The Young Girl and the Sea

I took the kids to the beach the other day while we were staying at my parents' house. This was the first time Georgia had been there as a cognizant, communicative toddler. She seems to have a complicated relationship with the ocean. She wanted to be near it, but always held above it. The closest she would get would be to have me lean down so she could dip her fingers in while the rest of her clung, koala-style, to any part of my body she could touch. She was afraid of the water, but wouldn't retreat from it.

I had both kids by myself so for a while I was focused on watching Leo jump the waves on my right side while holding Georgia in my left arm. Then I heard her shouting and turned her way. I saw my girl bathed in sunshine, sparkly purple sunglasses sliding down a nose white with sunscreen, golden curls being tossed by the wind, and yelling at the ocean like an old lady on her porch telling kids to get off her lawn.

At the top of her lungs she shouted "GO! GO! GO AWAY," while making a shoo-ing motion with her hand.

At first I laughed and told her that, unlike any adults she has encountered in her life so far, the sea would not bow to her every command. Then the more I thought about it, the more I realized - YES, this who I want her to be. This is who I hope she grows into with poise and confidence; someone who encounters something that frightens them and doesn't run away. I've always wanted her to be strong and smart and brave, but this moment really crystalized the shape of those dreams I have for her. May she always be the girl who faces her fears; who stands up to bullies; who refuses to be cowed by a force that appears greater than she. May she grow into a woman who, when facing an intimidating challenge or meeting a formidable foe, squares her shoulders, narrows her eyes and tells it to back the hell up.

And, because she's my daughter, may she always wear flamboyant shades and a high SPF.

Love Is...

Love is many things. We've all heard that "love is patient, love is kind" or "love means never having to say you're sorry." If you Google "love is" you'll see poems, comic strips, scientific studies, books and of course, song lyrics.

I am lucky enough to have found the love of my life, and yesterday we celebrated five years of marriage. After five years with my soulmate, here's what I have decided love is:

Love is going out to a scrumptious dinner and reminiscing about where you've been, what you've done, how much you've learned and how your relationship has grown over the past five years. You laugh at beloved stories, you revel in the joy you've found in creating a beautiful family.

Then you walk home in the moonlight, enjoying the cool spring air on your cheeks juxtaposed with the warmth of your best friend's hand in yours. You get home and start getting ready for bed. You walk into the bathroom and your husband reaches out to you. You go in for a hug thinking how lucky you are to have found each other - to still feel such a strong connection after five years. Then you look down at his hand. And you realize that he was actually just trying to hand you a Gas-X strip.

Goodbye, Aunt Fran

My Aunt Fran was the first person I ever heard use the F word. But she was also the first person to take my hand and guide me up to meet a character in Disney World. She was the aunt who bought a three year old a drum set. But she was also the one who piled four or five of her nieces and nephews in her car and took us for a weekend of fishing and pizza and movies and pillow fights. Only now as a parent do I realize that she was doing something even nicer for her sisters than for us kids, but still, we had the time of our lives.

It was from Aunt Fran that I learned what French manicures and the concept of reincarnation are. Why Pinot Noir is the best wine to drink to avoid a headache, and that every child will giggle when you creep your nails up their spine and say “spider up your baa-aack.” My mom has told me how she envied her older sister’s wardrobe and sense of style when they were growing up. I have a vivid memory of a Thanksgiving my family hosted, waiting on the front porch as Aunt Fran walked up the driveway (since of course I was so excited she had arrived that I couldn’t just stay in the house), and hearing her say “If I’d known it was going to rain, I wouldn’t have worn suede.” And I looked at her beautiful brown suede heels that perfectly matched her dress and thought: “Okay, remember this. Suede is cool and special and you don’t get it wet. Add that to the file.”

I always felt that I had a special connection with Aunt Fran. She called me Alley-Cat. She always wrote on my birthday cards the previous year’s age with a little “plus one” next to it. Every year. Every card. But if I asked a lot of my cousins, I think they would say they felt that special connection too. As children, you got the sense that she really saw you - that you were a full, real person in her eyes. You could tell that she wasn’t going to behave differently toward you or in front of you because you were a child – hence that first F-bomb and the many that followed. I think to many of those who knew her, no matter what your relationship was to Fran, that was what drew you to her and what made her special. She was who she was, she told you what she thought and she made no apologies for it. She was funny, she was curious, she loved to learn new things, she never shied away from an argument, and she loved to laugh.

Everyone who knew her would agree that Fran was taken from us too soon. It’s not fair and it doesn’t make sense. But I hope all of us who love her will honor her life by taking a page out of her book – to be unapologetic about who you are, to never stop learning, never stop laughing, and to just say “fuck” every once in a while when it feels right.

Thoughts for Mom

Earlier today, I was preparing some food for Leo to eat throughout the week.  I was painstakingly cutting sweet potatoes into petite cubes the perfect size for his little mouth and beginner's pincer grasp.  As I did this I thought about how important it is to me to take good care of him and do everything I can to give him what he needs. And though he might take all that for granted right now, seeing his face light up when he sees me is all the thanks I need.  Then I thought about how one day there is a good chance that, for some period of time at least, he won't even look up when I walk into the room - will begrudge me even asking how his day was.

 There may come a day when he won't care how much time I took removing every blemish from the organic, locally-grown sweet potato before cooking it to the perfect consistency for his two and a half teeth to manage - he'll just want me to leave him alone. It won't matter that I happily got soaked every night letting him splash in the tub - he'll just want some privacy. He won't remember that I got him new toys before vacation so he would have something new to play with on a long drive - he'll want to text his friends in the car, not talk to me.

If I get it right then I can hope this will be a short phase. Or if I'm really lucky, it will happen as a few separate events rather than a whole stage of life.  But thinking about how I fold his tiny undershirts just so, how I'll gladly rock him in my arms at 3am for as long as he needs if he's having a tough night, how I'll stop whatever I'm doing and just soak it in if he rests his head on my shoulder left me with some thoughts for my own mother. Mom, for the whole of the past 31 years: thank you, I'm sorry, I love you, I get it.

A Toast to Love

Yesterday I saw my little sister get married.  It was a day we had all anticipated for quite a while - probably since when she dressed up as a bride for Halloween multiple years in a row between the ages of four and seven.  I had the honor of being the matron of...honor and I made a toast to Jackie and Andrew at their reception.  I know that everything goes by in a blur on your wedding day so I wanted to record the words for them here and to share with everyone how much I love these two:

A few years ago, before either of us was engaged, Jackie and I were talking about how we knew that we were with the people we wanted to marry, even though Jackie and Andrew had been together much longer than John and I had.  I told her, you know only one of us gets to be the other's maid of honor.  Whoever gets married first has to be matron.  She replied, Oh ew, ok, you can go first then.

The sisters Greco performing "Shoop" at the Greco-Gogarty wedding

 I've never minded being the older, more matronly sister though.  When Jackie was a baby, we shared a room and every night, I would stay awake until I knew she was asleep, then I would get up and take everything out of her crib - toys, blanket, everything.  I didn't do this to be mean (although I did plenty of other stuff to be mean), I did it because I wanted to make sure nothing happened to her in her sleep - I wasn't going to let anything cover her airways or get wrapped around her neck - side note, I was four.

But I know our brother Matt felt the same way about our baby sister - we've told a story for years about how our grandfather yelled at Jackie once, totally justifiably of course, and she was crying and Grandpop told us to leave her alone because she was in trouble so Matt snuck her back behind the shed in our back yard to give her a hug. Of course we also had our sibling squabbles, like when Jackie asked my mom why they even had me, and when Jackie and I would chase Matt through the house yelling words like breast and maxi pad until he'd lock himself in his room.

Through all those years, she was always our little Wacky Jackie and she was always ours to watch out for.  Now she's all grown up and even though she doesn't do things  like hiding behind an e-z chair eating a stick of butter like it's a banana, anymore I know we all feel better knowing she still has someone taking care of her.  The fact that she has someone like Andrew just makes her exponentially luckier.  







I remember when Jackie first introduced me to Andrew.  I was visiting her at West Chester for Homecoming weekend and as we got ready to go out she told me that she had a secret crush on one of the guys who lived in the house we were going to.  I asked how I'd know which one he was.  She told me, he's tall, he looks like Vince Vaughn and he always wears a backpack.  His name is Andrew. 

That was about seven years ago, and Andrew now feels so much like a brother that it's almost kind of weird that he's marrying my sister. Almost, but they are too perfect for each other to be anything other than inspiring.  

Probably our best "Shoop" performance yet at the Greco-Short wedding

Jackie told me not long after they started dating that it wasn't until then that she really understood what it meant to be in love, that nothing short of forever would be enough time to be together.  Well, forever starts today and I'm sure you're all as honored as I am to be a part of it.  Let's all raise a glass to Jackie and Andrew and toast to a beautiful love story.

Stash

John and I are both, I think, pretty good communicators.  There are of course occasional misunderstandings, but luckily for us, they are usually along the lines of this recent conversation:

John: Your boyfriend Eric Decker has a porn stash.

Ali: How in the world would you know that?!

John: He was on TV last night after the game.

Ali: He talked about it on TV??

John: No, I just saw it on his face.

Ali: Wait, you're talking about facial hair?  I thought you meant a secret collection of erotic DVDs.

21 Reasons My Baby Needs to Take a Break While Nursing

1) I said something

2) I cleared my throat

3) The phone rang

4) I tried to read an email on my phone

5) I stopped looking at him for a second

6) He caught me trying to close my eyes

7) His Dad walked into the room

8) His Dad said something

9) His Dad wouldn't say something when stared at

10) His Dad walked out of the room

11) His Dad made a noise in another room

12) The TV is on

13) He needed to make sure I'd still smile if he wiggled his head one more time

14) BURP

15) A big truck drove by outside

16) POOP

17) He needed to pet me a little to let me know I'm doing a good job

18) I tried to cut his nails

19) Ceiling fan still there?

20) Ceiling fan still there?

21) Ceiling fan still there?

Define "Just"

As a little treat to myself this weekend, I went to get a mani/pedi while little Leo slept.  I was sitting there in the massage chair with my feet soaking while the manicurist started on my hands.  I told her I needed my nails cut very short because they grow so fast.  After cutting down one hand of very long nails she asked “What kind of vitamins do you take?” 

“Prenatal,” I told her.

“Oh, you’re pregnant?” she asked.

I glanced down at my mid-section, and for a second I considered just telling her yes and calling it a day.  But I didn’t have enough to time to consider how I’d answer the next question of how far along.  I couldn’t decide in that split second just how pregnant I think I still look versus how pregnant I might look to other people.  So I went with the (mostly) true answer of, “No, I just had a baby.”

I don’t know how long I can claim that I “just” had a baby by way of explanation or excuse for my physical condition and occasional slovenly appearance, but I’m going to let it ride until someone calls me on it.

Of course the next question was how old my baby was.  Again, for just a second I considered saying “About a month,” thus avoiding any scrutiny of gut.  These women would never know.  They might even think I looked good for my situation.  Yet again though, my penchant for blurting out the truth in any situation, for better or worse won out and I told them that my son just turned three months.

Any conversation that followed was between the two nail technicians in a language I don’t speak so I can’t know if they judged me or not but next time someone asks, I hope to be ready with an appropriate lie.  I’m think I’ll just say “Centrum.”

Like A Glove

Although I have made an effort to eat healthfully during my pregnancy and to not go overboard on treats, I have enjoyed the license being pregnant has give me to indulge sometimes without shame or guilt.  I actually find that seeing a pregnant lady enjoying an ice cream cone or a cupcake brings a big smile to most people's faces - and it sure make me happy.  However, it doesn't feel quite as good when you sit down to tuck into some pizza and this is how you fit into the booth:

Ensconced

Only while pregnant would it be acceptable to receive, and then actually consider, a promotional email from a clothing company offering a BOGO on all velour items.

Deep Pre-Natal Thoughts

When people tell me I have "the pregnant glow," is it wrong to not tell them that it's actually just really good bronzer?

Bump It

I went to a pre-natal yoga class a little while ago, and one of the first things they do is have everyone go around and say how far along they are in their pregnancy.  As soon as I walked in I started trying to figure this out for myself. 

I concluded that I was easily the most pregnant person in the room and felt a sort of protective affection for these newbies, already planning how after class I'd answer their pregnancy questions in a manner that was authoritative without being patronizing.

I scanned the room again, making my guess about each one.  I was 16 weeks, so I was trying to compare their bellies to mine. 

The woman closest to me was very thin but had a noticeable bump so I thought she might be closest to me, maybe 15 or 16 weeks. 

Across the room was one who looked like she was still in the stage where she wouldn't have told anyone and co-workers would be wondering if she'd just gotten fat - I called it 11 weeks.

I had to full turn my head to look at the last woman in class because she was in a headstand against the wall.  Clearly an experienced yogi in great shape.  She looked quite the opposite of pregnant, I think her stomach curved in.  I concluded she'd either just found out the day before that she was pregnant or had come to the wrong class but decided to stick it out since she'd already fed the meter.

The class began and I went first, announcing my name and my 16 weeks along status with pride. 

After me was the one who was still in the "did she gain weight or is she pregnant?" stage.  "My name is Wendy and I'm 12 weeks," she announced.  Yes!  Pretty much nailed it.  I started thinking about how I'd tell her how great the second trimester is.

Next was the thin woman with the small bump who I'd guessed was in line with me.  "I'm Lisa and I am 22 weeks along."  Wamp wah, well good for her, maybe she could tell me a thing or two.

Finally, the fitness model came out of her inversion and looked up, "I'm Nicole and I'm 16 weeks."  I suddenly felt less proud of my little belly, but I hadn't been able to suck it in for weeks. 

I went through the class telling myself that everyone is different and that she probably wished she looked at least a little pregnant.  But I didn't stick around long enough at the end to see if there was any bump chat.  I rolled up my mat and towel and took my baby home.

Tiny Thief

There are so many old wives' tales that are supposed to predict or indicate whether you're having a boy or a girl.  One that I can remember hearing since I was a little kid was that girls "steal your beauty."

I guess that's supposed to mean that you get sicker and just generally more haggard looking if you're having a girl.  But then I think about one of the first conversations I had with my doctor after I found out I was pregnant.  It went something like this:


"Can I continue highlighting my hair?"

"Not for the first 20 weeks."

"Can I use anything to treat acne if I break out?"

"Nope."

"Can I get a spay tan?"

"I wouldn't recommend it, and it won't stick anyway because of the hormones."

"Can I use allergy medicine or eye drops when my eyes and nose get itchy, red and runny?"

"Nah."

"Can I take or use anything to treat a cold sore?"

"No."

Clearly it's no old wives' tale; girl or boy, my beauty was stolen from that day forward.

Name Game

John and I were brainstorming baby names the other night, primarily middle names, as we have ideas for first names.

"Why don't we look at BabyCenter?" I suggested.  "They have a whole directory of hundreds of names."

"Middle names?" he asked.

After we cleared it up that middle names are just names that you happen to put in the middle of a full name, we started looking. BabyCenter made some good points about things to consider, like whether a potential nickname could end up making an awkward combination with your last name, or unfortunate initials.

We actually plan to keep our name ideas to ourselves, especially since we aren't even finding out what we're having- but based on our last name, I can tell you what we will not be naming our child.

We definitely couldn't name a girl:

Grace Ann Gogarty
or  
Priscilla Irene Gogarty. 


William Ian Gogarty wouldn't really be nice, nor would Brett Ishmael Gogarty

And we absolutely could not name a son Frank Andrew Gogarty.

Everything else is pretty much up for grabs.

Headshot

I don't know if it's weird or normal that I look at these fuzzy, grainy, blurry ultrasound pictures and come away relatively certain that I've seen that my baby has a cute face. At least in profile, which is half the battle.

Sweet Child of Mine

Recently, a friend who had given up almost all sugar during her first pregnancy asked if I was going off of sweets for my own adventure in gestation. After I stopped laughing I told her that, while I'm making protein, fruits and vegetables the priorities in my diet and eating desserts sparingly, I do not plan to give them up all together. I'm of course concerned with having a healthy baby, but even more so, I worry that if I gave up all sweets I would end up harboring deep and tenacious resentment toward my child. The cupcakes stay.

Maternal Instinct

I'm now almost 16 weeks pregnant and still can't quite believe there is an actual baby growing in my belly. Since I haven't had any symptoms it took a while for me to really believe it. At this point though, I've seen the baby in two ultrasounds and can see that my belly is definitely growing. I think I'm finally starting to actually look pregnant but for a while it just seemed like my every-day gut was sticking out and I couldn't suck it in any more. Basically I looked more like I just didn't care anymore than that I was housing a growing fetus. During that period I started to develop a habit that I think every pregnant woman has, but that I didn't realize might not mean what I always thought it meant. I started constantly putting a hand on my belly- rubbing it, and resting my palm upon it in what might seem like a protective or loving manner. In reality I was mostly just concerned with making it obvious that I was pregnant and not just sloppily fat. I'm sure that once the ol' bump becomes more pronounced I'll continue this habit, but hopefully with a more appropriate motivation behind it.

Im-mani-ture

I don't get my nails done that often. Usually because at least two of them will chip within about 14 hours of leaving the salon. But my toes were looking pretty gnarly, my fingernails were too long and I'd gotten a coupon in the mail to a new nail salon right across the street for a $30 mani/pedi so I headed over today after work. When I sat down to get my nails done there was the standard back and forth about shape, length etc. The clipping, filing and cuticle cutting ensued, then when the time came to massage lotion into my hands the manicurist stopped, looked at my hands and then looked up at me and said "aww, like baby hands." I'm getting a sense of deja vu as I write this because, not only has this happened several times in my (adult) life, but I'm pretty sure it's happened often enough that I've written about it before. Really. I'd estimate that since the age of 18 I've gotten manicures from approximately 23 different people and that of those 23, six have said, literally those exact same words, "like baby hands." If you're wondering, that's 26%.

This is a picture of a real baby's hand and, looking at it, I guess maybe I can kind of see what they're talking about, but you'll have to look in person to see if you agree. I tried to take a picture of my own hand so I could post it here and say "is it really that pudgy, dimpled and small, with an apparent lack of dexterity?" But try taking a photo of your own hand with your phone that doesn't make you look like a man-handed hobbit. I dare you.

The Stinky Kid

I'm starting to develop a complex. First of all, for whatever reason (family history of hot feet may have something to do with it) my shoes have been stinking up my closet. I've tried a few things like putting dryer sheets and Gold Bond powder in my shoes; they helped a little but didn't totally eliminate the situation. So on a recent shopping trip, John picked up a little battery powered device that is supposed to detect odor and spray a shot a flowery scent whenever it senses a wave of bad smells. The thing is, I've noticed that over the past two weeks, the thing has sprayed several times while I've been getting clothes in the closet. The problems with this are two-fold, one, it scares the crap out of me every time because it makes a noise before the spray shoots out. More disturbing is that either it's actually motion detecting rather than odor detecting, or I'm oozing stench and setting this thing off every time I come within two feet of it.

A Debate for the Ages

Some people argue about politics, some about religion. Some people spend hours discussing philosophy. I, however, have spent many an hour debating which is the correct spelling and pronunciation of the sorbet-like dessert that comes a flavor called "Rainbow."

 It must be a significant argument though, since a major retail chain can't even get a consensus between the version on the aisle sign and the version on their store brand container...