Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, February 16, 1995 TAG: 9502170003
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: BETH MACY
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
It wasn't till pancake No. 4 that Max discovered the wonders of maple syrup. His eyes widened with that you've-been-holding-out-on-me look, and he immediately stuffed two more in his mouth.
As we pay her for the meal, Rosa advises us that a child spoiled with love is the luckiest child of all. ``I can tell you two are spoiling him just right.''
They are the kindest words I have ever heard.
2. In his boxer shorts and flannel pajama top, Daddy carries Max down the stairs to witness his first Christmas-morning bonanza while I stand at the bottom, the camera in focus.
Within seconds I re-learn the joy of Christmas as Max catches the first glimpse of his Radio Flyer Wagon. We wheel him around the living room in it, bumping into walls as we bungle the tight turn into the dining room.
Padding the wagon with a pillow and blankets, we move the parade outside. In his Elmer Fudd hat and purple coat, Max clutches the wagon sides and grins in a princelike fashion, revealing four nubby teeth.
3. ``LOOK AT THAT, WOULD YOU?'' my 80-year-old neighbor lady is screaming. ``SHHHHH! DON'T SAY A WORD!!''
One ... two ... three ... four ... for five seconds he stands up on her living-room carpet, not aware that he's doing anything special, oblivious even to Edna's screams.
Fingering the cap from a tube of Edna's Avon lotion, Max takes that first momentous step of standing alone, unassisted. Then, as quickly as he had let go of me to stand, he grabs my leg and plunks back down on the floor.
``Did you see that?!'' Edna squeals. ``He's gonna be walking before you know it.'' We celebrate the moment, clapping our hands and beaming at his feat.
He is completely absorbed by the cap of the lotion tube, fingering it then chewing on it, throwing it down then picking it back up.
``BAAA!'' he says, reaching for Edna's bright orange ball.
4. A Halloween still life: We rake a pile of leaves in the front yard, put the pumpkin in front of it, then sit Max on the grass in his jack-o-lantern outfit, complete with a homemade paper hat that says ``BOO!''
We click off pictures - enough for each of the grandparents to bore each of their friends - then we commit our 87th Dumb Parent Maneuver of the Year.
We lay him in the middle of the leaf pile, where he kicks and screams, mad as hell, while we snap one last picture.
His face looks eerie in the processed photo - eyes closed, skin bluish-gray. It brings to mind the worst possible scenario. I tear the picture up.
5. He tells his first joke without even realizing it. In front of a cheap plastic mirror, he places a red toy ring on top of his head and then laughs so hard at his mirror image, the ring falls off.
He repeats the joke over and over, giggling wildly.
6. I stand at the curb watching the car drive away till I can no longer see it. Daddy is taking my 6-month-old to full-time day care, where strangers will change his diaper, wipe his nose and sing songs to him that I don't even know.
I write a column about my guilt and angst, thinking maybe there are other moms who can relate. Two mothers I meet at day care say the story made them cry and thank me for writing it.
On a sheet of green construction paper, another mom scrawls a note in giant capital letters and then mails her unsigned tome:
``DEAR BETH,
``YOU IDIOT!''
7. I learn the definition of juggling: nursing a baby while writing in my journal, doing the dishes with a baby in the Snugli, mastering the "colic hold" while cooking dinner, carrying a car seat in one hand and a diaper bag in the other. I develop really strong biceps, along with a chronically stressed lower back.
I am so tired my eyelids ache.
1. He is just 36 hours old, and I cry as a nurse bombards me with hospital check-out information: the average number of poops per day, how to swab an umbilical cord, bathing strategies, the proper way to nurse. Afraid I won't remember it all, I break into a panic, then apologize for my tears. The nurse hugs me in her seen-it-all-before way, telling me I'll be fine.
I can't believe they're letting us go - with no test, no supervisor, no clue as to how we'll manage.
On the drive home, my husband doesn't top 25 mph, flinching at cars in the distance that now seem dangerously close. We wish for one of those blinking yellow lights on top of our car and regret all those "Baby on Board" jokes we told when we were young and carefree.
At home I walk the swaddled baby up the cracked sidewalk to the door - carrying him gently, the way I used to handle a loaf of half-risen bread.
I am not yet ready for the worry, the sleeplessness, the guilt, the aching lower back.
I am not yet ready to be this much in love.
by CNB