Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Baptism

This past Memorial Day weekend, instead of heading to the shore or attending a backyard barbecue (there are more "backyards" than you think in New York) we strapped our six month old daughter into her rapidly shrinking car seat for the long drive to Pittsburgh, PA. It's a seven hour drive from New York City so it's a pretty safe bet we weren't going just to sip brewskies and eat hot dogs along the steamy Monongahela. No, the event that drew us to the city of the Steelers but no steal was Eliza's christening. Although I haven't been to church since the special mass honoring my grandmother's 90th birthday in July of 2004, and I'm first in line with Alter Boy jokes, I still wanted my daughter's forehead annointed by the hand of a Catholic Priest.

I fully realize the scope of my hypocritical behavior on this one. I stopped going to church as soon as I was old enough to say "no" because I refused to go anywhere that looked like a train station waiting room and yet wouldn't allow me to read magazines while bopping to a walkman. As a child, I would sit in those uncomfortable wooden seats and read the bulletin over and over and over again. A mass for Joe somebody, a communion mass for some one else. I was communed and confirmed and remember the pageantry of those days but I had no desire to go back. Then I had a child and maybe I hadn't found God, but I suddenly wanted to formally celebrate my daughter's arrival and give her the option to pursue her own faith.

It started while Eliza was still sloshing around inside me. I realized I wanted my friend M to be the Godmother. I imagined the service taking place in some ultra liberal, unitarian facility. I've never been inside a liberal, unitarian facility but I thought it must exist, a place that accepted people of all beliefs who now wanted to gather with people of similar, faithless views for significant rites of passage. Then C chimed in with his desire to do it in a Catholic church as a way to please his father, a devout Catholic. From there, the event began to take on wedding like proportions when I asked him if he would agree to do it in Pittsburgh so my grandparents could attend. He wasn't happy about the Baptism in the heart of Steeler country, but he agreed, using the phrase he's coined frequently of late, "if that will make you happy."

So there it was, some months, one church, and one caterer later, a family celebration in Pittsburgh. St. Stephen's Church is where my grandparents were married, my mother, her sister, various cousins and other assorted family members. It's a large, beautiful church with the old pageantry of a building that existed when attending Sunday Mass was a blessed event. I'm a graduate of the University of Pittsburgh and see the city as my old stomping ground. The arrangements for everyone went very smoothly, thanks to a lot of help from my family. My cousin, a travel agent, set us up with inexpensive accommodations at the hotel alongside my grandmother's assisted living facility. My mother gathered information from various caterers, helped choose one and then met with him in the common room at my grandmother's facility to make sure it was a suitable space. The menu was adequate, if not kickass, and my family responded in kind with only three invitees not in attendance. C was not thrilled about a Memorial Day Weekend trip to the Burg but this was the only date that could accommodate my two families (my mother's and my father and his wife), my grandparents, his parents and my friend M who I really wanted there. His brother, the Godfather, would be unable to go and C's kids had other plans but I was determined C would have a nice weekend.

Our hotel room, in an all suite hotel, could rival our New York apartment in size. For the first time since we came home from the hospital, C and I had our own bedroom. I felt a little wistful closing the door on Eliza at night but there was something thrilling about the prospect of reading in bed. We got to Pittsburgh late Friday night and settled in to our happy room, excited about the festivities ahead.

Now I've never had a wedding or any of the other rites of passage (save for the ones listed above) so I was a little nervous about my responsibilites on this one. Not that I had many. I merely had to pick up the cake on Saturday and get the forks and centerpiece photos over to my grandmother's room the day before. Even in this, I failed to bring over the forks. Our hotel room, with it's full-sized refrigerator would accommocate the cake and the champagne until right before the brunch, so C and M could pick up that stuff after the Mass. My Aunt had lovingly packed the Christening gown bought back in the sixties for one of my grandmother's grandchildren (there was some dispute about weather my Grandmother bought it for my cousin or my mother bought it for her goddaughter, another cousin). Either way, there was a lot of history in the little gown that looked like it had been purchased last week.

So really, you see there was very little I had to do and yet still I was a nervous wreck. Saturday started with my waking up with breasts fuller than heat seaking missiles. I slipped into the living room hoping to pump before Eliza woke up (we'd need a bottle for church) but too late, she was awake and grinning at Mama. I started to put the pump together and she started to cry. I just wanted to pump for a few minutes so she wouldn't be overwhelmed but her crying escalated to wailing proportions. I took her out of the hotel crib and placed her on the floor alongside me but she continued to cry with the force of an unbridled animal. I rushed to snap the last pieces of the pump together and then started my business, all the while her crying beside me so forcefully, her little red face was covered with tears. I flashed a couple of glances towards the bedroom, hoping C would rescue my daughter from her misery but the door didn't open. After two minutes, I couldn't take it anymore and pressed her to me.

After she fed and seemed content, I placed her on the floor (Eliza is still in the precrawling stage, she'll do mini-pushups and swim but she doesn't go anywhere) and raced into the shower. After a few minutes in there, I came out to find her still doing her mini-pushups while C still slept. Quickly, I got dressed and ready to take her down for breakfast. C got up and asked what was the day's agenda. Since it was a nice day, I suggested we go to Schenley Park and check out Phipp's Conservatory, a lovely indoor botanical garden. Afterwards, I would head to my Grandmother's to do a few things for the brunch. I explained my fear of forgetting to pick up the cake and he suggested I get it out of the way right after breakfast, a good suggestion.

So we went down to the breakfast buffet, a dangerous place for both of us, myself now having a tendency to overeat, then C and Eliza went back upstairs while I took the car to Bloomfield to get the cake. I was excited about this cake, it being my idea to send the bakery the invitation and tell them to make the cake look like the invite. I was pleased to see the cake didn't disappoint, it had a lovely chocolate colored outline of a Christening dress under two branches with green leaves surrounded by a peach border--just like my invite. Several people oohed and ahhed and I felt vicorious, Supermom, the kind of person that can come up with ideas that make an occasion. The fact that no one else at the brunch would find this cake as a symbol of my genius didn't occur to me at the moment. Now I just had to get the cake back to the hotel without slamming on the breaks and ruining it.

After numerous out-of-towner detours, I made my way back to the hotel, eager to start our day of sight seeing. We walked the 20 minute walk to the Park and enjoyed Phipps. Eliza slept through most of it, waking up as it was time to leave and I was starting to get that so full feeling. We sat under a tree in Schenley Park with Pitt's imposing Cathedral of Learning in the background and I fed my daughter. I had to marvel at how much my life had changed. That Cathedral was once the site of classes and a fond landmark of my party going, bar hopping college life. Now it symbolized the neighborhood in Pittsburgh that housed my grandmother in her assisted living state.

After lunch, we headed to my grandmother's tiny apartment. My mother, her sister and my grandfather were visiting and the quarters quickly grew tight. I shooed C back to the hotel to work out and finished putting together plastic champagn goblets with my mother.

For those not in the know, my grandfather still lives in the house he and my grandmother lived in until the day when Eliza was born. November 21st not only marks the date of my daughter's birth, it's the day my grandmother fell, broke her hip and was ushered away from her home on Johnston Avenue never to return. The house is currently on the market with the popular theory being that my grandfather will move into my grandmother's apartment when it's sold. But in truth, there hasn't been any interested buyers, my grandmother's apartment is too small for the two of them and my grandfather doesn't belong in this facility. It appears that every resident there has a walker or a wheelchair and my grandfather, about to turn 100 in August, still mows his own lawn.

Finally, everyone left and it was just me and my grandmother and a wonderful thing happened. My grandmother finally started bonding with my daughter. Eliza suffered from severe stranger anxiety during our last visit to the Burg but on this visit she was all smiles. She even let my grandmother hold her and chatted away in her animatedly baby talk while I snapped a few photos. It was lovely and I was truly enjoying myself when the staff came to whisk my grandmother to dinner. Now it was back to the hotel to meet up with C's family and perhaps my father who'd been on the road with his wife and the godmother M since the morning.

Back at the hotel I found our suite empty. I set about cleaning up after the morning and enjoying the relative solitude until C entered with his grandfather. Quickly, the night's plans were made. We would dine with C's parents and grandfather and my father, his wife and M at the eclectic Italian restaurant across the street in two hours. I was grateful for a reprieve from family togetherness and C used the time to shoot a few baskets in the makeshift court outside the hotel. When he returned, I jumped in the shower, dressed and fed Eliza and we enjoyed the quiet before his parents would meet my father for the first time.

We made the mistake of making our dinner reservation 7:30. I should have known this time was too late for Eliza but they pulled up a high chair and I took out her food, thinking somehow she'd be fine with very little daytime napping and the attention of eight people. The restaurant, filled with people who looked like extras on Sopranos and odd chairs furnishings that must have come from various estate sales. also followed European dining rules. I don't even think the bread hit the table until 8pm. I spent most of the evening walking Eliza around the bar up front and stepping outside to the side garden that held four middle aged men drinking beer. Eliza seemed more entranced by the ceiling fan than anything else and spent the majority of the time I held her with her head tilted back, watching the fan turn in circles. She was dressed in a short and tank top set that her babysitter bought her with a matching headband. I loved the look on her face as her big eyes took in the fan, her one leg kicking slowing back and forth over my arm. Bob Dylan played "Blowin' in the Wind" on the radio and I looked at my daughter and thought I wouldn't trade this moment for anything.

When my arms got tired, I returned her to C who walked her around the restaurant and outside the front. My father took her at some point and when I realized Eliza was okay with him, I went in and enjoyed my meal. My father's wife went out to tell him dinner was served and after I finished mine, I went outside to find Eliza red faced and crying.

"She was okay until a few minutes ago," he said. I took Eliza in my arms and she immediately stopped crying.

"There's no one like Mom," my father said and I beamed. I realize how much easier Motherhood has become when I allowed myself to believe I am a good mother. Taking your baby in your arms and silencing her cries is one of the best feelings I've experienced.

When I came back into the restaurant, I found C had ordered dessert and coffee. I was surprised and desperate to get out of there but still the evening continued. Finally, Eliza went into complete meltdown mode and C and his mother ushered her outside. C's mother returned moments later to tell me C had taken her back to the hotel. I was jealous of his escape and wished the bill would come. It did, about a half an hour later. By the time I came to our hotel, Eliza was asleep.

I couldn't sleep that night, perhaps too excited about the following day. I tried sleeping on the couch in the living room but still found myself wide awake. I went back into the bedroom and fell asleep at some point, maybe around 1:30a or 2 and then woke up at 6. I pumped, knowing we'd need a bottle for the church and waited for the clock to advance to about 8. I showered, put in my contac lenses, tried to figure out what to do with my hair.

Finally C woke up and we went into the living room and pulled open the dark curtains. Eliza woke up and we went down for breakfast. I was grateful C's parents had arranged to ride to the church with my father. I told C that M would meet us in the hotel lobby and that my grandmother, with her walker, would probably be waiting in the lobby a half hour before our scheduled pick up time.

It was a hot day, with the high expected to be around ninety. With Eliza's new love for rolling, dressing her in even the simplest garments has proven quite challenging. Getting the Christening gown so rich in family history on her was like fastening on a corset. The back was a series of tiny buttons that would have been difficult to button with out a child determined to roll away. After putting it on her, I held her up to C who was dressed and reading the paper.

"Trying to keep myself clean," he said.

I asked him if the gown looked bad without a onesie under it. With the heat, I didn't want to put too many layers on her. The gown also came with a matching white jacket and hat. I thought the onesie would be too much. Unfortunately, it was also see through so we now had a bird's eye view of the picture of Big Bird on the front of her diaper.

"It looks kind of weird," C said, turning back to the paper.

I went back into the bedroom, put Eliza back on the bed and wrestled with her to get the gown off, a onesie on and then the gown back on again. It was ten, now, one half hour before we had to be at the church. I still wasn't dressed. I handed Eliza to C so I could put my dress on. I gave him the jacket, hat and the booties my Aunt had knit for her when she was born. I asked him to finish dressing her but he didn't, suggesting we do the rest at the church because of the heat.

I agreed, not having time to argue but I'd wanted her dressed fully so we could take photos of her. I wasn't planning to bring my camera to the church and or the brunch and I'd wanted one photo of her in her Christening gown. But I had to get dressed, my grandmother was waiting, M was waiting, I didn't have time to explain it all. Hopefully my father would bring his camera into the church and get photos then. I pulled on my dress quickly, grabbed the jacket I'd have to wear because my dress had spaghetti straps and my grandmother would never let me hear the end of it if people saw my shoulders in church, packed up the diaper bag and we raced out the door. I was pretty tense at this point, just hoping all would go well.

M saw us in the lobby and waved. She looked great, though I can't remember her outfit well enough to describe. Before we left for dinner the prior night, she'd given me a beautiful heart and cross necklace she had engraved for Eliza. The gift meant so much to me and I anticipate the day she can give it to Eliza herself and tell her how much Eliza means to her. I know I couldn't have picked a better person than M to be the Godmother.

My cousin Mike and his wife and their two kids were meeting us at the church as Mike would stand in for C's brother, the Godfather who couldn't be there. There was a bit of a mix up with this as I'd asked Mike and apparently C's brother had asked C's father to stand in for him but fortunately for me, C allowed Mike to be the stand in. I'd asked Mike mainly because he lived in Pittsburgh and I knew he'd be there but when presented with it, it wouldn't feel right to have C's father on the podium with us. It's nothing personal against C's father but I didn't like the idea of choosing one grandfather over another.

Grandma waited in the lobby and I loaded her in the car, folded up her walker and put it in the trunk and we set out for the church. I pulled into the handicapped parking entrance and let Grandma out. I escorted her into the church with M while C parked the car and then brought in Eliza. A nun, happy to see my grandmother who hadn't been to St. Stephen's since she broke her hip in November, then told us to sit in the second pew. The other family whose baby was being Christened would sit in the pew behind us. Other people affiliated with St. Stephens came up to greet my grandmother. She sat in the front pew, holding court in the church she's spent so much time in.

C came in carrying Eliza in the car seat carrier followed by Mike and his family. We gathered together in the pews, C on one side of me, M on the other and Gram in front of me and I felt suddenly, giddily euphoric. My family was around me. This would be a great day.

I realize this posting is getting incredibly long so I'll stop here. The next posting will detail the baptism ceremony and how lovely it all was.

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