pregnancy

“Burn this, please.”

Standard

‘Remembering my one and only maternity outfit.’

Forgive me for the, um, pregnant pause in posting. So many projects, so little time! I swear that I’ve never been busier since I stopped working. I get up, settle in with a cup of coffee and Spelling Bee, and before you know it it’s time for a Manhattan and Wordle.

One of the Antarctic books I recommend if you’re not going to the Antarctic. Or even if you are (!)

In between, there are things that need fixing (this week it was the nuker and the coffee machine), books that need reading (some Shackleton stuff in preparation for Antarctica in a couple of weeks) and — lately — a book I’m Shutterflying to commemorate my mother’s memorial weekend in late August.

Some Mom memorabilia at her Celebration of Life. Including a book I made to commemorate her 90th birthday

Whew.

Oh, and there are sweaters to knit. These days, I can hardly crank one out for myself in between the ones for the babies of my nearest and dearest.

My latest sweater not for a baby: the Field Sweater by Camilla Vad

Yes, don’t let statistics of a declining birth rate throw you. The Child and her cohort are making up for everyone else. Seems like every single member of this particular batch of Thirtysomethings has at least one little Bundle of Joy. And some are working on siblings.

Handsome little hoodie for handsome little Julian

Right now I’m working on a rustic mini-hoodie (tweed with “leather” buttons) for Leon, and already planning something sweet for a soon-to-appear Baby Girl Grand-Niece.

Speaking of Mom’s Memorial, Baby Girl Grand-Niece was there, though not outwardly visible (yet).

Seeing this fashionable young Mom-to-Be got me to thinking about my own pregnancy and, to a lesser extent, my own maternity wardrobe. Which consisted of exactly one item: those awful stone-washed-denim overalls you see me wearing in the photo at the top of this post.

Here’s my sister and her two girls. All looking waaay more stylish than tee-shirt-and-shorts-clad me. Pregnant — or not

I swear to the pregnancy gods, these overalls were literally the only thing I wore during the last couple of months of carrying — and I do mean “carrying” — The Child. I wore them with tee shirts and sneakers. I wore them with turtlenecks and boots. And, bless me, I even wore them with silk blouses and low heels for dress up. They were the only thing that fit. Because they were the only piece of Actual Maternity Wear that I owned.

Quel contrast: Here is Her Childness, also attired in maternity denim. But managing, somehow, not to look like a hillbilly. Maybe it’s the antlers

See, I was 39, and figured that maternity clothes were a bad investment. At the time — 1990/1991 — clothes made specially for expectant mothers were not only very expensive, they made you look either like a nun (severe, black, trying for invisibility) or like a baby yourself (ruffles, poufs, bows). I got away with wardrobe murder — mainly by stealing Dude Man’s duds — until my seventh month when I blew up like a balloon for a not-so-fun party. My mother, bless her, is the one who saved me from bathrobe-only dressing by buying me that overall.

Maternity dressing, the olden-days way. That’s me, leaning against my elegantly-dressed Mom’s pregnant tummy, which contained Oldest Younger Brother Scott

But, trust me, after I wrestled my way into my hospital gown before being escorted into the labor room, I handed that overall — worn that day with a white tee and blue high-tops — to a nurse and said, “Burn this.”

Amagansett, New York. September 2025

 

Boy O Boy!

Standard

‘I am ever so excited to be a Grandma!’

Feel free to confide in me–even your deepest, darkest secrets–because if there is anything the last few months proves, it’s that I can keep my lip zipped.

It was in May that The Child called us on a Sunday, as is her wont. But this time, after her usual “hello,” she added, “James is on the line too.” Then: “We have something to tell you.”

A photo from our visit to my Mom that I couldn’t use before now

Of course we were thinking this might be Baby News. But did we say anything? Not on your life. What if the news was that they were getting a dog? I have a couple of friends who were called by their children to announce the getting of a dog. These dogs are now known as (and I am not kidding) their granddogs.

So. All Dude Man and I said was, “Oh my! What is your news?!” And they told us. They were having a baby. A boy. Due October 13.

Three and a half generations a couple of weeks ago

After we were done squealing (me), hugging (both of us) and happy-dancing around the room (me again), we asked the usual questions. Feeling? Fine. Happy? Yes. Names? Perhaps something Greek. (The SIL has Greek forbears.)

At this point I threw in a couple of reassuring points. No, we were not going to suggest any names. “You can call him Poindexter or Mud for all I care,” I said. And I know some people do this, but no, I wasn’t going to be present in the delivery room. “I didn’t want to be there when you were born!”

Celebrating at Laura and Dave’s

Speaking of names, I reminded her that her Grampa Henry referred to her as “Wal-Mart” before she was born. As in, “Has Wal-Mart been doing a lot of kicking?” Or “Do you have a bed for Wal-Mart yet?” And even “Have you finally thought of a name for Wal-Mart? (Other than “Wal-Mart,” that is.) The naming took us forever. Even though we knew she was a girl. See “What’s in a name?” for deets. For one thing, you’ll see that Dude Man wanted to call her “Zeus.” Which I think is a perfectly lovely name — for a dog. (Incidentally, one of her Childness’s friends has a dog named Zeus. This friend also has a baby not named Zeus. Perfect!)

The Child, flanked by Fem Friends, at a party thrown in her (and her hub’s, they do it that way now) honor in SF. The friend on the left has the dog named Zeus. And the baby not named Zeus.

So where does the keeping a secret come in? I was asked not to mention her impending motherhood on social media. At least not until the cat (er, baby) was out of the bag.

Baby Goldfish are in that bag. Thanks, Aunt Laura!

It was really hard, but I did manage to keep her secret safe. Though some blog posts took a bit of crafty editing.

But my secret-holding is nothing compared to hers. Once she told us the news, I did a little math and realized that she had been pregnant back in March when we all went to this fantastic wedding. She was so clever I didn’t even realize she wasn’t drinking — and there was a martini bar!

Child at wedding holding a secret — but no martini

More next week. I feel the need to happy-dance around the room some more.

Amagansett, New York. August 2024