It's that blissful time of the day when I can actually think and demonstrate some productivity. Yet I usually spend it scarfing down my lunch while rotting my brain away on whatever I have on Tivo. These days it's a lot of Bravo and HBO with the occasional independent flick to stay "cultured." I call it recovery therapy. Recovery from what, you ask. Here it goes: day in the life of LO (and me...her sidekick, for she clearly runs the show).
Wake to "MAMA, MAMA!" I cheerfully (how cheerful depends on how late I stayed up reading or more often - watching Bravo) enter and open the curtains. She gets annoyed that the light comes in and bothers her precious eyeballs. Once over this shock, she jumps up like a lizard and holds onto the crib rail and continues to jump, up and down, up and down, like this for a good 3 minutes. Her grin so wide it almost grazes her ears. Suddenly she stops and breathlessly exclaims "I'm hungry. I want to eat." The first of 8,674 demands of the day. How a person can wake up so famished is beyond me.
As I attempt to wake myself with coffee, I am bombarded with "I want blueberries, raspberries, strawberries and banana. Please. With flaxseed and cinnamon." She adds, "Make it rain Cheerios." I shake Cheerios onto her high chair and sing "It's raining Cheerios, All-e-lu-ia. It's raining Cheerios, A-MEN." That's my pathetic attempt at humor this early in the day. Silly, I know. But my two-year-old audience loves it. Thankyouverymuch.
The downpour of Cheerios also serves as a distraction while I try to round up the aforementioned berries...every berry under the freaking sun. I've created a monster. I used to get a Pop Tart for breakfast! At least she understands that when a certain berry costs too much green, it's off the menu. She'll say: "We don't have raspberries today, Mama, because they are too 'SPENSIVE'." That's right, the girl is learning the value of a dollar.
After breakfast (which almost always involves several rounds of milk and berries), we retire to her bedroom to engage in some sort of educational activity; like a puzzle or flash cards or jumping like a lizard. I then announce that we'll be departing in T-minus 30 to the park, gym, library and/or grocery store (it's usually one or two stops...on really ambitious days it may be 3 or 4). We're lucky if we leave the house one hour later.
During this time, we take several trips to the bathroom. I follow her to her potty, she follows me to mine. Sadly, when you're a stay-at-home mom, there are no boundaries. I attempt to look "put-together" and not let on that I'm a stay-at-home mom, yet I rarely succeed. Yoga pants are a dead giveaway. I comb my hair, I comb LO's hair (yelling and/or crying often ensues.) I pack enough snacks for a Mexican family of 10 going to a Dodgers game. Water bottle, check. Wipes, check. Purse, check. Keys, check.
Even after all these mental checklists, I always manage to forget something. Very often that 'something' is the entire reason for the outing. Like forgetting the books on the "Return Library Books" run.
Once out the door (AT LAST!), I clench onto LO's wrist while I, for the 80 millionth time, explain the importance of not running onto the street. I just do not trust my child. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She's a bolter. Bolts when you least expect it. So for now, I clench. We get into the car and listen to whatever soundtrack she's obsessed with. Yesterday it was "Pumped up Kicks," today it's the "Yo Gabba Gabba" CD which is not as bad as it sounds. Music usually makes her happy and fulfilled as she so cutely jams out and sings off key (like mother, like daughter).
When we get to our destination, whichever it may be, the common denominator is GUIDANCE. As a mom, you are constantly gently guiding or, at times, tightly tugging your child in the right direction. At the park: "Be careful coming down the slide head first," or "WAIT! First ask the owner if you can pet the huge St. Bernard." At the store: "Yes, please help me pick out apples, just don't pick from the bottom of the apple sculpture so that they all come tumbling down (that was a close call). At the library: "Let's whisper so these nice people (and few sketchy types...there is an eclectic mix of peeps at the public library) can read peacefully." At the gym childcare: "Please don't scare the babies so that Mama doesn't get paged during yoga class (hasn't happened but it's a real fear. LO likes to go up to babies and scream "MEOW" at them. Just because.)
It's not that I'm jumping out of planes or even doing anything remotely exhausting, per se. It is not the activity itself; for me the draining aspect is the PARENTING part! The loving, laughing and goofing around comes easy. That's the FUN part. The other part is work. And like any other 9-to-5'er, there are easy(ish) days and hard days. Good days and bad days. And this is why I still feel entitled to a drink or two at Happy Hour on Friday afternoon - in my living room during "Yo Gabba Gabba."
***I am aware that I did not finish detailing the riveting events of the rest of our day. But I suddenly realized that they are not, in fact, riveting at all. I apologize for the half-day you endured.
