I would blame my lack of blogging on him, but let's face it: that would be only slightly correct. I hope to remedy this slack attitude, now that I have a new muse about whom to...muse.
So, I will start with a letter I wrote to ol' Franco when he was about a month old. Someday, I hope he reads it with joy. For now, I hope you will do the honors!
Dear Baby Franco,
It took me a long time to decide to have a baby. Lots of factors played into my winding road to motherhood, but there was one striking catalyst: when I watched the sweet movie “Waitress” (which your dad refers to simply as “that f---ing pie movie”) and heard Keri Russell sing that darling pie song to her unborn baby, something changed within me. I knew someday I wanted to sing that lullaby to my own child and thus began my journey.
Fast-forward several years: I found out about you on the same weekend that Prince William married Kate Middleton and the world succumbed to Pippa mania. In the exact moment, I cried like a knocked-up teenager, even though I totally wanted you, because extreme change brings extreme anxiety. And because “Glamour” magazine had indicated it would take a year and a half of hard work for an old woman like me to get pregnant and I had only been sort of trying for three months. Like a true procrastinator, I reasoned I had more time. But, you were on the way, and after the shock wore off, I was super excited.
When I told your dad, he did not cry a lick. He ran out and told everyone he knows (and some people I’m pretty sure he doesn’t) all about the good news. I, on the other hand, told only a handful of folks. Your Grand-papa, my dad, responded by telling me it was “nice” but that he was watching a hockey game so “talk to your mom”, who promptly said, “That’s not true.” Finally, after I questioned who prank-calls something like this, she believed me, and no one waited as impatiently for your arrival as she did. Except maybe my sister, your Auntie Rebeccah. I’m pretty sure she started buying you trinkets the very next day.
At first, I didn’t look any different from the outside, so I just kept my own mouth shut. I’m different from your dad like that. I knew right away you were there, though, because all of a sudden I craved cake and sweeties, which is not at all typical for me. Your dad and I called you our “little punkin” while speculating whether you were a boy or a girl. I went ahead with all the things I normally do. I took my dance classes and participated in the annual recital. I hung out with our friends at the pool and went to the beach with the dogs and kept up with my job and played Mrs. Mayor in “Suessical.” Even though I often felt sick and took more naps than usual, I persevered. (I think all that candy you liked helped me out considerably!)
On your dad’s and my 11th wedding anniversary, we had a delightful lunch at the Knife and Fork restaurant before heading for my ultrasound to find out your gender. At first, you were quite modest and they told us we were having a girl and we smiled. A half hour later, it was clear you were, indeed, a boy and your dad shouted so loudly in glee I think he startled half the hospital. He later told me he had initial flashes of endless sequins and dance recitals and I reminded him that could still be the case, and we each vowed to love you no matter what. Later that evening, before one of the final “Suessical” performances, I got you two stuffies: a Cat in the Hat and Horton the Elephant, the first things I ever bought for you myself.
Pretty soon after that, football season started. We traveled to the WVU home games, planning all the way for your inclusion in the coming years and reveling in my growing belly, a reminder that you were getting bigger and stronger and preparing to join us soon. Throughout autumn, we lived and breathed football. We took a trip to see the Steelers for a Sunday night game where I bought you a Steelers monkey and you kicked furiously every time Heinz Field got super loud. (Which was the entire evening!) Your dad and I made big plans for the next time we visited Pittsburgh, when you were out of the belly and could enjoy it with us. Later that month, your Grand-mama and Auntie Rebeccah put on the most awesome baby shower ever, where all the people who love you the most celebrated you with laughter and presents - and lots and lots of cake.
You and I spent Thanksgiving with my crazy family in Ohio and met your dad and all our friends at the Backyard Brawl in Morgantown where we had the best time at a football game all season. By now, I was really a great big fat person, and your dad and I talked all the time about what you looked like and whether you would get here by Christmas. We decorated the house and trees and wrapped our gifts early, just in case.
However, you stayed firmly put. Our holiday season was mostly a long, anxious baby watch. We went to tons of movies over the Christmas break and we always wondered whether we would see the endings or have to rush to the hospital. One day, I ate spicy Chinese food and played “Just Dance” on the Wii for hours trying to get you to join the world, but you seemed comfortable right where you were.
January 3rd – your due date – came and went. I remember that night we ate spaghetti and meatballs with gingerbread pudding and sugar cookies for desert. I wondered whether that would be my last meal without a baby. And guess what? The next morning, my water broke and even though Dr. Rogers had told me it would not be like the movies, it totally was! All I could think of was “Sex and the City” where Charlotte’s water breaks in the street – it was pretty much exactly like that, only I was at home in my pajamas. Your dad was shaving when I told him and he hurried up to call off work and we went to the hospital a few hours later.
Even though we were all ready, you were not. Twelve hours after all that excitement, and just at the start of the WVU Orange Bowl game against Clemson, I was induced into labor. While Dr. Rogers, your dad, and I all watched the Mountaineers beat up on the Tigers in a BCS Bowl-setting record, you were slowly making some progress to meet us. However, it just wasn’t working out, no matter that I tried to push you out the old fashioned way for three-plus hours. At 5:30 in the morning, we all decided we couldn’t wait any longer and we rolled on to the OR to get you out already.
Your dad saw you first, and he cried when he told me you had a cone on the side of your head from trying to push out that way. Your first cries sounded like a bird. A few minutes later, they let me see you all wrapped up and I thought you were the cutest baby ever. You kissed my nose. A little while later, your Uncle Dr. Chad, came to me and told me you were “one healthy kid.” When I finally got to hold you, you started breastfeeding right away, like we’d been at it for years.
Later that night, after we had recovered a bit from our long ventures, we snuggled in our hospital bed, just the two of us. I ate a cheeseburger and we watched “Chelsea Lately” on E! and you slept so peacefully in my arms, like you had always been here.
And now, you are always here. You are already growing so fast. Your dad and I love to look at you and laugh about how you are just your dad in a baby body. Sometimes you cry, but it doesn’t bother us too much. We will fight sometimes over who gets to hold you.
You and I still do lots of snuggling while watching fun stuff on TV, like Jersey Shore and Dance Moms, and your dad yells at me for my crappy shows – but so far you don’t seem to mind. You like to do karate chops with your arms and you smile when a dog licks your face. If you hear a football game, you settle down and have big wide eyes. Some of your looks remind me of my Aunt Joyce and this makes me laugh. You like when your dad gives you a bath, but you are not a fan of manicures or wardrobe changes. You love when your dad plays the guitar.
And you do seem to like the pie song when I sing it to you. Just like I somehow always knew you would.
Love, Your Mum
