Can They Parent Without Me?

Thursday, August 23rd, 2012

The week before last a tragedy hit my extended family. The loss has been tremendous. But throughout the grieving process, you find moments of humor. Something my mother-in-law said to me is one of them.

We were leaving her house after Emmett’s baptism, heading to the airport. Phil was taking the kids home on his own while I went on to South Dakota. I was rushing around in a panic, telling Phil everything he had to remember to do for the kids while I was away. I was calling Cleo, explaining everything to her as well (as if she isn’t there every day already. Hello control freak!).

We got in the car and I turned to his mom and said, “Whew. This is going to be hard. I hope Cleo and Phil will be okay on their own.” To which she replied, (and yes, I’m putting this in bold), “You know what is really hard? When you come back and realize they’ve held it together just fine without you.” AAAHHHHH. Eh. She was obviously speaking from her own experience and we both burst out laughing. Thing is, she was absolutely right.

I am happy to report that I got home and my kids, my husband, my house, even my cat–were all unscathed. Thriving in fact.

It feels good to know we can laugh again, even in the worst of times.

Emmett’s Baptism

Thursday, August 16th, 2012

Not exactly Fia Friday, but she was surely a part of our big event in Wisconsin last week. As was Phil’s entire extended family.

I consider myself more spiritual than religious, but regardless of who/what one worships, it’s a touching event to behold. It was an honor and privilege to stand by my boy as the holy water flowed.

Phil’s dad is an Episcopalian priest (“The Rev” above) and has baptized all of his children and grandchildren. The dress that all the babies wear (boys or girls) has been in their family for 65 years. And even though Em looked like a girl in it, he grunted like the little magical boy he is. Bless You, Baby. Namaste.

Baby’s First Not-So-Cute Milestone: Diaper Rash

Sunday, May 15th, 2011

I’ve just jumped over another hurdle—one involving a nasty diaper rash (hers, not mine)–I need to add a crucial item to have on hand: Cornstarch. But don’t follow my example on how to use it. Here’s why:

In the past two weeks I feared arrest. Twice. Not because I was a bad mom. In fact, just the opposite. I felt so bad for the little munchkin and her red bum. I carefully applied the creams, but the diaper rash wasn’t going away as quickly as I hoped, so I added cornstarch into the mix. Apparently you sprinkle it in the diaper and it absorbs moisture. But “sprinkle” clearly isn’t in my vocabulary.

I should pause here and say I have a tendency to overdo certain things.  Like if someone tells me a wrinkle cream will get rid of crows feet, I compulsively apply half the bottle at once, hoping for a miracle.

On our way into the city to refinance our apartment, I dumped probably a quarter of a box of cornstarch in her diaper (my rationale is the diaper is white, so I can’t see how much goes in). Three subway trains and a 4-block walk later, I knew she desperately needed to be changed.

Already late to the appointment on the 23^rd floor of a posh bank building, I dashed into the bathroom (no changing table. Damn, hate it when that happens), quickly put a mat on the floor and ripped off the diaper. Cornstarch went flying. I mean everywhere. It turned me, Fi, diaper bag and surrounding area into a blanket of white.  I prayed no one would walk in. I began picturing the FBI, my arrest and subsequent headline: Mom Spreads Anthrax While Baby Battles Diaper Rash. I tried scooping the massive excess off the floor with a paper towel, but it didn’t make a dent. The bathroom looked like a blizzard had hit.  I conceded defeat and walked into the conference room, looking like we had both jumped into a giant silo of flour. I apologized profusely to the woman who was kind enough to promise she wouldn’t call the authorities.

A few days later we were at LaGuardia, about to fly to Wisconsin, where my father in law (an Episcopalian Priest, nicknamed “Rev”) was baptizing the babe. I dumped a bunch of cornstarch in her diaper (clearly I’m a slow learner), got through security, and had to change her. The bathroom was tiny so I went to an empty gate. Out came the plume. Seriously?? How bad is my short-term memory? This time I envisioned the TSA coming after me. They would lock me up. We’d miss her baptism. I’d be condemned by all who know me. Panicked, I tried to rub it into the dark blue carpet as best I could. No luck. I needed an industrial vacuum. Or an escape plan.  I grabbed Fi and fled the scene.  We boarded the plane, and at 30,000 feet breathed a big sigh of relief (actually she slept).  And, the next day, the diaper rash was clear.  Maybe there’s something to compulsively using cornstarch??

The baptism was a breeze. After it was over, she looked at me with her impish little grin, as if to say, “Mom, this is nothing. Relax. You already baptized me twice— in cornstarch.”

So my tip to you moms who battle diaper rash: Cornstarch. Put it in the nest. Just don’t follow my lead. Now it’s your turn. What works for you? What are the things you can’t live without?