It's interesting to me how many people are obsessed with us having a child "of your own." It's as if Reagan isn't real, isn't a person, isn't our daughter.
"Oh, you know, now that you've adopted, you'll get pregnant." I love their faces when I smile sweetly and say, "Well, I certainly hope not."
"Do you plan to adopt again or will you have a child of your own?" My real reaction to this isn't appropriate for print and I usually keep it inside myself but out loud I've started to say, "Reagan is our own and we don't know if we'll even have more children, adopted or otherwise." This always blows their minds because if there's anything worse than an adopted child, it's an adopted child who's also an ONLY child. The horror.
Everyone has an opinion. I'm an American, I embrace differing opinions. I just think I'm super surprised by the lack of tact we face on a nearly daily basis. No one would think to ask people about the night their children were conceived yet we're asked "how much she cost" at least once a week. What the?!
I thought the stupid questions would cease once we had Reagan home but that's not true. Stupid is alive and well.
I have to get off my soapbox now. My own daughter, Reagan RuXian Farrar Wellman is hollering at me for more Cheerios.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Priorities
Reagan has one doll. She pulls her pants off, tucks her in under a little doll-sized quilt, kisses her face and points to her doll's nose if asked where it is. (She assumes our short term memory is less than adequate, I think. She always looks at me curiously, sighs and then points AGAIN to the doll's nose as if to say, "Mommy, it's right HERE, right where it always is when you ask me. Good grief."
The doll (who is nameless) lives downstairs in the family room toy box. Yesterday afternoon after playtime I announced it was time for supper. Reagan jumped up and scurried to the staircase like usual but this time she was carrying her doll. When we mounted the stairs, Reagan insisted on climbing them herself...while struggling to hold her dolly in her hand. I offered multiple times to carry it for her but she refused. So clutching her baby in one hand, she pulled herself along with the other one, bumping her chin on the steps several times, looking back at me to make sure I was following and dropping her beloved child now and then. Each time I thought she'd go on up without the doll but each time Reagan stopped and went back for it until we made it all the way to the top. Then she stood up, doll in hand and raced to the high chair.
She and Dolly squirmed impatiently while I prepared her sippy cup of milk. I started piling food on Reagan's tray and she quickly realized something. She was out of space. Something had to go.
So despite all her efforts to carry that wild-haired, pink-wearing doll up the stairs...she literally tossed it over the side on to the floor where it landed with a sickening thud. I turned around from the stove to see her look down at it wistfully, then eyeball her fist full of rice and cram the entire thing into her mouth. "MMMMMM," she said.
Again, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
The doll (who is nameless) lives downstairs in the family room toy box. Yesterday afternoon after playtime I announced it was time for supper. Reagan jumped up and scurried to the staircase like usual but this time she was carrying her doll. When we mounted the stairs, Reagan insisted on climbing them herself...while struggling to hold her dolly in her hand. I offered multiple times to carry it for her but she refused. So clutching her baby in one hand, she pulled herself along with the other one, bumping her chin on the steps several times, looking back at me to make sure I was following and dropping her beloved child now and then. Each time I thought she'd go on up without the doll but each time Reagan stopped and went back for it until we made it all the way to the top. Then she stood up, doll in hand and raced to the high chair.
She and Dolly squirmed impatiently while I prepared her sippy cup of milk. I started piling food on Reagan's tray and she quickly realized something. She was out of space. Something had to go.
So despite all her efforts to carry that wild-haired, pink-wearing doll up the stairs...she literally tossed it over the side on to the floor where it landed with a sickening thud. I turned around from the stove to see her look down at it wistfully, then eyeball her fist full of rice and cram the entire thing into her mouth. "MMMMMM," she said.
Again, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
My Daughter, the Personal Trainer Part Two
Reagan recognizes that it takes both diet and exercise to really peel away the excess pounds. That's why my thoughtful personal trainer works my flabby behind every day.
From day one, Reagan has preferred me to all others which at first I thought was because of my infectious personality and the fact that I nearly always have Cheerios on my person. However, as time passes, I realize she makes me haul her around as part of my weight training regimen. She also insists on tossing whatever she's carrying to the ground at random intervals to challenge my agility and grace. There's a method to her madness. For instance, Reagan doesn't "accidentally" drop her sippy cup except when both of my hands are entirely full of other things and/or we're in a desperate hurry to get out the door. If she tossed it down when I've got nothing but time and empty hands, then I wouldn't get the same kind of workout. My body would be mush, that's what. Reagan's dedication to my health astounds everyone we meet.
Reagan knows that a strong back is key for overall core strength. Every, single bloomin' day Reagan tackles the stairs on our way up from the basement. She chooses to crawl up three or four steps and then turn around to slide down on her bottom. I hunch over, trying to save her from certain death and thus, my back receives a thorough workout. When Reagan arrives at the base of the stairs, we start the routine over again because all personal trainers know that number of reps is key to building strong muscles.
It takes a village to keep Mom skinny. Reagan relies on my morning visits to our wellness center to take care of my body, as well. Last week, I woke up before my alarm and thought I was up, ready to throw myself into the car and head for the gym. I turned off the alarm so as not to disturb my beloved and my whip-wielding daughter. My brain said get up. However, my body had other ideas and within moments, I'd drifted back to sleep. At 5:31 am, Reagan let out a heart attack-inducing scream. I sat straight up in bed, realized I was about to miss class and jetted from the house. Danny told me later that when he went in to check on Reagan, she was already back to sleep. See? Even when she's unconscious, she works to keep me moving and grooving. What a giver.
Variety keeps training interesting so Reagan continually mixes up our time together by tossing in cries for swirling, singing, dancing, bouncing and tossing whenever she sees me start to relax. If my body slows down at all, Reagan senses my regression and springs into action. Right now she's taking a nap and I'm about to, as well. This is an unapproved sleep and must be approached carefully. My strategy is simple. I take off my shoes and tip toe across the hall into our bedroom. I know right where the squeaky springs are in the bed so I ease onto the comforter very carefully, without disturbing the cat or the mattress. I lay on my back so as to preserve my hairstyle and I sleep in my glasses. This way if Reagan suspects my rebellious rest, I can fool her by being right at her side the instant she cries. When she glances over me, looking for signs of slumber, I'll fool her.
This is how I'm surviving Mommyhood, one stolen nap at a time. Also, today I ate what was left of the ice cream straight from the container. A girl's gotta do, what a girl's gotta do.
From day one, Reagan has preferred me to all others which at first I thought was because of my infectious personality and the fact that I nearly always have Cheerios on my person. However, as time passes, I realize she makes me haul her around as part of my weight training regimen. She also insists on tossing whatever she's carrying to the ground at random intervals to challenge my agility and grace. There's a method to her madness. For instance, Reagan doesn't "accidentally" drop her sippy cup except when both of my hands are entirely full of other things and/or we're in a desperate hurry to get out the door. If she tossed it down when I've got nothing but time and empty hands, then I wouldn't get the same kind of workout. My body would be mush, that's what. Reagan's dedication to my health astounds everyone we meet.
Reagan knows that a strong back is key for overall core strength. Every, single bloomin' day Reagan tackles the stairs on our way up from the basement. She chooses to crawl up three or four steps and then turn around to slide down on her bottom. I hunch over, trying to save her from certain death and thus, my back receives a thorough workout. When Reagan arrives at the base of the stairs, we start the routine over again because all personal trainers know that number of reps is key to building strong muscles.
It takes a village to keep Mom skinny. Reagan relies on my morning visits to our wellness center to take care of my body, as well. Last week, I woke up before my alarm and thought I was up, ready to throw myself into the car and head for the gym. I turned off the alarm so as not to disturb my beloved and my whip-wielding daughter. My brain said get up. However, my body had other ideas and within moments, I'd drifted back to sleep. At 5:31 am, Reagan let out a heart attack-inducing scream. I sat straight up in bed, realized I was about to miss class and jetted from the house. Danny told me later that when he went in to check on Reagan, she was already back to sleep. See? Even when she's unconscious, she works to keep me moving and grooving. What a giver.
Variety keeps training interesting so Reagan continually mixes up our time together by tossing in cries for swirling, singing, dancing, bouncing and tossing whenever she sees me start to relax. If my body slows down at all, Reagan senses my regression and springs into action. Right now she's taking a nap and I'm about to, as well. This is an unapproved sleep and must be approached carefully. My strategy is simple. I take off my shoes and tip toe across the hall into our bedroom. I know right where the squeaky springs are in the bed so I ease onto the comforter very carefully, without disturbing the cat or the mattress. I lay on my back so as to preserve my hairstyle and I sleep in my glasses. This way if Reagan suspects my rebellious rest, I can fool her by being right at her side the instant she cries. When she glances over me, looking for signs of slumber, I'll fool her.
This is how I'm surviving Mommyhood, one stolen nap at a time. Also, today I ate what was left of the ice cream straight from the container. A girl's gotta do, what a girl's gotta do.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
More Halloween Pictures...
Our favorite little droid stars in more Halloween photos on Flickr:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/84389878@N00/?saved=1
http://www.flickr.com/photos/84389878@N00/?saved=1
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