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Wednesday, December 17
anniversary, part two: she
Dear Katy Claire:
One year ago today, at an ungodly four-freezing-o'clock in the morning, the hospital paralyzed me, cut me open and ripped you out of my abdomen seven weeks before you were due. If you were one of the boys, I would have tried to make that sound a little more romantic. But Purity Rings be damned; all the abstinence education you'll need is a look at your genetic pregnancy history and a few unemotional re-tellings of The Adkins Children: Why We Found Our Mother to Be an Inhospitable Environment, with Special Sections on Life Both Before and After Birth.
Like your brothers before you, the news of your existence was somewhat of a shock. Your dad and I are either an incredibly fertile or an incredibly stupid couple, something you'd do well to take note of so you can marry up in the gene pool. It took me several weeks to get used to the idea of four plus one.
And then! The ultrasound tech slathered me with ice-cold gel and asked your brothers if they were ready for a sister! She never asked me; perhaps she smelled hormones and fear and decided she'd be better off without her little ultra-wand embedded in her skull.
I was afraid. I never imagined having a girl, never thought I'd have to match socks and hair bows and shoes, never planned on playing dress up and having tea parties.
I never thought I'd see your blazing femininity and be forced to turn and face my own.
I stared at you in your crib at the hospital, shrouded in pink and roses, girlish from the moment the thought of you entered the world. And I realized with heartache that, in so many ways, I met you empty-handed. Me, a girl? I thought. Why, I am just a person. The 70s had taught me too well.
That's why, in a way, you and I are both turning one tomorrow. So, happy birthday to you and to me, Katy Claire. I have a feeling we're going to be the best of friends.
Oh, and one more thing: that crinkled-nosed smile you have — the one you combine with that slight head tilt toward the right shoulder? It's money. Your daddy is stone-cold whipped by it, so don't waste it one day on "can I have a $20 for gas?" Better something like "I drove my car over the Harley" or "my boyfriend is a bail bondsman."
Just a little advice, from one girl to another.
Love, Mommy
One year ago today, at an ungodly four-freezing-o'clock in the morning, the hospital paralyzed me, cut me open and ripped you out of my abdomen seven weeks before you were due. If you were one of the boys, I would have tried to make that sound a little more romantic. But Purity Rings be damned; all the abstinence education you'll need is a look at your genetic pregnancy history and a few unemotional re-tellings of The Adkins Children: Why We Found Our Mother to Be an Inhospitable Environment, with Special Sections on Life Both Before and After Birth.
Like your brothers before you, the news of your existence was somewhat of a shock. Your dad and I are either an incredibly fertile or an incredibly stupid couple, something you'd do well to take note of so you can marry up in the gene pool. It took me several weeks to get used to the idea of four plus one.
And then! The ultrasound tech slathered me with ice-cold gel and asked your brothers if they were ready for a sister! She never asked me; perhaps she smelled hormones and fear and decided she'd be better off without her little ultra-wand embedded in her skull.
I was afraid. I never imagined having a girl, never thought I'd have to match socks and hair bows and shoes, never planned on playing dress up and having tea parties.
I never thought I'd see your blazing femininity and be forced to turn and face my own.
I stared at you in your crib at the hospital, shrouded in pink and roses, girlish from the moment the thought of you entered the world. And I realized with heartache that, in so many ways, I met you empty-handed. Me, a girl? I thought. Why, I am just a person. The 70s had taught me too well.
That's why, in a way, you and I are both turning one tomorrow. So, happy birthday to you and to me, Katy Claire. I have a feeling we're going to be the best of friends.
Oh, and one more thing: that crinkled-nosed smile you have — the one you combine with that slight head tilt toward the right shoulder? It's money. Your daddy is stone-cold whipped by it, so don't waste it one day on "can I have a $20 for gas?" Better something like "I drove my car over the Harley" or "my boyfriend is a bail bondsman."
Just a little advice, from one girl to another.
Love, Mommy
2 comments:
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this is priceless. Happy Birthday, Katy Claire!
I love you, Katy Claire! If things don't work out at your house, I've got room for you over here.
There are so many people at Grace who love you too. I've often wondered if you have to be "purelled" when you come home from church on Sunday because so Gracers love to hold you and kiss you and pretend like you are their little girl.
And you seem to love it too. Your toothy grin always makes me smile. Can't wait to hear your voice!!!
Oh...and Kelly... you rock too! Way to go! What a year it has been. I often think back to where things were last year and thank God for where things are this year. You are a good mom, and friend, and "a good..." everything else God has gifted you to be. I'm celebrating with you.
There are so many people at Grace who love you too. I've often wondered if you have to be "purelled" when you come home from church on Sunday because so Gracers love to hold you and kiss you and pretend like you are their little girl.
And you seem to love it too. Your toothy grin always makes me smile. Can't wait to hear your voice!!!
Oh...and Kelly... you rock too! Way to go! What a year it has been. I often think back to where things were last year and thank God for where things are this year. You are a good mom, and friend, and "a good..." everything else God has gifted you to be. I'm celebrating with you.