Grading

I'm sitting at Starbucks, grading papers (and surfing the Internet, which is much more fun), and I wish I didn't have to assign grades. It's painful grading a student with learning differences, tallying the total, and writing "F" at the top of the paper. I don't think my students often realize the struggle I endure to give them the grade they deserve. Instead, the complaint is "Mrs. Bird grades too hard." At moments like this (midterm time), I wish I taught in a world where students were so eager to learn that grading became a frivolous, meaningless activity. A world in which students read Austen and Dumas (or any author!) for fun and wrote their thoughts daily. A world in which math didn't exists. (Sorry, math-friends.)

All this teacher-introspection and evaluation of my students causes me to think about my little girl. Will she be a brainiac? An avid reader? A bit on the slow side? Lacking common sense? A music prodigy? A gal who can't hit a note if her life depended on it? A fan of chic lit or sci-fi? A movie-reviewer? Possess a sense of direction? Get lost from the door to the driveway? Right now, all the many pieces of her are unknown, and the reality of the possibilities excites my heart. I will have the opportunity to know a whole new little person while she discovers her likes and dislikes, her strengths and weaknesses. My hope, my plan, and my expectation is to take her as she is--learning differences, an IQ of 180, or just an average girl. I'm so glad that I don't have to grade her on a scale of 1-100. I'm sure I couldn't be fair at all.

I'm Back!

Back from the land of walking pneumonia. Back from coughing all day long. Back from the "embrace the fatigue" blog that I last wrote--it wasn't just fatigue after all.

I must say it's good to be back in time for Christmas. I've been reading through the Christmas story, paying particular attention this year to Mary's perspective as she experiences motherhood for the first time. Her attitude of trust and submission in the midst of the most abnormal pregnancy ever acts as a reminder to me about my attitude of trust through a fairly normal pregnancy. I've found that during this season of my life, I must entrust my body, my marriage, and my parenting skills to Someone greater than myself.

The first, my body, because it's fickle; sometimes it acts as it should, but most often I find that it operates as it (or the baby) sees fit from day to day. Such a range of fatigue, hormones, and symptoms can be frustrating if I'm not willing to take each day in stride. My marriage because I've begun to realize that I will relearn Tim in an entirely new role--as a father as well as my best friend and lover. I expect that we will develop a deeper bond with one another through the crazy-love experience of parenthood, but the change (any change, for that matter) is still a bit scary. And finally, my parenting skills because I don't know what the heck I'm doing. :) I'll start by loving her wildly, beyond what I once thought possible. From there, I'll need help to find the balance between doting and condoning, spoiling and over-protecting.

I figure though that if a 14-year-old girl could be the mother of God, then surely He'll help a 28-year-old be a decent mother to Macie. Merry Christmas, my baby girl. I'll SEE you next year.

Embrace the fatigue

The sun is shining for the first day in the past week or so, and I am about to trek outside with my midterms and sit and bask in the Vitamin D while I edit them. Macie is draining me today, a disappointing fact since I assumed that the second trimester would be full of frolicking around school, shopping, and building the nursery in my spare time. Ha! My doctor reminded me sweetly that every pregnancy is different, and even though one friend told me that she had MORE energy in her second trimester than BEFORE she was pregnant (is that really possible????), that's not the reality in which I live. But I accept this as part of mommy-prep and as a necessity to help my baby grow, grow, grow. My motto today: Embrace the fatigue. The end result is worth it.

Squirming

Each day I feel Macie--yes, that's her name--squirm and wiggle, and I've found that no matter what difficulties I'm facing or what anxieties are swimming in my mind, this movement gives me pause, a moment to relax and delight in my baby girl. I spoke with a friend about this strange sensation recently, and I recalled my many fears of being a mom. In fact, I would say I was probably one of the most fearful, non-parents out there. Illogical fears and some not-so-illogical fears kept me so preoccupied that I wondered if perhaps parenting just wasn't meant for me after all. I guess I'm writing this to encourage anyone who has experienced similar emotions about this experience that carries with it so many unknowns. I've noticed that as Macie grows, my worries about loving her and caring for her diminish. I'm sure I'll never be entirely free of mom-concerns, but I am thrilled to see how much the reality of her overshadows the unrealistic anxieties of motherhood.

You're a Girl!

To My Baby-Girl Bird,

First of all, you were so worth the wait. The tests and tears and pokes and prods can never compare to the joy of seeing your eyes and heart and bones, the container that holds your personality and attitude and smiles and frowns, all the beauty of you. So many people are excited about your arrival, and without your awareness, you are being asked about and texted about and talked about by family, friends, students, and everyone else to whom I announce your arrival (including the waitress at Olive Garden last night J).

In honor of finding out more about you and spending almost every moment thinking about you, I want to share with you some of the hopes I have for you.

I hope you giggle at silly, random things.

I hope you cry with those who cry.

I hope you laugh often at yourself.

I hope you pick flowers and make dandelion necklaces.

I hope you eat blueberries and strawberries from a field.

I hope you let go of petty grudges.

I hope you race to the ocean tide—and finally catch it.

I hope you never know the meanness that popularity can bring.

I hope you choose honesty rather than ease.

I hope you love ice cream the first time you taste it.

I hope you know God’s love early and never doubt it.

I hope you play tea-party with daddy on a regular basis.

I hope you are angered at injustice and fight for the weak.

I hope you know far more joy than sorrow.

I hope you run to mommy when you’re knee is skinned or your heart is broken.

I hope you trust the incredible support-system all around you.

I hope you meet a man as good as your daddy (but not until you are 35 J).

I hope you love life and live deliberately.

I not only hope this for you. I have a feeling that though you (and your parents) will make mistakes, the heart of your life will be all this—and much more.

I love you,

Mom

My Favorite Picture of Baby Bird

Venti Calm Tea Misto with Soy

I'm sitting in class right now, waiting for my students to finish reading the last Chapter of The Scarlet Letter. I had hoped to read it aloud to them, but I am sick. A coughing, sneezing, congested, "am I wetting myself?????" kind of sick. I never thought about the ramifications of that during pregnancy. Now, I worry about how being ill might affect my baby. Now, I can't take most meds and instead just work through it. Now, I call my mom at 6:45am and ask more questions than I already would normally. Now, I'm easier on myself as a teacher, drinking my Venti Calm Tea Misto with Soy and ichatting about the book with my students. It's all I can do right now. All of this leads me to believe that this may be part of the prep for being a mom myself. Concern for my child, questions for my mom, less of a focus on work and more on home. Being a mom. Hmmm... What a nice thought, even with all the new (cuter) baggage that I carry with me on this journey to motherhood.