When Maj was just about one, we moved to a house at the top of a hill.
Maj was already walking. A solid little girl who was fond of bare feet, T-shirts, and brightly patterned stretch pants.
Toddler tummy round in front, padded diaper-butt round in back, a layer of chubby over everything, and the flattest feet I have ever seen.
Mark and I used to joke that she looked like the woman who always gets interviewed on TV after the tornado has struck the trailer park . . .
Listen, I was just sittin’ on my couch in my double-wide watchin’ Wheel of Fortune and drinkin’ a can of beer and this lady was just about to buy a vowel and Jimmy says come on out here and look at the sky and so I did and it was the oddest shade of green I ever seen like the whole sky just turned to baby shit and we’s going down the toilet with it and I said Jimmy this does not look good and then I turned around and Pat Sajak was just gone and I looked up and my double-wide was up in the sky it was like that movie Jimmy what was the name of that movie we watched where the house was sucked up into the sky and there was a little dog damn it no it was not Rocky . . . Jimmy you are a goddamned idiot anyway it was like that movie and now I don’t got nowhere to live and all I have in the world to my name is the rest of this six-pack of Budweiser and my faith in the Lord you got a light I need a cigarette something fierce.
Ahem.
Where was I?
Yes.
One year old Maj and the house on the top of the hill.
Maj and I sitting on the house’s large cement front steps one afternoon, waiting for Mark to come home. A storm was coming, and as we sat there, the wind started to pick up. Sweeping up the hill and washing over our house like waves.
The eucalyptus trees swayed and then rocked in the increasing turbulence.
Maj climbed into my lap, and we watched the trees together.
We listened to the wind.
Maj’s face was intent.
And then came a gust that seemed to narrow and focus and reach for just the two of us.
Reached to take our breath away even as it filled our lungs with air.
Maj met my eyes in stunned and breathless surprise.
I thought she was going to cry, and I moved to pick her up and carry her into the house.
Maj pushed me away.
She stood up.
She stood up and faced into the wind. Raised her chubby arms into the air. Planted her naked flat feet wide apart.
And she screamed.
Screamed not with terror but with joy.
She screamed into the wind.
As though she was having a conversation with the air that now roiled and seethed around us. She screamed as though she was being heard and understood. As though the wind had come to ask for her opinion.
A screaming delighted conversation with the wind.
It would be another year and a half before Maj spoke to me.
But on that day, she spoke.
Those of you who have been with me for a while know that Maj met with an endocrinologist last summer. Maj is short, and there was concern that something was wrong. Something more serious than a lack of height.
There were tests, some of which were inconclusive, and so the endocrinologist told us to come back in six months.
Maj has had little to say this last six months about that appointment.
I have talked to her about that appointment, but she has had little to say.
And so these last six months have passed.
We met with the endocrinologist again this morning. His conclusion?
There is nothing wrong with Maj.
She’s just short.
The four of us went out to do some shopping this afternoon, and I bought a CD.
I am not good at spending money on myself.
But I bought a collection of Pink’s greatest hits.
I am slightly obsessed with the song Raise Your Glass.
Anyway.
I put the CD into the car’s CD player, and we sang along as we drove.
Mark was annoyed to discover I had purchased the explicit lyrics version.
Oops.
I told the girls they are not allowed to tell people that their mom is a bad influence.
Shhhh.
Mark parked the car, and he took Kallan with him to get some coffee. Maj and I stayed in the car with the music.
“Mother, can you put on track 16?”
“What? Sure.”
“I like that song.”
The car filled with music. Maj started to sing along. I cranked the volume and we sang along with Pink.
Actually, we didn’t exactly sing.
We screamed.
Maj has not been saying everything there is to say this last six months.
But today?
She spoke.
She screamed with joy.
The song?
Explicit lyrics be damned.
My daughter is fucking perfect.
She is Maj.
Of course Maj is perfect.
And yes, sometimes explicit is necessary.
Renee -
The best day in quite a while.
The best moments I have had with Maj in quite a while.
Happy sighs.
Explicit is sometimes required.
Damnit woman! You have me sitting here all teary eyed.
I am glad that Maj is Fuckin’ Perfect! That is beyond awesome!
Also? I think we all need to scream like that every once in a while.
I have kept mine held in for quite a long time. I need to let it out…
Stasha -
Maj is sometimes quiet. She erupts into anger, but she has a hard time sharing her thoughts and feelings sometimes. I forget that there is much below the surface.
I didn’t realize how deeply she had been contemplating the possibility of there being something medically wrong.
Until that weight was lifted from her shoulders.
Sigh.
I am sorry that she is a girl who carries her burdens silently.
But so awesome to be there today to see her put one down.
So awesome.
Kris
Awesome writing, my dear. Awesome.
Clearly, the little girl who screamed at the wind is going to make big, though flat, footprints in the sands of life.
I hope you let her read this post so she can gain an insight into her awesomeness, which goes back to babydom.
Bill
Bill -
Thank you so much.
So very much.
Her feet are arched now, by the way. The flat-footed toddler stage is behind her. But when I think of Maj’s feet? In my mind’s eye I see those sturdy little flat chubby feet.
The feet of my mostly silent and stubborn one year old.
Sigh.
Now I am teary.
Much love, you.
Thank you.
Kris
Awww, I’m so teary-eyed! I love that song and think of my daughter every time I hear it.
Maj is petite. A delicate little butterfly.
Adriana -
It is such an awesome song.
Maj is petite, but just so you know?
She is no delicate butterfly.
Not even.
Snort!
I’m 5ft short. I’m fun-sized!
Adriana -
I am 5’2″, and there are many women on my side of the family who are/were my height or shorter.
Short is awesome.
I am all good with short.
I am 5’2″ also. You tell Maj that the size of the package matters little if it is filled with great things. And from the way you write about her…I am certain it is.
Jennilyn -
Mark is all snorty with inappropriateness regarding the irrelevance of the size of the package if it is filled with great things.
Hee hee!
I know what you mean, but Mark is making me giggle.
Ahem.
All right. I’ll give him that one. I might just have snorted myself…
Still giggling.
Ummm, I’m doing the ugly cry in front of my computer. Such a beautiful moment both revisited and made anew for the two of you.
Related? I got read the riot act about my son today at the pediatrician’s because he’s not talking.
I know he’s fine.
He’s just not ready.
He’s also fucking perfect.
But…
I still left feeling like a shitty mom.
Thanks for this post on many levels.
CJ -
Hey, you?
Maj didn’t talk until she was two and a half. At all. She didn’t babble, she didn’t coo, she didn’t say mama or dada, she didn’t wave goodbye, she didn’t blow kisses.
She understood EVERYTHING.
But she did not talk.
She was not ready.
She eventually went to speech therapy, and then?
It was as though a switch had been flipped.
It was like magic.
Tears to my eyes to recall.
Do you know Lori of @marthapoints on Twitter?
I need to introduce you to her.
Kris
Oh, and based on your double-wide dialogue, I am more certain than ever that you are an Okie.
Bill
Shhhh.
I am from Portland.
Hee hee!
I love that! Maj is wonderful in all her complicatedness.
plus? I love that image of you two, sitting together in the wind. it’s lovely.
Thank you.
This motherhood thing is complicated, but there are moments of magic.
I live for those moments.
Thank you.
Kris
I love that song too!
When my oldest, Nathan, was young he went through a lot of unnecessary testing due to being so much smaller than the other kids. He was not even on the growth chart. One dr told me that without growth hormone he would never even reach five feet.
He hated the tests too.
Today he is 5’9″. No hormones. no drugs, just fine without them.
Happy Maj can vent her feelings with Pink’s masterpiece.
that is all.
Amy -
Yes, the doctor tells us that Maj is probably going to about 5 feet tall. Or maybe a little shorter. I don’t care.
And Maj doesn’t care.
But the thought that something else was going on other than shortness?
That has weighed heavily on Maj.
More heavily than I knew.
Sigh.
Much love, you.
Thanks.
I’m so so glad that Maj is just short!
And of course you are right – she is perfect.
Sierra -
Yes! Short is awesome. Short is fabulous.
Maj is perfect.
Happy sighs.
Thank you.
I too am just short. I am so glad that Maj is also just short and that you had this moment with her.
Mandie -
Thanks, you.
Thank you very much.
“Reached to take our breath away even as it filled our lungs with air.” – Such an alive feeling…
The Pink totally suits Maj, all of those anthems. She (Maj) seems to sing anthems every time she opens her mouth. :-)
Jen -
Yes!
Such an alive feeling.
Exactly.
Love that.
Kris,
The Portland birth is just a cover story.
Bill
Bill -
Hush, you.
This made me cry.
Pink fucking rocks.
Nicole -
I love Pink and her music.
She fucking rocks.
Agreed.
I do love Pink.
And Explicit is very often necessary.
I’m glad to hear that the endocrinologist gave her a clean bill of health. It would be truly unfortunate if you had to release MajRage on the good Dr.
Ms. WTH -
Yes . . . and I will tell you a funny thing. We are at the endocrinologist’s office (where they are presumably accustomed to dealing with people whose height does not match their chronological age), and the nurse comes in to take measurements and blood pressure.
She says to Maj, “What are you? Maybe 10?”
From her tone, it was clear that she thought she was being generous.
Maj is almost 12.
Laser beams of hatred shooting from her eyes.
And almost 12.
Stupid nurse.
Not to mention: what is the friggin’ chart for if everyone can’t at least flip check the age and name of the patient? (iPhone spell check thought driggen was an acceptable sub for friggin’. Judy sayin’)
I know, right?
Stupid nurse.
Also?
Judy sayin’
Snort!
I hate when nurses act so dumb. My aunt is a nurse so I don’t say it to be mean to nurses; I love nurses. But sometimes? Ugh, they do not access the brains they clearly have. My best friend dealt with anorexia for many many years as a teenager. When she was about 19 (and at a healthy weight at this point) she went in for her annual check-up and the nurse noted out loud that she had gained some (much needed) weight from the previous year and that she needed to be careful about weight gain now that she was out of high school. Luckily, my bff was well recovered and in a good space, and luckily can also be a witty bitch when needed and replied “Well, thank you for that. I’m glad that my hard work overcoming anorexia has just been decimated in 15 seconds of your careless chit chatter. Please get the hell out of my room and send someone else.” That nurse never showed her face for the rest of her visit. How hard would it have been to look a few pages in to her file before offhandedly making comments about her weight? It wasn’t as if she were anywhere close to overweight. She was still quite thin, just not as scary thin as before.
Lindsay -
How happy am I that your friend was such a smart-ass?
I know that nurses have a very hard job, and that they have many people with whom they must deal.
But yes . . . the instances in my life when I have been treated casually or rudely by a nurse?
I remember those moments.
Perhaps it is because those moments generally arise in a situation in which I feel vulnerable.
But those moments linger.
They really do.
Never fear! The new memory chips are here! We installed them this morning and have been running malware checks and software updates and other such chores. After C stops lapping up the bathwater like a puppy and is bundled off to bed I get to go online on a computer instead of the phone for the first time in 2 months. Allowing me to reclaim some of my few talents. I’m an excellent speller and damn good touch typist.
Silly you.
Judy saying.
Love Pink!
Love Maj!
Love you and your stories!
Definitely perfect…and love that freaking song and video.
Jaime -
And I?
Love you.
The end.