In honor of Pomo’s Day (yesterday), a Pomo-Inspired Love List.
[Because when you have a twelve-week old and a two-and-a-half year old, it’s too easy to think of the things you don’t love and too easy to forget the things you do.]
- What a dedicated nurser she is. J, who never saw use for her breasts. Who wished them away. Who vowed just to get to six months with Bram. Who nursed through a whole pregnancy. Who tandems at least once a day (“I want to be TWO boysies,” Bram begs). Who moves through the world with less autonomy and larger breasts (not great things in J’s book) because it’s right for these kiddos.
- How gorgeous she is. I mean, come on. I get to look at this person every day. (Well, I take the time to look at her almost every day. If you have young kids, you know what I mean.)
- That even on Pomo’s Day, J still cares enough to indulge my new Sunday Sushi obsession. And give me her soy sauce when mine is missing. Even when I’m not supposed to have soy.
- That she cedes so much maternal space to me. Had I carried, I would not have been so gracious. So patient with her insecurities. So willing to step back and let her well and truly mother. She does not compete with me. She holds her ground as a co-parent, but cedes so much. It is a great generosity.
- That she takes all these chances with me. Moving to the Midwest. Supporting me through my PhD. Having this family – not the safe, reasonable, one-kid kind, but the crazy, big, hearts-wide-open kind. Because she’s tired. She could say she’s done at two. But she loves me and therefore my dream of a bigger house and a mini-van and a house full of kids. I mean, a mini-van. JLG. It’s funny.
- That she handles all of our Finances and Errands and Insurance Calls and Paperwork. And little known fact: actually enjoys it. (NB: Photo clearly not related. Still.)
- Her love of musical theater.
- That she knows me. Knows when to abandon our plans and take my out for a martini. When to call our sitter in for a few hours because I’m way too tired to keep going but won’t ask for help. Knows to quietly approach the B-level star we happen to encounter in an Ann Arbor movie theater to ask him to say hi to me on his way out because I’m a huge fan and too overwhelmed to form words. Knows when to encourage me to try to conceive again, and when not to.
- That she came up with “Pomo.” That she’s a pioneer, and so brave.
- The way she says, “mama” to our boys. The way she talks about me to them: with all of this reverence and respect.
- Her provider instinct, and how it wars with her discomfort with capitalism and her desire merely to serve. This contradiction is as admirable as it must be maddening to contend with.
- That she looked like THIS when she was a little baby.
- That she bakes. And has big tattoos. And loves cities and city skylines.
- That she builds things for us.
- That she shares all of my parenting values. And works even harder than I have to work to live them. That she is so great to our boys.