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My Page: Jennifer Savage

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Column: Savagemama

It’s that time of year again, I suppose, that time of year for falling in love. Except this year my valentine walks on four legs and licks her butt. It’s true, I’m re-falling in love with Imogene, my yellow lab. [more]

Savagemama: Notes From a Pregnant Mama

We met with our midwife a few weeks ago at her home. Eliza completely ignored me as she had discovered a red toy car that she could climb in and out of and open and close the doors. When the midwife checked my blood pressure Eliza was in her own little world, and when she drew my blood, Eliza was happily playing with our other midwife’s daughter.

But when our midwife checked the baby’s heartbeat, Eliza snapped out of her play-filled trance and walked over to me. She looked at me with one-part curiosity, one-part confusion. Then she climbed on my lap and reached for the instrument on my belly as though she was investigating the cause of this strange but primal and familiar sound. She rubbed her hands in the gel on my stomach and curled up beside me. It occurred to me that she will rely on me and my cues to guide her through these next few months. It seems like a big, important and, somehow tender, responsibility.

Savagemama: Notes From a Pregnant Mama

When I took a shower yesterday morning, Eliza cruised around the bathroom chatting to herself, playing with everything in the room besides her toys. When I got out and dried off I went through my “beauty routine” of putting lotion on my face. Then I put a little product in my hair. My hair is wavy in this dry, dry climate and requires a little something to give it some life. As I ran my hands through my hair, I looked in the mirror and could see Eliza standing behind me, running her hands through her hair, mimicking me. I almost started to cry but instead picked her up, kissed her and sat her on the bathroom counter so she would be closer to me. I'm finding I don't want her too far from me these days.

Savagemama: Notes From a Pregnant Mama

I called my mother yesterday to tell her that Eliza seems to have inherited her lack of volume control.

“She just shouts all the time,” I said. “I wonder where she gets that?” My mother just laughed. I’m pretty sure she was laughing at me. [more]

Column: Savagemama

I wish I were one of those pregnant women who crave oranges or nuts, that my sweet tooth could be sated with a nice fresh apple or a glass of juice. But I haven’t proven that lucky. While I try, trust me I do, my pregnant body is less of a temple and more of a shrine to the white powdered donut. [more]

Savagemama: Notes From a Pregnant Mama

Last week Eliza and I had a lunch of decadence. [more]

Column: Savagemama

You may have guessed from my silence and the fact that I wrote most recently about eating a hamburger in the middle of the night that I might be carrying around a tiny secret.

Someone recently confronted me, “Only 16-year-old boys and pregnant women have cravings like that.” Arms crossed in front of her she waited for my confession. “Well, I’m not a 16-year-old boy,” I said.

Yes, it’s true. My little secret is growing bigger everyday forcing me into fashion-tragic pants with elastic waists and keeping me from eating almost everything. You guessed it. This Savagemama is pregnant. Knocked up. I’m in the family way, I’ve got a bun in the oven.

And no one seems to be more continuously surprised by this than me. [more]

Column: Savagemama

Last week when we sat around a table heavy with home cooked goodness and I thought about what I am thankful for this year, the list was extensive but a few things stood out. [more]

Column: Savagemama

Last week I took Eliza to our local library for story time. When we arrived I was surprised to see at least 40 other children younger than three years, their parents in tow, settling in for songs and stories – which is to say they were ricocheting off each other like pin balls. As soon as we stepped into the large, carpeted room, Eliza was trying to twist free of my grasp. There were, after all, children to meet, adults to smile at. Before I knew it she was lost in a sea of little people checking things out.

Then it happened. Some little boy that I would later learn was named after a particularly brutal empire and who obviously didn’t finish his morning nap, pushed my sweet baby girl to the ground. She looked up at him as if to say, “What’s your problem?” and I ran across the room to get her. I wanted to jerk that little two year old up by the fuzz of his head but walked Eliza back to the center of the room to hear the story instead. [more]

Column: Savagemama

There are days I feel exceptionally greedy.

Today is one of those days.

I want and want and want for no other reason than I want. I want Eliza to take a nap. I want to eat three meals today and to not have a gnawing in my gut or the head-spinning anxiety that hunger brings. I want a long, hot bath without the dog scratching at the door. I want to sit and read something for longer than five drowsy minutes before I fall asleep at night. I want the bills to pay themselves. [more]

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