Posts Tagged Under Jennifer Gunter
Paging Dr. Mom
Memories from my childhood are reinventing themselves and becoming an ever-increasing part of my life. What seems foremost in my mind right now is rubbing and kissing bumps and bruises, a ubiquitous action of motherhood. Wiping dirty faces with a spit-on tissue is right up there as well, but that’s another story.
As my two boys approach the age of five, I find they are increasingly in need of such expert care, and frequently (and proudly) present their war wounds for the prerequisite inspection and kiss.
When I was little I was amazed by the ability of a kiss or a kind touch to take away pain. As adults, we instinctively do the same thing for ourselves by rubbing our own injuries. Is this just a reflex from our childhood? Does the rubbing remind us of comforts of yore? Or is there a deeper reason still?
By Jennifer GunterThe Race
I crave youth. The freedom, abandon and wanton selfishness.
I was reckless once. Fearless really. I was the girl that would do or say anything. I never backed down from a dare. Gutsy and ballsy were the adjectives used when I strode though the door.
I miss those days. The time before I was Mom, before I was Wife, before I was Doctor. I still harbor the inner wildcat only now she is chained by an overstuffed diaper bag, a job, and twenty pounds of muffin top.
As soon as I hit the Golden Gate Bridge on my way home from work I dream about the former me. I am not sure if it is brought on by the strength of the wind, the power of the Pacific, or just the joy that the day is over.
By Jennifer GunterTwo Boys, Less One
My two sons were born four months prematurely. Every one calls them twins, but secretly I wince at the word because they are really triplets. Their oldest brother did not live long enough to even make it to the intensive care unit. It is such a long and complicated story that when a stranger approaches cooing, “What beautiful twins,” it is easier to respond with the appropriate niceties.
People ask which boy was born first and I want to shout, “Neither!” but I lie and point at the second eldest.
Before things went wrong I had mapped out scenes from our future. I think every parent does. Whether it is your baby’s first smile, how you will look walking down the street as a mom, or where your child will go to school. I suspect the image is different for everyone. I had a picture of what it would be like to be wheeled to the front doors of the hospital clutching three baby boys. How everyone would turn their heads and say, “Triplets!” I have always liked to watch this imagined scene unfold.
By Jennifer GunterAshes to Ashes
Sometimes I wonder if my husband and I are really meant to be. I suspect a lot of couples experience these ambiguous feelings from time to time. It is hard to concentrate on your love life when you are constantly juggling grocery shopping, cooking, and laundry (among other things), never mind a midlife crisis.
The other day I realized that I did not know what my husband wanted me to do with his ashes should he be the first to, uh, go. Was this a sign that our relationship was not on solid ground? We have been married for six years and I figured this is something I really should know.
So I asked.
By Jennifer GunterName Game
My son, Victor, loves to give nicknames and they usually stick. He is Fishy, his twin brother, Oliver, is “O-leach,” my husband is Lollipop, and I, sadly enough, am Momma Jumbo.
I know.
When he first heard it my husband smartly stifled the laugh when he saw the fierce look in my eyes.
By Jennifer GunterPower Eating
I curse the fact that I can always eat. The average person when depressed or stressed loses weight, not me — I gain it.
I do not blame my weight on a “slow metabolism,” rather I embrace the horror. I just love to eat. At the end of a bad day there is nothing like a treat, salty or sweet; I am fickle and can be tempted to go either way. Unfortunately this carnal desire has contributed to my life-long obsession with those 20 pounds that stand between me and a size 10.
I surmise that there is some evolutionary advantage to this wanton ability to eat. I tell my self it is some genetic vestige from the days when we hunted bison, and not a sign of gluttony. Sure there are fast food and grocery stores mere minutes away and my fridge is well stocked, but theoretically famine could happen and if it does — I am prepared.
By Jennifer GunterBreathing
I love to watch my boys breathe at night. I sometimes sit for an hour transfixed by the rhythmic rise and fall of their four-year-old chests. My husband does not know that I do this, my sons do not know, it is my secret.
I know that most mothers do this when they first bring their baby home, afraid that they will somehow stop this most reflexive of acts, but I suspect after a month or so of sleep deprivation this need succumbs to practicality and free moments are not spent sleeping.
I have never lost the drive to watch my boys breathe, and I suspect it is because it has been a hard-won battle. Born at twenty-six weeks, almost four months early, and weighing just over 1 ½ lbs, their very tiny lungs had not developed all the apparatus needed to get oxygen from the air and their nervous system could not coordinate the effort. For many days they had air pumped in and out of their lungs, and so I watched their chests rise and fall, more staccato than babies who didn’t require the help of a machine.
By Jennifer Gunter
