One of Love's Lowest Moments

Desperation began to set in. The four hour trip felt like a lifetime, and the screaming just wouldn't stop. How in the world was I supposed to know what this little creature wanted, or needed? I drove down the highway hypnotized by the monotonous hum of the road, fighting to stay alert through the exhaustion of disrupted sleep patterns and incessant crying. I just wanted to get home. I just wanted to hand over my little "bundle of joy" to his grandmother, crawl into bed, and sleep. For a week. But each second felt like an hour, each hour like a week. I reached behind me trying everything, a pacifier I licked clean after dropping it on the floor, a bottle I knew was too cold, rattles and toys. I tried the Sesame Street cassette, and classical music. Nothing worked. I cried. I used every tissue I had and then snotted on my shirt. I screamed, like really loud at the top of my lungs. And then I pulled over. Fine. You win little one. But I rocked him, I tried a bottle, I changed his diaper and still nothing worked. I decide above all else, I had to get home. I cried some more. I screamed some more. I turned the radio up to an ungodly volume to try and drown out the miserable sound of a wailing infant (please don't judge me). And then I thought about the story I heard on the news. The one when the mom drives herself and a car full of kids off a cliff or a bridge or something, and I know how she feels. I have never felt as inadequate and desperate as I do right now. I just want my mom. So I called her. And she tried to calm me down. I'm not sure she did, but she stayed on the phone and let me cry because that's what good moms do. And somehow, someway, as I got close to her house, he finally started to tucker out. He knew we were home and Grammy was right there waiting, for both of us. I pulled in and there she stood. I didn't even have to say anything or do anything. I ran for the house and she for the car. She took my baby and I took a nap. And in a few hours everything would be just fine.

Photo retrieved from jumpstartrepairs.org

Where Do Babies Come From?

For the second half of his kindergarten year and all of 1st grade,  my son attended the private school where I was the principal. I felt lucky we were able to share our morning and afternoon commute to and from school when we would have some of the most interesting one-to-one discussions. On the way home one day when he was in 1st grade, he called to me from the back seat, "Mommy, did you know people come from eggs?" 

Caught off guard a bit, I looked back at him through the rearview mirror furrowing my brow. Hmm... I wondered where this had come from, and worse yet, where it was going. He was too smart for me to skirt the issue, so I responded the only way that seemed appropriate. "Um, sort of. But not really. We don't hatch from eggs." He returned my look of befuddlement, waiting for an explanation. My husband and I decided early on, there would be no lying. No cutesy names for our body parts, no lies to avoid difficult conversations. Our son was very smart and just as inquisitive. He would always get the truth. "It is true, in a way, human beings come from eggs. But it's not what you think. Moms don't lay eggs, and babies don't hatch." I stopped with each piece of information, waiting for when he heard enough. Sometimes we explain too much out of our own discomfort when the basics are just enough to satisfy the curiosity of our little ones.  At this point he still wanted more.

"So what does happen?" he asked.

How could I simplify this? How could I give him just enough truth so he'd understand and know enough of what was appropriate for a boy his age. "Inside, mommies have eggs. And inside daddies there are sperm, which are little swimmy things that meet the eggs. When a sperm and an egg meet, they make a baby." I was already trying to formulate where I would go next. What could I possibly say to expound on this process without stepping beyond what I felt a 6-year-old needed to know? Holding my breath, I hoped this next piece would be enough. "That's why mommies and daddies sleep in the same bed." Ugh, I already wanted to take it back for fear of what he would ask next. I feared I had rounded a corner and couldn't turn back. I glanced at him again in the mirror, waiting for his response and trying to read his face. Then in true little boy fashion, he put his mommy out of her misery with a single word.

"Oh."