Stream of Consciousness, Baby.

June 2, 2010 By Kelle

I like that when I go to type the title “Stream of Consciousness,” Blogger predicts it with just the first few taps of S-t-… Apparently, it’s a frequent post. And frame of mind, might I add.

So, with that said…here we go.

You know what I love? I love getting e-mails from mamas who are pregnant and just found out their little has D.S. I love the way my heart leaps for them because I know just where they are. I love that when I hit “reply,” there is a blank screen there and that my fingers can’t type fast enough to fill it. And I want to scoop them from their place and wormhole them through the Internet into our home. I want to hug them and say, “Look. Look here. Happiness, Babe. You’re gunna be fine.” I like that.

I love days when the house is a mess and I don’t know what to make for dinner and I’m wearing yoga pants for the third day in a row and halfway through the afternoon, my friend calls and says, “Wanna come over?” and I say, simply, Yes. Yes, I want to come over. And I get out of dodge like a bat out of hell, leaving everything because sometimes, sanity comes in the form of friends and their pools and their really cute kid who loves my girl like a sister.

They swam. They swam like their lives depended on it, pruning their fingers, drenching their lashes into long drippy black strips–very Baby Mabelline.

And Anna Ruth and I lounged poolside sipping our Southern sweet teas (Anna Ruth being the true Southern Belle, you know) and playing with the Little Miss while the bigger misses jumped and splashed and carefully chose which Polly Pockets and Little Ponies would be so lucky to join them in the shallow end…

I love this friend of my girl. A full year older than Lainey, perfect for idolizing and adoring and a good one for the role because she is sweet as pie…southern peach pie, of course.

And Lainey was just a dream yet to be back when we fell in love with Miss Baylee…

And now…swoon. They’re besties…and look, us mamas even subconsciously matched their swimsuits.

And Nella was along for the ride, trailing back from the pool tucked in Baylee’s stroller with half-painted pigs hangin’ out. The essence of Chill, my little one.

We had a follow-up cardiologist appointment today…nothing D.S. related but rather just a check to see if a small, unconcerning hold had closed. She smiled through the whole thing…even earned herself a Barbie sticker on her diaper because she was that good.

I think doctors and clinics and places that prick and poke and invade our space are scary for mamas. No one wants to be there and just the entrance into these places causes a little jolt…a brief sickening feeling where you wonder what if and how could and oh, I could never…but you do it. I never thought I could live the whole therapist-in-my-house-every-week-for-three-years thing either but once you cross that bridge, you realize it’s okay. You seperate the clinical from the emotional and begin to appreciate the amazing world of medical advancements. It’s a small part of the bigger picture and a part that is critical in allowing the bigger picture to be more beautiful. And, I’m so thankful for these people that know what they do to make life a little more grand for my littles…for us.

So, we smile. Even if we’re covered with stickers and electrodes.

I love returning from a crazy morning of throwing things in diaper bags, u-turning to backtrack a missed street, shlepping a carseat through a maze of medical buidling hallways, painfully discovering that the underwire on my bra has dislodged and is attempting to drill a hole through my left side while I nod my head, pretending I understand medical terms that are far above my head, and finally zipping through yellow lights to get a hungry baby home only to have to pull over in a Wendy’s parking lot to nurse her in the front seat while some guy taps on my window (there were other people around, thankfully) and asks, through the small crack I allowed him to peek through, “Are you Jennifer?”

No, dude. I’m not Jennifer. And I don’t want to know why you were supposed to meet a girl you’ve never met in a Wendy’s parking lot. I’m just sayin.

And after all that, we came home. We read books and tickled and lounged around in bed being silly and prolonging naps like good mamas sometimes do.