When it's all worth it

Tonight I rocked Tess to sleep. I don’t care what the “Experts” say, I enjoy it, Tessa loves it, and thus we rock.
I don’t know if words can do justice to the feeling a mother has when she rocks her bambino to sleep. How does one explain the ache that her heart feels when she holds her baby snug against her body?
How does a mother explain the way her baby’s scent makes her feel intoxicated with a need to protect this small creature? What words convey the warmth of a small cheek pressed into your bosom?
Can only another mother grasp what a momma feels when she blissfully sighs at the very thought of her baby? Can only another mother envision the beauty of the cherub features she gazes down upon; button nose, cupids bow of the lips, long soft lashes?
What words express the velvety coolness of the chubby cheek that magnetically draws your fingertips? What song mimics the rhythm that evolves from the rocking chair and the tempo of mother’s and baby’s breathing; intertwining to create a lullaby that lulls both bodies to sleep?
There is only one word.

Love.

And the Thunder Rolled

Saturday night was my first night out with the hubz and sans baby. Tessa spent the evening with our wonderful neighbors and their two very spirited children (their term, not mine…I say they’re just high on chocolate milk).
We went to the horse track to do some betting on the fine ponies and some VERY fine jockeys. As the evening wore on the weather became less and less desirable. The rainstorm rolled in and the 7th race was delayed. The phone rings, it’s Robert. “Hey just wanted to let you know we have her in the downstairs bathroom, she’s still sleeping, I’ll call ya back when it’s over” Through my wine induced fog I said “Why? What’s going on?” As I proceeded to get the weather report via the babysitter the track cancelled the last two races and told everyone to stay inside and not to leave until the storm passes. The televisions switch from pretty horses to ugly radar maps and over-zealous weather men who have just been waiting for an opportunity to invent new words like “Gustnado”. Reports of tornado touch downs, hail and destruction fly across the screen.
What you must know is that my lovely little town had several neighborhoods flattened by a tornado Memorial weekend last year. I of course was 7months preggo and had friends over for a BBQ. Of those lucky guests, several had their car totaled out from hail the size of golf balls. They also enjoyed the musical makings of Mother Nature as she accented the sounds of sirens with breaking glass while she painted the sky a pretty shade of green I’ve never seen before. Like a bunch of idiots we stayed outside watching the storm not realizing that a half a mile away families were experiencing terror beyond their worst fears.
A two year old baby boy died that day. The tornado picked him up out of his home and dropped him in a pond in the back yard. Every time the TV lights up with that radar map and the background music of the local tornado siren my heart leaps out of my body and I cling to Tess. I used to love a good thunderstorm…used to.

Let me introduce you...

…to me.
Welcome to the inner workings of my random thoughts. My dear friends have all suggested that I write a book. I feel I should start small (baby steps People!), hence the blog.
I’m a married hag in the Midwest who occupies her time with a desk job for a big corporation by torturing the peons from my throne (read cubicle) in corporate HR. When I’m not honing my typing, filing, or tongue-biting skills I usually am entertaining myself by practicing my sarcasm, wine drinking and diaper changing skills.
I have a daughter (who already knows I’m a bad momma because I forgot her banana at breakfast today) who is my muse at the ripe old age of 1. She has the extensive vocabulary of three words which she uses to contribute to my fodder for story-telling as well as to tell me off. Unless you count grunting, then it’s at least six words.
Oh, and I share my bed with a pug named Winston. (The husband insists on being there too and we begrudgingly allow him).
As for my stunning personality; many an online quiz has informed me that I am narcissistic and histrionic. I say I am loud, rude, blunt, self-deprecating, funny, charming, witty…and pretty. Hardly the self-image of a narcist. (hmm)
Anyhow…Welcome to my world of spastic drama where nothing is too small to be blown out of proportion. I hope to come up with interesting stories and musings to share.