Streeeeeetch

When I was pregnant with Daniel, I was moderately concerned about turning into my mother. My parents met at the beach Labor Day weekend in 1968. They met while surfing. Yup, that's right. My mom used to surf. In the dark. In the winter. With no wetsuit. They spent hours and hours and hours floating around the ocean in Galveston, Corpus, Surfside, and Port I. After I was born, we still went to the beach but my mother no longer gets in the water because "there are things in the water." Really? I had no idea.

When I was 11 weeks pregnant with Daniel, we went to Costa Rica on our babymoon. We didn't do a whole lot. I was pregnant. We did manage to get in some surfing, hiking, swimming, and turtle watching. When I was about 20 weeks pregnant, I painted Daniel's room. Don't tell my mom (or Doug), but I stood on a bar stool to cut in the ceiling. When I was 37 weeks pregnant, Doug made me stop mowing the lawn. That was Father's Day weekend. June. Houston. Hot. Point being, my attitude about being pregnant was that I was pregnant, not broken.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was afraid that once Daniel arrived, I would become a wuss. There would suddenly be things in the water. I would recognize the dangers of every action I had ever taken and I would be so much more responsible (read - boring) after becoming a mama. I would over analyze everything, thus taking the fun out of most things. I didn't want to become that mom, but I was afraid of it, nonetheless.**

Since Daniel arrived, I have found the complete and total opposite to be true. I find myself trying and doing things I would have never considered before he was born. I don't want my irrational fears and silly preferences to influence him so strongly that he never tries anything that Mama doesn't like. I'm so married to this idea that I willingly touched a stingray at the Phoenix zoo and petted some sort of creepy sea urchin thing. I voluntarily went into the reptile house at the Houston zoo (which I have not entered in over 20 years). I ate salmon last night and get this - I actually enjoyed it! And today, I overcame my irrational belief that carnival rides are unsafe and I rode not one or two, but three carnival rides.

I have always believed that carnival rides are unsafe. My mother did this to me. She very astutely pointed out to me (repeatedly) as a young child that those rides bounce up and down the freeway at high speeds and surely they are missing screws. There are no laws, you know, that require those drunk carnies to actually check that the rides aren't missing pieces before they turn them on.

But today. . . today was for Daniel. Today I rode in a spinning dragon, a carousel (I know that doesn't really count), a bouncy four-wheeler thingy, and I lived to tell the tale. Shocking. I know. I can't believe it myself, but here I sit. Blogging away. I have to admit, though, I was quite pleased when Daniel made me get out of the pink, flying pig and get our tickets back. He was quite finished with carnival rides.

Each time I venture into one of these uncharted (or at least uncomfortable) places, I find myself stretching just a little bit more. I wonder that if by hiding (or at least masking) my irrational fears and silly preferences, I just might learn something about myself. So far, the list isn't too bad. Who couldn't use some more salmon and omega-3 in their diet?

**Please note that my mother is NOT that mom; she just won't swim in the ocean anymore. Such a shame.