2 milestones: 3 weeks for grace and 40 years for mom & dad

3 weeks ago today the world was graced with Grace's presence and 40 years ago today made it all possible. Well, in theory. They really didn't have to get married in order for Grace to be possible. But they did. Because that's the right way to do things. (Got it, Gracie?) I am actually really glad my parents got married. Here are a few reasons why:

I am glad my parents got married because...

...it was my mom's wedding-day hairstyle that inspired the do for my senior prom. Oh wait, maybe that was her prom-day hairstyle? It doesn't matter. She shared both days with my dad.

...the photographer that shot my and Jeff's wedding was the same one that captured my parents' wedding day 38 years earlier. That fact made it a little more okay that he was a kook.

...they have an anniversary each year that alerts the world to my upcoming birthday three days later.

...it would be weird if my parents were just "dating." However, since they bought their boat (which I affectionately refer to as "The Titanic") dating seems to be something they do much more of. (So what if their dates consist of a bottle of Yellow Tail and clams in the boat's toaster oven? These provisions build their strength in the event that they need to ward off a barge that may jump into their path on a summer evening cruise).

...in addition to the previous point, 2 words--TEAM WORK!

...at least my mom has a platform from which to dole her unsolicited advice on marriage.

...and finally, 40 years is a heck of a long time to be married, and they inspire me and Jeff with hope that our marriage will be as long and as fruitful!

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad. We love you!!

in the name of all things tentative.

I've always been a planner, a list-maker, a slightly OCD woman incapable of "winging it." Living in the "now" has never been my strong suit. I love the story my mom tells about me when I was around five years old. We were driving in the car one day when I suddenly began to cry (As a mom to a three-week-old, I'm sure this probably happened on more than one occasion). When my mom asked me why I was crying, I sobbed, "Someday I'm going to have to drive a car, but I don't know how!" That was me. Five years old, consumed with worry about how I would handle the challenges of the road eleven years later. (I ended up doing fine, by the way. I successfully learned to drive at sixteen, and other than the intermittent speeding tickets and some tailgating issues that drive Jeff nuts, I'm able to get us from point A to point B with very little anxiety or difficulty).

The thing about my planning (read: incessant worrying) is that it is only on very few occasions that things work out the way that I intend. This paradox has become especially apparent in the past three weeks during my initiation into motherhood. I had many plans that I fully intended to follow to a T.

First of all, childbirth was going to be "natural." I practiced by breathing at every stoplight as my birthing class instructor suggested and talked with Jeff about what his role as "coach" would entail. As it turns out, "coach" is a contrived role that gives dads a purpose, highly overrated, and completely unnecessary. When it came down to it, I didn't want a coach at all. Sure, I wanted Grace's dad there to witness the miracle of her birth (which it was since I "quit" childbirth about five times during my three-hours in hell), but I didn't want him talking to me, touching me, or motivating (read: inciting) me with his words of encouragement. I wanted drugs. Lots of drugs. My fear of needles dissipated in a longing for numbness and I received my saddle block just in time to push Grace out and appreciate my "coach" for at least 30 minutes of the birthing process. So much for a "natural" childbirth. I remember that anesthesiologist in my nightly prayers.

Second, I was bound and determined to breastfeed--again, in the name of all things "natural." Breastfeeding is known to be "the best thing" for babies, convenient, cheap, and one of the best ways to get your pre-pregnancy body back. Oh, and did I mention that breastfeeding means my baby wanted to eat every hour of the day and night? That there is pain and even blood involved? That I would dread feeding time, cry each time Grace began rooting for my boob, and that said boobs would grow to astronomical proportions? This was all conveniently omitted from the beauty of breastfeeding text I'd been indoctrinated by. Another plan out the window. The money that we'll earn from my selling my nursing bras and breast pump on eBay will get us about a month's worth of Similac Advance. Grace and I say a special prayer for Mr. Similac before bed each night.

And finally, I would never, under any circumstances, give Grace a pacifier. In the words of my brother, "It's like giving a hungry child an empty spoon to suck on." So we'd find other ways to "pacify" our baby. I would never want to be the parent of one of those four-year-olds walking around with their "binky" in their mouths, pulling it out to ask for a cookie, and shoving it back in. I am convinced that it can hinder speech development (my own non-scientifically based hunch) and that it paves the way for using toothpicks in public, chomping obnoxiously on gum, and other unsavory habits that I've always frowned upon. So I'd never give Grace a pacifier. Until the night Jeff was getting her bottle ready at 2:00 am and she would not stop screaming (Singing over and over, "Your bottle's almost ready!" evades her at this point as a soothing mechanism). And that night when she was burped, fed, changed, rocked, sung to, and she still contiunued to cry. It's amazing what a pacifier can do. So I'll never give Grace a pacifier...unless I'm at my wits end. Then we say a special prayer for Mr. Binky.

So, in a nutshell, one of the things I've learned during the past three weeks is that plans are always tentative and worrying about the inevitable--whether it be driving a car, a child's impeding birth, feeding time, or what to do the next time she cries--is useless. With Grace, the only time that exists is right now.

And that's a good thing.

I'd hate to miss a second while I perseverate on what's to come.

growing up.

I've been having contractions for nearly 24 hours now, and all the signs of an impending labor and childbirth are present. It's an exciting time, indeed, as my fear of childbirth slowly morphs into an incredible urge to get this show on the road. What were the chances that I would begin labor (if this is indeed labor--I'm pretty sure it is the beginning) on the day of Jeff's best friend's wedding? When Bryan asked Jeff to be his best man I believe my exact words were, "Don't worry--what are the chances that I'll go into labor on that particular day?" Lo and behold...

Jeff just left for pre-wedding preparations. Tuxedo Junction forgot to include his tux pants so that caused some unneeded commotion this morning. He felt so guilty leaving. All morning he kept his stopwatch in his hand (he even brought it with him when he went into the bathroom to shower) so that he could fulfill his primary duty as "coach." Before he left, we sat snuggling on the couch watching CNN. We laughed about China's efforts to "go green" during the Olympics. (Who knew China was so ecologically atuned?!)

At that moment it occurred to me that it could possibly be the last moment Jeff and I would enjoy as a family of two. While I am looking forward to celebrating the birth of our little Grace, I also feel a sense of mourning for the loss of our solitude; our weekend mornings of sleeping in, watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and sharing a breakfast of waffles and sausage in front of the TV; our midday naps and long evening walks to Yummies. I do realize we will still be able to do these things, but they'll evolve around Gracie's feeding and sleep schedules instead of our own selfish whims.

I once decalared ever-so-pedantically to my sister that a sign of adulthood is one's ability (and willingness) to consider how our life's decisions impact others in addition to ourselves. It's something that's definitely easier preached than practiced. Today Jeff and I live for our marriage and our friendships (with each other and with others) as we celebrate Bryan and Jill's marriage hoping against hope that Grace's arrival will delay even just long enough to get us through the ceremony.

Tomorrow, we will likely be living for our family.