Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Pregnancy and Garage Sales -- Same Thing!

I need to write today.  It hit me like a hammer in the head while I was peacefully enjoying my quiet bubble bath (I hate it when that happens)!  I get comfortable, the water and suds envelop me when suddenly a surge of ideas start rolling across my belly folds.  Dammit!  No more relaxation for me. Scrub, scrub, scrub, shave, knick, shave..out of the water like a hurricane.  Did I even remember my deoderant? moment please...

Okay, I'm back.  What is so important that I risked smelling like a freight train by bedtime tonight?  Two things; pregnancy and garage sales.  Confused?  You're allowed to be; however, I promise by the time I'm finished you just may claim an understanding to how my mind works.

Many of you, my dear friends and blog readers, know that I am the mother of two adopted, special needs boys.  Over the years, I'm certain I've mentioned that my husband and I couldn't conceive children of our own.  We've known it from the start of our marriage due to Eric's benign brain tumor and it's location on his pituitary gland.  I don't believe I've ever mentioned though that had Eric been perfectly healthy, I most likely would have had difficulty becoming pregnant as well.

You see, the Baxter side of my family; my mother, sisters, aunts, and cousins can pop babies out like bars of soap (a bit too graphic)?  I, on the other hand, in all my "baby making years" have never used protection.  I believe when I was a little girl, my uterus was crushed in an accident.

I was at a relative's house when older cousins left an exercise bicycle on high after playing on it.  I couldn't have been more than four years old when I scrambled up on the seat, hit the "on" switch, and fell between the bars.  I screamed for what seemed an eternity before an adult found me being crushed. Because my great-aunt felt terrible and I merely looked bruised, I wasn't taken to the hospital.  I can't say for sure this is why I've never been able to conceive but I'm guessing it may have something to do with it.

I was laughing just last night with my husband at the idea of my ever being pregnant.  First of all, my boobs are already huge.  The thought of them becoming engorged with milk gave me pause to think that one, I would never find a maternity bra large enough for my girls and two, I could feed the entire infant population of Kenya. Good Grief!

Also, I'm already a living, narcissistic nightmare of indecision and late night cravings for my husband.  The poor man!  Add pregnancy to his already relentless evenings with me...

9:00pm  Bri and Eric Watching TV

Bri:  Gosh, you know - I'm not hungry but that Whopper looks really good right now...

Eric:  Do you want me to get you a Whopper?

Bri:  It's too late for a Whopper, but you'd do that for me?

Eric:  Yes, because I know if I didn't you'd complain until I did.



Bri: Would you get me a Blizzard?

Eric:  What kind of Blizzard do you want?

Bri:  Never mind, it's too late for a Blizzard.  I'm already a fatty.

Eric:  Do you still want a Whopper?

Bri:  No.


Bri:  Will you make me some Cinnamon Toast?

And I'm not good at handling babies either...ESPECIALLY NEWBORNS!  Fahget about it!  They scare me to death.  They're too fragile.  I'm a bull in a China Shop.  I'd drop him/her/it on it's head.  Six month olds will either let me hold them, scream the minute I do, or barf on me.  No thanks.  I'll let Grandma hold them.  Four year olds are interesting because they have a lot to say.  I love this age but I can only take them in small doses.  I've taught six and seven year olds catechism.  These kiddos are like little ducklings; still a little nervous around grown ups but they love to play with us.  Once they hit eight, I'm done with them.  I would resign my "mama" duties once that sassy business kicks into gear.

Deep breath...what does all this have to do with garage sales?  Okay, I'm getting there.

I'm not a collector of things, I never have been.  After my dad had his stroke and my parents needed to sell their big home and downsize, they had a massive garage sale.  My dislike for "collecting" really took hold.  I realized that morning and afternoon, as strangers offered pennies for precious items my mom and dad held dear, that I would never hold on to anything after I passed; that I would give it away while I lived.

When my father eventually passed away, my mother gave me the ring he wore every day.  It was intended for my husband but I knew Eric wouldn't wear it.  It was more of a keepsake than anything else. So instead it sat in my jewelry box.  Could I have given it to my oldest son when he came of age?  Sure but he barely knew my dad. It wouldn't have meant anything to him.  Last Father's Day, at brunch, I handed the box to his grandson, Glen. My dad played a huge role in raising him.  When Glen opened it, it took his breath away.  The ring was where it needed to be.

A couple days ago, I contacted my ex-husband's niece.  We're still close - in fact, she still calls me Auntie Breezy.  When her Uncle and I married, we had a fairy tale wedding; the dress, the church, the big reception, everything.  I still have the fine china, crystal, and even my wedding ring and pictures.  Yes, I suppose I could sell or use them, or at least get rid of the ring - but I didn't.  It's time to pass them on the three little girls (now women) whom I still love so very, very much.

I will never ask my boys to stand outside a garage and say, "I remember this" only to have a stranger offer $2.00 for the memory.  My memories are tucked inside my mind and hopefully will live on through my children, nieces, nephews, and the people I've touched throughout my lifetime.  When I go, I want nothing more than kind words and my ashes scattered beneath my husband's willow tree.

Finally, last question..did I want biological children?  This note was found in my treasure box, written by me, Maria Bryant, and dated April 5, 1988.  After I post this blog, it will be shredded.  Seriously, there's no need to keep it anymore.

Kathryn Chelsea
Jeremy Drake
Joshua Truman
Jaqualyn Mariea
Gwendolyn Heather

And perhaps one day
As I sit and listen
To the children's laughter
That laughter may be of my own
Their little hands
And childlike ways
Are of my creation
This is my silent dream