No, "we" are not discussing this. Ever.

Let me be the first to say that my relationship with my mom can be a bit strained.

Nevertheless, I know she loves me. But every so often, she gets on a kick and it's all I can do to keep from pounding my head against a wall. Sunday was that kind of conversation. I was telling her of my shopping trip to Wally World, how I saw the preemie clothes there and how, once upon a time, even those would have been too big for my daughter. (The wee one was a whopping 3 1/2 pounds when she was born, which gives you something of an idea.) For me, this is a happy thing---when your preemie daughter is now into normal clothes for her age (and is also as normal as she can be with our genes) it's something to celebrate.

But oh, no, not for mom. The conversation went off the proverbial deep end. Mom started on with, "But you won't want to do that again, it's just too hard, you don't want to have another child."

Oh, really? How nice of you to tell me what I do (or don't) want to do with my reproductive organs. /end sarcasm

I bean-dipped* her. No joy there---she went off the subject for a little bit, then was back on it again, with a twist. Now, it seems, I don't "understand" how hard it was for everyone else. (Hey, lady, nine weeks of bedrest ain't exactly a cakewalk.) I got the lecture on how concerned she and dad were (which, to be fair, I'm sure they were) and how---again---I couldn't possibly be thinking of ever having another child. (Of course not. I'll be 35 in May and I love being a mom just as much as DH loves being a Dad. Of course, we couldn't possibly want to be parents again. /sarcasm) And yes, we know what the odds are of us having another premature baby (less than what they were with the wee one) and yes, I know I'd have to spend some time on bedrest. And that's...well, it's not okay, but it's how my "normal" pregnancies go. :)

The thing is, if she'd actually treat me like, say, an adult, I'd tell her this stuff. I'd also tell her that it's by no means guaranteed that we will even be able have a second child (not to put too fine a point on it, but all those TV shows where they show one night of unprotected sex and the woman gets pregnant instantly? They're lying) and that if it should turn out that way, that we'd be okay with it too.

Or maybe I wouldn't tell her. I don't know. What I do know is that I don't want to hear about it from her. I don't want her advice if I haven't asked for it. And lastly, I just want the simple courtesy of not being blathered at as if I were a disobedient kindergartner. Whatever decision DH and I make, will be the right one for us.

Le sigh. Maybe I should have some cheese with my whine....



*For those of you who don't know what I mean, I tried to change the subject. Repeatedly.

The Ties That Bind

My grandfather is in the hospital---at 91 years old, he's still fairly sharp, but his body is slowly giving out on him. Being honest, we haven't really had a good relationship; when I was younger, he seemed to think of me only in terms of what I wasn't--I wasn't tall, or thin, or blonde, or as pretty or smart as my older cousins. And there's been some ugliness much more recently that's made it hard for me to talk to him, even now.

But I called him in the hospital. And I'm glad I did. For all his faults, he's still the only grandfather I have left. And he loves my daughter---loves her and asks after her and is interested in her in a way he never was with me. So...yeah, I'll call him tomorrow.