Peaches Gets An Exorcism

This past weekend my 5 month old niece Peaches got baptized. My 90 year old cousin, a retired bishop, performed the ceremony. According to my cousin who did seminary in Rome, the baptism is actually a form of exorcism. This sounds intense but my 90 year old cousin is gentle as a lamb. He was the most well liked bishop in the Pittsburgh dioceses before retiring and married all my older immediate family members, my parents included. While he did not marry my sister Skipper or my brother in law Boomer, he made a celebrity guest appearance on the alter.

Sure, I get the church wants to play it safe and all. As a lapsed Catholic, for as much as the exorcism trivia was cool, it was also a bit much. Peaches is a 5 month old baby. She still has her brand new car smell. This small being who cries, poops, but also has a way of eliminating all familial drama when she’s around should be celebrated. Plus an RC baptism is the parent’s first chance at starting the college fund. It’s not the day where Peaches sits up in her crib, her head spins around in a 180 and she screams, “Demi! Demi!” (Note: Peaches has projectile vomited on me before so there is that potential). 

However, I will give the bishop this, Peaches is teething. Hell hath no fury like a teething baby. Peaches woke everyone up several times during the night because of the pain she was in. While I felt terribly for her ordeal, it also woke up the entire house. Her pooping schedule was also off, so there was the fear she would poop in the christening gown. I am sure she wouldn’t be the first baby to do so but still, a pooping baby in a white gown is the devil. So yeah, maybe my cousin had a point.

The most fascinating thing about  a christening and a new family member is talking to the older family members. We were trying to figure out how old The Bishop was. “He’s gotta be 90.”

My sister in law Marie laughs, “Isn’t that old?”

My brother Wendell says, “No, he married our parents, aunts and uncles. He’s up there.”

At the party, we all try to figure it out. My Aunt Barb says, “He married my husband and I 46 years ago and he had been a priest a while. And he renewed our vows 25 years ago. He has to be at least 90. But he’s still driving. How is he doing that?”

The man who christened Peaches just might be immortal like the Highlander. However, in the event he wasn’t I decided to talk to him a little about his life. First, I wanted to figure out how we were related as I have 26 cousins in my immediate family alone. Apparently he is my now deceased grandfather’s cousin. The Bishop studied in Rome back in 1952, and was away for four years from his family because flight was so expensive. He talked about how Europe was after the war, and how there were certain Communist countries he could not visit with his friends. It was a world without internet, cellphones, GPS, and cable TV let alone Netflix.

Just as I was well aware of The Bishop’s age, I also became acutely aware of my own. The world he knows is different than the one I know and will also be different than the one Peaches will know. Someday, she will look up at me with her big blue eyes and ask, “Auntie April, what’s a CD?”

She will also say, “I saw an old movie, one from the 80s and they had landlines. How did people function?” I won’t lie. I will say the 80s and 90s were hell because living without a cellphone is war and war is hell. Okay, maybe I won’t but it sounds like something crazy an older relative will say. Even those thoughts make me acutely aware of my age.

I can safely say I have known Peaches for her entire life. About a year ago we did her gender reveal party. Skipper was sick every day as she was in the early throws of pregnancy and craved Stove Top Stuffing which Boomer was forced to cook. Before the party, Skipper called me on my way to school in California to inform she had, “A bun in the oven.” This was after she and Boomer returned from Bonnaroo. So yes, Peaches has already been to a hippie music festival. 

I also feel old as I remember standing next to Skipper on her wedding day as maid of honor. Not only was it a lovely treat, but she was talking about having kids within three years. Then it seemed sort of scary because I had remembered Skipper as a young bride. When she tried on wedding dresses she started to weep stating, “I look like an adult woman who has a mortgage and pays her own cellphone  bill!”

I also remember meeting Boomer for the first time. It was clear he liked my sister and she liked him back. Being the big sibling I asked him what his intentions were. He said he liked Skipper. I looked him in the eye like Clint Eastwood and said, “Man, if you mistreat Skipper in any way I will kill you.”

It since has become a running joke between the three of us. Boomer is a good guy and has morphed into a good father. Peaches for the most part is a good baby. Towards the end of the day, it was my shift. Her parents wanted a nap and my parents had to clean after the party. This meant I was on baby duty. We played with her toys which had the same song going in a loop. Songs that were stuck in my head for days and yes they are still haunting me in my sleep. Peaches also tried to eat the entire train because why not. After all, earlier in the day they gave her an exorcism for a reason, right. When she had the train taken away she got my finger and gripped onto it with her tiny fingers. Swayed by adoration and amazed by her strength, I was caught off guard when she stuck it in her mouth and bit on it with her half of a tooth. (I had also hoped I washed my hands). The Bishop was right. This kid was possessed by the devil. 

After I yanked my finger out of her mouth Peaches started to hiccup and fuss. What to do? I don't have children and my parents are cleaning. Skipper and Boomer are sleeping. So I hiccup back. To my surprise Peaches laughs. She hiccups again, I hiccup back and she laughs again. It turns into a game. Now I am liking this. Peaches is an evil I can work with,“Peaches, you know your parents might not like this, but you might have a future in show business. Your Auntie April needs an opening act. Start working on your television 7. Save yourself a few years of grief. And as for that exorcism, we are all going to hell. You and I will just be in the back playing jokes on people.”

How Not To Get A Woman

Once I was hanging out in my deli on the corner a few years ago. No, I wasn't working as a hooker. I was getting my coffee. Anyway, I was chilling with Jackson my cabbie buddy when this dude walks in. He was young, good looking, and had skin that was as smooth as silk and black like a rare pearl. His eyes were dark and piercing. Oh and he was all rugged. While I will date anyone who is sane these days, I usually favor a darker complexion. I mean, I will date a pasty dude but we both can't look like the sun will kill us for the sake of our children is all I am saying.

Anyway Jackson had to go back to work and I was left with this dude. He started talking to me and told me he was from Ghana. Already I heard the horror stories about African men men knocking up women and leaving them with child as they raced to play Johnny Appleseed. Jamaican men are apparently worse. The crown of course belongs to the Puerto Ricans in this politically incorrect game of Maury Povich. I wasn't judging him based off of race. That is like saying all Asians are bad drivers and all Jews are cheap bastards.

So we began talking and he revealed he had two children with two different mothers back in Ghana. I was like okay. This is how the conversation went from there:

Ghana Bob: Do you have children?

Me: Hell no.

Ghana Bob: Why hell no? It is our purpose on this planet to have children.

Me: That is up for debate. I think certain people aren't designed to have children. And I actually think I would be a terrible mother.

Ghana Bob: Not if you had my baby you wouldn't.

Me: Excuse me?

Ghana Bob: Yes, I have been seeing you coming to this deli for some time. I just have the picture of the two of us. You would make a really great mother. I think you should have my baby.

I laugh nervously

Me: That is really funny.

Ghana Bob: No, I'm serious.

Me: Don't you think that this is moving a little fast? I mean, we just met.

Ghana Bob: This worked on both my children's mothers.

I get up

Me: I need to leave

Ghana Bob: Where are you going?

Me: To run far away from you and to staple my clothes onto my body in case we ever meet again.

Needless to say, that is my first and last African dude. Ghana Bob probably went to find some idiot with two brain cells in order to add a half white baby to his collection. Or an idiot from any race with two brain cells, but the idiot was probably white because white people are dumb. I of course have twelve wonderful little puppet children I am mother to that have caused me no stretch marks.

Love

April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
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Babies, Kids, The Whole Nine Yards

I recently visited the neighbor girl that used to baby sit me as a kid. She is married and lives with her husband in San Francisco. They brought their lil man Hudson. It was the big visit to Grandma and Grandpa in Pittsburgh. Hudson was the cutest little man. Well behaved, he was a keen observer. We gave him a Winnie the Pooh stuffed bear. Usually at that age, Winnie the Pooh is the big staple. It’s not scary and plus he won’t swallow anything. At eight months, Hudson is a fearless explorer like the river named after the British pathfinder. This Christmas, one of his discoveries was tissue paper. To Hudson, tissue paper is the greatest thing since sliced bread. Actually, it may even be better.

To attract him to the Winnie the Pooh bear, his possible future sleeping companion when he goes through the Boogey Man phase, his father shook the red tissue paper in the bag. Hudson, fascinated and ready for adventure, crawled towards the bag and tugged at the paper until it came out. There was more, and it would be work. So his father simply removed the rest of it and gave his little man the bear.

As old and jaded as I am, I couldn’t imagine being that small. I couldn’t imagine tissue paper being the world of the unknown, the exotic. I couldn’t imagine the world being so big. But I guess when you are crawling it is big and dangerous, and dogs are probably giant scary creatures as big as a T-Rex.

As Hudson went for the bear, crawling on all fours, the first stage of human development and ironically like the stuffed creature who was his gift, he bumped his head. As he crawled he bumped his head again, and again. Hudson didn’t cry. He didn’t even let out an inkling that it hurt. Little eight month old Hudson soldiered on.

As he kept crawling he kept bumping his head over and over again!

It was adorable in a way, because when he didn’t get it he had grit and determination to just keep going. Although little, you can tell he is a tough guy already. I gasped hoping the child wouldn’t get hurt. To Hudson it was no big deal. He was learning to crawl. His parents were good about it but I found myself having a small heart attack everytime he bumped his head. Football players bump their heads, but they wear helmets. If I bumped my head I would worry about brain damage and probably cry. In a way, Hudson is stronger than most adults. But still, that is a lot of head bumping. Wow.

I talked to my mother later. I asked her if the bumping of the heads is normal for children. She said it was actually very normal for children when they learned to crawl, and that is why parents with crawling infants put down carpeting and other padding so the little ones don’t get hurt and that they can explore safely. For as cute as Hudson was, a baby can sure give you a heart attack. They are high risk little creatures.

 Skipper was quick to point out that it made sense that a baby would hit it’s head learning to crawl. It’s head was the biggest part of the makeup and the rest of the body had to catch up. I asked my mother if she was prepared ahead of time for this as the oldest of six, her being seventeen years older than her baby brother. “No, you learn everything the first time with kids of your own.” My mom said.

We talked a little bit about a kid’s first year of life. My mom said that it took a while for a baby to sleep through the night. I asked her why babies just didn’t sleep like normal people. Skipper said their head was big, their body was little, and they had to almost triple their body weight within their first year of life. That is a lot of eating to do so that they could make those growth markers, and because their stomachs are so teeny they by-pass food quickly so they need to eat constantly. My mom added that until a child is two, if it doesn’t wake up on time you need to worry about things like crib death. She told us that when we didn’t wake up at exactly the same time she would panic. Babies are cute, but this is another way they give adults mini-heart attacks.

We talked about pregnancy. My mom said she was sick the entire time. I asked my mother why people did it more than once. My mom smiled and said, “Usually it is by accident.”

Then my sister Skipper told me when she was delivering babies in her medical school class with my brother Wendell-that less than two percent of the children she delivered were planned. Skipper informed me that many of the mothers insisted they used birth control. Apparently it does fail two percent of the time.

Oh no!

Weight gain, morning sickness, painful birth, no sleep, and then worrying if they might get injured or die in their crib in their first two years are a lot of stress. It’s not like it gets better. That is just the beginning. Kids cost money. You have to buy them clothes. You have to insure them in case they become ill. You have to buy them more clothes when they grow out of their clothes. You need to potty train them and not get angry when they go everywhere. Oh and when they learn to talk and learn to say no they get on your last nerve. Those are the times you want to send them into the woods and hope for the best. But then you don’t. Part out of love, but partly because Child Services doesn’t look kindly on the Hansel and Gretel parenting approach.

Of course there is school. There is not expecting a genius because you probably won’t get one, but praying they aren’t too horribly retarded. There are spelling words, math facts, reading books, science projects, the dreaded parent teacher conference and PTA. Oh and then there is hoping your kid makes friends and hoping they fit in. There is teaching them not to be bully meat and then hoping that they don’t master the lessons too well so that they become the bully.

Junior high is a nightmare. There is the whole clique thing, the whole dating thing, the whole hormone thing. And that goes with a bad attitude. That is knowing your kid will disobey you and disappoint you because they want to be adult. But they aren’t adults, and yet the big, bad world is beginning to beckon. It’s harder to get them to study and focus when some new hit show in on TV. It is acne and the crying if it’s a girl or the fist fighting stage if it’s a boy. And again, it’s not releasing them into the wild during this phase as well.

Then there is high school. They aren’t as bratty. But now there are new worries. They want to date and be unsupervised. You now run the risk of getting an early grandchild. There is learning to drive and hoping they don’t crash and hoping their friends are safe drivers. And then there is the whole after school activities and finding what is right for them. There are college visits, college apps, refinancing the home so you can pay for college because FAFSA is a freaking joke if you don’t live in a box.

After that they go to college and you hope that they don’t flunk out or meet their premature end during a night or partying. There is hoping that again they don’t get pregnant, don’t get mono, don’t get sick with something with you so far away. But now you are releasing them into the wild and hoping for the best because they are over eighteen. The wild of being away and new ideas. You hope they remember their roots, remember your values, and remember to wear fresh underwear every day. You also hope you can pay for the next semester. And you wish they were little again, but then you remember that was no free lunch either.

The next step is the journey to adulthood, where you worry about them being gainfully employed and finding a partner who treats them well and doesn’t use them as financial support or as a punching bag. You worry about them being on their own and hoping they are good people, at least you tried, right? You hope that they don’t break the law because now they can really punish them. You hope someone doesn’t hurt them. You hope they are making good decisions. Hope is the key word here, because now you can’t change their minds.

And then when they raise their kids, they don’t want to listen to anything you say. What do you know? You only had a few of your own. But now you can be grandma and give them candy when Mom and Dad aren’t looking.

I don’t understand why teenagers just have sex and think it’s going to be easy once they have a baby. It sounds like hard work and quite frankly, horrific if you aren’t ready. I asked my mother why anyone wanted kids as I laid out all the things you have to go through and how sometimes they are a headache. She said, “Kids make you laugh and are funny. And Hudson is soooo cute.”

Yes, Hudson is cute. Cute and a lot of work.

Kids are cute, and a lot of work.

I’m cute and I’m a lot of work. Ask my mom.

I think I can wait until I am about one hundred to have children. In this day and age it seems nothing is stress free and safe, not even an elementary school.

 

Love

April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

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