Don't Tell Our Daughter!

As I was lying down gazing at my now completely unavoidable belly the other day, I noted how some of the scars that I have obtained over the years have increased greatly. There is the one above my belly button from when my junior year soccer teammates and I thought it would be a brilliant idea to pierce our own belly buttons.... with safety pins. It's a wonder that didn't turn out so well. Then there is the scar on my side that could be mistaken for a birthmark but truth be told it is from a fence that got in the way after a cow-tipping attempt at my friend's family farm (yes, small town children really do go cow-tipping). I feel thankful that those are the only two scars that are emphasized at the moment but if I were to inventory my whole self there are a number of battle wounds from the less impressive moments of my childhood (I can't even count the number of burn scars from "testing" out whether something was indeed too hot) and even scars from adulthood (when was I going to learn that running with two dogs with minds of their own was certainly going to end up with two perfectly good knees now marred with scars?).

As I told Kevin the oh-so-impressive belly button piercing story a rampant thought entered my mind, "Oh no, DO NOT tell our daughter that I did this!" Kev laughed and threw out the classic line that maybe she could learn from our mistakes but I was struck with the horrifying thought that yes, maybe she could learn from my mistakes but do I really want her to? Do I really want her to her to know all of the tricks and tips of being a less than perfect child? Should I actually share the classic lessons: How to Sneak out of your Bedroom Window 101 or Best Ways to Catch Air While Driving Your Father's Truck? The harsh reality is that there are probably going to be much more serious lessons that our child will be faced with over the years. I don't like the look of the teenagers that trounce through our neighborhood on the way to school one bit and if I could count the number of times I have accidentally ended up on an inappropriate website while innocently looking for something else.... well let's just say there is some sick people out there.

I guess that this is an early reminder that there is a lot that we will face in terms of the great learning curve of life. I just hope for all of our sakes that we survive it intact and I think we will just cross the "to tell or not to tell" bridge as it comes. As least she will be born innocent just like the rest of us and we anxiously await that moment!

The Art of the Waddle and "What would Harper do?"

I've seen it before; the legs slightly bowed, back arched, shoulders back. I wondered if this was some universal way of signaling, "I am uncomfortable" or possibly even an exaggeration meant to bring on the sympathy of those who took the only available seat or the last cookie. Wonder no longer, this is apparently the posture that all of us pregnant ladies are inflicted with at a certain point in time. This new look is not something I have taken lightly. Afterall, I am the girl that critiques every jogger's running form as if I am somehow superior or don't look just as nutty when I am out doing my own version of running (which was really always more of a shuffle than a run). Yet, here I am today, humbled, and with a waddle that matches the best of them. I tell myself that anyone would do the same with 4 pounds of human hanging off the front of them not including all of the other baby-making body parts that have expanded of late. Still, I feel wholly self-conscious as I make my way past the texting and skate-boarding young college students on my way to meetings. It doesn't help that I am also noting the looks of sympathy on my morning walks, at the grocery store, etc and I am not sure that I like that gaze that says "poor you, look what you've done to yourself." Yet once again I must remind myself that this is all for the very best of causes and if waddling is what I have to do, waddle I will!

As the day of Harper's arrival grows ever more near, not only is my body changing but my mind as well. Although she's yet to make an impact on this world, I have somehow awarded my daughter with an air of authority (maybe even superiority) normally reserved for world leaders, and other movers and shakers. I quite often find myself in situations where I literally think, "What would Harper do?" A long wait at the DMV?, a disappointment at work?, the rising cost of our health insurance? In all of these instances, I think of her and I think, you know what, Harper would just shrug this off and move on.

Is this strange, aren't I supposed to be the mentor in this relationship? My only explanation is that I have already bequeathed Harper with the absolute best features of her Father and I. This means she will have infinite patience (that one comes from Kevin if you can't guess), be insanely driven (me), and have an overall sunny outlook that outshines both of her parents. With these features, she will surely be the example and me the student. I know it's a lot to ask of a little zero year-old but somehow I think she can handle it and somehow it makes me feel a whole lot better about life's frustrations.