Just Write: October 11, 2011

~~This post comes courtesy of the Just Write project from The Extraordinary Ordinary. Thanks for the motivation!~~

The sunroof is open in the black 2009 Jeep Grand Cherokee I’m driving today.

I’ve got the windows down, too. It’s 80 degrees in mid-Michigan today and I’m loving it. I’m even sweating a little bit.

I find my thoughts wandering to the state of the color change happening to the trees around me, reflect on my final days as Lindsay, when I’m no one’s Mom-with-a-capital-m.

I feel the spreading smile across my face, remembering Jon and I watching yesterday as a yellow and burgundy tree literally shed its leaves as we pulled out from our driveway.

I had noticed the wholesale emptying of the branches and was contemplating the why and the how of the beauty of Mother Nature, my day with Jon and our ability to share quality time with his parents ahead of our own becoming parents deadline.

And Jon commented, “Did that tree just decide RIGHT NOW to get rid of all its leaves?”

One minute, the tree was still in its color change and the next, it was changed.

And we served witness.

It was the sharing of the moment, the sun shining on us, that gave me pause. It was a fleeting moment when our minds and bodies were in the EXACT same moment.

And I thrive on that – and savor it – knowing that it’s the little moments, not the big ones, that are making up our life together.

Just Write…

I’ve come across some really GREAT blogs by women writers. Or, rather, women. Who happen to write.

Like here at The Big Piece of Cake.

Or, here at the Extraordinary Ordinary. (This is where I found the “Just Write” concept and fell in love with the momentum of it immediately).

And this aggregate site of blogs and info is TOO COOL.

And with that, I just used the word aggregate in a non-academic, not work-related way.

The thing is, I’m finding all these other women writers so empowering. I like knowing they’re out there, and that I’m ‘out there’ with them.

They make me want to write the blog post about the conversations Molly and I have had since she’s had her baby 13 days ago and I’m about 13 days from having my own Minnie.

Molly asked me the other day, sitting in her house as she pumped and breastfed for the umpteenth time in the day, after ANOTHER 23 minute conversation with the lactation consultant. She asked “Why does no one ever tell you what labor is really like?”

And the conversation ensued.

Mainly, she wanted to know how anyone describes the pain of childbirth as indescribable. She says she’s pretty sure she could describe it. (I’ll let it slide for now that she hasn’t, since I don’t really need the nitty gritty details of it anyway).

Then she asked if any of the books I’d read said that when you are pushing your child out it feels like you’re pooping. And why doesn’t it, she wondered. Because, that’s what it feels like, she says.

So, I’ve re-told this story to all the women I’ve come across in the meantime.

And…

They all agree.

So what the heck? Why don’t the damn books just SAY that? That that is the sensation you’re going to have?

Molly texted me today, chalking yet another one up to things no one ever tells you about having a baby.

Evidently the umbilical cord smells like garbage as its getting ready to fall off.

Again, not something they tell you in the books. Like, if you smell garbage and you’ve changed the baby’s clothes and diaper and given the baby a bath…it’s a sure bet the umbilical cord is rotting off of your brand new, clean baby.

Yuck.

But, good to know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

I think we’ve settled on a name for our Minnie.

And no, it’s not Minnie.

But I’m also not putting it out there yet.

I like that we’ve agreed on it and yet, we’re keeping it to us. I’ve thrown it out there a few different times to different people…but Jon and I are in agreement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The neighbor, Michael, has mowed his lawn again today. I swear that’s twice in the last three days.

Keeping up with the neighbors in lawn-mowing efficiency is tough stuff when Michael makes a habit of mowing his lawn incessantly.

It makes me feel guilty, our long grass standing at attention next to his.

I’m sure it wouldn’t be so bad if we didn’t also live on a golf course, so that the grass is always mowed right up to your property line on all sides. And then, there you are, the nine-months-pregnant gal bribing her brother to mow the lawn so that the neighbors don’t talk. Or talk anymore than they already are.