Tuesday, April 2, 2013

The Christian Mama's Guide to Baby's First Year: Everything You Need to Know to Survive (and Love) Your First Year as a Mom (Christian Mama's Guide Series) by Erin MacPherson

Tour Date: April 3rd

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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!



Today's Wild Card author is:


and the book:

Thomas Nelson (April 9, 2013)

***Special thanks to Erin MacPherson for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

 Erin MacPherson is a mom of three who never does anything halfway. When she discovered she was pregnant she decided to write about it—but then kept writing. A former staff writer and editor for Nickelodeon, Erin now entertains parents on her personal blog as well as through freelance magazine articles, devotionals and speaking. She wants to come beside her readers not only as a confidant and Christian sister, but also as a best girlfriend who understands what daily life is all about.

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

The Christian Mama's Guide to Baby's First Year:  An entertaining, practical guide for first-time mamas and those who need a baby refresher course.

The new mom initiation ritual involves sleepless nights, an inexplicable obsession with baby booties, and more questions than answers. This take on everything baby offers new moms the Christian girlfriend advice she needs to feel confident in her new role, including:

  • getting into the motherhood groove
  • breastfeeding advice
  • suggestions for losing the baby weight—before your baby is no longer a baby
  • time management tips that may just help you find time to do laundry—before you run out of clean underwear
  • how you can manage to be a godly mother and a good wife on less than three hours of sleep a night

Easy-to-read and relatable, this been-there-done-that guide answers these questions and more with a dose of humor an a lot of grace so that new moms can become the moms that God intended them to be during their baby's first year.


Product Details:
List Price: $15.99

Paperback: 240 pages
Publisher: Thomas Nelson (April 9, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0849964741
ISBN-13: 978-0849964749




AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:



Welcome to Club Mom



Congratulations.  You (yes, you) are an official, card-carrying member of the greatest club of all: Club Mom.  And talk about an initiation ritual.  You just survived months of morning sickness, forty (plus) pounds of weight gain, and seventeen hours of labor and delivery.  Or, if you adopted, you trekked through seventy billion pages of paperwork, months of ups and downs and nail-biting nerves.  But you did it—and you did it all for that teeny, tiny, eight-ish pound baby that you already love more than anything in the world.

I was inducted into the club two days after Christmas in 2005 when my son, Josiah, was born.  And what a day that was!  I was exhausted.  And groggy.  And in pain.  But I was overjoyed.  My son was literally the most amazing, gorgeous, beautiful baby that had ever been born.  (Yours is too, right?)  And from that moment on, I knew that Club Mom was exactly the place I wanted to be.

Isn't motherhood wonderful?  I certainly don't need to tell you how fabulous your new baby is—but just for fun, let's talk about your baby for a minute.  That downy-soft hair.  Big need-you eyes.  Chubby round cheeks.  Big ole potbelly.  Fat, delicious knees.  Tiny, stubby toes.  Amazing!  And adorable! And, best of all, knit together by the Creator of the Universe Himself with a very specific and wonderful purpose in mind.  No wonder you feel so awestruck every time you sneak into your baby's nursery for one last goodnight kiss.

Of course, just because you've been initiated into Club Mom doesn't mean you know what you're doing.  I learned the hard way (read: through countless messy diaper blow-outs) that motherhood has a huge learning curve.  And nobody becomes a pro-mom—you know, the kind who carries a fully stocked diaper bag and manages to nurse her baby to sleep while picking up groceries—without practice . . . and some good, solid, mama-to-mama advice.

That's why I'm here—to get you from the spit-up-covered, baggy-eyed mama that you are now—to the proud, camera-wielding, frosting-covered mama that you will be on your baby's first birthday.  And what a journey it will be—in the next year, you'll learn how to sleep while simultaneously spoon-feeding your baby tiny pieces of cheese and videoing your baby's adorable lip smacking, how to remove yellow stains from expensive, grandma-purchased, white baby clothes, and how to puree food using nothing but a spoon and your own ingenuity.

Yes, in the next year, you're going to learn a lot.  How to care for your baby.  How to be a godly mother.  And how to embrace the ups and downs of motherhood while maintaining some semblance of the hip person you really are.  As you can imagine, that's not an easy thing to do—especially when you're running on about three (interrupted) hours of sleep a night.

But, it is doable!  And you're going to do great!  So welcome to the club.



A note for my particularly scrupulous readers:  You may notice that all of the pronouns in this book are male.  This was a decision made by my editors and I in order to keep the copy simple and consistent.  It in no way means that that this book is more applicable to boys or that I intended the tips and advice in this book to be just for boys.  So, if you happen to have a daughter (like I do), please mentally substitute "her" for "him" and "she" for "he" as you read.  And then write a very serious letter to whoever invented the English language letting them know how much easier our lives would be if pronouns weren't gender specific.





Chapter 1

Getting Into the New Mama Groove

Surviving and Thriving as a New Mom





Being a new mom isn't as easy as it looks.  I remember going to the grocery store when my son was a few months old and standing in line behind a woman who had three kids.  She stood there, thumbing through a magazine with her baby sleeping peacefully in a sling while her two older (and perfectly behaved) children sat quietly in the cart and quizzed each other on phonics.  Phonics.  No joke!  And to top it all off, the woman was wearing real pants (not sweats) and I think I spotted a smidgeon of mascara on her eyes.  My jaw dropped in awe.  How did she do that?

Meanwhile I stood there wearing a ratty, spit-up-covered T-shirt, my hair in a greasy pony tail, bouncing up and down in line while singing "Jesus Loves Me" to try to make my son stop screaming so that I could at least make it through the check-out line and buy milk.  And I wondered how I was ever going to be able to do normal things—like go to the grocery store or (gasp!) have a social life—without enduring a total meltdown (both the baby's and mine).

Being a mom is hard.  Way back in the 1960s, two psychologists named Holmes and Rah decided to study the link between major life events and stress.  They did a bunch of research and interviewed a ton of people and came to the startling conclusion that major life changes—you know, like having a baby—are stressful.  Um, well, duh.

Of course having a new baby is stressful!  In a matter of minutes, you go from a fashionable, intelligent, and totally (okay, mostly) put-together woman to a blubbering, still-trying-to-lose-the-baby-weight mother who is exhausted, overwhelmed, and can't figure out how to use the nasal aspirator.  It's a huge life change—and most mamas (like me!) need some time to get the hang of it.

But you’ll get there.  Okay, so chances are you’ll probably never stand in line at the grocery store while your kid discusses the intricacies of phonics, but you’ll certainly get to the point where you can manage to put on real pants and buy milk without feeling like a bumbling fool.  I promise.



How to Get Into the New Mom Groove

1.  Give yourself a break.  Remember that seemingly perfect mom I told you about earlier in the chapter?  The one who managed to wear pants and mascara while wrangling three kids?  Well, fabulous as she is, you have to remember that she has three kids . . . which means she's had a lot of practice.  I'm willing to bet that there was a point in time when she also stood in the grocery store with a screaming baby in her arms while covered in spit-up from head to toe.

You're not going to have the mom thing down pat right away—or ever.  Case in point:  We flew from Texas to Oregon right around my son's first birthday.  With a full year's experience of being a mom under my belt, I had everything under control.  Or so I thought.  Right after we got on the plane, I realized that my son had a dirty diaper—and, of course, in the process of trying to change it on the cramped plane, I managed to completely soil his pants, his shirt ,and his sweater.  I reached for the diaper bag—only to realize that I had checked it.  I had nothing.  Well, nothing except for a naked baby on an airplane in December.

Every mom has a story like that—well, maybe not exactly like that, but I'm pretty sure every mom forgets to bring a change of clothes once or twice.  And when things happen that make us look inexperienced or clueless or just plain frazzled, we have to take it in stride.  Realize we're doing the best we can.  And confidently ask everyone around us if we can please borrow a diaper.



2. Give yourself a break from baby. You heard me.  If you’re going to stay sane, you need to pry yourself away from your little schnookums every once in awhile.  I’m not telling you to go away on a four-week African safari, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt you to sneak out of the room while your baby is sleeping and take a shower.  Or, if you’re feeling really brave, you could leave your baby with your mom and go out to the Tastee Freez with your husband.

The point is that as wonderful as your baby is, you need some time to be you.  And seeing as how you weren't always a brand-new mom with a brand-new baby attached to your hip, it's good for you to pry that baby off of your hip every once in awhile and go back to being your fabulous self—give or take ten to fifteen pounds.

When my son was a few weeks old, my husband suggested (okay, demanded) that I leave the baby with him and go to the mall with my sister.  I whined and moaned and worried that something would happen.  But I eventually left.  And we had a great time.  We were only gone an hour or two (I was breast-feeding) but I remember feeling so liberated walking around carrying just my purse.  I felt like a real person again!



3.  Pace yourself. When you have a new baby in tow, there is no way you can do all the things you used to do back in the day.  That’s fine.  It’s okay that the house only gets vacuumed when your mother-in-law comes or that an entire day’s worth of activities constitutes a run to Target to buy diapers.  Yes, you headed up the world committee on organic gardening while holding down a full-time job and a seventy-hour-per-week volunteer ministry in your pre-baby days, but you just aren't going to be able to do that now that you have kids.  And that's okay.

The good news is that you'll get back into your do-everything-and-volunteer-at-the-soup-kitchen-to-boot groove soon enough.  I remember feeling so incompetent when my son was a newborn.  I felt like nothing got accomplished at my house.  Ever.  But you know what?  My son didn't stay a newborn and I didn't stay a newborn mom forever.  Now I head the snack committee for my son's football league and organize the class picnic and write the newsletter for my MOPS group.  And some days, I kind of miss those nostalgic new mom days when my only daily responsibility was making sure my son got fed.



4. Let your friends help. It takes a whole village—or at least an entire extended family and a church group—to raise a child.  And yet so many young mamas try to do it alone.  I remember being nervous when my friends offered to set up a CareCalendar (www.carecalendar.org) to bring me meals after my baby was born.  I didn't want them to think I wasn't capable—and I certainly didn't want them to feel like they had to wait on me.  Of course they didn't feel that way at all.  They wanted to help—just like I do when my friends have babies.

Here's the way I look at it:  when you have a brand-new baby and are recovering from what was possibly a very traumatic labor, you need all the help you can get.  So accept whatever your friends and family offer you gratefully—and make a mental note to do the same when they need you.  And, the truth is, unless you're still asking your friends to make you dinner and clean your house when your baby is ten months old, no one will feel like they're waiting on you.  They love you.  They want to bless you.  And you'd do the same for them in a heartbeat.



5.  Try to maintain a sense of normalcy. Yes, your house is messy.  Yes, your clothes don’t fit.  Yes, you feel like a completely different person than you were before your baby was born.  But that doesn’t mean everything has to change.  Try to do one thing every day that the “old” you would’ve done—whether it’s obsessively de-cluttering the kitchen counter or simply putting on a coat of mascara.

When my son was a new baby, I made myself a little "get yourself together" schedule.  Okay, I didn't call it that, but everyday I "scheduled" one household task or errand or job to do so that I felt like I had responsibilities outside of slouching on the couch with my boob in my son's mouth while watching TLC.  Some of my jobs were easy—like reading the new issue of Parenting from cover to cover.  Others were a bit more difficult, like trying to figure out how to make the wipe-warmer actually keep wipes warm.



Time-out for Mom

For When You’re Just Getting Into the Swing of The New Mom Thing



 “He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.” (Isaiah 40:1)



Father God, What a blessing my new baby is.  There is nothing you could've given me that is more wonderful, more beautiful and more telling of your love.  Thank you.  And Lord, while my life has totally changed, thank you for dealing gently with me and showering me with your grace when I need it most.  Lead me, Lord God, so that I can raise this precious baby in a way that guides him to Your kingdom.  Amen.



Ways You've Changed Since Becoming a Mom

The old you: Wore cute, belly-hugging tops and styled your hair every single day without fail.
The new you: Has been wearing the same pajamas now for a week.  (To your defense, they're really, really cute pajamas.)
The old you: Never missed an episode of Downton Abbey.
The new you: Never misses an episode of the Late, Late Show.  Ever.  (What else are you supposed to do when Lil’ Mr. Hungrypants is always wanting to eat at one am?)
The old you: Knew how to make a mean grilled cheese sandwich.
The new you: Has grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner.  Three times every week.
The old you: Skipped out on the super-long and boring HOA meeting because it was super-long and boring.
The new you: Wishes you could go to the super-long and boring HOA meeting (at least it'd get you out of the house) but can't because it’s during your baby’s nap time.
The old you: Never had time to lunch with your girlfriends.
The new you: Lets your baby nap in the infant seat while you have lunch with your girlfriends who you haven’t seen for weeks.
The old you: Felt guilty if you went to bed without doing the dinner dishes.
The new you: Spends the entire day watching your sweet baby sleep—and is completely okay with the fact that the same cereal bowl has been sitting in the sink for a week.


Christian Mama Style

True story:  When I told my friend that I was writing a Christian pregnancy guide, she said, "Every pregnant mom experiences the same morning sickness and the same weight gain.  So why would I need a special pregnancy guide just for Christian moms?  Seems like any old pregnancy guide would say the exact same things."

And she's right—sort of.  Yes, every mom, Christian or not, shares similar experiences as she learns to navigate being a parent.  Every mom feels that intense I-will-never-be-able-to-get-over-how-amazing-you-are feeling while simultaneously freaking out about the fact that they are entirely and utterly responsible for the tiny life in their arms.  Us mama bears are fiercely protective of our babies—both physically and emotionally—and we'll do anything and everything we can to make sure our babies are safe, healthy, and happy.  It's human nature.

But what makes Christian moms different is that Christian moms also care deeply about our family’s relationship with Jesus along the way.  We want to grow closer to Jesus in this journey of parenthood and we want our kids to grow up to love Him with all of their hearts, their souls, and their minds.  And in the meantime we also want to teach our kids character, help them to grow rock-solid faiths, sow in them a joyful hope in Jesus, and help them to realize that while they are flawed human beings, they serve a God who is perfect yet forgiving and loving yet powerful.  A tall order.  But, before you really start to freak out (I know the very thought of that makes my mind start to whir with thoughts of my own unworthiness), I want to remind you that it is God who can and will work in your kid's lives.  It is God who knit them together with a perfect plan in mind for their lives.  And it is God who will work to help that plan come into fruition.  Isn't that a relief?

Of course, we as parents aren't totally off the hook.  God calls us to love and nurture our children in the fear and admonition of the Lord.  And that starts from day one.  Yes, that's right.  You can start teaching your baby about Jesus from the day he or she is born.  Here are a few easy ways to do just that.



Pray.  It's probably a given that most Christian moms pray for their kids.  But, I also know what it's like to be in that crazy newborn phase where there's never enough time for basics like sleeping or showering.  And when I was in that phase, prayer time often got relegated to the back burner.  I want to encourage you to get in the habit of praying for your kids—and praying often.  One way I've found to be purposeful about prayer is to use Scripture to pray for your kids.  (The book Praying God's Word for Your Life by Kathi Lipp has some great ideas on how to do this.)  I've spent the last six months reading the book of Ephesians and then using the words in that scripture to pray for my three kids. It's been a powerful experience where God has revealed a lot to me about His plan for them.
Adjust your expectations.  One thing I had to learn as a new mom was that my time with Jesus was just different than before I had kids.  In my pre-kid days, I would often set aside extended periods of time every morning to pray and read my Bible.  If I needed more time with God, I could just set my alarm a little earlier.  But I think any mom will tell you that a baby is no match for an alarm clock and that it's almost a guarantee that if you set an alarm for six am, your baby will wake up at ten to six.  Because of this, I had to learn to take mini-prayer breaks throughout the day as well as find alternative times (like during my baby's nap) to read my Bible.
Sing songs.  I love the song "Change My Heart, Oh God," so when my daughter was tiny, I would sit in my rocker, snuggle her against me, and sing that song over and over.  For months and months, that's how she fell asleep.  And even now, more than four years later, she still sings that song, loudly and clearly, whenever she's down or upset.  It's become a comfort to her.
Set an example.  Get into the habit of spending thirty minutes each morning—at a time when your baby can see you and hear you—reading your Bible and praying.  Sure, a two-month-old isn't going to know what's going on, but as your baby grows and recognizes that Mommy spends time every day in the same spot, praying to God, he or she might be inspired to do the same.
Expose them to the Bible.  I get that busting out a King James Version with a six-month-old will probably only fly for fourteen seconds, but try giving your kids access to the Bible in age-appropriate chunks.  Point out a rainbow in the sky and talk about the story of Noah's ark.  Read short Bible stories from a children's Bible.  Talk about how God created everything we see in the world.  As your baby grows, these simple conversations will be woven in with experiences to become part of his spiritual legacy.


Being a Mom Rocks!

The truth is that being a mom is the best thing ever—regardless of how many diapers you’ve changed or how many times your baby woke you up last night.  Your baby is pretty much the most amazing thing that has happened to you.  And, aside from the fact that your life is a teensy bit nuttier than it's ever been before, your life is also so much sweeter.  Nothing beats baby smiles, melodic gurgles. and chubby baby knees.   Nothing.

Plus, when you have a new baby, you feel like you're a rock star.  Everywhere you go, people will point and ooh and ahh and try to get a glimpse underneath the baby blanket.  People will hold doors open for your baby stroller and give you advice on elevators.  People will strike up conversations with you, wistfully thinking about the days that their now-thirty-year-olds were that small.  And everyone—and I mean everyone—will marvel at how strong/smart/alert/quiet/sweet your baby is.

Even when things start to feel tough—like when your baby wakes you up seventeen times in the middle of the night and you've gone through an entire package of diapers in twenty-four hours—there's nothing that will ever damper the feeling you have for that baby in your arms.  Nothing.  In my new mom days, I was completely in awe of my son and the love I felt for him.

Experiencing that kind of love showed me a lot about the love God has for us.  Of course, we could never love like He does, but just the experience of being a mom and loving a child made me overwhelmingly grateful.  In John 3:1, the bible tell us to " For example, 1 John 3:1: “See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!”  God loves me more than I could ever comprehend—yet holding my son for the first time, I got a glimpse of it.  What an amazing feeling.

Anyway, now that you have your mama groove, it's time to talk about the nitty-gritty of newborn parenting.  How do you change your baby's diaper without getting pee all over yourself?  How do you know when his cries are real or when he's just working out a secret plan to keep you awake all night long?  And how in the world do you get those crazy (but adorable) button-up jumpsuits buttoned when your baby is squirming and wiggling?  Let's find out.







Monday, April 1, 2013

Goodnight, Brian by Steven Manchester

Tour Date: April 2, 2013

When the tour date arrives, copy and paste the HTML Provided in the box. Don't forget to add your honest review if you wish! PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT ON THIS POST WHEN THE TOUR COMES AROUND!

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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!



Today's Wild Card author is:


and the book:

Story Plant, The; Reprint edition (January 8, 2013)

***Special thanks to Steven Manchester for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Steven Manchester is the published author of the #1 best seller, Twelve Months, as well as A Christmas Wish (the holiday prequel to Goodnight, Brian). He is also the author of Pressed Pennies, The Unexpected Storm: The Gulf War Legacy and Jacob Evans, as well as several books under the pseudonym, Steven Herberts. His work has appeared on NBC's Today Show, CBS's The Early Show, CNN’s American Morning and BET’s Nightly News. Recently, three of his short stories were selected "101 Best" for Chicken Soup for the Soul series.

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Fate was working against little Brian Mauretti. The food that was meant to nourish him was poisoning him instead, and the doctors said the damage was devastating and absolute. Fate had written off Brian. But fate didn’t count on a woman as determined as Brian’s grandmother, Angela DiMartino – who everyone knew as Mama. Loving her grandson with everything she had, Mama endeavored to battle fate. Fate had no idea what it was in for.

An emotional tale about the strength of family bonds, unconditional love, and the perseverance to do our best with the challenging gifts we receive, Goodnight, Brian is an uplifting tribute to what happens when giving up is not an option.



Product Details:
List Price: $15.95
Paperback: 308 pages
Publisher: Story Plant, The; Reprint edition (January 8, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1611880610
ISBN-13: 978-1611880618



AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


Winter 1976


Two streets from a choppy Narragansett Bay, Frank pulled the station wagon in front of his mother-in-law’s cottage and shut off the engine. Joan grabbed her swollen belly and turned to face the backseat. Ross wore a bulky snowsuit and was strapped in to an even bulkier car seat. “We’re at Mama’s house,” she announced to the small boy. From beneath a wool hat, he stared at her but never uttered a sound. Then—jumping into some choreographed fire drill—Frank grabbed the boy, Joan grabbed her worn purse and, braving the angry biting winds, they hurried for the front door.

Mama lived on the low end of a very affluent community; a row of summer cottages that had been winterized and converted into year-round dwellings. Her place started out as a tiny summer cottage, but had evolved into something much greater over the years. To combat the lack of space, there were three additions made to the house. Each one was smaller than the one before it, creating a telescopic effect. Long and narrow, the exterior was stained a weather-beaten white with teal blue shutters. It looked odd, but it was heaven—containing so much more than the massive houses that sat down near the shore.

The name HORIZON was carved into a wooden board and nailed to the front of the house. A brick pathway, now covered in salt and patches of black ice, led past a statue of St. Jude that welcomed all guests. As the front door flew open and a blast of heat spilled from the house, the distinct smells of sweet Italian sausages and fresh baked bread hit the young family.

Angela DiMartino—all 4’10” of her—stood in the doorway, waiting. She had a crop of curly gray hair that added at least two inches to her stature. With pencil-thin lips, her subtle smirk revealed her mischievous sense of humor. She was heavyset and well endowed, and wore her usual flowered smock. She smelled like a mix of garlic and dryer sheets. Her dark brown eyes, illuminated by a strong inner light, shined when she saw her grandson. After pinching Ross’ cheek, she turned her own cheek to the little boy and asked, “You gotta big smack for Mama?”

“Okay, but just a kiss,” he said, “No biting this time!” Tentatively, he kissed her cheek.

“I don’t bite,” she whispered in his ear, “I only nibble.” As she helped him off with his jacket, she gave his neck a loving chomp.

Tickled to laughter, he fled toward the living room.

Chuckling, she turned her attention to her daughter. “So when am I gonna be able to nibble on my new grandbaby?” she asked, rubbing Joan’s massive mid-section without permission. “You look like you’re ready to pop.”

“Soon…I hope,” Joan said, still trying to catch her breath from the short jaunt to the cottage.

After running her blotchy, gnarled hands over Joan’s belly one last time, Mama leaned into it—until she was an inch from it—and whispered, “Enough stalling already. It’s time to come home, little one.”

Joan exhaled deeply. “You’ve got that right,” she said.



In Mama’s cucina—the family hub—the obnoxious red wallpaper offset the worn linoleum. The kitchen table had a yellow Formica top, surrounded by five faux leather-bound chairs. While Joan contemplated sliding into one of them, Mama gestured that she take a seat. “Get off your feet, while I finish the gravy,” she said—above Dean Martin crooning in the background.

As Mama headed for the large pot of red sauce, Frank playfully teased her. “And that’s gonna be son number two, Ma,” he boasted, pointing toward Joan’s large belly.

“Well, isn’t that something, Frank,” the old lady teased, “already calling your unborn child a boy.”

“These genes are too strong to produce a girl,” he said.

“You may be right, Frank,” she said with a shrug. “The good Lord knows what He’s doing, and I suppose He’d never let you ruin a little girl.”

Joan laughed aloud. Frank shot her a look, but didn’t dare consider a comeback in front of her sharp-tongued mother. Instead, he stepped into his mother-in-law’s bedroom and dumped their coats onto her bed, careful not to disturb the trays of spinach pies that were covered with dish towels and cooling on top of a plastic tablecloth. As he turned to leave, he noticed a silver tray filled with pill bottles that sat on the nightstand. “So that’s what’s keeping her alive,” he snickered, and headed for the living room to be alone with the T.V.



While Mama worked away at the stove, Joan pointed at the hideous porcelain rooster—with wooden spoons sticking out of its head—sitting among the many bottles of olive oil and spices on the counter. “You need to throw that ugly thing out, Ma,” Joan said, “or donate it to the Salvation Army.”

Mama shook her head. “Can’t do it,” she said, with her back to her daughter. “He wakes me up every morning.”

“Yeah, right. You’ve gotten up every morning at five o’clock for as long as I can remember.”

“And you’ve never gotten up earlier than 6:00, so how could you have ever heard my rooster crow?”

They both laughed.

Mama turned from the stove to face her daughter. “So you think Ross is ready for a new brother or sister?” she asked, beginning their weekly tradition of getting caught up on every detail of each other’s lives.

“Well, we’ve definitely talked a lot about it.” Joan shrugged. “He’s become very clingy, but I have this sense…” She paused.

“Go on,” Mama said.

“It’s gonna sound strange, Ma, but it’s like he’s more protective of the baby than jealous.”

Mama smiled. “Now that doesn’t sound strange at all.” She nodded. “That just sounds like the love of a big brother to me.”

As if on cue, Ross walked into the kitchen and approached his mother. After giving her belly one quick rub, he headed back to the T.V.

“Well, isn’t that something,” Mama said.

Joan smiled proudly. “He watches over me like a hawk,” she whispered. “He’s always by my side, trying to pat my stomach or talk to the baby.”

Mama nodded again. “He’s going to be a good brother. The baby’s very lucky.”

There was a loud knock at the door. Mama wiped her hands on her apron and answered it. It was her son, Bob, and his wife Bev, along with their two daughters, Steph and Heidi. No sooner had the door opened when the girls shot through, excited to visit with their Aunt Joan’s big belly.

Steph had the dark eyes of a gypsy—Mama’s eyes—which lit up like Christmas when she smiled. With olive skin and full lips, she was beautiful. Her raven-black hair was curly and pulled back in a pony tail. Though her mom dressed her in frilly dresses, she hated it and everyone knew it.

At seven years old, Heidi was one year younger than Steph—almost to the day—but they could have easily passed for twins with their matching hair and eyes. Heidi was a bit heavier, with the olive skinned face of a Mediterranean angel. Unlike her big sister, she was a girlie-girl who loved to wear nice things—lacey dresses and ribbons in her hair.

Wrestling off their coats and hats, the girls paid their grandmother a respectful kiss before speaking gibberish to their unborn cousin. Bob waited in line to greet his mother with a peck on the cheek. Bev followed suit.

Once the usual greetings were exchanged, Mama headed to the living room to change albums. Within seconds, Frank Sinatra was singing Summer Wind and Mama was swinging Ross around in his first dance lesson. The living room walls were covered in dark wood paneling, but it was tough to tell. There were framed photos of family and friends covering every inch of the place. While their dead ancestors watched on, Ross squirmed and fidgeted, trying desperately to escape his grandmother’s arthritic grip. “Please, Mama,” he pleaded. “I’m too tired to dance.”

Without missing a step, she laughed so hard she nearly launched Frank from the worn gray armchair. She had a distinct laugh that started from her diaphragm and worked its way up until it escaped in a roar. It was larger than life and startled those who weren’t used to it. Frank looked up at her and shook his head. It was shocking to hear something so loud coming out of someone so tiny—not to mention, she was blocking the T.V.

The girls watched Ross and Mama’s dance and considered joining the pair. They decided against it when Heidi spotted two stained cardboard boxes—marked CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS—sitting off in the corner. She elbowed her sister and pointed toward the great find.

“Mama!” Steph gasped. “Christmas stuff?”

The old matriarch paused for a moment and smiled. “Mama starts decorating for Santa Claus next week,” she confirmed with a nod.

Ross took the opportunity to break free and hurry off to his mother to make sure she was okay. The girls quickly followed their young cousin.



While the women talked over each other at the kitchen table, Steph took a sip of Kool-Aid and spilled the red drink all over the front of her yellow dress. Bev rushed toward her. “I saw that, Steph! You did it on purpose,” she said through clenched teeth.

“No I didn’t, Ma,” Steph swore.

Concealing her smile, Mama hurried to the rescue. “It was an accident, Bev,” she testified and shot Steph a secret wink. “I’ll get some dry play clothes for her.”

In the safety of her grandmother’s bedroom, Steph threw on the faded pair of dungarees and long-sleeved shirt, while Mama handed her a warm spinach pie. “Mama, I didn’t…” Steph began.

The old woman placed a finger to her lips. “Shhhh… it’s fine. Just eat your pie before it gets cold.”

Finally comfortable, Steph smiled—and meant it.

Upon returning to the kitchen, Bev gawked at her clumsy daughter with a suspicious eye until Mama slapped her on the backside. “Let it go,” the old woman whispered. “There are greater tragedies—trust me.”



Halfway through a feast of cheese raviolis, sweet Italian sausages, meatballs and Mama’s famous spinach pies, Joan excused herself to go to the bathroom. Ross started to get up to join her. “Finish eating, honey,” Joan told him. “Mommy doesn’t need her helper right now, okay?”

He nodded and stuffed another bite of ravioli into his mouth.

Mama entertained the children by daydreaming aloud. “When you kids get a little bigger, you know that Mama’s going to take you to Italy, right?”

The adults exchanged skeptical grins. The kids, however, were hypnotized by her descriptive tales.

“Fall is the season of sagre, with food festivals throughout the province. During mid-September, they have a giant wine festival in the town square of Greve in Chianti. And in October, they gather all the grapes for winemaking. This is known as the vendemmia.”

“You like wine?” Steph asked between chews of bread.

“I sure do and Tuscany is world famous for its wines. Chianti is probably the best known, but they make every kind.”

“What kinds of food will we eat when we’re there?” Heidi chimed in, speaking just as fluently with her hands.

Mama clasped her hands together and took a deep breath. “Oh, just imagine tomatoes ripened under the Mediterranean sun, freshly picked basil, cold pressed extra virgin olive oil, black truffles and pecorino cheese…”

“Huh?” the girls wondered.

Mama smiled. “They have the most delicious ice cream in the world. It’s called gelato.”

“Gelato,” Ross repeated. “Gelato. Gelato. Gel…”

“That’s enough,” his dad warned. “Just finish your dinner.”

As Joan returned to the table and reclaimed her seat, Mama stood and announced, “I just finished two more photo albums that I want to show you guys.” She wasn’t two steps from the table when she turned back to the kids. “And we also need to plan our Christmas visit to Boston,” she added, and hurried off to retrieve her picture books.

For Frank, this was the perfect cue to excuse himself. Throwing his napkin into his empty plate, he looked at his brother-in-law, Bob. “Join me on the porch for a cigar and a game of pitch?”

Grinning, Bob stood and started for the porch.

Frank looked at Ross. “Want to join the men?”

Ross shook his head, and slid his chair a few inches closer to his mother.

“Suit yourself,” Frank muttered, and left the room.

Mama returned to the table and wasn’t even seated when Heidi and Steph dove right into the new photo albums, excited to hear whatever vivid stories their grandmother cared to share.



The afternoon whipped by and, after devouring a warm batch of Cornflake cookies and some cappuccinos, Mama interrupted the card game on the porch. With Joan and Bev in tow, she pointed to a spot out in the front yard. “That’s where the new baby’s tree will be planted in the spring…right between the girls’ trees and Ross’. This way, I can see all four of them when I’m sitting in Papa’s glider.”



~~~





Nausea and cold air that caused goose bumps on her arms yanked Joan from her sleep. She opened her eyes to obnoxious fluorescent lighting. Where am I? she wondered. It took a few moments. She could tell by the occasional moan that other women shared the maternity ward room, separated by white curtains that ran from the ceiling to the shiny linoleum floor. She coughed once and winced from the sharp pain in her abdomen and crotch. Her entire face felt dried out; her mouth, nose and throat were caked in dried mucous. She gagged again and looked up to find the young candy striper shoving a straw into her mouth. She sucked once and gagged some more. Her tongue was heavy with a metallic aftertaste and the nausea became worse. She tried to sit up, but it felt like a razor blade shot across her lower torso. She collapsed back into the pillows. “Where’s my…”

An older nurse approached and took the cup of water from the candy striper. She pointed the straw toward Joan’s lips. "Here, just take a small sip."

Joan tried to sit again, this time ignoring the pain in trade for some relief from her desert-chapped throat.

"How do you feel?" the smiling nurse asked.

"Huh?”

"How are you feeling, Mrs. Mauretti?"

"My baby?" Both words came out in a rasp between sips.

"He's fine, Mrs. Mauretti. You have a healthy baby boy."

Joan smiled. "My husband? Has anyone..?"

"Yes. I believe he's in the waiting room handing out cigars to anyone who will take one. I'll send him in."

"And my baby?"

"He's with the pediatrician now. I'll bring him in just as soon as they're done."

"Thank you." She took another sip and gagged.



At two hours old, Brian Francis Mauretti was wheeled into Joan’s room. He wore a light blue knit cap and was wrapped tightly in a white receiving blanket with alternating pink and blue stripes. The nun lifted him out of the glass bassinette and gently placed him into his mother's arms. Joan felt overwhelmed with joy. “Good morning, Brian,” she whispered and removed his soft cap. He had his dad’s black hair and plenty of it, but his head was cone-shaped. Before the nun left the two alone to bond, Joan looked up for an explanation.

"Oh, he's fine...stubborn, but fine,” the nun teased. “Your son liked it so much in the birth canal that he stayed there for as long as he could. The doctor had to use forceps. His head will return to a normal shape within a day or two. No need to worry."

"Thank you," Joan said and kissed Brian on the point of his head.

As the kind woman departed, Joan unwrapped the tight swaddling and counted ten fingers and ten toes. She kissed each one. "Mommy's been waiting a long time to meet you, Brian," she whispered. The baby squinted to look at his mom. “And you have your brother’s chocolate brown eyes,” she said, excited over the new discovery.

The white curtain parted and her husband walked in, wearing a giant smile. "How's my new boy?" Frank asked, swollen with pride.

"Perfect, Daddy." She kissed Brian’s tiny face again. "Just perfect." She patted the bed for Frank to sit. “Come meet your son.” Together, they smothered the newborn in hugs and sobs of joy.

Allowing his wife to rest, Frank cradled the boy in his arms and took a seat in the chair beside Joan’s bed. Searching his new son’s eyes, he told him, “Just wait ‘til your brother gets a look at you. We’re gonna go fishing together and play baseball and…”

It felt like seconds had passed when one of the meaner looking nuns entered the room to escort Frank out. “It’s time for you to go, Dad,” she announced. “Mom needs to feed your son and they need time to get to know each other.”

Frank’s puppy dog eyes pled for more time, but he had no shot. He was dealing with the maternity warden. Shrugging, he turned to Joan. “I’ll be back this afternoon,” he promised, and smiled. “Great job today, Mommy. I love you.”

Joan kissed him. “I love you, too. Can you please call my mom and let her know that she’s going to have to wait a little while longer for another little girl?”

He laughed. “Oh, don’t you worry about that. I plan to go by the cottage just as soon as I leave here and let her know in person,” he said with a grin, and headed for the door. As he reached it, he turned and smiled at the nun. She never smiled back.

Under the warden’s eye, Joan tried several times to get the baby to latch onto her nipple. He had difficulty, losing his grip each time. She shifted to get comfortable. It was no use. Her body throbbed in pain. Finally, the little one got the nipple positioned to where he wanted it and began to suckle. While he fed, Joan sighed in relief and rocked him back and forth. The nun continued her watch. Brian fed for three full minutes, but Joan was unsure whether he'd gotten enough. She questioned the old nun.

"Trust me, he'll let you know if he's still hungry. Is he your first?" the woman asked.

"No. We have another boy at home."

"You didn't nurse your first?"

"I did, but it's been a while. I just want to make sure that I'm doing it right."

"Give it a few feedings. It’ll come back to you. It’s been shown by many studies that breastfed infants are healthier. They can get the occasional cold, but they generally stay healthier." For the first time, the woman smiled. And with an approving nod, she left Joan and Brian to figure out the rest together.

When Brian finished suckling, Joan placed him in her lap, unwrapped the receiving blanket again and took another inventory. Thrilled with the results, she quickly wrapped him back up and lifted him up until they were face-to-face. “I can’t wait to show you everything, Brian,” she whispered into the newborn’s ear. “You’re going to love it.” She kissed his plump, rosy cheek and then placed him on her chest to sing him his first lullaby.