a day in the life of a [breastfeeding] [stay-at-home] mom

With an eight-month-old (as I suspect is the case with all the ages between newborn and 35), a mother has to work around their child’s routine. I had several errands to run but respectfully gave Jack a nap before we left. Everything was in my favor including Jack napping early and pooping before we left the house (only mothers of young children can appreciate how nice that is).

         Our first stop was to visit my sister-in-law (or otherwise “Auntie Alexis”) to see her yard sale. Business wasn’t quite booming at that time, but we did get to talk about weaning our little rascals and other points of conversation which are really only interesting to mothers who spend 65% of their day with a child attached to their body.

         After that, I went to the library. I really should know better, but I always think I will read several books in three weeks. Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny.

         The most exciting part of the day was meeting my Dad to go to an auction. Ned and I love going to auctions. There’s just something about standing (because we don’t actually own lawn chairs and never remember to bring them anyway) surrounded by people who are over 65 looking at someone else’s junk. Auctions are usually the result of someone passing and there’s always something intriguing about seeing the items that the individual used to sustain their life: A bed, a lawn mower, an antique crock, a matching set of ceramic owls.

         This would be Jack’s fourth auction (our poor boy will grow up thinking it’s a normal pastime for children who aren’t Amish). Although he won’t remember this auction when he’s older, it’s my most memorable to date.

         It was about 90 degrees outside so I had Jack stripped down to a onesie and a diaper and hoped that he wouldn’t become dehydrated while I bid on extension cords and old U.S.Army jackets. The real prize was a lawn-cart which Ned had spotted online one lonely day at his coal covered cubicle. I really wanted to get that lawn cart for him. I kind of imagined rolling it into the yard for him and seeing him beam with boy-like joy. The cart would be glowing like a pirate’s box of treasure and Ned would be inclined to love me until the day we both die.

         My Dad looked at me and said: “You’re going to want to get under the tent, there’s a storm coming.”

         There really wasn’t room under the tent because my Dad and I didn’t get there early enough and plus I had Jack in a giant stroller. I decided to get Jack out and hold him as the sky began to darken and the beautiful maple trees that lined the property began to sway. Fortunately, they were also auctioning off the real estate so when I heard the thunder begin to roll, I had a place to escape with my baby.

         Jack and I stood in the kitchen with the woman in charge of handing out your number. The rain began falling and people came in the house to cash out. One couple came in and the man said, “This is where I used to have pancakes when I was a child.”

         The woman behind the table told me that the couple that lived in the house used to take in foster children. They were also somehow involved in the military.

         By the time the hail came, there were quite a few people gathered in that little kitchen and scattered in the little house. My Dad was still valiantly standing under the tent, partially because there weren’t a lot of other options for him. I kicked myself for not bringing in my purse and putting the stroller in a safe place.

I held Jack and wondered if we would be stuck in that house all night. I imagined the whole group of people in the basement waiting out a tornado and getting to know each other more intimately than we ever intended. I also thought guiltily of my dog that was outside in the rain. Thankfully, I had been able to feed and change Jack before all these people came inside.

And then…I felt Jack’s tummy tighten.

         Oh no.

         It tightened again.

         Oh no, I thought, he only ate pears last night.

         And then I felt a little rumble.

         I waited too long to check (like thirty seconds or so). I think maybe I was in denial. But then I looked – and by golly, it was everywhere. There was even poop on the carpeted kitchen floor. I tried to clean it up as discreetly as possible and then I wrapped Jack in my shirt and headed to the bathroom.

         One person we passed said, “Uh-oh.”

         Thankfully I had an undershirt on, so I stripped off my first shirt and put it on the bathroom floor to keep any more orange goo from escaping in this dead stranger’s house. Yes, I placed my baby on a dirty bathroom floor. I didn’t have a lot of options -- it was still pouring outside. Jack giggled and giggled. Oh what fun.

         After cleaning him up and wrapping up the evidence, I went back out to see if there was any chance of leaving. It was still pouring and Jack started to fuss so I decided to hide in the living room and feed Jack again. Once we got settled in and Jack was happily eating – that little house lost electricity. Perfect.

         Shortly after that my Dad came in to check on us. I couldn’t really convey my embarrassment at the whole situation, but I think he understood. We soon left because the rain let up and the auction was postponed. The highlight was Jack falling asleep on my shoulder – something that hasn’t happened for months. 

         We didn’t end up getting that lawn cart, but I’m sort of banking on Ned loving me until I die (and beyond) anyway. And, now I’m wondering what kind of adventure the next auction will be. My Mom always says it isn’t the days that go off without a hitch that we remember and talk about. It’s the ones where everything goes unexpectedly that are the true adventures.

         

And what's romance? Usually, a nice little tale where you have everything as you like it, where rain never wets your jacket and gnats never bite your nose and it's always daisy-time. - D.H. Lawrence

        I intended on kissing my first boyfriend in the rain. But since I was waiting for that perfect magical moment, and because it never seemed to precipitate when I felt ready, I didn’t kiss anyone when I was 17 (or any of the years preceding it).

         When I was 21 I met a boy who had about one attribute that I was looking for in a man (curly hair). I kissed that boy in the rain and felt nothing – only excitement that it was raining and therefore seemed like fate. I secretly wondered if maybe I just didn’t like boys, since kissing was such a farce. This was quite the disappointment for having waited an entire lifetime.

         It would be embarrassing to chronicle every boy that caught my attention. My scope was huge and while I prided myself on waiting for a “great” guy, I was distracted by quite a few specimens that were left wanting.

         My brothers used to tease me and say that I was going to college for my MRS degree. I did want to get married and have children and stay home and raise babies (and of course write novels). But, by my junior year of college I had given up all hope of meeting someone that I could spend my life with. I decided that God didn’t want me to have a family, so I created extravagant fantasies of how I would spend my life. Some of them tempt me now, they were so courageous and exciting and spotlighted me being endlessly selfless (I really give myself a lot of credit). These dreams always included places like Africa (to help people) and Australia (because that would be so cool). And though I would never find love, I would probably go on adventures with pirates and cowboys and ninjas and other timeless icons. I would write novels about my adventures and I would be internationally acclaimed (I wasn’t kidding when I said I think highly of myself). And every day I would be like Robin Williams, seizing the day and capturing the wind and teaching unsuspecting students poetry… or something like that.

         Sometimes your basic love story really is unexpected. Although I created every reason for things not to work out (seeking love in all the wrong places, anticipating the coming of said love so intensely that I idolized it, crushing on every random stranger who seemed to possess all the characteristics I so badly desired in a glance), God really did have someone intended for me. So, when I was a young girl and my Mom said, “I wonder where your future husband is right now?” it turns out he was growing up in Shelocta, Pennsylvania (who knew?). And God in his wisdom did not help foster feelings of affection until the timing was right, even though we knew one another since we were in kindergarten.

         Now, also, God has blessed me with my very own baby. His name is Jack and he is so cool. I’m hoping that the three of us can go on many adventures including pirates and Luke Skywalker and Daniel Boone, and whatever else is hip these days.

         Oh, and in case you were wondering, the kiss was well worth waiting for.

Science does not know its debt to imagination. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

There is this theory that I find compelling, probably because I find it to be equally offensive. It is the idea that while the Scientist has free reign to let their imagination explore the Universe and discover the function and depth of every facet, the Christian – or otherwise man of faith – is limited, finite and unable to consider life beyond that which their very controlled and very closed-minded religion dictates.

This theory stems from the idea that people of faith have a religious answer for every question, and if they don’t, then they don’t really care what the answer is.

The image that comes to my mind is something like this:

The Scientist is to the Christian like the children from Narnia are to the preacher from Pollyanna. (Stay with me).

As a Scientist – not dictated by answers already bound in Scripture – they are able to perceive the world with child-like wonder. Everything in the Universe is uncharted and beautiful – untouched and virginal. When Lucy crossed through that wardrobe and in to a fresh snowy world, so it is when an astronomer peers through a telescope and discovers distant galaxies.

The Christian, however, is a nay-sayer. The Christian hates imagination and anything apart from the concept that is: If you’re perfect you can go to Heaven, but if you drink or have sex, you’re going straight to Hell. The Christian is quintessentially any extremely pious or severe person that is ever depicted in cinema or television, for instance: the priest from Chocolat, the aforementioned preacher from Pollyanna, or Angela from The Office.

What I find particularly saddening about this is that faith is exactly the opposite of the deflated, stagnate and unimaginative reputation that it currently carries. Yes, it is true that Christians can be close-minded, some more than others, but faith is and will forever be more enlightening than anything that we can perceive solely through our senses. Christians accept certain truths – for instance that Christ died on the cross for our sins – but it is no different than people accepting that there is gravity or that sharks exist. I may not ever see Paris or Rome, and I could argue consequently that they don’t exist, but that’s asinine and doesn’t change the fact that they do. A Scientist builds on established theories and a Christian acts on established principles. That does not mean that a Christian has no scope for imagination or creativity.

As a Christian I look out at a starry sky and I marvel. Yes, I know that God created everything – and at the end of every experiment or exploration, God is the key component – the One who set everything in motion. But how does that make it any less remarkable or interesting to discover new things? I know that God exists, but that doesn’t mean I have no interest in tuning in to the Discovery Channel and watching Planet Earth. Have you ever SEEN Planet Earth? That stuff is freakin’ amazing. I am totally in awe of what scientists are able to discover and figure out. I think it is so unbelievably humbling that there are galaxies upon galaxies upon galaxies and that we are a tiny little speck in that. I am frightened as well as fascinated by the creatures that are showcased in River Monsters. The human body is marvelous and it is positively incredible that people have been able to determine how every microscopic part functions. There does not need to be a battleground set between Science and Faith. Science is simply an observation of the things that were already created, and faith gives us hope and knowledge of the things that we cannot currently see.