by cindy


Just in case my absence has been noticed, I have been away these last few weeks, spending time with the Chickadee and his brand-new parents. It has been an extraordinary time, giving me an opportunity to share my expertise after raising three children of my own, as well as sharing many tales of parenting, both mine and others. Yes, sigh, those trips down Memory Lane…where, at my age, the lane gets longer and the memory shorter. The same Memory Lane that I am sure enchanted Son Number One and wife. And yes, the very road that Son Number Two and family are forced to travel with me almost every time I see them…which is a lot…they live quite close by and are they ever lucky. Uh. Huh.

I love being here with this young family. Not only have I gotten to know and appreciate my son-in-law more deeply, but I have bonded with my daughter in ways I could never have anticipated. We have discussed more pregnancy/childbirth/breastfeeding/female issues that either of us ever thought possible. Laughter has been our constant, even as we dealt with things like…engorgement. Google it if you need to. Not going into the details here. Let’s just say that bags of frozen peas are awesome!

Anyway, it is now Week Seven. The Chickadee is very alert. He has our various buttons identified and he pushes them whenever we are the most exhausted. His pattern of sleeping, if one can call it that, varies from day to day. And night to night. Today has been particularly frustrating: short naps in spite of obvious fatigue. His. Also, ours.

We have walked. We have talked. We have cooed and smiled and sung songs and danced dances. We have rocked and walked some more and pat-patted for hours at a time. By evening, both his mom and I were just out of options, out of ideas, out of energy. As I rocked him for what I hoped was the last time for this day, I looked over at my daughter and finally came clean:

“I have no ¬†f u c k i n g ¬†idea what I’m doing.”


I may soon be fired.

Chickadee, 7 Weeks