Just when you thought you’d gotten rid of me.
For those of you who know me personally (which I’d wager is everyone), my hiatus hardly needs explanation. About three weeks after my last post, I came down with the worst stomach bug of all time. Except it wasn’t a bug, it was a baby.
Being a mom is a great gig. You might say the best ever. But does that mean I’m ready to chuck life as I know it off the deck with last year’s jack-o-lantern and Christmas tree? Well, yes actually–if Tennyson wanted me to. But I know he doesn’t.
Have you seen the cartoon How the Grinch Stole Christmas? (Of course you have. I bet there are some of you who have already watched it this year…I roll my eyes at you). Near the end, his heart swells so much it busts the xray window and he lifts a whole town’s worth of Holiday decor over his head. Well, that’s how Tenny makes me feel. I admit that when he was first born, and throughout my entire pregnancy, my primary feeling was terror. I was practically paralyzed; I can’t quite explain why. So for a year, I did pretty much nothing but read a 50/50 split of terrible YA supernatual romances and consumer reports on baby gear. But as Tenny has grown, I realized that narrowing my world made no sense. Sure, lying in a crib like a starfish while your goofball mother stares at you for untold seconds is dandy when you’re five months old, but eventually it will get old. One day soon he’ll want his own adventure. And as the hubs says, nobody wants boring parents.
But I don’t have to wait for Tenny to tell me that in so many words. When he was still just a tadpole swimming around in bellytown, I did manage to fit in one artistic endeavor between Baby Bargains and Sookie Stackhouse book 43. Gestation weeks 19-31 were spent choreographing a children’s show loosely based on the Arabian Nights. It was during rehearsals that I first felt the baby move. Tennyson was a very chill fetus overall–I used to worry he wasn’t moving enough–but my, did he love to dance. Whenever I stopped to take a breath (which was more and more often, as the weeks went by), Tenny would wiggle and jab as if to say “do it again!” He got bigger and stronger over time. Sitting in the audience on opening night, he heard the familiar strains of the opening number and bicyled his feet in excitement. And, considering he’s Patrick’s and my child, do I even have to tell you how he reacted to applause?
Which leads me to the point. I am not the same Janie Hitchcock who started this blog 31 posts ago. I’ve created in the most primitive sense of the word, and like food coloring in your Thanksgiving taters, Tennyson colors everything I do. So you might occasionally see, say, a Janie Young post rather than a Janie Hitchcock post. But you needn’t worry that this will be one of those blogs that only a mother could love. I’m still an artist too, even if I now have spit up on my dance clothes. There’s enough room in my life and my heart for everything.
My girl Emily Deschanel, fellow peformer-in-pregnancy
P.S. — Stay tuned for not one, but two upcoming projects.