So, you think you have a system.  You think you’re so smart and have it all figured out.  You think you’re so lucky to have the quickest morning drop off routine, just waltzing across the yard to your mother-in-law’s house and dropping off the baby who is so happy to see PapPap that she doesn’t care that you’re leaving.  Then you make your easy quick commute to work, not worrying for a second about the baby until 5:00 comes and it’s time to pick her up. 

And then?  Your mother-in-law gets sick and can’t be around the baby for a week.  And it’s football season which means both your husband and your father-in-law are at three-a-day practices. 

So.  You panic. 

And lots of thoughts enter your mind.  You could burn up the rest of your vacation time…  But the meetings and the deadlines are right there on your calendar staring at you.  You think about the daycare that a family member runs…  But, you worry about taking the wee one to an unfamiliar place.  You call your best friend, your mom and your husband.  In that order.  (What? He was at practice.) And play out various scenarios and get advice. 

And then, you breathe. 

Because when you went to talk to your boss, he was super understanding and gave you the ability to work from home so you didn’t have to use up all of your vacation time or drop your kid off at a strange daycare.  And, because your mom talked to your dad and between the two of them and your brother, they can help cover a few days, even though they live an hour away and that means leaving their house damn early.  And, because two wonderful women, with seven kids between them, who are married to friends’ of your husband hear about the pickle you were in and offered to come help.  

And you realize how very lucky you are.  And that, it does indeed, take a village. 

PS.  Let’s all send collective Internet vibes to my mother-in-law that she feels better soon.  I know she misses C and frankly, I NEED HER.

My great-grandmother (God love her) was one of the nosiest old ladies you’d ever meet.   We would pull in the driveway and before we could even get out of the car, we’d hear her on the phone talking about the latest gossip among her circle of friends and in the “Valley” where she lived.  She’d talk about who was driving too fast on their way to work, whose kids got in trouble at school, who was fighting with their husband or who forgot to return a library book back in 1954. 

If it hadn’t been for the hearing problem that caused her to yell instead of talk, she probably could have done some good for the CIA or FBI or some other agency that needed to know when people in a small town sneezed. 

So now, when C’s curiosity peaks and sends her beelining for windows, stretching up on her tiptoes and peering to see what’s going on outside, I chuckle and call her Edna. 

Her great-great-grandmother would have been so very proud. 

Floating around cyberspace , I’ve seen many an email titled “Five (Seven, Twelve) Friends Every Woman Should Have.”  You know the one.  It talks about needing  a friend who will tell you your ass looks big in those jeans, a friend who is always up for a good time, a friend who keeps your secrets, a friend who makes you laugh and a friend who lets you cry. 

I am lucky enough to have a few people who are all of those things in one.  And, this week, while I”m living it up (read: drinking my face off) at the beach, you will get to hear from one of them.  I am turning my blog over to my non-blogging buddy, Heidi.

Let me tell you about her… We met a few years ago at a job that, well, made us both a little batshitcrazy.  I’ll spare you the details but suffice it to say that it’s the kind of bond that people have who go through wars together or who fight to save a sinking ship.   

Married about a year longer than me and with a child about a year older than mine, she is the person I turn to for advice for everything from diaper rash to lingerie and strollers to ”what the hell do I clean windows with?”   And, God love her, never once has she told me to “Google it”.  Instead she passes along her words of wisdom, agrees with me when I need to hear that I’m not crazy, but lets me know when I’m wrong.

She introduced me to Nine West.  Her love of shoes rivals mine, although her collection is far better.  She’s got an eye for decorating that I completely envy.  In fact, I’m still waiting for her to makeover my house.  She makes me laugh with stories of her kid that give me little glimpses into my future. And, she’s pretty. 

In short, she is fantastic.  And, you can’t have her.  But I will share… sort of.  She’s agreed to take control of this little space while I’m gone, so she’ll be stopping by a time or two to talk about…  well, that’s just it.  I don’t know what she’s going to talk about or when she’ll be here.  THAT’S HOW MUCH I TRUST HER! 

So, when she pops in, do the polite thing and say hello, tease her for not being on Twitter and try not to fall in love.  She already has a best friend. 

PS.  If it’s not too much to ask, would you please take a second and two clicks for me on Top Baby Blogs.  I won’t bug you about it ALL WEEK, but I’d really like to stay on the first page while I’m gone.  XOXO!   

Late in my pregnancy my parents came to visit for an evening.  The four of us were sitting in the living room talking about baby proofing and all the potential things in our house that would cause bumps, tears and bruises.  And, even though he swore the fetus was a girl, Craig made the comment that “a few bumps wouldn’t hurt him.”

“What if it’s a girl?” my mom countered. 

“Well, then I’ll put her in a bubble.”

Ahh… fathers and daughters. 

Similarly, I’ve heard a story many times about my grandmother asking my dad how he would feel the first time he had to spank me. 

“I won’t have to discipline her,” he said innocently . 

Ah… about that? 

My dad told me no a lot.  Actually, not as many times as I asked to do something.  Because, you see, once he said it once.  He didn’t say it again.  I would spend hours, (okay, minutes) crafting my pitch.  Making sure to get all the convincing arguments out in the first few breaths.  “Dad, can I…  Kim and Amanda are….  Mom said it’s OK with her… I’ll be home by… “  And he would say, “No.” 

Sometimes followed by a reason.  “You were out all week.  You can stay home tonight.”

But I was not done, I was prepared to move on with my secondary arguments.  “But.  I already helped clean the house.  The other times I was out I was with different people.  I haven’t been out with Kim ALL WEEK.”  

He’d pick up his newspaper or start flipping channels.  Which, clearly I took as a sign that I should continue. 

“Come on.  If I can go, I promise I’ll…. I have to work tomorrow, so this is the only night I can…  I babysat while you and Mom went out four.years.ago and I didn’t ask you to pay me.” 

Yep, I pulled out all the stops. 

He would continue to read or watch TV occasionally looking at me.  Inevitably, it would end with me storming up the steps, (stomping like an elephant if you believe my mom’s exaggerations) crying, throwing myself on the bed and yelling, “I”m NEVER allowed to do ANYTHING.” 

I had a flair for the dramatic even then it seems. 

And, while he did tell me no, what seemed like quite a bit.  He also spent hours with me in the driveway teaching me to pitch and to catch. He taught me to drive, even giving lessons when the roads were just a bit snow covered so I would know how to drive in poor conditions (although I don’t think either of us anticipated me moving to a place where “poor conditions” are the norm from December until April.)  He was at every volleyball game I played. 

Since graduating high school, I don’t think he’s ever told me no.  He moved me from apartment to apartment to back home to a few more apartments and finally to our house. He has supported my many fundraisers and work events, sitting on the sidelines of all-star football games, going to dances, bidding in silent auctions and walking in 5Ks.  He’s helped my husband put in fence, put together furniture and lift heavy items.  He loves my daughter and lights up when she’s in the room. 

Will the day come that the Craig has to tell his baby girl no?  Absolutely.  Will she cry and pout?  You betcha.  15 years later will she understand why he said no? Maybe. 

But will she appreciate all the things he did instead.  I guarantee it.

As a side note, the folks at Top Baby Blogs are about to reset the votes, putting us all back at zero.  I sort of liked being amongst some really good bloggers.  So, if you like what you read here, think I’m a little funny and slightly witty or adore my child’s smile, would you do me a favor and click this link…  XOXO! 

She is the friend I’ve had since before I had braces.  The one I played softball with, fought over boys with and had my first drinks of alcohol with.  She is the one person in the world who knows all my secrets and laughed at all of my embarrassing moments.  And, of course, half the reason I trust her with them is because I know all of hers as well. 

She is the friend I can spend hours on the phone with, talking about nothing and everything.  I know what kind of day she’s having by the sound of her voice when I answer the phone.  Now that we’re grown ups with husbands, our conversations are just as often by text message as by phone.  Because it’s her, it’s OK.  I forgive her when she hits ‘ignore” when I call and she forgives me when “I’ll call you back in five minutes,” turns into three days. 

Once inseparable, it’s been almost six months since I’ve seen her.  Because a few years ago she had the audacity to move twelve hours away from home.  I lost my best friend to a better job in a fun city where she met her (now) husband and is about have her first baby. 

In a few weeks she’ll become a mother and a part of me is sad to be missing these moments.  In high school we were each the other’s go to person for advice about guys, other friends or complicated situations.  I wish I could be there to be her sounding board during those first challenging weeks.  I want to bring her casseroles (OK, fine, pizza) and cuddle her baby while she naps.  And at the end of the week that just can’t end fast enough, I want to bring the wine. 

Instead.  I sent her gifts in the mail and did my best to put the things that saved my life into a box.  The result? 

The Maya Wrap that let me have my hands free while keeping C close to me, the I Love You So book that still makes me tear up when I read it, Gentle Naturals cream for dry baby skin and cradle cap, and socks and bibs, because you never have enough of those.  So, while I can’t be there to help her calm a fussy baby, maybe these things will help.  And if not, my cell phone will be fully charged. 

PS.  I’ll probably send something after the baby arrives and need suggestions.  What was the best gift you’ve given or received?  What saved your life with a newborn?