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Maybe it’s because I’ve lost most of my IQ since being pregnant, but I’ve had my moments that for the life of me, I can’t remember my name.  It really hasn’t mattered except when I need to fill out paper work.  I’m the administrator in the family.

Maybe it’s because for the last three months, I’ve been talking about myself in the third person.  “Momma’s going to change your diaper.  Momma’s gonna give you a bath, Momma’s about to have a nervous break down, etc”.

Maybe it’s because my husband refers to me now as “Your mother”. 

Maybe it’s because everyone else refers to me as “Erin’s Mom”

My husband, what’s his name, says not to fight it.  Fighting it just makes it worse.  He has promised to put me in a nice home.  Like I’ll know the difference.  Oh, that’s right.  His name is Daddy.

There is a precedent for this in my family.  My Mother (Her name I remember.  It’s Mom.) told me a story about how on the first day of school, the teacher asked for her Mother’s name (I know that name, too.) and my Mother replied, “Momma” (Wrong!  It’s Grandma!).

So, I know that my name could either be, Momma, Your Mother or Erin’s Mother.  It seems pretty interchangeable, since I’ll answer to any of those.

Telemarketers don’t like it when I answer the phone with a very businesslike, “This is Momma”.  The conversation goes something like this:

“This is Momma.”

“Is the lady of the house home?”

“Momma’s home.”

“May I speak with her?”

“Momma doesn’t want to talk right now.”

“I’ll call another time, then.”

“Momma’s getting caller ID, so good luck.”

Anyway, if you see me on the rare occasion that I’m out and about, if I don’t immediately respond to the name that you know me by, try “Yo Momma!”.  Just don’t be surprised to see thirty other women respond.

Thanks to my daughter, I rediscovered the joy of dancing.  I realized that I’d lost touch with how to play.  When and why did this happen?  It seems sad that I’ve had to look on-line for things to do that might entertain her.  It doesn’t seem like that should be hard, but I come up blank.  Then I remembered a co-worker saying that the first time she really felt like a mother, and not just a provider, was when she danced with her baby daughter.  I thought I’d give it a try.  When I suggested it to my daughter, she burbled an enthusiastic “blaaarrbbthpppth” followed by a big, drooly grin.  So, when it’s time to wind down for a nap, I click on my Itunes.  I lift her up so that she can rest her chin on my shoulder.  Snuggled cheek to cheek, we dance.  She is fourteen pounds of sweetness and her little sighs as she drowses to sleep are so peaceful.

For me, this is an excellent time to count my blessings.  She is so good for me.  I get tickled by how she lights up, smiles and giggles at nothing.  I can’t figure out what’s so funny about our ceiling, but it doesn’t matter.  I could watch her all day and find myself responding to her antics with my own rusty giggles.  With her help, I am going to learn how to play again.  

I look forward to seeing the world through my daughter’s eyes.  I can’t wait to cast aside my jadedness and show her all of the wonderful things that she has to discover.  Only three months old, and she has already helped me discover things as well.  Such as what joy there is to be found in something as simple as dancing in the kitchen.  Sometimes, I try to imagine how the dance will change as she grows.  When she’s too heavy to hold in my arms, she can stand on my feet.  But after that, when she can dance on her own, will she still want to dance with me?  I hope so.  But for now, with Chris Isaak in the background, we snuggle and sway, she with her eyes trustingly closed in slumber and me with a silly sloppy smile on my face.

larger view

Before we brought the baby home from the hospital, we were asked how we would introduce our dog, a female white German shepherd, to the baby.  My husband wasn’t worried, but I worried about it from the moment that I knew I was pregnant.  Dogs can sense chemical and hormonal changes in people, so she probably that knew that I was pregnant before I did.  My concerns stemmed from what happened to a co-worker.  When she was about seven months pregnant, her dog became aggressive toward her and they had to find a new home for the dog.

When we got home from the hospital, I made sure that the baby and I were above the dog the first time they met.  I was in our bedroom sitting up on the bed.  When she came in, I was fine for the first moment.  But, the dog got really intense in her interest.  The more intense she became in sniffing the baby with all her new smells, the more nervous I got.  I made my “stop” noise and told her “out”.  She assumed a submissive posture, backed off with her ears down and left the room.  So far, so good, but my heart was beating a mile a minute.

My husband has extensive experience raising and training German Shepherds.  As the “pack leader” it was important that he establish that the baby is above the dog in the pack hierarchy.  This will only work if you have a dog that “knows her place” and is submissive to the pack leader.  Period.  No questions.  Also, vigilance is of the utmost importance.  If you know your dog, the signals will be there.  When my husband introduced our dog to the baby, he sat up on the couch with the baby and let the dog sniff our daughter’s feet.  Our dog stuck out just the tip of her tongue and she very gently licked our daughter’s foot (see picture).  She then backed off without being told.  Huge relief!  Our daughter is three months old now and it is very clear that the dog has adopted our daughter as “her baby”.  She is very protective and nurturing of our daughter, which is apparently a trait of shepherds.  When the baby cries or makes a noise in the bassinet, the dog is right there nudging with her nose to get to “her baby”.  When the baby cries overlong, she gives us a look that says, “If this were my pup, this would be handled already”.  If the baby is crying, the dog will come up and lick her feet (the only place she’s allowed).

Our dog helps me as well.  There have been times when I have gotten overtired and overwhelmed.  After I put the baby down in a safe place, the dog has come to sit right by me so that I can calm down by stroking her and hugging her.  If you’re concerned about how to introduce your dog to the new baby, consult with a professional.  Your dog may be a huge asset in keeping your sanity and protecting your baby.

My mother used to stand in the driveway, extra set of car keys in hand, and wait for my father to pull in from work. She would yank open the door, haul him out of the car and careen on two tires around the corner for parts unknown.

I might be exaggerating a little about my mother yanking my father out of the car, but not about her standing in the driveway waiting for him to come home so that she could get a break. That part mom says was true. But I couldn’t for the life of me understand why she would need a break from her little angels (Brats. Totally spoiled. My dorm roommate had to show me how to do laundry.). Now I can relate. I really look forward to my days off. 

I am very grateful that my husband gives me days off. I take shameless advantage of this. Everyone was right. These days off are ESSENTIAL to my well-being as well as my baby’s. When I get my days off, I am out the door and won’t be seen for 8 hours or so. No phone calls to see how the baby is, no dropping by to check on things. I’m totally gone with no guilt whatsoever. I confess that I hardly think about what might be going on at home. This comes from 41 years of practiced self-absorption. This is MY time. When I come back from my day off, I am ready and looking forward to seeing my baby and resuming my mom role. But it is so important to DO SOMETHING ELSE.

Part of why I need to be gone is my inability to not interfere. My husband does a wonderful job with our daughter. In fact, I learn a lot from watching him. But I need to let him do things his way or let him figure things out. My control freak nature won’t allow this. I can only stifle myself for so long before I short circuit. This became very apparent when I found myself standing in the kitchen in my underwear (not a pretty sight) because I thought that he needed my input. He didn’t. Therefore, for the sake of our marriage, I can’t be there.

I realize how fortunate I am. I love my daughter, but in order to be a good mom, I do need a break. My time home with my daughter has given me a whole new appreciation and respect for my mother and all moms. It makes me want to call my mom and apologize for being such a rotten teenager. But then again, what goes around comes around and you know what they say about pay back. When it happens, I’ll need to call my mom so she’ll know that her saying “I hope you have kids like you” has come true and she has earned the right to say “I told you so!”

He stood silhouetted in the doorway.  “I need you to take her for a few minutes.”

I turned my head so quickly that it sounded like a whip snapping.  “Really?”  I said, with deceptive calm as I slowly straightened from taking the dishes out of the washer.  I let my hands drop casually to my side, fingers flexing.  The theme song from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly welled in my head.  I had known this moment would come.

I narrowed my eyes, assessing, and our steely gazes locked.  My husband said that it’d only be for a few minutes, but he lies.  I know this because I had done the same thing when I lied for him to take our daughter a mere (had it been two hours already??) moment before so that I could get a few things done.  If I took her now, I might never have my hands free again.

He shifted our daughter from one hip to the other.  He was getting ready.  But I was ready, too.  I had trained for this moment for years.  At work.  You NEVER take a piece of paper that someone is trying to hand you until you know what it is and exactly how much work it will entail.

Our daughter chewed on her fist, adding to the tension.

 “I just have one thing that I need to do.”  He said with all innocence.  He took a step, closing the distance between us and extended his arms.

Another lie.  Oh, it may start off as being ‘one thing’.  But I know that inevitably there will be ‘just one more thing’.

I call him on it.  “I want to finish putting the dishes away.”  I whine.  “What do you need to do?  I’ll do it.”

“I have to go to the bathroom.  I told you that more than an hour ago.”

Huh.  That’s right, he did tell me that.  “I only have one more thing that I want to do after this.”  I wheedled, as I placed the last dish onto the shelf.  “It’ll just take a minute.”  I turned and looked frantically about for my ‘one more thing’.

But he was too fast.  Our daughter was thrust into my arms.  I reeled from the impact.  When I recovered, he was gone.  And I never saw him again.  For three hours.