My name is E-l-o-d-i-a. I wouldn’t make that up. My mother did, but I wouldn’t. People often ask me if I got teased, when I was a child, because of my name. I tell them “Nope”. Children didn’t have a problem with my name. It’s the adults that seem to have a problem.”
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Whoever dubbed New York, New York “the city that never sleeps” should visit The Maternity Ward. My recent visit included a drop-in on several screenings of “A Star Is Born” at the late-show theatre, right near Mama’s Breast (all night milk bar) and Papa’s Gas Station (”We burp you on your way.”).
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I spent the full nine months of pregnancy bonding with my baby. For her cerebral stimulation, I played Mozart and read aloud from Ralph Waldo Emerson. I regaled her with stories of a family steeped in history (no sense disillusioning her too early). I named her, nicknamed her, and shared girl talk with her. We bonded in every aspect imaginable
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As the birth of our second child quickly approaches, I am reminded of what a wonderful man I managed to marry. He stayed with me during the entire 36 hour ordeal last time and never gave up on me, even when I did. However, before we brave this joyful event again, there are a few requests that I would like to make of him …
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Afterbirth : When the hard part begins …
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Q. What is the easiest way to figure out exactly when I got pregnant? A. Have sex once a year.
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Not to imply anything,but I don’t think the kid weighs forty pounds …
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“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet…” This may be true in the botany kingdom, but when it comes to our children, there are a lot of stinky names to be had.
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My friend Honey is having a baby. But if you think this column is about her, you’re mistaken. Honey may be having the baby, but I’m the one talking about breast feeding, diapers, and postpartum blues. I ramble on and Honey takes it in stride. She learned early that a pregnant woman is a lightning rod for birthing-room war stories and unsolicited advice.
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