Anne TootillTo Be or Not to Be a Mother -Part Two
October 5th 2006 16:28
It was then that I noticed them. How had she gotten in? Damn…the emergency key! My husband set the baby carrier and son on the floor and followed me to get a closer look. “What’s this?” I asked.
“See, my mother brought you gifts,” my husband informed me trying to sound cheery.
I stared suspiciously at the large ceramic blue baby booty noting the gaping hole in the center. “I don’t get it? Is it a sculpture? Modern art?”
“Someone from my mother’s office sent her flowers in it and she, er, uh, sort of kept the flowers and gave you the empty boot,” he explained trying (but failing miserably) to sound encouraging.
O.K, O.K. Breath, breath, I tell myself. This woman sends gifts to everyone. If you broke a nail she’d probably send you a get well card and a new nail. But for me? I give birth to her only grandson and after I leave the hospital she sneaks into my house when she knows I won’t be there and drops off some recycled oversized baby booty that wouldn’t fit the Jolly Green Giant’s infant offspring. Did I mention she kept the flowers? “What am I supposed to do with it?” I ask.
“Er, fill it with flowers? That’s what she told me to tell you. She says you should use it as a planter.”
“Her gift to me is me giving myself the flowers she should have?” And there you have it. This was all a ploy to get me to plant. The woman was obsessed with me planting. I killed a cactus that only needed to be watered every six months, how much less of a green thumb could a person have? She knows this but an obsession is an obsession I suppose. She wants me to grow plants so I have to grow plants.
That’s when I noticed my husband trying to block something else on the table. “O.K. what are you hiding?” There it was, a potted Marigold. “She wants me to transfer that to the empty flowerbed in the front of our house, right?” She hated that empty flowerbed and this was her chance. I suppose she figured that I’d have no problem fitting it in between feedings, diapering, laundries, oh and getting my strength back in my weak and wobbly legs after months of being confined to bed.
Let it go. I was too tired anyway and Josh was sleeping. Time for a good night’s sleep in my own bed and without tissues stuffed into the corners of my mouth. Ah, heaven. And despite our frequent differences of opinion this time my husband was completely on-board.
Time for Josh to try out his new bed. And just as we about to carefully place him on his new cotton cartoon sheets and cover him with his new cartoon comforter and turn on his new Disney Mickey/Mini nightlight, the phone rang. It was her. Apparently, she couldn’t wait another second to hold her first grandbaby. No matter that we were both exhausted she had to come over right then, right now. But she promised to only stay a few minutes.
Hours later it was once again just us three and we could finally rest.
“See, my mother brought you gifts,” my husband informed me trying to sound cheery.
I stared suspiciously at the large ceramic blue baby booty noting the gaping hole in the center. “I don’t get it? Is it a sculpture? Modern art?”
“Someone from my mother’s office sent her flowers in it and she, er, uh, sort of kept the flowers and gave you the empty boot,” he explained trying (but failing miserably) to sound encouraging.
O.K, O.K. Breath, breath, I tell myself. This woman sends gifts to everyone. If you broke a nail she’d probably send you a get well card and a new nail. But for me? I give birth to her only grandson and after I leave the hospital she sneaks into my house when she knows I won’t be there and drops off some recycled oversized baby booty that wouldn’t fit the Jolly Green Giant’s infant offspring. Did I mention she kept the flowers? “What am I supposed to do with it?” I ask.
“Er, fill it with flowers? That’s what she told me to tell you. She says you should use it as a planter.”
“Her gift to me is me giving myself the flowers she should have?” And there you have it. This was all a ploy to get me to plant. The woman was obsessed with me planting. I killed a cactus that only needed to be watered every six months, how much less of a green thumb could a person have? She knows this but an obsession is an obsession I suppose. She wants me to grow plants so I have to grow plants.
That’s when I noticed my husband trying to block something else on the table. “O.K. what are you hiding?” There it was, a potted Marigold. “She wants me to transfer that to the empty flowerbed in the front of our house, right?” She hated that empty flowerbed and this was her chance. I suppose she figured that I’d have no problem fitting it in between feedings, diapering, laundries, oh and getting my strength back in my weak and wobbly legs after months of being confined to bed.
Let it go. I was too tired anyway and Josh was sleeping. Time for a good night’s sleep in my own bed and without tissues stuffed into the corners of my mouth. Ah, heaven. And despite our frequent differences of opinion this time my husband was completely on-board.
Time for Josh to try out his new bed. And just as we about to carefully place him on his new cotton cartoon sheets and cover him with his new cartoon comforter and turn on his new Disney Mickey/Mini nightlight, the phone rang. It was her. Apparently, she couldn’t wait another second to hold her first grandbaby. No matter that we were both exhausted she had to come over right then, right now. But she promised to only stay a few minutes.
Hours later it was once again just us three and we could finally rest.
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