Monday, 28 February 2011

She's tattooed. She's thoughtful, deep, AND hot .... she's the Stay at Home Babe

This is a guest post from The Babe. I met her online through Fadra, who I met at BlogHer in New York last year. One day this year I am going to get my hair cut exactly like The Babe, and she can't stop me because we live too far apart.

My dear, sweet boy:

You sleep like the dead and stink of preteen pheromones. Seriously it takes a herd of water buffalo charging through your room to wake you at one in the morning. Water buffalo… or just me spooning you and hugging you so tightly that a passerby might think I was trying to cram you back into my rib cage where you loved to stick your feet in the third trimester. Maybe it was the hugs, or maybe it was the thick, plopping tears on the side of your head while I tried to imagine all the things I would need to tell someone to take care of you if I died… either way, I woke you.

See, I stayed up until one in the morning exchanging emails with your Aunt about how to raise you and your sister if I died. How do I do that in an email? How do I tell her that you need an endless stock of art supplies? Which can mean anything from scotch tape and the straws in the cupboard to a full paint set or a camera to record the world as you see it… just anything your artistic whims might need. Lots of that.

How can I remember to tell her that your baby sister likes spicier food than you, but it makes you feel slightly emasculated when someone points it out? And I forgot to tell her that if your socks don’t match then you won’t be able to concentrate all day. Shit, I forgot to tell her that.

I did tell her that you’re deeply stubborn and an excellent liar who only cracks under relentless, consistent interrogation. I told her that you have a heart the size of Texas; that you are shamelessly sensitive and thoroughly devious, like a friendly neighborhood serial killer who cares. Like Dexter. You’ll probably outgrow this, but for now I feel like your personal probation officer just waiting to throw you back in the penitentiary.

Only, you’re funny. You’re so hilarious. In the history of the world, there’s never been anyone who loves a good joke as much as you do. Shit, I forgot to tell her how much you love jokes.

So yeah, the water buffalo got the night off, because after trying to imagine everything I would need to pack into the in-case-I-die email to your aunt, all I wanted to do was hold you and never let go. I squeezed too tightly and it was just enough to make you whimper and squirm a little. You pulled your lanky arms out from underneath my hug and flopped over onto your belly, grunting.

I’m sorry I squeezed you so tightly, but setting up life insurance and guardianships and in-case-I-die emails got the best of me. It got me in that space right in the center of me which aches on your birthdays and goes all mushy when you tell me you love me. I know you need your growing rest and I woke you in the middle of the night and maybe it was selfish to need to cuddle you at one in the morning, but I needed you to know why.

I needed you to know that it’s because I hope that you will forgive me for my mistakes and always know that I love you more than breathing. I would donate my legs to science if it meant that I could be guaranteed to see how your life turns out and meet the man you will grow into. And there is nothing in the world that I wouldn’t give up to keep you from ever feeling brokenhearted, or to keep you from having to learn the hard lessons that I did.

I am not the perfect mother that I wish I could be, that I know you deserve, but I turn myself inside out to do the best I can. I love you to the moon and back, bigger than the whole wide world and I’m sorry that I woke you up in the middle of the night to tell you. Promise me that you won’t forget.


I chase two kids, two cats, two guinea pigs and four chickens around all day. I cook anything that sits still long enough, plant things in the dirt all spring and summer and write whenever I can steal away a moment at the keyboard. I'm an American living in the UK since 2008 when I married my English husband, and I find short bios almost impossible to write. I have a personal blog (with moxy) at Stay At Home Babe and can be found on Twitter and Facebook as well.


  1. I love this post .... I love this love you describe. I want to pull it over me like a blanket, to chase away my demon today.

    Sometimes I sneak around the house at night, going from room to room ... marvelling at these creatures that came from my belly. They make me stay in the world.

    Thanks for the post, spunky xoxox

  2. I know this love. And somehow it's easier to feel it and express it right smack in the middle of the night when they can sass you or make you mad by talking about farts ONE MORE TIME. Watching them sleep so peacefully makes me marvel at every little bit of his face. Seeing the same expressions he had when he was a baby.

    What gets me... wanting him to never feel brokenhearted. I'd spend the rest of my life on a leash about 10 feet in front of him chasing away all the bad stuff before it got to my son if I could. Yes, I want to shelter him forever.

    I also didn't realize your kids call you Momma :)

  3. Eden, you can use the blanket whenever you want. Seriously, it's all you.

    Fadra, the night time is the right time. Expressions like a baby, indeed. And the little puppy grunts when he sounds like a newborn. Good stuff.

    Makaio called me Momma when he was younger, then he got too cool and started calling me Mom. Hudson calls me Mom, Mommy, Momma or the dreaded Mummy... depending on her mood. I will always sign anything as Momma, because that was the first and preferred/self-inflicted name. :)

  4. Gorgeous, just gorgeous x

  5. So beautiful. I'm with Fadra, I'd spend my life tethered to them if only to protect them from harm and heartbreak. *sigh*

  6. Do you think there's somewhere we could write a letter or apply for a permit to do that? If it's a deal we can make, I'd consider it. I have a feeling there's a reason we can't, and it probably has something to do with wanting them to love us :). There are times that it feels like I'm tethered to my kids, but I think they would genuinely start to hate me if I actually was. Dang it!

  7. Damn you made me cry again! Just wonderful how you can put those so complex and beautiful feelings in to words. I hope i can do the same some day for my boys.. but i doubt it will ever come out that awesome.

  8. This gets spooky. Even spookier than me dreaming of Eden. Early this morning, after talking to my sibling through the night, I crawled in with my son and held him too.

    I love love love this post. Thank you.

  9. Awe, Daizy, thanks for telling me you liked it and thanks for reading in the first place... you get the hot and awesome award for the day.

    Lucy, you know what would be EVEN SPOOKIER?! If you had crawled in bed with your son, and THEN dreamed of Eden. That would be spooooooky. :) Thanks for your comment, I really appreciate it.

  10. Oh dear gosh here I am crying again...SAHB I am confident our sons were some how separated at birth! You just described mine to a T! Oh how I love that boy with every ounce of me.

    And now here I am wondering who is going to care for my kids if I die!!

  11. I'm telling you, thinking about your children being raised after your death is the single most depressing thing in the world. Well, maybe being diagnosed with a terminal illness so you know for *fact* that someone else will have to raise your kids... otherwise, totally horribly depressing. Necessary evil though, leaving it undone was keeping me up at night.


Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell

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