Ooooo…Ooooo…Baby…Baby…, by Whitney Farmer – Un Pop Culture
February 22, 2012 Whitney Farmer 14 Comments
Whitney runs a rock music venue on the beach in L.A.. She has an M.B.A, and will always have Paris.
Stop the presses! I forget what I had written about before. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter. Our family has BABIES coming!
Not from me personally. I’m still walking my talk and there is nothing going on down there. My role this time around will be a great aunt. And I think I’ve grown up enough this time to be a GREAT one.
The Big Reveal allowed our family the “You’ve Come A Long Way, Baby” reminiscing courtesy of my Mom who talked about the good ol’ days when women went to the alter thinking that belly buttons were unscrewed to take the babies out, and of the importance of avoiding spaghetti because it could strangle the child in utero. She was unique in her insistence to breastfeed – like an animal, she was told – and had big problems with it in the beginning. She went to the doctor in agony with bright red breasts with skin that was peeling off in strips after her first attempts. He was alarmed and dumbfounded until he learned that she had been extremely diligent in following his instructions to wash with boiling water each time before…you know. What? Wait. He had said boiled. Mom heard boiling. Each time the firstborn sister used to cry in hunger, my mom used to break out in a cold sweat as she put a pan of water on the stove and turned it on, because she knew that soon she would need to put each breast into roiling steaming agony.
Everyone is immediately full of advice that might be completely hypothetical. The inside of your arms begin to tingle and ache for want of the hope of holding. Even the dogs became quiet and thoughtful as they gaze on the faces of those in the wolfpack who will now have different lives.
“Shout from the rooftop, Desolate One, for your children shall reach the ends of the earth” from Isaiah 54 has been a word that has been woven into my life for many years. It began when both I and a sister were first diagnosed with a rare blood situation that can make pregnancy possible but dangerous. I was told, “If you live till forty…”. I might be the only women in Southern California who celebrates being over forty. And the idea that I am fertile but it could kill me has been a strange secret consolation. I’m not barren. I’m desolate. I know it doesn’t make sense.
How my children will span the globe is still a puzzle, but not one that robs me of peace. How it manifests in my life is that I have a sense that every baby is part of my tribe. My arms want to hold and lift. My eyes want to gaze and smile. A child from my body seems like an inconsequential aspect.
This is not the first time I will become a great aunt. But I plan on being especially good at it.
—-
Quote of the Blog, from Alanis Morissette: “I see my body as an instrument, not an ornament.”
Martha Thomses
February 22, 2012 - 7:53 pm
Mazes tov! Rental children are so much fun.
Reg
February 22, 2012 - 9:46 pm
“…belly buttons were unscrewed to take the babies out, and of the importance of avoiding spaghetti because it could strangle the child in utero.”
LOL! I was told that eating grape seeds would make them grow in my belly.
Congratulations to you and the fam, Auntie Whitney…New Life and New Light!
Whitney
February 23, 2012 - 3:23 am
Regis –
I thought the same thing about watermelon seeds.
Gracias, Hermano!
Whitney
February 23, 2012 - 3:27 am
Divine Ms. M –
And I’m ready to lay down first / last / damage deposit on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
L’Chaim, Sistah!
Mike Gold
February 23, 2012 - 9:01 am
I was about 40 when my great-uncle died. He was about 91 but he looked 120, and he looked that way more than my entire life (we had home movies).
I have been a great-uncle for 15 years. My sister is 8 years older than me and she got married at 19, so my two nieces had plenty of time to pump out three children, the youngest now 13. We get along well because my sense of humor is that of a 13 year old… who doesn’t want it back.
But I can’t help wonder — do my great-nephews look at me the way I looked at my great-uncle? That’s totally… weird.
At least I read English. When it was time for my great uncle to take his drivers’ license renewal test, he folded up the papers and took them to my father, who read him the questions and marked down the answers as given to him. The next day my great-uncle took the test back to DMV and was given a new license.
I can totally see me doing something like that.
Moriarty
February 23, 2012 - 9:11 am
When babies come it’s a joy and a victory.
The baby that I once held across my forearm in what we called “sleeping leopard” I’m now giving driving lessons. (Standard transmission)
Congratulations to your family (tribe).
“I might be the only women in Southern California who celebrates being over forty.” Good writing there.
Mike Gold
February 23, 2012 - 8:24 pm
Mo, you’re right. In fact, Whitney might be the only woman in Southern California to even admit she’s over 40. Well, since Gloria Swanson…
Whitney
February 24, 2012 - 1:34 am
Golden Boy –
My 84-year-old Dad took his latest DMV written test this summer.
He got 100%, and we put it on the fridge with a magnet.
When my little sister came to visit from NYC, she decided she would renew her license, too. She took the written test.
She got 100%, and we put it on the fridge next to Dad’s.
Whitney
February 24, 2012 - 1:38 am
Moriarty –
Did the sleeping leopard have leopard print footie pajamas? The four Farmer sisters did.
Whitney
February 24, 2012 - 1:42 am
Golden Boy and Mo –
One of the strangest compliments I have ever received happened when I let two guys stash their surfboards and backpacks during a show in the back room. When they went to pick them up from security, they said that it had been approved by “…the hot blonde old chick.”
Moriarty
February 24, 2012 - 8:36 am
Whitney,
No leopard print PJs. There was one that said “Moon Boy” that I miss. We called it leopard sleeping because he was on his belly with his arms and legs hanging down like a leopard in a tree.
Last year I became a Great Uncle for the first time. They named the little girl Eowyn.
I think you found the title of your book; Hot Blonde Old Chick.
Mike Gold
February 24, 2012 - 10:06 am
“…the hot blonde old chick,” huh?
Last November my daughter had a birthday party at a Lower East Side club, and I was invited. I showed up about an hour after it started, and there was a line out the door as the bouncer checked IDs. In New York these days (post-9/11), nobody gets a pass at the door. Everybody gets ID’d everywhere, sometimes several times. When I got to the front of the line, the bouncer waved me in with a “no problem, old man.”
Never before in my life had I wished I was a process server.
But the first time this happened was when I was 39. Gene Simmons invited me to a pre-show party at the Meadowlands before a Kiss show — Gene is both a long-time comics fan and at the time the wanna-be producer of a Jon Sable Freelance movie, and we had been talking about another project. I had no interest in the gig itself, but I thought the party might be fun so a friend and I went down there. Since I had to get their early, I was herded off to a penned-in area which housed members of the Kiss Army, most of whom were half my age and all of whom thought it was really great that an Original Kiss Army member (which they inferred) would show up for the gig. Lots of props. Cool-ish. Then security opened the pen and we were all to be frisked on our way in. The kids parted to let us pass first; I opened my jacket to assume the position… and for the first time in my life, I felt really old.
Lucky for me, Gene is older.
The party was fun, and I was hit on by a very young woman who was a member of the Japanese rock band Flatback. Whereas I could question her motivation or her sobriety, it did make up for the wizened old man treatment.
Whitney
February 25, 2012 - 6:39 am
Moriarty –
Having sleeping leopards sounds better than having puppies.
Whitney
February 25, 2012 - 6:45 am
Golden Boy –
If you are a fan of Japanese rock bands, might I suggest Peelander-Z? Punk theater at its finest.
When you come to L.A. and MOTU brings you to the club, remind me to take you into our smaller venue and show you the picture of Gene Simmons as a baby and his mama that we have hanging up behind the bar.