Seeing things clearly.

I've been spending a little time on myself lately doing things I've been putting off for months- (ie visiting the eye doctor) or years (ie visiting the dentist). The dentist, surprisingly, was the least unpleasant of the two appointments for one simple reason: at the eye doctor, I heard this as a diagnosis: "when your reach a certain age..."

Excuse me?

Alas, along with my brand new hair do and my sparkly clean teeth I am sporting a shiny pair of eyeglasses. OK, truthfully, I already had the glasses before I went to the doctor; but before I went to the eye doctor I only wore them when doing a lot of reading. Now I have to wear them all day. So here is the score: hair cut makes me look younger. Eyeglasses make me look older. That makes it even, except the eyeglasses also magnify the large circles under my eyes that seem to have become permanently etched on my face ever since I became a mother. To top it all off, when I asked Juliette if she liked my new hair cut she replied "No I don't". And when a bespectacled me walked in to pick up Cosette at day care, she cried and didn't want to come with me. Net = negative.

It doesn't help that lately, when I look at either of my daughters, I feel a sense of astonishment at how big they seem to have gotten. Cosette is taking her first halting steps and uttering her first words besides mama and dada (bahbah is bottle, hi is of course hi, and dat is that). When I take her shoes and socks off, she sits down and tries to put them back on. I wonder if it is a sign of fierce independence, or is she just trying to rebel? Juliette has had a growth spurt, is talking much more like a real person, and seems to have gained a maturity in her face and eyes that wipes away the last vestiges of babyhood. And yet, despite all the evidence to the contrary, sometimes I still feel like I am too young to be married, settled, and a mother. I had a twilight zone moment the other day; Juliette was calling to me and I had to pause because it just felt so unreal that when this little person said "mama" she was in fact referring to me. I have to remind myself that I did give birth to her. I wonder if I didn't have the epidural, would I remember that better? I'm sure the searing pain would be very hard to forget.

Life goes so fast, it is no wonder my head is spinning. I know where this feeling of nostalgia is coming from, this feeling of life passing by: it comes from seeing my nonnie laying in a hospital bed, unable to move, unable to speak, unaware of her surroundings. She suffered her second stroke a few weeks ago, and although she has improved since the initial frightening days at the hospital, it is clear that she will never be the same. My nonnie has always been such an important tower of strength in my life. The matriarch of our family, she was always concerned for her grandchildren and never for herself. When I needed something and my parents were unreachable I would call Nonnie; when I was sick she would make me homemade chicken soup (and I really mean homemade- I vividly remember the day I made a connection between the chicken I was eating and the dwindling number of fowl squawing around in her backyard); when I was in an accident in high school she practically moved in to our house to help my mother and me; and when I went away to college she almost moved away with me so that I wouldn't be alone and she could cook for me. (We actually had to drive her up to see the campus, and when she finally conceded that it "looked a little bit like Italy" I knew that I had her approval (it helped that it was an all women's college!)).

Now, she sits in the bed at her nursing home barely able to see, barely able to move, and she speaks to me as if I am someone else. When she does recognize me, she asks me what my babies' name is- but she is referring not to Juliette nor to Cosette, but to the 'other' baby. She seems to think I have another girl. She also seems to think my sister- who is not pregnant (yet) is having a boy. She speaks to people who have passed away years ago and insists they are in the room with us. It is a little bit eery, and very very sad.

My Nonnie worked very hard so that her family could be better off then she was as a newleywed farmgirl in Italy, and she can be proud of all she has accomplished. I just hope that as my daughters grow up surrounded by all the trappings of (relative) wealth I can instill in them a sense of what is truly important- not cars, or clothes, or money- but family, and respect, honesty, and responsibility. If I can teach my girls to appreciate where they have come from, to not be afraid of hard work, and to take responsibility for their actions, then I will have really lived up to my Nonnie's example.