Monday, August 01, 2005


Well, we survived the Advent Of The Inlaws. My poor couch cushions will never be the same. I fluffed them lovingly the second I closed the door behind them, but I think their spirit is broken, as is their extra-firm foam. These are not small people, and they don't feel the love that I do for my sassy new couch.

I was really rather relieved to see the tail lights on their car this morning. While I love my extended family and think that they are all wonderful people, they can stress me out to the MAX. I was reading last night, and I came across a wonderful passage about the ways of our mothers. And you know, it's true. We tend to follow the ways our mothers followed - I don't necessarily mean career paths, etc. I'm talking about how we wash our clothes, how we cook, how we load the dishwasher, how we talk to our daughters, how we talk to our husbands. I will admit to this - much as my mother can irritate me, we are very similar. I follow her ways. And having someonoe else's mother in my house for five days really reinforced to me the dissimilarities of my mother (and by extension, me) and my mother-in-law. I don't want to get into horrible detail (well, I do, but I'm feeling polite at the moment), but here's a shining example of how my weekend went:

We (self, Husband, Bear, Grandma, Grandpa, and Auntie) are sitting at a table in a restaurant. I am sitting by the Bear, and Grandpa is on the other side. I am feeding the Bear her lunch. As she stuffs an entire cracker into her mouth (typical Bear behaviour - nothing to stress about), Grandma gasps from across the table and shrieks, "Grandpa! Keep an eye on her! Don't let her choke!" To which I coolly replied, "Well, you know, I CAN KEEP AN EYE ON HER TOO..." Since I'm, you know, her mother and all. Me, the one who feeds her five times a day and is used to her less-than-dainty eating habits. It's my responsibilty, or so I thought. How silly of me.

Also, she kept resetting my thermostat. Um, hello? MY THERMOSTAT. *I* pay the electric bill. If I want to keep my house at a reasonable temperature, that's my prerogative. Just because you sweat like a pig* when it gets over fifty does not give you the right to adjust someone else's thermostat without their permission.

On a more positive, less complaining note, the Bear has passed her first birthday. She is officially a Very Big Girl. Actually, she's not - she's only in the 25th percentile for weight, and the 50th for height. But she's big in spirit! She can dance to music (still with one hand on the table for support), and play chase and hide and seek around the house. She's not afraid of the dark, she devours her veggies with wild abandon (much to my MIL's shock - "why don't you feed her sweets?"), she will give you a high-five upon request, and laughs at her own jokes quite frequently. She's very much fun.

We had cake and presents and candles and singing, and the Bear did her slice great justice. She was very neat about it, and hardly made any mess at all. It was really a lot of fun. We took lots of pictures, and even though I know she won't remember it, I think she had a good time. I spent most of the day (and the day before) reminiscing about her birth, and I thought about writing her birth story down here, because I don't have it anywhere but in my head, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't find the words, and when I tried, they sounded stupid to me. I was induced early and so I never got to go into labor on my own. It was long (18 hours) and difficult (well, not so much difficult as painful), but it was one of the great experiences of my life. I felt so empowered in the time after her birth, and still do every time I think about it. But as for a birth story, I don't think I have it in me to write it down. Maybe next time.

Speaking of which, I am feeling much better. I am healthy again, and feeling much more optimistic about this pregnancy. It may actually work! Who knows...

Next time... More Big News!!

*Incidentally, an odd turn of phrase. Pigs have no sweat glands. That's why they roll in the mud when it's hot. Otherwise, they can overheat and die.


Julie said...

LOL. With some minor changes, I could've written this exact post. Also, my MIL calls the Hobbit her "Princess." This makes me want to throw up, but I think that might be impolite.

I'm glad you're feeling better!!!! And happy birthday, Bear!

Anonymous said...

I think you should adopt the phrase, "sweat like a whore in church". Ha Ha!

Jane said...

Yeah, I think this is a universal problem. We're just predisposed to see the way we do things as "right," and the ways other people do things as "wrong." Still, she really gets my goat sometimes.

Also, sweating like a whore in church! Ha! That's probably much more accurate than "sweating like a pig," which we've already shown to be physiologically impossible... tee hee...