Abby's Alley

They might not have registered for it, but they'll be happy you gave it to them. 1) Gift certificate to Motherhood Maternity or Destination Maternity 2) Gift card for grocery delivery available at Safeway 3) Gift certificate for  Dream Dinners 4) Pharmaceutical needs (Infant tylenol, Sudafed, and Motrin) 5) Gift certificate to receive a back massage or go to the chiropractor ( Nathan Cowell  for the locals) 6) The book What to Expect The First Year 7) Earplugs, fan, or white noise machine 8) Baby sitting coupons 9) If the baby has older siblings, put together an age appropriate busy box for the sibling/s. In it put new toys, activities, and games that can be used when mom is nursing. I put together one of these for my two year old boy. I put in it: trucks, cars, beaded necklaces, kazoo, whistle, tambourine, nesting bowls, measuring tape, flashlight, magnetic doodle pad, slinky, puzzles, balloons, and a bag full of plastic animals and insects. 10) A certificate for a clea

     I pulled a box out of our garage today and found a folder with many of my first stories, classic works of literature like The Little Girl,  and its sequel The Little Girl and Boy.  I also found this title-less short story. The characters therein are purely fictitious.      "Was upon a time there was a haqqy girl. the haqqy girl had a mean mom. the end."      I also uncovered a dozen journals, both old and new. One, with a lock and key, dates back to 1994. I was 10. Jacob was 12. Joni was 15. Jessica was 6. Those were the days when the little things were big. February 25, 1994      I had no idea what was going to happen and this turn of events was going to change my life. After school I was playing hide and go seek with my dogs and brother. Then my mom called us in to eat.       After we ate, it was almost black outside. Jacob and me decided to roll in the ivy. We pretended that the cars had bad guys in them and the bad guys shot us and then we rolled

        “I feel like my boobs are really big. Are they really big?” asked a voice over my shoulder. I shouldn’t have looked, but I did, and yes, her boobs were rather large. Naked. Watermelons. She bore them like exposing herself publicly to a room full of ladies was common place, a daily ritual, and it sort of was. All of us women in that room had committed to exposing ourself to at least one other set of eyes other than our own. Sure, it’s just a baby, but just because nearly half of the world’s population does it, didn’t make me feel any less uncomfortable.  We are a civilized society. I have a degree in English writing. I’ve read Plato and Aristotle and Socrates. And here I am with the rest of the animal kingdom at its lowliest or maybe, its at its simplest. It’s certainly not at its finest. Maybe its at its most intimate and affectionate, though if it is, I still don’t get it. PIH lactation support group meets Wednesdays 10:00-11:30 am in Room B o

     How the smells encompass! The smell of sour milk and soggy diapers. Witch hazel and mustard-yellow pooh. Body odor and my two-year-old’s breath. Then the weekends come with a whiff of night-blooming jasmine and orange blossoms. I’m baking fresh bread, and Philip has just wiped down the counters with our lemongrass spray.  Back to the plow and the sounds of motherhood.  Her fake cough seconds before she latches on. His three-toned imitation of a sentence. His pushcart rolling over the hardwood floor. Then his cars crashing. The songs from the CD “If You Give a Moose a Muffin.” Again and again and again.  “Uh oh!” “Oh no!” “Iek. Iek.” (Milk) “Ail. Ail.” (Mail) “Ash. Ash.” (Crash or grass or trash)  “Bebe.” (Baby or naked)  “Oh. Oh.” (Blow or throw or mow) Despite the noise, she’s cooing. Talking contentedly. She bursts into a happy shout. Then she won’t stop crying because of the gas that tightens her stom