ex(PR)essed

For more than 25 years my dad has owned his own appliance repair business. He worked out of our house — with his office in our utility room and his shop in the garage. Last Friday, he closed his toolbox, took the signs off his work van, changed the message on his answering machine, and officially closed up shop to enter the blissful (so I’m told!) world of retirement.

My parents live in a relatively small town, and, after 25 years of traveling all over the county to fix people’s major appliances, my dad got to know a lot of people. It’s no exaggeration to say that he is THE beloved repairman in Meadville. He’s known for being fair and honest, polite and well dressed. He’s gifted at making conversation with people. These qualities (and many others!) earned him the respect and business of many through the years.

Because of dad’s extensive network of contacts, I grew up simply being known as “Dave’s daughter” in many circles. I had few teachers or friends whose homes he had not visited. He knew nearly everyone it seemed! I never minded simply being associated with him — for all the reasons mentioned above. As a matter of fact, if people in my hometown still only know me as “Dave’s daughter,” that’s perfectly fine. More than fine really. An honor.

Happy retirement, dad. You’ve earned many happy years of rest and relaxation, puttering around the house and traveling with your cute wife. Thanks for being such a wonderful example…for approaching life and business with such integrity. I have learned much from you. I hope your retirement includes many visits to central Pennsylvania — Adele, Jeff, and I look forward to making many more memories with you and mom.

Prior to my maternity leave, I had visions of regular blogging complete with photos of my darling baby and perhaps a tale or two of a new recipe tried or a book finished. (And maybe those days are yet to come!) I’m only three weeks into my lifelong stint as a mother, and I’m realizing how naive I was about a lot of things…not the least of which is how I might spend my time at home.

Really, motherhood is craziness. It’s a huge paradox. I find myself both looking forward to when Adele will fall asleep so I can get a few things done and then anxiously waiting for her to wake up so we can snuggle. Every morning, usually around 4 or 5 a.m., I negotiate with her and try to convince her that it’s really sleep, not food, that she wants. (I haven’t won that one yet, by the way.) I love her to pieces, but I’m also having a mini identity crisis…trying to figure out who I am in my new role as Adele’s mother while maintaining other roles like wife, daughter, friend, and yes, eventually, assistant director of public relations again.

So, as I’ve stewed over these changes…sometimes through tears of joy and sometimes through tears of exhaustion and frustration, I keep thinking about a phrase from a U2 song in which Bono sings about “running down the road like loose electricity.”

“Loose electricity” just seems like an apt descriptor for this new mom — all at once frayed yet feeling so very alive.

Last Tuesday when I was blogging about my cankles, I could hardly have imagined that I was only a few hours away from meeting sweet Baby Lorow in person! Tuesday proved to be my last day of work and in the past seven days, Jeff and I have survived a challenging labor and delivery and fallen completely in love with one Miss Adele Elizabeth Lorow.

I’m a bit tired and emotional, so I can’t string too many coherent sentences together, but I do want to say that being a mother to Adele is the most rewarding, fulfilling, joyful thing I’ve ever done in my life. She has turned our world on its ear, and we don’t mind one bit. As a matter of fact, we can hardly do more than just stare at her all day.

I am learning that sleep is nice, but spending quiet time with your baby is nicer. Eating and typing can all be done with one hand while snuggling a sweet bundle of sleeping baby with the other. Love at first sight does exist: sometimes that type of love happens across a crowded restaurant but for me it happened in a delivery room at Harrisburg Hospital. Jeff is a wonderful father. I never doubted that he would be, but it’s endearing to witness.

We are completely smitten. And it’s exhausting and blissful and we wouldn’t have it any other way.

This is the glamorous side of pregnancy. I mean really…everyone focuses on the swelling belly and the maternal glow and decorating the nursery while the cankle goes totally unappreciated.

I must admit, on December 28 when I realized I was pregnant, the cankle wasn’t on my mind either. Instead, I was distracted by an odd cocktail of feelings that included fear, joy, apprehension, concern, anticipation, and so forth.

It was late May when I first lamented to my co-worker Kim that my left ankle had disappeared. And, since that time, it has only returned for quick, guest appearances in the early morning hours or at the end of an unusually restful weekend.

Being the realist that I am, I couldn’t not document this signficant aspect of my pregnancy. For months now, my left foot has been swelling to various degrees, and last night was a doozie. Hence the picture, which will certainly find it’s way into the pregnancy scrapbook. Interestingly enough, my right foot swells as well, but never to the same degree as the left.

I suppose you shouldn’t blog about things that you don’t want to draw attention to (and really, I’m not inviting your comments about my feet, my stomach, or my “waddle”), but I couldn’t help myself from photographing the cankle at its finest last night. Jeff and I were playing Yahtzee and eating ice cream, and I could feel my foot swelling while I sat at the table. Nearly every evening, my left foot tightens to the point where it almost feels like it’s falling asleep. One of the first times this happened, Jeff and I both freaked a bit. It had swollen so quickly and significantly that we put ice on it! Jeff is an athlete after all, and that’s what you do for injuries that bring swelling.

Well, the ice is useless, according to my doctor, so now I just watch in amazement every night as my ankle disappears and the top of my foot balloons up and up and up. (The doctor assures me this is purely an unfortunate cosmetic side effect of pregnancy and in no way treatable or of concern.) I always bring this phenomenon to Jeff’s attention, inviting him to feel the squishiness of my foot. He politely declines and always throws a sympathy nod my way for having to be in a condition that robs me of my ankles.

For the most part, ankles go unappreciated in our society. I, for one, certainly never paid much attention to mine prior to that fateful May day when the first one started to disappear. Now, second only to meeting Baby Lorow in person, I am most excited to get acquainted with my post-pregnancy body. I know it will look different and I might not feel like a million bucks, but I do look forward to having ankles (and a waist and non-sausage-like-fingers and a defined collarbone…) again. It’s such a little thing, I know, but don’t rob of me this anticipated joy.

A few bloggers that I follow have recently done this little exercise on their blog. My turn!

I always
• Look forward to spending time with my cute parents.
• Want to live in a house full of books.
• Make the bed.
• Wish my memory was better.
• Brake for squirrels.
• Look forward to a vacation with my husband.
• Have music or NPR on in the car.

I sometimes
• Regret not having a master’s degree.
• Wish I could be more laid back.
• Crave red meat even though I have vegetarian tendencies.
• Think God must be very frustrated with me.
• get called a brat by people who know me pretty well.

I never
• Enjoy seeing worms on the sidewalk after it rains.
• Get tired of cereal…or ice cream.
• Could have anticipated what it would feel like to be just days away from meeting Baby Lorow.
• Thought I would enjoy cooking and baking.
• Want mushrooms in or near my food.