Turn That Frown Upside Down: The Blix Fix

 ' "Whatever happens, love that." '  That's the legacy of Blix, the woman who drives Maddie Dawson's A Happy Catastrophe without even being in it.  Bohemian, colorful, and larger than life, Blix had a gift for uniting soulmates, and it's this second sight that told her Marnie and Patrick were meant for each other.  So what if Marnie's a freewheeling extrovert who fills their brownstone with strangers, and Patrick's a set-in-his-ways introvert who avoids people?  Not to get all Jerry Maguire, but they complete each other, their differences striking a balance.

Still, all isn't rosy.  Marnie yearns for a baby, but the mere idea sends Patrick into a panic.  Then again, Patrick has his reasons for fearing change.  Years ago, he failed to save his girlfriend from a fire.  Haunted by survivor's guilt and the scars that disfigure his face, Patrick clings to his routine of walking his dog, watching game shows, and, when he feels like it, painting.  But then two things happen to upset his carefully curated apple cart.  An old contact from the art world insists he put on a comeback show, and a one-night-stand -- excuse, me two-night-stand -- from nearly a decade ago shows up with his until-now-unknown-to-him daughter.  Marnie couldn't be happier about the oddly named and even more oddly behaved Fritzie.  Patrick, however, remains ambivalent, consumed by the very art show that's plunging him into a depression.  Yet the further Patrick drifts away, the harder Marnie tries to save him -- and them.  And that's when "whatever happens, love that" heals them, however slowly.

I don't know if it's the newish mom in me, but Fritzie really pulls at my heartstrings.  What kind of a mother dumps her eight-year-old on a stranger?  Even if that "stranger" is, as Fritzie calls him, her biodad.  It's bittersweet to watch Patrick try to bond with her, probably because I too am an introvert who once worried about a little person turning my world upside down.  But I'm learning that the only way to appreciate -- and, indeed, truly live -- life is to let it get messy.  And I like to think that Patrick is learning that too.

Well, that and never leave an eight-year-old alone with a pair of scissors.

Stars Above and Last Chance Love: Friends and Lovers and Mothers

It usually takes me two days to read a book, but now that I'm a new mom, it took me two weeks to read The Magic of Found Objects by Maddie Dawson.  You may recall that this is the novel I started reading while in the hospital.  Even then, when my focus was elsewhere, I knew it'd be good.  Yet once I was home, I didn't think I'd have time to get back to it.  Although the husband gallantly took on the night shift with Charlotte, my days were (and are) filled with feedings, diaper changes, and taking pics of our little Char Bar.  (To be fair, the husband's usually right there beside me despite my efforts to get him to nap.)  But gradually, I realized that I could squeeze in a chapter here and there.  And then I got the bright idea to read when Charlotte is snuggled next to me.  When the husband first saw us like that, he referred to her as my little reading buddy.  

So, The Magic of Found Objects.  It's the story of the fancifully named Phronsie and her quest for love as she untangles her complicated relationship with her mother.  Once upon a time at Woodstock, hippie artist Tenaj (which is just Janet spelled backwards) bewitched straight-arrow farmer Robert.  The result was the free-spirited Phronsie and her painfully prosaic twin brother Hendrix (and yes, he's named for Jimi).  Tenaj and Robert called it quits after just two years, and the twins stayed on the farm with their father.  They didn't see their mother again until they were six, and even then they remained semi-estranged.  This was especially hard on Phronsie. 

Now Phronsie's a New York City publicist in her mid-thirties who's ready for marriage and children.  So when her bestie Judd, whom she's known since kindergarten, proposes, she jumps at the chance.  Who needs romance when you've got a sure thing?  At least that's what Phronsie and Judd tell each other -- and themselves.  But then the universe brings Phronsie a gnome-collecting surfer dude, and despite her engagement, she finds herself hopelessly smitten.  Suddenly, she's torn between her head and her heart, desire and duty -- the very opposites that destroyed her parents.

Dawson paints Phronsie's world as enchanted, a not-quite-grown-up and sometimes sad fairy tale.  Yet despite my love for this bittersweet, quirky yarn, one thing I couldn't quite reconcile was Tenaj leaving her babies.  That part made me ache.

My reading rate may have slowed since becoming a mom.  But my emotional response has only grown stronger.

Special Delivery: Baby Girl Blooms

On Thursday, June 6, I got up at 3:30 a.m. to pee.  When I finished, I looked down at the bathroom floor and was surprised to find it covered in water.  At first, I thought the toilet had overflown.  But then I realized that what had overflown was me.

My water had broken.

I was strangely calm as I shouted to tell the husband.  Then, still gushing, I threw on the leggings, T-shirt dress, and flip flops I'd set out and dialed my OB-GYN.  The doc on call asked if I was having contractions.  I said I wasn't.  She responded that I could "labor at home" for the time being.  Um, no.  I was coming in.

The husband dumped our bags into the car, and off we went into the night.  It was all so surreal.  The evening before, I'd called the hospital to get my induction time for the next day, and they said they didn't have one yet and would call me when a slot opened up.  Which had made me angry and anxious.  There I was, gearing up for the biggest, scariest thing I'd ever have to do, and they weren't sure they had a bed?!

Clearly, baby girl had other ideas.  One way or another, she was making her debut.

An hour later, I checked into the eerily quiet hospital.  Still, by the way, gushing, which would continue until I delivered.  The husband was there the whole time, and then my parents arrived, and my mom was there, too.

When they did bloodwork, I opened my trusty book, this time The Magic of Found Objects by Maddie Dawson.  The nurse said, "I've never seen a woman in labor read," and I muttered that I needed the distraction while my mom replied, "Oh, she's a big reader from way back."

I still couldn't feel any contractions, although they said I was having them.  They moved me to my room and gave me Pitocin to speed things up.  Once I started feeling a little pain, I asked the husband to fire up my playlist, which was '80s and '90s tunes.  I stood it as long as I could (the pain, not the music, which was, Cars pun intended, "just what I needed"), then thought maybe it was time for the epidural.  When I wondered if it was too soon, the husband said, no, go for it.  So I did, reading again as the anesthesiologist inserted the needle.

Before long, I was feeling no pain but could still move my legs, which I learned was rare.  It seemed I'd gotten the Cadillac of epidurals.  

Things went on like this until a bunch of nurses appeared.  Baby girl had dropped very quickly, I was almost completely dilated, and my doc was in the OR.  I also started violently shivering, which scared me.  But the nurses said it was a normal hormonal response.

Then my doctor appeared and it was time to push.  He instructed me to grab my legs and was surprised when I was able to do it.  (Like I said, Cadillac of epidurals.)  Then he told me how to push, and suddenly, I was doing it.  And guess what?  It didn't even hurt!  I'm told this went on for about an hour and a half, but it felt much shorter.  Then my doc, who was phenomenal, said just a few more pushes, and there she was!  The nurse laid her on my chest, covered in white stuff that I now know is vernix.  And I said, in wonder, "She's here!"

Charlotte Rose Johnson entered the world at 2:40 p.m.  She weighed 5 lbs. and 5.7 oz. and measured 19 in.  She has my hair and size (I was 5 lbs. and 9 oz.) and the husband's face, including his big blue eyes.  I'm told she pooped upon arrival. 

Way to make an entrance, kid.

I'm so incredibly grateful that Charlotte was born in the best way possible and is safe and healthy.  I worried about all of that for so long, so I truly feel that someone was watching over us.

Not that there wasn't or isn't hard stuff.  I was a little shell-shocked when I realized that I had to feed and change her from go and had no idea how to do either.  The night nurses would give me reports about her spitting up with stern warnings about choking hazards.  That first night, I just held her as she slept, terrified that something would happen to her if I didn't.  I know it sounds crazy, but at one point she smiled at me, as if to say she was okay.

Most of the nurses also told me that I didn't look so good and was very pale.  One even tested my hemoglobin levels only to begrudgingly admit they were fine.  I wanted to say, yes, it was an easy delivery, but I still just gave birth!  When I vented to my mom, she told me to take a shower, put on my pajamas, and do my makeup to show them who I really was.  So I spruced myself up.  And when the nurse who'd tested my hemoglobin came back, she said that I looked great and no longer needed the IV.  And that's when I realized that life continues to be a series of tests, endlessly pushing you to prove yourself.  I'd done it so many times in so many situations, and now I'd done it again, convincing those Nurse Ratcheds that I was okay.

Speaking of being okay, I wouldn't be if I didn't have the husband.  He's amazing with Charlotte, and I melt when I watch them together.  He instinctively knows how to angle a bottle and elicit a burp (Charlotte's a reluctant burper) and calm her down when she's fussy.  Of course, he knows how to calm me down too, which is worth its weight in the expensive cabbage cream I'm using to dry up my milk.  My specialty?  Changing diapers!  It was the thing I obsessed over the most, but it turns out that my meticulous nature means I'm good at eradicating every stray spot of poo.  On a less gross note, I love to sing to Charlotte (The Golden Girls theme song has recently entered the rotation) and tell her all about our family and house and the fun things we'll do someday.

She's an angel of a little girl, just like it says in the poem I hung in her room:

Charlotte Rose, you're meant to be,

Our little miracle baby.

Charlotte Rose, how sweet you are,

Our gift from God, our shining star.

I'm not usually one to drag God into things, but this time it felt right.

So now we're on an adventure, our little family of three, Charlotte and the husband and me.  And it makes me happier than I ever thought I could be.  

Yep, I can't seem to stop rhyming.  Nevertheless, I'll be blogging less, at least for a while.  Keeping a human alive is exhausting, even when she's the sweetest human ever and the husband's down in the trenches with me.  

So until next time, I wish you the best of luck on your adventures, wherever they may take you.

And one day Charlotte Rose and I will be back to read all about them.       

Hop Happy: A New Breed of Bunny

Sixty-year-old, free-spirited Billie Slate has never held a nine-to-five job.  So when she and her bestie birth the brainchild of the Heartbreak Bunny one drunken night, it's the latest in a long line of unorthodox stints.  And so begins the irresistible romcom that is Maddie Dawson's Snap Out of It.  

Billie dons a bunny suit and helps the lovelorn move on -- or, as she so succinctly puts it, "snap out of it" -- by strong-arming them into tossing the pictures, love letters, and, yes, condom wrappers, that remind them of their exes.  It's a successful enterprise that snowballs after Billie casts a spell -- she also dabbles in magic -- on the son of a local anchorman to release him from the hold of his ex-fiancé.  The anchorman puts Billie on TV, fame and fortune follow, and she hops happily ever after down the bunny trail of the American Dream.

Well, not quite.

You see, Billie's daughter Louise, the popular influencer behind love story brand Lulu & Leo, is suddenly minus Leo.  What's more, Billie's ex-husband Victor, who left her thirty-five years ago, has resurfaced.  So Billie muddles through family drama while staunchly and hilariously defending her nose-twitching position that romance ruins lives.  Even as she finds herself charmed by a certain irritatingly optimistic anchorman.       

It's a crazy quilt of a story that shouldn't work but somehow does.  Because Billie is very relatable, a woman of humor and principles endlessly challenged by life.  Three marriages and a lifetime of living in a house with revolving boarders have made her tough but still always human.  This, combined with the push and pull of her relationship with Louise adds to her appeal, showcasing her in all her flawed authenticity.

In other words, this bunny knows best, even when she's starting over.

Never underestimate the wisdom of rodents. 🐰