out of this either, because he apparently obtained everything legally and had no prior history of anything that could have interfered; although I'm still astounded that we allow automatic and semi-automatic weapons designed for mass killing to be sold to civilians. And that Amazon and Google can track my purchasing habits to suggest what brand of toothpaste I might enjoy, but there's no mechanism to track and raise suspicion over buying thousands of rounds and high-count magazines after procuring 4 high-power weapons in the span of a couple of months. Anyway. My point after that rant is there is so much in this world we can't protect our kids from. In a strange way, I am a little comforted by the emerging evidence that the shooter may be in the throes of a psychotic break -- he's the right age and gender for typical onset of schizophrenia and related delusional or manic disorders and his behavior since arrest certainly suggests it. He apparently just failed his PhD prelims after years of academic mediocrity, which would be a significant stress trigger. I find a bit of comfort in that because it means he's a rare crazy person (term not found in the DSM), not an evil person. Crazy usually shows warning signs, in this case missed. Evil is quiet, veiled, conceals its plans. I feel for this guy's parents, how they must be wondering where it all went wrong, what they could have done, how their child could have become this. It's frightening. We all want our children to grow up to be superheroes, not villains. It just goes to show we have to work hard to know them, to really know them, and do whatever we must to teach the hard lessons about right and wrong with the hope that they will always choose right. It's the most important gift we can give them after unconditional love.

 

3 comments:

Mina said...

I don't believe you about the gigantic belly. So prove me wrong with a picture. I so love gigantic bellies - please post a picture... :-)

Jackson sounds like a big boy now. Due to the talking. And it is so strange to see how the stretch like a weed before your eyes, today the clothes fit just right, the next day the sleeves and trousers are too short. How? When? There is something in the air or water...

bunny said...

Giant polite boy babies! You make 'em good! Mad props to you on your productivity and forethought--it's true that every little bit you can get done now is a bit you don't have to think about when your giant belly is even gianter.

The point you end on is so true--if only it were clearer HOW to do these super crucial things...

Trinity said...

Your post title is the same one I used in one of Arlo's birth announcement posts. <3 the Pixies. ;)

I am always impressed with your crafty endeavors (still envious of your spectacular peg people), so I'd love to see what you cramped your hands up sewing, woman. :)

Awww, impressively polite, if sometimes incomprehensible little boys are THE best, yes? Arlo uses some crazy hand gestures, and N and I joke that he reminds us sometimes of Ricky Bobby in Taledaga Nights, in that one interview where he just holds his hands awkwardly because he doesn't know what to do with them. AHAHAHAAAHAA! It's crazy fun, this language/communication stuff. :)

It took me a while to package up my thoughts on the Aurora thing. It really shook me up for a few days. It just reminded me how little power we sometimes have in protecting our babies. We do so much to educate ourselves as parents, make so many seemingly huge choices about what we think is best...and none of that shit would protect them in that kind of circumstance. Argh. So incredibly unsettling.