Expecting. A word that means to wait, often with anticipation and wonder. To expect a child. To expect a lot from life. It should be a good thing, right? If we didn't expect much from others, we would endure maltreatment from our relationships. If we didn't expect a lot from ourselves, we could live in a stagnant sea of conformity and longing. If we didn't expect much from our children, they may never reach or even attempt to reach their potential. But how do you know when you have reached it anyway? It's so arbitrary. Do you reach it on your deathbed? When you see your bank account spilling over? When you win the race, the contest? When does one reach their potential? This is so confusing.
But if we didn't have expectations from life, we would slog away, day after day, like Sysyphus, rolling that boulder up the hill, only to watch it roll down. And do it again and again. Actually, this may sound familiar to a worker or a stay-at-home mom or anybody who has a routine. Punch in, Punch out. Take the toys out, put them away. But we have expectations. That is what makes us different from Sysyphus. We can look forward to something exciting in the future, big or small, and that makes rolling the boulder tolerable. Saving for that vacation and looking forward to it for months. Or looking forward to blowing bubbles and little toes on the grass (or on those hard days, looking forward to nap time!) . Expecting adds some zest to the mundane.
Even if it rains everyday on your vacation or if you get the runs from that suspicious taco stand, you will always have those days when you were back at your office, dreaming of this vacation (which made your workday go faster and happier.) Expectations can bring you double the joy. First, when you imagined the joy and then when you actually experienced it.
When I was a young kid, navigating the battlefield of 5th grade, I lived for the future, or rather, my (very detailed) expectation of the future. My expectation was to be a ridiculously successful divorce lawyer, well-traveled with a European husband, and ample-bossomed, a DD cup at least. These expectations helped me endure the mean girls and my insecurities. I knew the future would ROCK. It just had to.
And it did. It has. No, I am not a lawyer, haven't travelled much in the last decade (and I married a Mexican), and my bosom, well, that is just a sad state of affairs after nursing two babies. (My 10-year-old self would be most disappointed in this outcome!) Yet my life has turned out beautifully. Different and beautiful. Those expectations served a great purpose in the past.
But just like everything in life, too many expectations are a bad thing. When you expect too much from people, you will constantly be disappointed. When you expect to get everything you want (like my toddler), you become an entitled brat and should only be tolerated if you are under the age of 3, or 4 tops! And perhaps the most toxic of all is expecting too much from yourself. You will set the bar so high that you'll be toppling off into despair and depression. Unable to make yourself happy with your unrealistic expectations. You must be the perfect and patient mother, a loving partner, an engaging friend, a smart and sassy woman, a goofy mama, an explorer, a domestic pro, a great writer, a budding entrepreneur, a gourmet cook...etc, etc. The list goes on and on. But who can be all this and why? What is the point - Happiness? Accomplishment? What if we are already happy? Should we stop expecting? Who knows? I don't.
Perhaps that wise guy, Socrates, was onto something though. Maybe: "To be is to do." Just do. Don't over think it. Do what brings joy and gives joy. And change it up when there is no longer joy. Of course, this is an over-simplification of life. But maybe that is what I need. To simplify. To breathe and remember that it is quite simple after all. I make it (life) complicated. Maybe, I'm already good enough? And so are you.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Love (and life) is in the details
It is easy to get caught up in the day-to-day minutiae of our busy lives. Trivial details like cooking dinners, carpooling, packing lunches along with the huge responsibilities of working and raising children often leave little or no room for thinking. Let alone time for some good ol' introspection. Am I doing alright? Where is my life going? What is the meaning of life? You know, those deep philosophical questions you would ponder in college between keg stands and quizzes. Now, as bona fide adults, we busily shuffle from one task to the next, checking off our to-do lists. Then we lie in bed and think of all that hasn't been accomplished, exhausted and depleted, we doze off to sleep for a few hours (hopefully - if there isn't a sleep-stealing baby in the mix) and wake up to do it all over again.
This is the pace of modern parenthood. We move fast, sprinting through life, practically. Yet this isn't to say we don't have beautiful, tender moments in between or even while doing these tasks. Recently, P and I found ourselves on the floor (NO - not that kind of tender moment!) of the laundry room, playing catch with the girls (it was really more like a game of keep-away from M, who likes to steal the ball and run off with a mischievous laugh). We were in the middle of cleaning up after dinner and that is what we did instead - played, laughed, made a memory. Who knows what we ate or how many tears were shed (we have 2 girls who are quite dramatic!) or any other detail of that day but our impromptu game remains in my memory.
Spontaneous dance parties have become commonplace over at our place. We blast music (current favorites of the girls are anything by Swedish House Mafia and of course, Taylor Swift's Shake it Off), LO turns off the lights and M spins around until she dizzily collapses. And we dance. No chores - no timeouts - no talking. Just dancing and laughing. The rest of this day is as gone as that pot of spaghetti I made (why do kids love spaghetti so much???) yet I can still hear LO singing her (way-off) version of the lyrics and I can picture M doing her wobbly jumps in her bunny footed pjs. That remains.
Memories are all we really take away from our days. So, when I do have time for some reflection, I tend to tell myself (and write on my to-do list) to make more memories, to finally really take the kids to that Dinosaur Park across town, to listen more, to be more present, to relax more, etc. All these measures are great and would be so amazing to accomplish. They are definitely something to aspire to. Can you imagine? NO yelling, NO bad moods, NO stress, endless reserves of patience, and a zeal for adventure! But that is not reality. Reality is much more, well... poetic and beautiful and complicated. Reality makes the sweet moments well-earned. Because just when you think you ruined the whole day for being a cranky ass and that you really sucked and you feel your hands and back ache from cleaning up messes, cooking, fixing the 250th snack of the day (kids eat A LOT, yo!), wiping butts and noses; but then you had a dance party and that is all that remains! Your kids laughed, you kissed your equally-tired partner, and you all were just fine.
Maybe the trick is to remember that our memories are quite forgiving. We rarely remember the inconsequential things, the small hiccups in life. We remember the REALLY GOOD and the REALLY BAD. So maybe, instead of aiming for perfection all the time, we are better off sprinkling our days with REALLY GOOD stuff and limit the REALLY BAD when possible. Chances are that we are already doing this or at the very least trying to. So we can scratch "Make Memories" off the list. Because we are making memories, really good ones, while washing dishes, during carpool, in the bathtub.
And perhaps, we shouldn't feel so bad about our busy lives. It's ok to work hard, play hard, engage in fulfilling activities, tend to our homes. We are creating a sturdy, colorful canvas for our children to paint their childhoods on. We are building careers that support our families and will provide us with a comfortable retirement. We are providing a safe, warm environment to house the dreams and potential of our children. It's not only ok to be busy, we should be thankful to be busy. Maybe we should forget about feeling guilty and stop worrying about being too busy.
Because maybe we are doing alright.
This is the pace of modern parenthood. We move fast, sprinting through life, practically. Yet this isn't to say we don't have beautiful, tender moments in between or even while doing these tasks. Recently, P and I found ourselves on the floor (NO - not that kind of tender moment!) of the laundry room, playing catch with the girls (it was really more like a game of keep-away from M, who likes to steal the ball and run off with a mischievous laugh). We were in the middle of cleaning up after dinner and that is what we did instead - played, laughed, made a memory. Who knows what we ate or how many tears were shed (we have 2 girls who are quite dramatic!) or any other detail of that day but our impromptu game remains in my memory.
Spontaneous dance parties have become commonplace over at our place. We blast music (current favorites of the girls are anything by Swedish House Mafia and of course, Taylor Swift's Shake it Off), LO turns off the lights and M spins around until she dizzily collapses. And we dance. No chores - no timeouts - no talking. Just dancing and laughing. The rest of this day is as gone as that pot of spaghetti I made (why do kids love spaghetti so much???) yet I can still hear LO singing her (way-off) version of the lyrics and I can picture M doing her wobbly jumps in her bunny footed pjs. That remains.
Memories are all we really take away from our days. So, when I do have time for some reflection, I tend to tell myself (and write on my to-do list) to make more memories, to finally really take the kids to that Dinosaur Park across town, to listen more, to be more present, to relax more, etc. All these measures are great and would be so amazing to accomplish. They are definitely something to aspire to. Can you imagine? NO yelling, NO bad moods, NO stress, endless reserves of patience, and a zeal for adventure! But that is not reality. Reality is much more, well... poetic and beautiful and complicated. Reality makes the sweet moments well-earned. Because just when you think you ruined the whole day for being a cranky ass and that you really sucked and you feel your hands and back ache from cleaning up messes, cooking, fixing the 250th snack of the day (kids eat A LOT, yo!), wiping butts and noses; but then you had a dance party and that is all that remains! Your kids laughed, you kissed your equally-tired partner, and you all were just fine.
Maybe the trick is to remember that our memories are quite forgiving. We rarely remember the inconsequential things, the small hiccups in life. We remember the REALLY GOOD and the REALLY BAD. So maybe, instead of aiming for perfection all the time, we are better off sprinkling our days with REALLY GOOD stuff and limit the REALLY BAD when possible. Chances are that we are already doing this or at the very least trying to. So we can scratch "Make Memories" off the list. Because we are making memories, really good ones, while washing dishes, during carpool, in the bathtub.
And perhaps, we shouldn't feel so bad about our busy lives. It's ok to work hard, play hard, engage in fulfilling activities, tend to our homes. We are creating a sturdy, colorful canvas for our children to paint their childhoods on. We are building careers that support our families and will provide us with a comfortable retirement. We are providing a safe, warm environment to house the dreams and potential of our children. It's not only ok to be busy, we should be thankful to be busy. Maybe we should forget about feeling guilty and stop worrying about being too busy.
Because maybe we are doing alright.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
When you have young kids...
Peeling happy-face stickers off of your body becomes part of your shower routine.
You have that shower routine down to 3 minutes flat and that includes washing your hair and a shave of the essential areas. Add a minute for a thorough shave or exfoliation.
You always carry lollipops, bandaids and Advil in case of an emergency.
You can smell poop like a basset hound on a hunt.
You can change the grossest, messiest diaper and immediately (after washing hands!) devour a croissant.
You are a roller coaster of emotions. One minute, you feel the bliss of heaven when your toddler runs to give you a wet kiss. While the very next minute, you curse the gods because your other kid decided it was a great idea to hang from the curtains like Tarzan. (She and the rod landed on the floor.)
You buy diapers, cereal, milk, and wine in bulk.
Getting through dinner without a spilled cup or a thrown plate is impossible.
You embrace all establishments with a drive-thru. The bank, pharmacy, coffee shop, Whataburger. You dream of a drive-thru grocery store, post office, and liquor store.
Your hair is overgrown, your nails are too short, and your eyebrows are never camera-ready.
The soundtrack of your life is the music from Frozen. Sigh.
And you are out late, you have a mental clock that counts down the hours until the little gremlins' wakeup time. Then you may or may not panic and ditch your friends mid-drink.
You steer clear of all other kids on the rare occasion that you don't have your own with you. You seek out peace and quiet like a Tibetan monk.
And your unlucky fate places a crying infant next to you on the plane, you sympathize immediately and offer your breast. Just kidding - No Salma Hayeks here! But you do offer to hold the baby while poor mom cleans spit-up out of her hair. You've been there .
You adore every second of it. Even if you don't ADORE every second, ya know? You adore it because the clock is ticking and your babies are crawling, then walking, then sprinting to get away from you to become individuals and not the extentions of you that they are now. When they are little, they are literally extensions of your body. Right now as I type, one has her cute toes on my hip and the other is hanging off my neck while they watch "Peppa Pig."
See, someday, too soon, I will join the land of the normal again. That place where you don't jump for joy when you had a tantrum-free outing. That place where your personal space is respected. That place where you aren't cleaning poop off the floor.
I like where I am now... Crazytown, USA or Sweetness, USA (Depends on the minute.)
You have that shower routine down to 3 minutes flat and that includes washing your hair and a shave of the essential areas. Add a minute for a thorough shave or exfoliation.
You always carry lollipops, bandaids and Advil in case of an emergency.
You can smell poop like a basset hound on a hunt.
You can change the grossest, messiest diaper and immediately (after washing hands!) devour a croissant.
You are a roller coaster of emotions. One minute, you feel the bliss of heaven when your toddler runs to give you a wet kiss. While the very next minute, you curse the gods because your other kid decided it was a great idea to hang from the curtains like Tarzan. (She and the rod landed on the floor.)
You buy diapers, cereal, milk, and wine in bulk.
Getting through dinner without a spilled cup or a thrown plate is impossible.
You embrace all establishments with a drive-thru. The bank, pharmacy, coffee shop, Whataburger. You dream of a drive-thru grocery store, post office, and liquor store.
Your hair is overgrown, your nails are too short, and your eyebrows are never camera-ready.
The soundtrack of your life is the music from Frozen. Sigh.
And you are out late, you have a mental clock that counts down the hours until the little gremlins' wakeup time. Then you may or may not panic and ditch your friends mid-drink.
You steer clear of all other kids on the rare occasion that you don't have your own with you. You seek out peace and quiet like a Tibetan monk.
And your unlucky fate places a crying infant next to you on the plane, you sympathize immediately and offer your breast. Just kidding - No Salma Hayeks here! But you do offer to hold the baby while poor mom cleans spit-up out of her hair. You've been there .
You adore every second of it. Even if you don't ADORE every second, ya know? You adore it because the clock is ticking and your babies are crawling, then walking, then sprinting to get away from you to become individuals and not the extentions of you that they are now. When they are little, they are literally extensions of your body. Right now as I type, one has her cute toes on my hip and the other is hanging off my neck while they watch "Peppa Pig."
See, someday, too soon, I will join the land of the normal again. That place where you don't jump for joy when you had a tantrum-free outing. That place where your personal space is respected. That place where you aren't cleaning poop off the floor.
I like where I am now... Crazytown, USA or Sweetness, USA (Depends on the minute.)
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Yay or Nay
These are thoughts of a crazy person. In other words, a mother. This is a game we play daily:
WORTH IT or NAH, NOT WORTH IT.
As I notice that ML is happily engaged taking apart a Kleenex, I ask myself if it is worth the $1.99 and the ensuing mess of giving her the entire box to "play" with. It would take her at least 20 minutes to get through it. I could return a couple of phone calls, empty the dishwasher, water my barely-living plants, and peel some vegetables. Verdict: WORTH IT. (I feel a slight ting of guilt at the wastefulness but feel better that my dying plant might live another day.)
In the rearview mirror, I see ML is dozing off just a few blocks away from home. If she even shuts her eyes for 2 minutes, I know she will trick her body into thinking she has had a full nap. And today, I need a break from her crazy toddler shenanigans (e.g., finding a pen and going to town on herself, standing on our glass-top coffee table, throwing my cell phone down the stairs, screeching like a banshee). Back to my dilemma, how do I keep her awake? Should I give her my water bottle that she uses more as a shower head than a drinking device? Yes - the cold water will jolt her awake and could also serve as a mini-bath. Win-win. The car seat will dry out eventually. Verdict: WORTH IT.
Should I pile the kids in the car, subject myself to hear "Let it Go" for a gazillionth time and drive 20 minutes to the gym? Only to get there and spend 15 minutes acclimating the baby to the childcare room, then make a break for it, start my workout and get pulled off the treadmill by my screaming baby.
Verdict: NOT WORTH IT (Instead I will do some planks at home and hope that the extra weight of a toddler on my back while doing them gives me chiseled abs.)
LO wants to "help" fold laundry. I have 4 loads to complete while baby naps or else she will destroy my piles, so time is of the essence. If I let LO help she will be so pleased with herself for being helpful. And she may practice some sort of motor skill (or at the very least, a life skill). Plus, she will definitely be doing laundry someday, she might as well start learning. I can't wait to outsource this chore ASAP. I hate laundry. Verdict: WORTH IT (Even though the clothes will be more crumpled than before they went into the washer.)
To drink or not drink? That is the real question. I can doze off while watching Golden Girls reruns or I can get dressed up and grab cocktails with my girlfriends. Duh. Verdict: WORTH IT always. (Unless you overdo it, in which case you will pay dearly. A hangover with little ones poking your eyes and ears to wake up has to be one of Dante's Inferno circles.)
And just this minute, I am weighing whether it is worth writing these remarkable observations that maybe two people will read. One little monster busies herself with emptying the contents of my junk drawer and the other one is who-knows-where (never a good sign when they are quiet). So, the verdict is still out on this one.
See, motherhood is basically calling shots. Making judgement calls - big and small. Like, which kid should you save first from the pooped bathtub? The assailant or the victim? Day in and day out, we make life-altering decisions such as these. Riveting stuff, people.
WORTH IT or NAH, NOT WORTH IT.
As I notice that ML is happily engaged taking apart a Kleenex, I ask myself if it is worth the $1.99 and the ensuing mess of giving her the entire box to "play" with. It would take her at least 20 minutes to get through it. I could return a couple of phone calls, empty the dishwasher, water my barely-living plants, and peel some vegetables. Verdict: WORTH IT. (I feel a slight ting of guilt at the wastefulness but feel better that my dying plant might live another day.)
In the rearview mirror, I see ML is dozing off just a few blocks away from home. If she even shuts her eyes for 2 minutes, I know she will trick her body into thinking she has had a full nap. And today, I need a break from her crazy toddler shenanigans (e.g., finding a pen and going to town on herself, standing on our glass-top coffee table, throwing my cell phone down the stairs, screeching like a banshee). Back to my dilemma, how do I keep her awake? Should I give her my water bottle that she uses more as a shower head than a drinking device? Yes - the cold water will jolt her awake and could also serve as a mini-bath. Win-win. The car seat will dry out eventually. Verdict: WORTH IT.
Should I pile the kids in the car, subject myself to hear "Let it Go" for a gazillionth time and drive 20 minutes to the gym? Only to get there and spend 15 minutes acclimating the baby to the childcare room, then make a break for it, start my workout and get pulled off the treadmill by my screaming baby.
Verdict: NOT WORTH IT (Instead I will do some planks at home and hope that the extra weight of a toddler on my back while doing them gives me chiseled abs.)
LO wants to "help" fold laundry. I have 4 loads to complete while baby naps or else she will destroy my piles, so time is of the essence. If I let LO help she will be so pleased with herself for being helpful. And she may practice some sort of motor skill (or at the very least, a life skill). Plus, she will definitely be doing laundry someday, she might as well start learning. I can't wait to outsource this chore ASAP. I hate laundry. Verdict: WORTH IT (Even though the clothes will be more crumpled than before they went into the washer.)
To drink or not drink? That is the real question. I can doze off while watching Golden Girls reruns or I can get dressed up and grab cocktails with my girlfriends. Duh. Verdict: WORTH IT always. (Unless you overdo it, in which case you will pay dearly. A hangover with little ones poking your eyes and ears to wake up has to be one of Dante's Inferno circles.)
And just this minute, I am weighing whether it is worth writing these remarkable observations that maybe two people will read. One little monster busies herself with emptying the contents of my junk drawer and the other one is who-knows-where (never a good sign when they are quiet). So, the verdict is still out on this one.
See, motherhood is basically calling shots. Making judgement calls - big and small. Like, which kid should you save first from the pooped bathtub? The assailant or the victim? Day in and day out, we make life-altering decisions such as these. Riveting stuff, people.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Imbalance
When you are a stay-at-home mom, you are mom 24/7. You don't go off to some badass job to boss people around and change the world. Perhaps during these years out of the workforce I have idealized the working thing a tad. Apparently, when I go back to work, I would love to be some powerful diplomat who saves babies and brings order to unstable countries. (If you hear of any openings like that, let me know. I'll email my resume' stat.) But back to my current job. The title pretty much sums it up: you stay home. And you tend to everyday household duties and all those living in the home. I do it and like it and that is that. And the husband is usually blown away by my aptitude for all things domestic (excluding my knack for losing his favorite socks.) So it's not that I don't feel appreciated. It's just that I don't wear other hats. I do not moonlight as a crooner at a Jazz club. I do not teach yoga. I'm not even part of a club (does my AAA membership count?) No Book Club, Winos Club, nada. Shoot - lately I can't even get a workout in. The baby is going through some serious separation anxiety. I was on the treadmill, barely breaking a sweat when the lady came to tell to please come collect my child. She had been crying the entire 10 minutes she was in the gym childcare center. A severe imbalance exists in my life right now, as I assume does for many stay-at-home-moms. And for the most part, I'm at peace with it because I know it is temporary. A major advantage of being on Baby #2 is that I am mega aware at how rapid it all moves along. In the time it takes to grow out my new bangs, ML will be past this stage. She will happily wave bye to me and I will be enjoying a 90 minute Boot Camp (who am I kidding? I'll be lucky to make it through the 30 minute Sit & Fit Senior class. Baby steps, for both ML and me!) The point is that despite all this imbalance, I know I will slowly find more balance. Babies grow and get more independent. And it happens quickly folks.
So I'm not complaining. I love my life and my role right now. It has been a deliberate, thought-out choice. It presents its challenges and its triumphs like any other job. I feel the value in what I do and the best part is that I love it. I love spending most of my time with these two Pumpkin Pies. I love that I can stay in my pajamas on snow days, drink hot chocolate, play games and still feel like I had a productive day (unless you work at Google, where else could you get away with this? ). And the fleeting nature of this stage makes me love it even more. When you are raising young children, you live in awe of time. You cannot believe how days that go by so slowly and routinely can quickly add up to months and then whole years! I know that someday in the not-so-far future, I will be juggling school drop-offs, career, and extracurriculars. I will get to put on other hats. Right now, my mom hat is sitting nicely atop my head and I love my signature look. I know someday soon I will have other hats to hang on the coat rack.
In the meantime, friends help restore some balance. I didn't need to join a club or become a Zumba instructor. It turns out that I just needed a long weekend with my best friend.
This is the kind of friend you can call and spew your rawest feelings to without fear of judgement or reproach. The kind of friend that you don't have to fake anything with. You are you and she is..., well, she - if that makes sense? You have known one another for so long and been through so many stages that your friendship is timeless. Being around her makes you feel 16 again, taking road trips together and navigating new boyfriends, new freedom and new hairdos (for the record: 5 ponytails coming out of 1 head is not stylish.) And although you have trekked many miles since that stage in your lives, somehow when you come back together again, you feel the same. You are the same person but now you take care of little people. You are still that girl with wild dreams and wild hair. And she gets that and sees that girl. She doesn't just see the crazed mom in leggings with avocado and berries smeared on her t-shirt. She doesn't just see you as a mother and wife. She sees you as the whole person that you are. The whole person that is so divided up right now, who often neglects herself for the sake of these little people. And then you begin to see that whole person again too. She appreciates your cooking as much as she appreciates your sense of humor and ability to down a cocktail. She loves the new you and the old you. She loves you. All of you. You share secret dance moves and countless inside jokes. She is that friend who accepts you and you accept her completely. Your differences have been reconciled long ago. You know her weaknesses, she knows yours and you never use them against each other. It's been a hard-earned friendship. It was fought for, year after year, and now it's in cruise control. I am her child's Godmother and now she is my child's Godmother. We got past the drama of the teen years and the insecurities of our 20's. And now our friendship is like magic.
And we had a magical evening out on the town. Just two old friends, drinking cocktails and talking about everything - from motherhood, to aging parents, to our dream of traveling again someday. But she doesn't know that that night, I did travel. I traveled back in time and picked up a little souvenir - a little piece of me that I had forgotten about. And I brought it back with me. Friendships are powerful. They have time-traveling powers and soul-soothing abilities.
Magic, I tell you.
So I'm not complaining. I love my life and my role right now. It has been a deliberate, thought-out choice. It presents its challenges and its triumphs like any other job. I feel the value in what I do and the best part is that I love it. I love spending most of my time with these two Pumpkin Pies. I love that I can stay in my pajamas on snow days, drink hot chocolate, play games and still feel like I had a productive day (unless you work at Google, where else could you get away with this? ). And the fleeting nature of this stage makes me love it even more. When you are raising young children, you live in awe of time. You cannot believe how days that go by so slowly and routinely can quickly add up to months and then whole years! I know that someday in the not-so-far future, I will be juggling school drop-offs, career, and extracurriculars. I will get to put on other hats. Right now, my mom hat is sitting nicely atop my head and I love my signature look. I know someday soon I will have other hats to hang on the coat rack.
In the meantime, friends help restore some balance. I didn't need to join a club or become a Zumba instructor. It turns out that I just needed a long weekend with my best friend.
This is the kind of friend you can call and spew your rawest feelings to without fear of judgement or reproach. The kind of friend that you don't have to fake anything with. You are you and she is..., well, she - if that makes sense? You have known one another for so long and been through so many stages that your friendship is timeless. Being around her makes you feel 16 again, taking road trips together and navigating new boyfriends, new freedom and new hairdos (for the record: 5 ponytails coming out of 1 head is not stylish.) And although you have trekked many miles since that stage in your lives, somehow when you come back together again, you feel the same. You are the same person but now you take care of little people. You are still that girl with wild dreams and wild hair. And she gets that and sees that girl. She doesn't just see the crazed mom in leggings with avocado and berries smeared on her t-shirt. She doesn't just see you as a mother and wife. She sees you as the whole person that you are. The whole person that is so divided up right now, who often neglects herself for the sake of these little people. And then you begin to see that whole person again too. She appreciates your cooking as much as she appreciates your sense of humor and ability to down a cocktail. She loves the new you and the old you. She loves you. All of you. You share secret dance moves and countless inside jokes. She is that friend who accepts you and you accept her completely. Your differences have been reconciled long ago. You know her weaknesses, she knows yours and you never use them against each other. It's been a hard-earned friendship. It was fought for, year after year, and now it's in cruise control. I am her child's Godmother and now she is my child's Godmother. We got past the drama of the teen years and the insecurities of our 20's. And now our friendship is like magic.
And we had a magical evening out on the town. Just two old friends, drinking cocktails and talking about everything - from motherhood, to aging parents, to our dream of traveling again someday. But she doesn't know that that night, I did travel. I traveled back in time and picked up a little souvenir - a little piece of me that I had forgotten about. And I brought it back with me. Friendships are powerful. They have time-traveling powers and soul-soothing abilities.
Magic, I tell you.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Sorry
Dear ML,
I am writing my most sincere apology to you today just days before your first birthday. You have been duped. I told you when you were in my belly that I would pay as much attention to you as I had to
your sister. In short, I promised to be the same kind of mother I was to your older sis LO. But I have not made good on that promise. I am a radically different kind of mother and I hope you forgive me.
You are shafted. No way around it. And I'm not going to sugarcoat it. But there are advantages to being the second-born:
You get free and constant entertainment that your older sibling provides. You watch LO as she pliés across the floor in her tutu and tiara for hours. You're the best audience member during yet another performance of her "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" routine. You are rarely bored because of her shenanigans. You are especially amused during LO's timeouts and frequent scoldings. You already seem to take some pleasure when big sis gets in trouble. Maybe you still remember the time she smooshed your finger in the door.
You have another watchful eye on you at all times. (Even when you don't want it - but we are talking about the advantages here!) LO has taken several small objects out of your grip that could have proved fatal (actually I'm sure that tiny pebble would have passed right through you, you are a champ at digestion.) She lets me know when you are going near the toilet (your favorite object in the house), nearing the stairs (your favorite pastime), or when you have your foot inside the fireplace. Overall, she is an asset in keeping you safe.
You have a bath buddy. I'm not sure why I find this one so exciting but I do. You two in the bath are the cutest. I give you matching funny hairdos and we all laugh. You try to drink the water and LO tells you no. You get mad and splash water at her. We laugh some more. You try to escape the tub and we wrangle you back in. It's a fun time for all. What if you were in there solo? Not nearly as much fun.
You have indulged in a lot more foods than sister ever did at this age. And by foods, I mean treats. You have eaten cookies, chips, chicken nuggets (gasp!) and pretty much anything else sister eats. I just feel bad that somebody else is eating this stuff in front of you. So I give you nibbles. The other day, sister gave you some of her marshmallows. Did sis ever get to eat marshmallows at 11 months? No way. Score for you!
You have a more relaxed mama. I don't go around wiping everything down for you. I don't freak when you eat a crusty Cheerio off the floor. I know what to do when you are sick. I know what do when you are constipated (Yep - I got right-up-in-there and helped. Gross, I know. But didn't you feel better?) These are all things I have learned from mothering your sister. She was the guinea pig. You get to reap the benefits of a more experienced mother.
So what do you think? It's not so bad, right? There are advantages and disadvantages to being the second. That is life, actually. Good and bad aspects can be applied to most scenarios. And what I said earlier is true. You are our wise little "Milli" as we've nicknamed you. You are a keen observer most of the time but your voice is heard. You are strong and sure of yourself. You ask for what you need. So I am sure your wisdom will guide you in seeing the great aspects of being the second. And that wisdom will most surely lead you to know the absolute truth. The clear, undisputed truth that you are loved and treasured in the same way your older sister is. The truth in knowing you occupy an equally important spot in our family. And in our hearts.
I love you,
Your Mama
I am writing my most sincere apology to you today just days before your first birthday. You have been duped. I told you when you were in my belly that I would pay as much attention to you as I had to
your sister. In short, I promised to be the same kind of mother I was to your older sis LO. But I have not made good on that promise. I am a radically different kind of mother and I hope you forgive me.
There is no use trying to hide it so I am coming clean early in the game. You will see the pictures from your sister's first birthday and be upset. Yes, we went all out. Yes, that was a hand-painted Halloween backdrop your dad made for guests to take pictures in front of. Yes, we were all dressed up in costumes. And yes, what you know as your "non-crafty" mom did make those cat-shaped carved pumpkin decorations. Please do not be jealous. LO was teething and cranky throughout most of the party. She did not enjoy herself that much.
Yes, that blinged-out baby book that documents LO's first everythings looks amazing. Where is yours, you ask? I'm working on it. I promise that I have input your important milestones into my Iphone calendar. I will soon fill in your baby book all at once. How practical! Do I get points for that time-saving trick? Didn't think so. But what if I use that extra time to stand behind you as you scale the stairs for the 189th time today and give you endless tangerines??
Yes, we have so many videos of your sis that make "Gone With The Wind" look like a teaser. P practically had the camcorder attached to his eye. And the camera - we have enough pictures of LO to tape around the entire Earth. We have less of you. But they are gems. You are a natural. And that's not fluff. You have this serious look on your face in most that really capture your wisdom (or that may just be anger at being the second-born, never thought about that before!). But, really, your hair stood straight up the first 6 months of your life and the pictures are a hoot. Just see the pictures for yourself. You're a doll! (As for videos, don't you think pictures are a more timeless art form?)
You are shafted. No way around it. And I'm not going to sugarcoat it. But there are advantages to being the second-born:
You get free and constant entertainment that your older sibling provides. You watch LO as she pliés across the floor in her tutu and tiara for hours. You're the best audience member during yet another performance of her "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" routine. You are rarely bored because of her shenanigans. You are especially amused during LO's timeouts and frequent scoldings. You already seem to take some pleasure when big sis gets in trouble. Maybe you still remember the time she smooshed your finger in the door.
You have another watchful eye on you at all times. (Even when you don't want it - but we are talking about the advantages here!) LO has taken several small objects out of your grip that could have proved fatal (actually I'm sure that tiny pebble would have passed right through you, you are a champ at digestion.) She lets me know when you are going near the toilet (your favorite object in the house), nearing the stairs (your favorite pastime), or when you have your foot inside the fireplace. Overall, she is an asset in keeping you safe.
You have a bath buddy. I'm not sure why I find this one so exciting but I do. You two in the bath are the cutest. I give you matching funny hairdos and we all laugh. You try to drink the water and LO tells you no. You get mad and splash water at her. We laugh some more. You try to escape the tub and we wrangle you back in. It's a fun time for all. What if you were in there solo? Not nearly as much fun.
You have indulged in a lot more foods than sister ever did at this age. And by foods, I mean treats. You have eaten cookies, chips, chicken nuggets (gasp!) and pretty much anything else sister eats. I just feel bad that somebody else is eating this stuff in front of you. So I give you nibbles. The other day, sister gave you some of her marshmallows. Did sis ever get to eat marshmallows at 11 months? No way. Score for you!
You have a more relaxed mama. I don't go around wiping everything down for you. I don't freak when you eat a crusty Cheerio off the floor. I know what to do when you are sick. I know what do when you are constipated (Yep - I got right-up-in-there and helped. Gross, I know. But didn't you feel better?) These are all things I have learned from mothering your sister. She was the guinea pig. You get to reap the benefits of a more experienced mother.
So what do you think? It's not so bad, right? There are advantages and disadvantages to being the second. That is life, actually. Good and bad aspects can be applied to most scenarios. And what I said earlier is true. You are our wise little "Milli" as we've nicknamed you. You are a keen observer most of the time but your voice is heard. You are strong and sure of yourself. You ask for what you need. So I am sure your wisdom will guide you in seeing the great aspects of being the second. And that wisdom will most surely lead you to know the absolute truth. The clear, undisputed truth that you are loved and treasured in the same way your older sister is. The truth in knowing you occupy an equally important spot in our family. And in our hearts.
I love you,
Your Mama
Monday, December 9, 2013
All
Since I was last here, LO turned 4 years old and ML is almost 11 months. ML has been out of the womb longer than she was in it. It really is not a long time. I have canned goods that have been around longer (those anchovies that I swore I would use to add "umami" to my dishes are dusty in the dark corner of the pantry). Yet I cannot even begin to imagine our family, our life, our hearts without her. There was surely a gaping hole in our hearts before she filled it with her sweet smile and slobbery kisses.
LO has been out of the womb for as long as it takes to earn a college degree. Although these past four years have been much more challenging and rigorous than any college course I took (my film degree wasn't exactly astrophysics). I really didn't know what the hell I was going to do with my life after college. I certainly didn't feel prepared for any particular job. I just knew I would wing it. And that's exactly what I did. I figured it out. My first PA job I learned to write EVERYTHING down. From the Starbucks order to the cryptic message from Jon Voight to the director I was working for (for the record - that guy IS a weirdo!) I worked hard and I moved up. And then I gave it up to mother these two Sweettarts.
So here I am. Motherhood is quite different from school or a job. Yes, I wing it. And I most definitely work hard. But as a mom, you never move up (you only move up in age). You don't really know how you're doing. You don't have a yearly review. You are your own judge. And we all know that is the harshest judge of all. See, in essence, all that I dedicate myself to right now is being a good mother. Of course I have other interests and responsibilities too, but first and foremost, I strive to rock at this. So when I don't, it can really weigh on me. And here's the thing, I screw up. A lot. Like everyday. It's just the way it goes. I yell a little too much, have too little patience and take it all too seriously sometimes. I was always a bit of an over-achiever. Nothing like a genius or anything but, you know, pretty good at the things I put time into (or as my brothers used to call me, a "nerd-herd"). Yet there are days over here in Mamaland when I feel I have achieved ZILCH. All I did was survive and kept my kids alive. Days when I'm certainly not a nerd-herd parent.
Yet the small triumphs should not be overlooked. In fact, they should be heralded. Because that is most often all that you will receive in validation that you are not completely sucking at this. When your kid comes up to you and kisses your leg just because. When she shares her favorite toy with her baby sister. When you see the anger fumes coming out of her head and she calms down (i.e. doesn't throw a fit, fling something or yell) all on her own. When she tells you: "Mami, I love you even when you put me in time-out." When she brings her Dad an ice pack when she overhears that his back hurts. When she says things like: "Does God see EVERYTHING?? Even when I pick my nose??" These are all signs that you are indeed raising kind, considerate and humorous kids. Hey, when your social circle is made up of tots under 4 whose idea of a good time is playing "Trick or treat" again, you appreciate their sense of humor. (In case you're dying to know - the gist of the game is you go up to her bedroom door and say "trick-or-treat" and she opens the door and compliments your pretend costume. Repeat. 38 times.)
LO has been out of the womb for as long as it takes to earn a college degree. Although these past four years have been much more challenging and rigorous than any college course I took (my film degree wasn't exactly astrophysics). I really didn't know what the hell I was going to do with my life after college. I certainly didn't feel prepared for any particular job. I just knew I would wing it. And that's exactly what I did. I figured it out. My first PA job I learned to write EVERYTHING down. From the Starbucks order to the cryptic message from Jon Voight to the director I was working for (for the record - that guy IS a weirdo!) I worked hard and I moved up. And then I gave it up to mother these two Sweettarts.
So here I am. Motherhood is quite different from school or a job. Yes, I wing it. And I most definitely work hard. But as a mom, you never move up (you only move up in age). You don't really know how you're doing. You don't have a yearly review. You are your own judge. And we all know that is the harshest judge of all. See, in essence, all that I dedicate myself to right now is being a good mother. Of course I have other interests and responsibilities too, but first and foremost, I strive to rock at this. So when I don't, it can really weigh on me. And here's the thing, I screw up. A lot. Like everyday. It's just the way it goes. I yell a little too much, have too little patience and take it all too seriously sometimes. I was always a bit of an over-achiever. Nothing like a genius or anything but, you know, pretty good at the things I put time into (or as my brothers used to call me, a "nerd-herd"). Yet there are days over here in Mamaland when I feel I have achieved ZILCH. All I did was survive and kept my kids alive. Days when I'm certainly not a nerd-herd parent.
Yet the small triumphs should not be overlooked. In fact, they should be heralded. Because that is most often all that you will receive in validation that you are not completely sucking at this. When your kid comes up to you and kisses your leg just because. When she shares her favorite toy with her baby sister. When you see the anger fumes coming out of her head and she calms down (i.e. doesn't throw a fit, fling something or yell) all on her own. When she tells you: "Mami, I love you even when you put me in time-out." When she brings her Dad an ice pack when she overhears that his back hurts. When she says things like: "Does God see EVERYTHING?? Even when I pick my nose??" These are all signs that you are indeed raising kind, considerate and humorous kids. Hey, when your social circle is made up of tots under 4 whose idea of a good time is playing "Trick or treat" again, you appreciate their sense of humor. (In case you're dying to know - the gist of the game is you go up to her bedroom door and say "trick-or-treat" and she opens the door and compliments your pretend costume. Repeat. 38 times.)
I guess I'm hard on myself and hard on my children (or child, rather; the baby got away with murder, almost literally, she practically killed me with her terrible snacking habit at night. I was a zombie for the last 10 months. Who said Baby #2 is easier?). But I am hard on us because I expect a lot from myself, from them, from our family. Because I know it's a privilege to be their mother. It's a privilege for us to have one another. I want to be the best I can be (my over-achieving habits die hard). Everyday I want to give it my all. I want to laugh loud, hug hard, teach wisely, guide gently and observe keenly.
But guess what? It's hard to do all these things all the time. And I fail and fall short and squeak by. Yet as hard it is to measure up to my expectations, it is always easy to do the most important thing of all: love them. This has come naturally. Loving them is easy and I'll always have that. Even when I fail at everything else. I have that. Love. Always. Everyday. Every second.
It's hard to believe that I've been at this gig for four years. To say that parenting has been a challenge would be an understatement. But to say that I enjoy it would be an even greater understatement. I LOVE it. All of it.
But guess what? It's hard to do all these things all the time. And I fail and fall short and squeak by. Yet as hard it is to measure up to my expectations, it is always easy to do the most important thing of all: love them. This has come naturally. Loving them is easy and I'll always have that. Even when I fail at everything else. I have that. Love. Always. Everyday. Every second.
It's hard to believe that I've been at this gig for four years. To say that parenting has been a challenge would be an understatement. But to say that I enjoy it would be an even greater understatement. I LOVE it. All of it.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Wisdom
I apologize in advance if this post seems scatterbrained because its author is indeed scatterbrained at the moment. There is so much happening over here. First, we are buying a house! After 6 months of a harrowing house hunt (why did I think that the process was going to be as delightful as watching an episode of House Hunters??), we are the almost-owners of a cute 2-story with a deck and swing that LO very much approves of. We couldn't be happier, more nervous or relieved at the same time. It's not quite a fixer-upper but it does need a lot of loving! You know who else needs a lot of loving?? LO and ML...so how everybody will get their fair share is beyond me. But they will. One baseboard and princess tea party at a time.
We've also been busy with visitors this month. I love having visitors. So much so that I feel sad when they leave. When you're a stay-at-home mom, it is especially nice to have adult company during the day. Although LO's vocab can be quite extensive for a 3-year-old (e.g: "Are you so proud of me for being considerate?"), one enjoys having a conversation without having to explain every metaphor or saying. The other day I said jokingly, "Just go fly a kite" to which LO answered quizzically "But I don't have a kite Mama!" This turned into a long explanation that you just wouldn't have to get into with the average adult. Kids are so literal. Anyhow, I just love company so keep it coming, people! Even if I'm dead tired for a week because I try to keep up with my non-child-raising peeps. I just can't party like a rock star anymore. But I give myself props for trying.
Not only has the partying left me dead tired but Baby ML has contributed too! She is growing crazy fast. She had her 4-month appointment and dreaded shots. Poor baby. It just never gets easier for mama to watch her babies get pricked. She was out of sorts for a few days which then segued into the tortuous 4 month sleep regression. If you have kids and you haven't heard of it, then count yourself lucky. We couldn't figure out why ML went from nursing 3-4 times a night to waking every hour screaming inconsolably. And then calming down to nurse and doing it again the next hour. TORTURE. For everybody except LO who wakes every morning chipper as can be. Three days into this regression and she's learned a new word...EXHAUSTED.
"Mami, are you ESS-hausted again?" LO asks as she jumps into bed with us.
"Why yes, my love muffin, mami and sister (ML's sweaty cheek is pressed against my bosom) are both exhausted. Now go ahead and watch another "Cat in the Hat."
"But why can I watch 2 shows mami? I never get 2 shows."
Geez kid, just take your good fortune and hush it! **Please notice the absence of quotations - I didn't actually speak those words but I might have if I hadn't dozed off already. Just kidding.
So this is a slice out of our lives for the last few days. Super fun, right?? P has to actually go and see other human beings and function in the world. I only have to do a quick drop-off and pick-up at LO's school and there is no judgement there. I can spot others who are in the trenches too. We're the ones in workout gear with ZERO intentions of exercising. We're lucky we got out of bed and dressed.
But dammit, as hard as it is and sleep-deprived as I am, I know how LUCKY I am. I have healthy beautiful babies, a kick-ass partner, a great support system made up of grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends. We have a roof over our heads (soon our very own roof!) and food in our tummies (even if I forgot to defrost the chicken and I shared a bag of goldfish with LO instead). A weird thing happens when I see tragedies like the tornado in Oklahoma or the Boston bombings; I feel more love. I feel more gratitude. I feel more present. I feel more aware of my mortality. This awareness does not fill me with fear or anger. Instead, it makes me stop worrying about my endless to-do list while I watch LO's Sugarplum fairy dance. I fully enjoy watching her twirl around with her puffy tutu on over her Hello Kitty pajamas. Her smile as genuine and real as this moment is to her. The past and future are insignificant in comparison to the NOW. In this very ordinary moment, she's as happy as she's ever been. Children can teach us a lot about living in the moment. Because that is how they live. Untarnished by to-do lists and stressful lives, they seek happiness at each and every opportunity. Oftentimes, it takes a tragedy to make adults stop and smell the roses but children live this way daily.
Then I realize that LO is actually teaching ME the big important lessons in life. I only teach her the silly stuff like to keep peas out of her nose and to not over-share (recently, she announced to her entire class during circle time that she "had a little bit of diarrhea last night"!!!).
Enjoy your long weekend and don't forget to let your kids teach you a thing or two. They're wise little creatures.
We've also been busy with visitors this month. I love having visitors. So much so that I feel sad when they leave. When you're a stay-at-home mom, it is especially nice to have adult company during the day. Although LO's vocab can be quite extensive for a 3-year-old (e.g: "Are you so proud of me for being considerate?"), one enjoys having a conversation without having to explain every metaphor or saying. The other day I said jokingly, "Just go fly a kite" to which LO answered quizzically "But I don't have a kite Mama!" This turned into a long explanation that you just wouldn't have to get into with the average adult. Kids are so literal. Anyhow, I just love company so keep it coming, people! Even if I'm dead tired for a week because I try to keep up with my non-child-raising peeps. I just can't party like a rock star anymore. But I give myself props for trying.
Not only has the partying left me dead tired but Baby ML has contributed too! She is growing crazy fast. She had her 4-month appointment and dreaded shots. Poor baby. It just never gets easier for mama to watch her babies get pricked. She was out of sorts for a few days which then segued into the tortuous 4 month sleep regression. If you have kids and you haven't heard of it, then count yourself lucky. We couldn't figure out why ML went from nursing 3-4 times a night to waking every hour screaming inconsolably. And then calming down to nurse and doing it again the next hour. TORTURE. For everybody except LO who wakes every morning chipper as can be. Three days into this regression and she's learned a new word...EXHAUSTED.
"Mami, are you ESS-hausted again?" LO asks as she jumps into bed with us.
"Why yes, my love muffin, mami and sister (ML's sweaty cheek is pressed against my bosom) are both exhausted. Now go ahead and watch another "Cat in the Hat."
"But why can I watch 2 shows mami? I never get 2 shows."
Geez kid, just take your good fortune and hush it! **Please notice the absence of quotations - I didn't actually speak those words but I might have if I hadn't dozed off already. Just kidding.
So this is a slice out of our lives for the last few days. Super fun, right?? P has to actually go and see other human beings and function in the world. I only have to do a quick drop-off and pick-up at LO's school and there is no judgement there. I can spot others who are in the trenches too. We're the ones in workout gear with ZERO intentions of exercising. We're lucky we got out of bed and dressed.
But dammit, as hard as it is and sleep-deprived as I am, I know how LUCKY I am. I have healthy beautiful babies, a kick-ass partner, a great support system made up of grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends. We have a roof over our heads (soon our very own roof!) and food in our tummies (even if I forgot to defrost the chicken and I shared a bag of goldfish with LO instead). A weird thing happens when I see tragedies like the tornado in Oklahoma or the Boston bombings; I feel more love. I feel more gratitude. I feel more present. I feel more aware of my mortality. This awareness does not fill me with fear or anger. Instead, it makes me stop worrying about my endless to-do list while I watch LO's Sugarplum fairy dance. I fully enjoy watching her twirl around with her puffy tutu on over her Hello Kitty pajamas. Her smile as genuine and real as this moment is to her. The past and future are insignificant in comparison to the NOW. In this very ordinary moment, she's as happy as she's ever been. Children can teach us a lot about living in the moment. Because that is how they live. Untarnished by to-do lists and stressful lives, they seek happiness at each and every opportunity. Oftentimes, it takes a tragedy to make adults stop and smell the roses but children live this way daily.
Then I realize that LO is actually teaching ME the big important lessons in life. I only teach her the silly stuff like to keep peas out of her nose and to not over-share (recently, she announced to her entire class during circle time that she "had a little bit of diarrhea last night"!!!).
Enjoy your long weekend and don't forget to let your kids teach you a thing or two. They're wise little creatures.
Friday, April 26, 2013
It's been a hard day's night
There are hard moments, hard days and then there are hard weeks. Lucky for me, this is usually where it ends. I can't remember having ENTIRE hard months or years. Yet a hard week can feel eternal. I feel like I've aged 2 years, at the very least, this past week.
Lack of sleep is the culprit. Public Enemy Numero Uno in our house. From this stems all other evils - grumpiness, lack of patience, achy body, headache, messy house, subpar meal planning (the other day I had 2 girl scout cookies, chips and salsa, and a cheese stick for lunch - simultaneously), overgrown eyebrows...etc, etc. Why the sudden slumber-shattering epidemic, you ask? The MILK MONSTER (as LO has lovingly named her baby sis). How dare this baby come into our life and turn things upside down??? Three months later. How cruel.
We thought we hit the mother of all jackpots when ML was born. She slept a few hours at a time, had zero problems latching on and displayed a pleasant demeanor. She seemed content to be out of the womb and happy to be part of our little family. ML went with the flow and our attention seemed to be more on LO and her constant shenanigans. I often thought: "This is easy breezy. Sign me up for another." In contrast, I thought seriously about getting my tubes tied after LO's birth.
"SUPER MAMA," as LO calls me from time-to-time (more out of her fascination with superheroes and less to do with my awesomeness), began to feel like an accurate nickname for me. I was really handling it all - with ease and grace. Ok, let's not go that far. But I was managing to take daily showers, cook dinners and tweeze my eyebrows (this eyebrow situation is really bothering me). I only occasionally shoplifted gallons of milk and forgot to pay LO's ballet classes once. Not too shabby for this new mom of two!
But I got overconfident. I underestimated my little sweet peanut. It turns out that she has a personality. She has needs and has tricks up her sleeves. Tricks like suckering me into nursing her every 1.5 hours at night. Tricks like screaming when her head touches anything other than flesh. Which means now she needs to be held the greater part of the day. Tricks like ALWAYS getting fussy right at dinnertime so that P holds her football style all through the meal. Tricks like pushing the pacifier out of her mouth and making a sour face as if it tastes like rotten eggs. Tricks like practicing her verbal skills at 4 in the morning. Cooing and babbling is not so adorable in the wee hours of the night. Actually, she is still rather delectably sweet. P and I find ourselves admiring her cuteness through moonlight and bleary eyes. And then we realize we are crazy to waste precious sleep minutes staring at this creature that will awaken again within the hour.
And now I have to run, my friends, because the Milk Monster has figured out that she has been duped. I managed to trick her for 25 minutes into thinking that the rocking motion was coming from the rocking chair and my arms and not the mechanical swing. She did not like that very much.
See, mama has some tricks up her sleeves too. Yet I'm clearly still losing this game.
Can I just forfeit and ask for a rematch after I've slept for 3 days straight?
Lack of sleep is the culprit. Public Enemy Numero Uno in our house. From this stems all other evils - grumpiness, lack of patience, achy body, headache, messy house, subpar meal planning (the other day I had 2 girl scout cookies, chips and salsa, and a cheese stick for lunch - simultaneously), overgrown eyebrows...etc, etc. Why the sudden slumber-shattering epidemic, you ask? The MILK MONSTER (as LO has lovingly named her baby sis). How dare this baby come into our life and turn things upside down??? Three months later. How cruel.
We thought we hit the mother of all jackpots when ML was born. She slept a few hours at a time, had zero problems latching on and displayed a pleasant demeanor. She seemed content to be out of the womb and happy to be part of our little family. ML went with the flow and our attention seemed to be more on LO and her constant shenanigans. I often thought: "This is easy breezy. Sign me up for another." In contrast, I thought seriously about getting my tubes tied after LO's birth.
"SUPER MAMA," as LO calls me from time-to-time (more out of her fascination with superheroes and less to do with my awesomeness), began to feel like an accurate nickname for me. I was really handling it all - with ease and grace. Ok, let's not go that far. But I was managing to take daily showers, cook dinners and tweeze my eyebrows (this eyebrow situation is really bothering me). I only occasionally shoplifted gallons of milk and forgot to pay LO's ballet classes once. Not too shabby for this new mom of two!
But I got overconfident. I underestimated my little sweet peanut. It turns out that she has a personality. She has needs and has tricks up her sleeves. Tricks like suckering me into nursing her every 1.5 hours at night. Tricks like screaming when her head touches anything other than flesh. Which means now she needs to be held the greater part of the day. Tricks like ALWAYS getting fussy right at dinnertime so that P holds her football style all through the meal. Tricks like pushing the pacifier out of her mouth and making a sour face as if it tastes like rotten eggs. Tricks like practicing her verbal skills at 4 in the morning. Cooing and babbling is not so adorable in the wee hours of the night. Actually, she is still rather delectably sweet. P and I find ourselves admiring her cuteness through moonlight and bleary eyes. And then we realize we are crazy to waste precious sleep minutes staring at this creature that will awaken again within the hour.
And now I have to run, my friends, because the Milk Monster has figured out that she has been duped. I managed to trick her for 25 minutes into thinking that the rocking motion was coming from the rocking chair and my arms and not the mechanical swing. She did not like that very much.
See, mama has some tricks up her sleeves too. Yet I'm clearly still losing this game.
Can I just forfeit and ask for a rematch after I've slept for 3 days straight?
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
You know you got 2+ kids when...
You're able to nurse and cook at the same time while singing "Skidamarink" with your other kid.
You can one-handedly dismantle the stroller while holding your other kid's hoodie so that she doesn't dart into the parking lot.
The sound of the baby crying doesn't illicit you to immediately STOP what you're doing and dash to pick her up. You take a beat....or a few sometimes. (Especially when you're in the middle of a delightful task such as wiping your other child's butt.)
You can give your baby a bath while helping your other child bathe her baby doll.
You can talk on the phone (on speaker), hold the baby, and play a game of catch.
You can be rocking the baby to sleep and reading "Green Eggs and Ham" to the other child who has a ridiculously oversized tutu on that practically swallows up the baby.
You let your preschooler drive the shopping cart while you try to remember what you came to the store for. She then crashes into a display of greeting cards and knocks it over. But the baby goes unharmed...close one!
You accidentally shoplift a gallon of milk which you put on the bottom of the cart and forgot about. Sprouts, I owe you $3.89.
You can fall asleep anytime, anywhere. Including the bathroom...not that that has EVER happened to me.
You don't change the diaper at the first sign of pee. You wait until she goes #2.
You and baby both eat while reading a magazine or checking Facebook.
You can successfully change a diaper without taking the baby's socks off. I used to always take LO's socks off because she'd inevitably squash her heels into the poop. I OWN this diapering business now. I can even do it in the dark. Which is the only action happening in the dark, ya know??! But that's another story...
You let your newborn watch TV. I never even had the TV on when LO was a baby. ML is a huge fan of Downton Abbey. We both shed tears when Crawley died in that car accident.
You do one load of laundry everyday. Minimum.
You don't boil the pacifiers daily. Or ever.
Your idea of alone time is that rare, long, luxurious 8 minute shower. You might even exfoliate!
Most of your sentences begin with : "CAREFUL"...
"Don't tip sister's car seat over."
"Get that stick out of sister's ear."
"You can't swing with sister on her baby swing."
"No, sister can't eat goldfish."
"We don't throw balls near sister."
It's a true miracle ML has survived these 6 weeks. And not only is she surviving, she's thriving! She's putting on weight like a champ and does all that is expected of her. Eat, pee poop, sleep, cry. Repeat.
And despite LO's constant shenanigans, she's such a proud and sweet big sister. She has adjusted beautifully and is, for the most part, a great little helper.
I suppose we're all thriving! As long as I don't shoplift again and end up in the slammer.
You can one-handedly dismantle the stroller while holding your other kid's hoodie so that she doesn't dart into the parking lot.
The sound of the baby crying doesn't illicit you to immediately STOP what you're doing and dash to pick her up. You take a beat....or a few sometimes. (Especially when you're in the middle of a delightful task such as wiping your other child's butt.)
You can give your baby a bath while helping your other child bathe her baby doll.
You can talk on the phone (on speaker), hold the baby, and play a game of catch.
You can be rocking the baby to sleep and reading "Green Eggs and Ham" to the other child who has a ridiculously oversized tutu on that practically swallows up the baby.
You let your preschooler drive the shopping cart while you try to remember what you came to the store for. She then crashes into a display of greeting cards and knocks it over. But the baby goes unharmed...close one!
You accidentally shoplift a gallon of milk which you put on the bottom of the cart and forgot about. Sprouts, I owe you $3.89.
You can fall asleep anytime, anywhere. Including the bathroom...not that that has EVER happened to me.
You don't change the diaper at the first sign of pee. You wait until she goes #2.
You and baby both eat while reading a magazine or checking Facebook.
You can successfully change a diaper without taking the baby's socks off. I used to always take LO's socks off because she'd inevitably squash her heels into the poop. I OWN this diapering business now. I can even do it in the dark. Which is the only action happening in the dark, ya know??! But that's another story...
You let your newborn watch TV. I never even had the TV on when LO was a baby. ML is a huge fan of Downton Abbey. We both shed tears when Crawley died in that car accident.
You do one load of laundry everyday. Minimum.
You don't boil the pacifiers daily. Or ever.
Your idea of alone time is that rare, long, luxurious 8 minute shower. You might even exfoliate!
Most of your sentences begin with : "CAREFUL"...
"Don't tip sister's car seat over."
"Get that stick out of sister's ear."
"You can't swing with sister on her baby swing."
"No, sister can't eat goldfish."
"We don't throw balls near sister."
It's a true miracle ML has survived these 6 weeks. And not only is she surviving, she's thriving! She's putting on weight like a champ and does all that is expected of her. Eat, pee poop, sleep, cry. Repeat.
And despite LO's constant shenanigans, she's such a proud and sweet big sister. She has adjusted beautifully and is, for the most part, a great little helper.
I suppose we're all thriving! As long as I don't shoplift again and end up in the slammer.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Third Time's a Charm
I'm in love. For the third time. My first love was P. I was eighteen and had no idea what I was in for. I remember feeling scared, not of commitment, but of feeling something so strong for somebody that I hadn't known for very long. After all, every person I had really LOVED in life so far had known me my entire life, i.e. parents, brothers, grandparents. But this was a "new" person finding a way into my heart and taking up permanent residence in it.
The next love was LO. And what a love affair that has been. Rapid, intense, limitless. The kind of love worth dying, killing, stealing for. A mother's love for her child is so natural that it almost feels like it was always in you, just waiting for the little creature to emerge. Then the child appears and "BOOM," you've been hit. Hit with a love potion so powerful that you only have eyes and ears for your spawn. And you are never the same. You look the same to the world, but you just know you're different. You are no longer worried about your own well being first. No matter the actual physical distance from your child, you are never far way. Your mind stays close. For example, you're at the movies on a rare date night: count the times you think of your kid, involuntarily of course. I enjoy a night out as much as the next mom but it will scare you silly to actually count the times you think of your nugget. I counted 7 times last time. Wow. And P and I practically ran out the door in excitement of our date night.
I read an article by a new mom who wished to tell the world that motherhood (or parenthood) is not that hard. She didn't understand how people herald parenting as the most rewarding and most difficult job. She made comparisons to a brain surgeon. Her point being that cleaning up spit-up and changing diapers were nothing like performing brain surgery. She said we (society) need to stop saying motherhood is so difficult. Apparently, she must have an easy infant. I want her to deal with a colicky baby and she will see that soothing a howling baby will seem as grand as rocket science! But I do agree with her on one thing. The actual caregiving duties are not what make motherhood difficult. Of course, in my experience, it's not a walk in the park either. But there are more rigorous, laborious, and mind-challenging occupations out there. I'll give the author that. What is missing from her argument is the "human element."I think most parents would say that, no matter the age of their children, they're constantly concerned with their well being. They basically care about another person more than they do themselves. You pray for their good health, for their happiness, for everything beautiful in the world for them, but you really can't control any of it. And that is the difficult part. Not the diapering or nursing. Oh and it's a life-long job. No early retirement here.
And now for my third love. Little ML. It's been 2 weeks and I don't know how I lived without her before. I heard my OB say "Open your eyes Jennifer, look at your daughter." My eyes were squeezed shut, possibly trying to shut out the 10 random people (nurses, techs, pediatricians, janitors probably) looking at my nether region, She arrived at 10:41 am and by 10:42 am, I knew... it was LOVE. She was mine. Forever. And just like that, I have two little people occupying the world whom I will never stop loving, caring and dreaming for, and worrying about. And that for me is the most rewarding and most difficult job I will ever have.
The next love was LO. And what a love affair that has been. Rapid, intense, limitless. The kind of love worth dying, killing, stealing for. A mother's love for her child is so natural that it almost feels like it was always in you, just waiting for the little creature to emerge. Then the child appears and "BOOM," you've been hit. Hit with a love potion so powerful that you only have eyes and ears for your spawn. And you are never the same. You look the same to the world, but you just know you're different. You are no longer worried about your own well being first. No matter the actual physical distance from your child, you are never far way. Your mind stays close. For example, you're at the movies on a rare date night: count the times you think of your kid, involuntarily of course. I enjoy a night out as much as the next mom but it will scare you silly to actually count the times you think of your nugget. I counted 7 times last time. Wow. And P and I practically ran out the door in excitement of our date night.
I read an article by a new mom who wished to tell the world that motherhood (or parenthood) is not that hard. She didn't understand how people herald parenting as the most rewarding and most difficult job. She made comparisons to a brain surgeon. Her point being that cleaning up spit-up and changing diapers were nothing like performing brain surgery. She said we (society) need to stop saying motherhood is so difficult. Apparently, she must have an easy infant. I want her to deal with a colicky baby and she will see that soothing a howling baby will seem as grand as rocket science! But I do agree with her on one thing. The actual caregiving duties are not what make motherhood difficult. Of course, in my experience, it's not a walk in the park either. But there are more rigorous, laborious, and mind-challenging occupations out there. I'll give the author that. What is missing from her argument is the "human element."I think most parents would say that, no matter the age of their children, they're constantly concerned with their well being. They basically care about another person more than they do themselves. You pray for their good health, for their happiness, for everything beautiful in the world for them, but you really can't control any of it. And that is the difficult part. Not the diapering or nursing. Oh and it's a life-long job. No early retirement here.
And now for my third love. Little ML. It's been 2 weeks and I don't know how I lived without her before. I heard my OB say "Open your eyes Jennifer, look at your daughter." My eyes were squeezed shut, possibly trying to shut out the 10 random people (nurses, techs, pediatricians, janitors probably) looking at my nether region, She arrived at 10:41 am and by 10:42 am, I knew... it was LOVE. She was mine. Forever. And just like that, I have two little people occupying the world whom I will never stop loving, caring and dreaming for, and worrying about. And that for me is the most rewarding and most difficult job I will ever have.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
The End and Beginning.
I have less than a week of pregnancy left. Wow! This second pregnancy has blasted by. We will be meeting our baby girl any day now. The excitement, anticipation, nervousness is mounting. Everyday, I wake and wonder "Is today the day?"
LO waited until the absolute last moment to come of her own recourse. At 10 days past due, I was scheduled for induction only to have LO start the process 2 hours before my appointment. When I woke P to tell him I was in labor, he rolled over and told me to go back to sleep. He thought I was delusional since I desperately wanted a natural childbirth. 7 hours later, she was in my arms, wailing. She came on her own terms. I should have known then what I was in for!
Who knows what this birth story will be like. No two are the same. I am equally mesmerized and freaked out by the whole thing. As I skim the pages of the childbirth book, I feel reassured that my body will remember what to do. Yet what it has to do is daunting, to say the least. Stuff stretches (no matter how many Kegels you do, you ain't ever the same), fluids secrete, your placenta pops out, and you're constantly aware of the possibility that you may or may not "po po" (as we call it in our spanglish house) while pushing out your precious bundle of joy. Beautiful.
Yet it really is beautiful. You will never appreciate or admire your body as much as you will those moments after giving birth. You just gave life to another human being. Nothing is grander. It may seem ordinary because we all made the same entrance into this world. But once you've been on the pushing end of it, you realize how huge it is (as is that HEAD!) Because I'm suffering from a major case of Prego Brain, I can only resort to the cliché: it is a miracle.
My plan for the remaining days of pregnancy is to enjoy solo time with LO, smile each time I feel a kick from inside (a sensation I may never feel again), SLEEP, watch movies with P, spend time alone because it will NEVER be this easy until the girls are older. Yet I do not wish to speed up that process. It goes fast enough as it is. I hope to use the most valuable wisdom acquired from the first baby (another cliché): This too shall pass. Sleepless nights, sore nipples, explosive diapers, crying bouts quickly turn into 11 hour sleep nights, deflated boobs, potty training and tantrums.
What does not pass? The LOVE and MEMORIES.
Those live on forever.
LO waited until the absolute last moment to come of her own recourse. At 10 days past due, I was scheduled for induction only to have LO start the process 2 hours before my appointment. When I woke P to tell him I was in labor, he rolled over and told me to go back to sleep. He thought I was delusional since I desperately wanted a natural childbirth. 7 hours later, she was in my arms, wailing. She came on her own terms. I should have known then what I was in for!
Who knows what this birth story will be like. No two are the same. I am equally mesmerized and freaked out by the whole thing. As I skim the pages of the childbirth book, I feel reassured that my body will remember what to do. Yet what it has to do is daunting, to say the least. Stuff stretches (no matter how many Kegels you do, you ain't ever the same), fluids secrete, your placenta pops out, and you're constantly aware of the possibility that you may or may not "po po" (as we call it in our spanglish house) while pushing out your precious bundle of joy. Beautiful.
Yet it really is beautiful. You will never appreciate or admire your body as much as you will those moments after giving birth. You just gave life to another human being. Nothing is grander. It may seem ordinary because we all made the same entrance into this world. But once you've been on the pushing end of it, you realize how huge it is (as is that HEAD!) Because I'm suffering from a major case of Prego Brain, I can only resort to the cliché: it is a miracle.
My plan for the remaining days of pregnancy is to enjoy solo time with LO, smile each time I feel a kick from inside (a sensation I may never feel again), SLEEP, watch movies with P, spend time alone because it will NEVER be this easy until the girls are older. Yet I do not wish to speed up that process. It goes fast enough as it is. I hope to use the most valuable wisdom acquired from the first baby (another cliché): This too shall pass. Sleepless nights, sore nipples, explosive diapers, crying bouts quickly turn into 11 hour sleep nights, deflated boobs, potty training and tantrums.
What does not pass? The LOVE and MEMORIES.
Those live on forever.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Second Act
Baby # 2 has been making her existence known lately. What started as graceful fluttering movements are now jolting acrobatics in my expanding belly. It's as if with every kick and fist pump, she's saying "I'M HERE!" I don't even remember wild LO kicking this much. Scary.
Why? Because I had this vision of my second baby girl being a sweet, tame creature. A snuggly, sensitive soul who would be more of the "clutching Mama's leg" type at school drop-off than LO's "C-ya Mami" wave. Of course it's impossible to assess a fetus' personality. But if all this movement is any indication of the energy of this little one, we're in for a wild (wilder, rather) ride!
I can't deny that I have worried about the attention that Numero Dos will get. LO is just such a tour de force. She came into this world as a bolt of energy. She has always demanded attention and received it by the boatloads. Recently I opened LO's baby boxes. The baby swing and Little Lamb vibrating seat are in mint condition. LO demanded warm arms. We rarely put her down. P and I took turns bouncing her on the exercise ball. It was a life saver. It soothed her every time. (Note to self: find that ball.)
But this approach will be impossible with LO running amuck asking for constant snacks and for yet ANOTHER game of hide-and-seek. (Why does this game not get old? She hides in the same spot every time! ) I know I will be dividing myself and hopefully not going crazy in the process. See, the only experience I have had with a baby was with LO and that was not easy. Not in the least. Some babies seem to fit seamlessly into their new parents' lives. These are the rested mothers that proudly say "I have such a good, calm baby." I never ONCE uttered these words. Of course LO was "good" in the usual definition of the word. She was not an evil baby (do those exist?? no!) but what people usually mean when they say "good" baby is that their baby: SLEEPS (LO did NOT) and generally requires little attention other than diapering and feeding (HA!). LO required enormous amounts of attention and she did not fit seamlessly anywhere (except our hearts). She turned our world upside down and inside out. And continues to do so.
So the idea of another experience such as this seems daunting to say the least. Yet, I do believe that one never gets more than they can handle. Is this not true? Please say yes. I see the moms at LO's school, rocking the Baby Bjorn while holding their toddler's hands (and the lunch box and back pack.) They're doing it. So can I! (right??)
And while some of you may be reading and thinking "What a wimp; I did all that while _____(insert any scenario which is more difficult - and there are many- like "working 4 jobs" or "raising 7 other kids"), to me, my situation still scares me silly sometimes. It's just the way it is. But I applaud you and ask you for tips. Although please don't say "All my babies were good and calm and slept through the night at 4 weeks" because if history repeats itself, that won't be the case.
LO will be a hard act to follow in many ways, but it seems as though this baby is ready to hold her own and claim her position in the family. FIST PUMP!
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Nature
My favorite pastime used to be people watching. Actually this activity was not limited to people - trees, the sunset, a dog, the perfect foam on a cappuccino. Anything and everything did not escape my watchful and engaged eye. Now, a bus full of trannies dressed like Cher could disembark right in front of me and I wouldn't even notice.
When I had LO, this pastime became part of my past. Somehow that oxytocin (the "love" hormone that bonds you to your baby) came in doses that I was not prepared for. I only had eyes (and ears) for her. I never tired of looking at her. If she was in the presence of other humans, they took on the form of an outline, a shadow almost. I just couldn't help it. This is how motherhood hit me...like a bus full of trannies.
Now that LO is (slightly) more independent - she still follows me to the bathroom and never fails to ask (even in public restrooms!) if I'm going POO or PEE - and can entertain herself anywhere from 8-13 minutes at at time, I see all that I've been missing. At the coffee shop the other day, she sat enjoying her chocolate milk and cookie (it was treat day for both us, my decaffeinated pregnant body begged for a latte) while I actually looked up...at the world. It was fascinating! There was so much to see. The old handsome man at the corner table reminded me so much of my Grandpa, with his gold watch and "guayabera." The Goth Girl barista was flirting relentlessly with her Jock Boy coworker. A dog took a serious dump beside the outside table of his owner. He embarrassedly struggled to clean it up before anybody noticed. But I did! I noticed because I had a few moments to engage with the outside world. The world where people are quiet, relaxed and not throwing pebbles at each other (like a scene we had just witnessed at the park).
When you have little kids, you just miss everything. Or at least 98% of everything. You are more concerned if your toddler is going to bolt out into the street than if the clouds look like they'll bring rain. At the grocery store, while picking out oranges, you must keep an eye that your tot doesn't pick one from the bottom and that the entire triangle sculpture doesn't come tumbling down. Say goodbye to scanning a tabloid in the checkout line because you're more than likely keeping your kid's hands off the M&M's that are so conveniently placed right at her eye line. Then you'll spend the rest of your time in line explaining that it's not time for candy because it's 9 in the morning. Over and over again. Unless your kid just has a tantrum, in which case you will move on to other tactics...distraction, whispering threats (only if your kid is old enough to care) or just buying the dang candy to make it stop (I don't recommend this tactic or you'll be buying M&M's every time you buy milk or anything for that matter. Why does Lowe's have candy displayed at the checkout!?! Cruel.)
Nature is a calculating, conniving force with altruistic motives. Nature wants us to care for our young and keep them out of harm's way to insure mankind's propagation. It blinds you with this love potion that forces you to become an obsessive, possessive psycho. Brilliantly it does it in such a way that you don't even realize it. You think you're normal, that you're unchanged. Not true. It's just Nature pulling one over on you, on all of us.
So if you ask a mother of young tots, "Did you see that??" Chances are she'll say "What?" Unless her kid has a giant chocolate chip cookie in her little hands. Take that, Nature! We too have tricks up our sleeves - Dora, Yo Gabba Gabba, Ipad's and cookies. And I will not feel guilty. Those minutes are precious. As are the other 1,276,2093 minutes you spend eyeing your offspring.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Heartbeat
Hearing a heartbeat has to be one of the most soothing and melodious sounds in the world. Especially when it confirms that a life is growing inside of you. Each voracious "TA-TUM, TA-TUM" increases your own heart rate as it pumps equal parts excitement and love back into that vital organ. I never tire of hearing that sound at my OB's office. I wish I could download it to my Ipod.
It's official. I have an extra heartbeat inside of me, along with an additional set of arms, legs and eyes. I am growing a baby and we are growing our family. As LO so accurately stated today, "Mama, we are going to be 4 now" all the while swinging four fingers up in the air. She has a new fascination with counting and numbers. She must have gotten that from her father. I was always more interested in words. I wanted to know where she was going with this, so I asked "What do you mean?" To which she very matter-of-factly answered "It's Papa, you, me and baby...4 of us." I was in shock. I had no clue she grasped the whole concept to this extent. She looked equally as puzzled at me for being so slow on the uptake. As if she was thinking, "DUH, Mama! Don't you get it?" And then she picked up a Cheerio from the ground and ate it.
There are times, like at the OB hearing our nugget's heartbeat, when I truly marvel at the miracle of life. When I feel blessed for having the privilege of nurturing a human being from an infinitesimal zygote to a full-blown beautiful baby! But most of the time I do not.
I don't because I have a child in my daily presence whom I marvel at constantly. Another person for whom I care for, clean for, cook for and comfort. And occasionally lose my cool at. So I am not as preoccupied with the one inside of me as much as the one on the outside. I know it sounds cruel and even unfair but it's the truth. See, the one walking the Earth needs my constant attention while the other one thrives with very little upkeep. Baby-in-Belly is very low-maintenance, needing just a few things: nutrition (which I'm a champ at, I'm never one to skip a meal), exercise (I get that everyday chasing LO around the kitchen island), a prenatal vitamin and a ton of affection from Big Sister. This baby is getting its share of loving from LO and hopefully that will continue when Baby is out of the womb. LO loves to kiss my belly, pat it, put her blankie on it and loves to plop right on top of it while we read books. Oh, and also touches my belly when we're crossing the street because Baby needs to "holds hands" (ironically, a rule LO herself has a hard time following).
Despite what the dusty pregnancy journal on my nightstand might indicate, Baby is already deeply loved and a full-fledged family member. Spoken about daily and always included in the daily rundown with P. "I felt Baby flutter today." "Can you believe that if Baby is a girl she already has all the 3 million eggs she'll have throughout her ENTIRE life?" (Insane, right?!) "Baby wants a Whataburger...and onion rings." Baby is most certainly loved and the entire family is itching with anticipation to meet him or her. Especially LO, who proclaims that Baby will arrive Tuesday. Maybe on "A" Tuesday but not "THIS" Tuesday, I try to explain. She stares blankly back at me. And says "No Mama, on TUESDAY." I should let this one go.
Recently on a plane ride to Disneyland and Vegas for our family vacation, I had a moment of deep marvel, gratitude and pure love. The kind of moment which involuntarily produces tears in your eyes and tugs at your insides in a really good, yet weird sort of way. Not unlike every time I watch "Love Actually" (specifically the airport scene where everyone embraces their loved ones). Maybe "Flying High in the Sky" as LO triumphantly calls an airplane ride, puts us all in our place, perspective-wise. We're tiny beings in this universe yet we're capable of such intense emotion and love. Anyhow, back to my moment: LO fell asleep on top of me, which only happens on airplane rides or when she's very ill. So I only get to hold my beautiful toddler creature like this 4-6 times a year....tops. Thankfully, she doesn't get sick often and sadly, we don't get to travel via airplane as much as I'd like. So this is a moment I'd cherish anytime. But it wouldn't warrant tears or gut-wrenching sentimentality. I'm not THAT much of a cornball. Yet this time, I realized that I was holding my TWO babies. For the first time. My belly held one, my arms held the other. Our three heartbeats palpitated within inches of each other. For a few precious minutes we were almost a sole heartbeat.
Then we all slept. Which I'm sure will be the last time that happens in a very long time. Unless we catch another plane before January.
Bon voyage everybody!
Despite what the dusty pregnancy journal on my nightstand might indicate, Baby is already deeply loved and a full-fledged family member. Spoken about daily and always included in the daily rundown with P. "I felt Baby flutter today." "Can you believe that if Baby is a girl she already has all the 3 million eggs she'll have throughout her ENTIRE life?" (Insane, right?!) "Baby wants a Whataburger...and onion rings." Baby is most certainly loved and the entire family is itching with anticipation to meet him or her. Especially LO, who proclaims that Baby will arrive Tuesday. Maybe on "A" Tuesday but not "THIS" Tuesday, I try to explain. She stares blankly back at me. And says "No Mama, on TUESDAY." I should let this one go.
Recently on a plane ride to Disneyland and Vegas for our family vacation, I had a moment of deep marvel, gratitude and pure love. The kind of moment which involuntarily produces tears in your eyes and tugs at your insides in a really good, yet weird sort of way. Not unlike every time I watch "Love Actually" (specifically the airport scene where everyone embraces their loved ones). Maybe "Flying High in the Sky" as LO triumphantly calls an airplane ride, puts us all in our place, perspective-wise. We're tiny beings in this universe yet we're capable of such intense emotion and love. Anyhow, back to my moment: LO fell asleep on top of me, which only happens on airplane rides or when she's very ill. So I only get to hold my beautiful toddler creature like this 4-6 times a year....tops. Thankfully, she doesn't get sick often and sadly, we don't get to travel via airplane as much as I'd like. So this is a moment I'd cherish anytime. But it wouldn't warrant tears or gut-wrenching sentimentality. I'm not THAT much of a cornball. Yet this time, I realized that I was holding my TWO babies. For the first time. My belly held one, my arms held the other. Our three heartbeats palpitated within inches of each other. For a few precious minutes we were almost a sole heartbeat.
Then we all slept. Which I'm sure will be the last time that happens in a very long time. Unless we catch another plane before January.
Bon voyage everybody!
Sunday, May 20, 2012
3 Months...
It's barely one quarter of a year. Only one trimester of a pregnancy. Less than a football season.
It's a blink of an eye, in terms of a lifetime.
Sometimes, though, it can be an eternity. Three months without hearing his contagious laughter. Three months without seeing his eyes light up at the sight of his grandkids. Three months of not enjoying his presence. It feels like an eternity because it's final. Death always is.
While saying LO's bedtime prayers, we remind her of Abuelo - her Guardian Angel. She often says that "Abuelo is up in the sky." Yet tonight she expanded on this, saying, "Abuelo is a butterfly and he can fly down into my room." P and I stared at one another. Where did she get this from? This is not part of the usual script we rehearse in an attempt to explain death to our two-year-old.
But LO is absolutely right. Abuelo is free and majestic and lovely - just like a butterfly.
We do not know who may flutter away next. That is the fragility and mystery of life. So tonight, in this moment, love entirely with your whole being. Hug your kids. Kiss your wife. Call your mom. Pet your cat. Smile at that stranger.
Let us not live in fear of what tomorrow may bring, knowing we have loved fully today.
Thank you, Abuelo Gerardo, for loving very fully.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Nap
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Flirty Thirty
In honor of feeling so grateful for my 30 years on this magnificent Earth, I have made a list of things I have learned and another list of things I hope to learn in the next 30 years.
Lessons Learned:
Track & Field is not for everybody. No amount of practice was ever going to transform me into Marion Jones. This skinny Mexican girl was never going to be successful at jumping hurdles, triple-jumping or any other nonsense that comes with T+F. I found soccer to be a much better fit. I loved the physical contact and the lack of guns going off. Lesson learned: Try. And if doesn't work out - get out and find a better fit. Like when I left my torturous first PA job at a famous director's office. It took me 3 months of sobbing commutes and hating my existence, but when I finally got the courage to admit to myself that it wasn't working, I left and immediately stumbled on a costumes assistant job. This led to a happy 5 year career. See, track and field ain't the only sport.
Love is everything. Now maybe it's because I just came back from a holistic spa retreat with my mom and had a very meditative and spiritual experience, but isn't this truth? REALLY. Wealth, status, work, even health, pale in comparison to LOVE. Without it, who cares if you have money or even health? Why does any of it matter if you don't give and get love? Splurging on the spa weekend with my mom was worth every penny. Yes, the massage and fluffy pillows were a treat - but the REAL treat was making memories with my mama. I cherish my good health because it allows me to get on the floor and give LO airplane rides. My arms quiver on the 20th ride but seeing that toothy grin fills my heart. It all comes back to love.
Expect the Unexpected. And embrace it. Did I ever in my wildest, nuttiest dreams think that I would be a "homemaker" and damn happy at it. NEVER. EVER. ever. Yet I am. Who would have thought that I, the eternal dreamer and wanderer, would marry at 22 and that at 30 I would be playing house and raising a kid? I did not. I envisioned myself in some foreign country, doing something completely unconventional like working at a museum, a consulate, a winery. Definitely not doing the oldest profession of all time (and no, I'm not a prostitute. But I'd like to make a case for "homemaking" as being the oldest occupation. Who took care of those bambinos while the men hunted and gathered??) So here I am, living very conventionally and loving it. Go figure. Maybe it has a little to do with the previous lesson - amore?
Hold on to friends. Tightly and don't let go. If she was there to hold your hair back while your head was in the toilet of some seedy bar bathroom while angry girls pounded on the stall door, eager to relieve their bladders - that's a friend. If she attended 5 bridal showers and then went to your bachelorette party in Vegas and later flew to El Paso for your wedding - that's a friend. If she knew you when you were a serious fashion victim and saw the diamond in the rough that you were - that's a friend. If she thinks that you're smart and funny and good, especially when you're not feeling this way about yourself - that's a keeper. In my experience, it gets increasingly difficult to make true friendships the older I get. Opportunities to bond with somebody are limited due to the "grown-up lifestyle" i.e. work, family, chores, sleep…repeat. Sleepovers or a semester in Europe are hard to come by these days. Super sad but true. So if you made some great friends during these less hectic times in your life, when booze and boys were your interests and not babies and baking - hold on to them. Forever.
Ok, so I know I must have learned more things. But I can't remember. Is "30 the New 60" for me? Oh no.
Things I still hope to learn:
Don't seek Perfection. It is a losing battle. Why waste my time? No, my house will never look like a page out of Architectural Digest. No, my abs will never be…well, ABS. It'll just be a stomach - a flat one, if I work hard. But with no signs of ripples or six-packs. No, my daughter will never behave perfectly and calm. Even on my birthday…urggg! No, I will never read all the books on my "I Should Read These Books To Be A Decently Smart Person" list. And do I really want to read Proust's seven part essay when instead I could read some Brit lit that really lights me up? Life is short…read what you want.
Love Thyself. At least as much as I love others (or even more, according to some Buddhist teachings I've been reading). I tend to be quite compassionate towards those I love. I empathize with LO if she's angry or frustrated and therefore acts like a she-devil. Yet if I'm a pain in the arse, I tend to embark on a self-loathing journey that usually ends with tears and poofy eyes. Lately it has occurred to me that if I directed some of that compassion towards myself, I would get over my pissy mood faster and spare myself the self deprecation. Perhaps I could be kinder to myself. Become a real pal to myself. Take it easy on me.
Embrace Aging. I'm starting to see wrinkles on my forehead. Crap. I got one grey hair on the right side of my head. Boo. I see some varicose veins creeping up on my legs. Yikes. I love short shorts. What to do? I'm not delusional. I know that 30 does not classify me as old. Not even close…right? Of course not! Yet, one can not deny that some things do not look like they used to in their more youthful state. I plan on battling this by BOTOX, what else? No, not really (not yet). My plan is to remind myself that I will never be this young ever again. Each day I only get older, so I may as well appreciate it for all it is. Tiny varicose veins and all. Because one day, my legs may look like one of LO's crazy sketches - blue lines haphazardly intersecting eachother. At least today, I am quite firm and wrinkle-free. So I'll wear those shorts.
I hope I learn much more than these three things. But it's a good starting point. Plus, LO woke up from her nap and there is a birthday to celebrate, after all.
Lots of love.
J
Lessons Learned:
Track & Field is not for everybody. No amount of practice was ever going to transform me into Marion Jones. This skinny Mexican girl was never going to be successful at jumping hurdles, triple-jumping or any other nonsense that comes with T+F. I found soccer to be a much better fit. I loved the physical contact and the lack of guns going off. Lesson learned: Try. And if doesn't work out - get out and find a better fit. Like when I left my torturous first PA job at a famous director's office. It took me 3 months of sobbing commutes and hating my existence, but when I finally got the courage to admit to myself that it wasn't working, I left and immediately stumbled on a costumes assistant job. This led to a happy 5 year career. See, track and field ain't the only sport.
Love is everything. Now maybe it's because I just came back from a holistic spa retreat with my mom and had a very meditative and spiritual experience, but isn't this truth? REALLY. Wealth, status, work, even health, pale in comparison to LOVE. Without it, who cares if you have money or even health? Why does any of it matter if you don't give and get love? Splurging on the spa weekend with my mom was worth every penny. Yes, the massage and fluffy pillows were a treat - but the REAL treat was making memories with my mama. I cherish my good health because it allows me to get on the floor and give LO airplane rides. My arms quiver on the 20th ride but seeing that toothy grin fills my heart. It all comes back to love.
Expect the Unexpected. And embrace it. Did I ever in my wildest, nuttiest dreams think that I would be a "homemaker" and damn happy at it. NEVER. EVER. ever. Yet I am. Who would have thought that I, the eternal dreamer and wanderer, would marry at 22 and that at 30 I would be playing house and raising a kid? I did not. I envisioned myself in some foreign country, doing something completely unconventional like working at a museum, a consulate, a winery. Definitely not doing the oldest profession of all time (and no, I'm not a prostitute. But I'd like to make a case for "homemaking" as being the oldest occupation. Who took care of those bambinos while the men hunted and gathered??) So here I am, living very conventionally and loving it. Go figure. Maybe it has a little to do with the previous lesson - amore?
Hold on to friends. Tightly and don't let go. If she was there to hold your hair back while your head was in the toilet of some seedy bar bathroom while angry girls pounded on the stall door, eager to relieve their bladders - that's a friend. If she attended 5 bridal showers and then went to your bachelorette party in Vegas and later flew to El Paso for your wedding - that's a friend. If she knew you when you were a serious fashion victim and saw the diamond in the rough that you were - that's a friend. If she thinks that you're smart and funny and good, especially when you're not feeling this way about yourself - that's a keeper. In my experience, it gets increasingly difficult to make true friendships the older I get. Opportunities to bond with somebody are limited due to the "grown-up lifestyle" i.e. work, family, chores, sleep…repeat. Sleepovers or a semester in Europe are hard to come by these days. Super sad but true. So if you made some great friends during these less hectic times in your life, when booze and boys were your interests and not babies and baking - hold on to them. Forever.
Ok, so I know I must have learned more things. But I can't remember. Is "30 the New 60" for me? Oh no.
Things I still hope to learn:
Don't seek Perfection. It is a losing battle. Why waste my time? No, my house will never look like a page out of Architectural Digest. No, my abs will never be…well, ABS. It'll just be a stomach - a flat one, if I work hard. But with no signs of ripples or six-packs. No, my daughter will never behave perfectly and calm. Even on my birthday…urggg! No, I will never read all the books on my "I Should Read These Books To Be A Decently Smart Person" list. And do I really want to read Proust's seven part essay when instead I could read some Brit lit that really lights me up? Life is short…read what you want.
Love Thyself. At least as much as I love others (or even more, according to some Buddhist teachings I've been reading). I tend to be quite compassionate towards those I love. I empathize with LO if she's angry or frustrated and therefore acts like a she-devil. Yet if I'm a pain in the arse, I tend to embark on a self-loathing journey that usually ends with tears and poofy eyes. Lately it has occurred to me that if I directed some of that compassion towards myself, I would get over my pissy mood faster and spare myself the self deprecation. Perhaps I could be kinder to myself. Become a real pal to myself. Take it easy on me.
Embrace Aging. I'm starting to see wrinkles on my forehead. Crap. I got one grey hair on the right side of my head. Boo. I see some varicose veins creeping up on my legs. Yikes. I love short shorts. What to do? I'm not delusional. I know that 30 does not classify me as old. Not even close…right? Of course not! Yet, one can not deny that some things do not look like they used to in their more youthful state. I plan on battling this by BOTOX, what else? No, not really (not yet). My plan is to remind myself that I will never be this young ever again. Each day I only get older, so I may as well appreciate it for all it is. Tiny varicose veins and all. Because one day, my legs may look like one of LO's crazy sketches - blue lines haphazardly intersecting eachother. At least today, I am quite firm and wrinkle-free. So I'll wear those shorts.
I hope I learn much more than these three things. But it's a good starting point. Plus, LO woke up from her nap and there is a birthday to celebrate, after all.
Lots of love.
J
Sunday, January 15, 2012
New Year - New You
"We wish you a Merry Missmas, We wish you a Merry Missmas, We wish you Merry Missmas and a happy new YOU!"This is exactly how LO
Speaking of holding on...
Do you ever want to make a copy of your life (or at the very least, the best moments) for posterity? Wouldn't it be amazing to be a Kardashian only for having access to footage of all those moments that will eventually get lost in the minutia of daily life (having access to all that moola wouldn't be bad either)? Tonight, P (in a navy blue Adidas soccer shirt) and LO (in her zebra pjs that say "need my zzz's") had the sweetest, most tender, yet most insignificant and quite forgettable moment. She sat on his knee, her feet dangling off the ground, giving him kisses on the cheek before bedtime. It wasn't Christmas morning, a birthday, or her first day of school. It was just a regular old Saturday night. But witnessing the embrace filled me with such joy that it may as well have been my freaking birthday - circa 1992 when I went to Roller King and rocked out to Kris Kross "Jump Jump." Now that was a good birthday. Anyhow, I ran off for the camera, intent on not letting this moment dissolve, only to return to LO pulling P's hair and giggling. Tender moment gone - replaced by the more customary goofy moment. So I instructed them to do it again. Take 2. But it just wasn't the same. So I missed it after all.
Or did I? I was there. I felt the sudden and immense rush of love that only these two people can evoke in me. And although I may never remember the exact pjs LO was wearing or what day of the week it was or anything about it for that matter - the memory is imprinted in my soul.
With that, this new year, the new me will try to live right now. I will trust that my life is in the now and that the past is gone and the future ain't here. So all I have is now....which amounts to a whole damn lot!
Happy New You, everybody!
Monday, December 5, 2011
Potty Power
I'm not going to lie...I thought it would be a cinch. After all, historically speaking, LO has reached all of the milestones early and easily. Crawling - check. Walking - check. Talking - check. Potty training - no DICE.
The first day that I sat her on the toilet, she delivered - #1 and #2, nonetheless. I was ecstatic. Why did I read any books? Why did I over think the strategy? In her nonchalant way, she just did it. Visions of Dora underwear and diaper bag-free outings danced in my head. Wait, I didn't even make a big deal when I changed her last diaper. I didn't have a chance to really appreciate the last pooped diaper. Much like the last time I nursed her. I didn't know it was going to be the last. I decided at 15 months that I should start the weaning process. My strategy was to not offer but not to deny. I never had to deny her...she never asked. And just like that, my boobs were mine once again. Ungratefully returned to me in a very saggy, sad state. Thanks LO.
Except PT has not been anything like our nursing finale. She is severely stalling. Actually it has come to a complete halt. She did it that once and has kept me anxiously awaiting another delivery. That was a month ago.
The real kicker is that she completely understands the entire process. She has become quite the potty expert. Her favorite movie du jour is "Potty Power" (an ultra cheesy video made in the 80's that I checked out of the library...she's going to be devastated when I return it). Assuredly she chants the mantra "No more diapers for me" and marches around the room screaming "I'm proud to wear my underwear!"
Yet she has no interest in giving up her diapers and wearing underwear. She is perfectly content to wake from her nap, yelling "Mama, poo poo. I have poo poo." So what the Hades is going on?!?! It would be easier to accept if she didn't show any interest or if she didn't comprehend it.
She even cheers P on when she walks in on him peeing. She'll cheer "GO PAPA', GO PAPA'" and then claps and hollers "YAY" when he's done. She's literally cheering from the sidelines.
Mama is counting down the days before she decides to step it up and get on the field! Meanwhile I have the diaper bag fully stocked.
The first day that I sat her on the toilet, she delivered - #1 and #2, nonetheless. I was ecstatic. Why did I read any books? Why did I over think the strategy? In her nonchalant way, she just did it. Visions of Dora underwear and diaper bag-free outings danced in my head. Wait, I didn't even make a big deal when I changed her last diaper. I didn't have a chance to really appreciate the last pooped diaper. Much like the last time I nursed her. I didn't know it was going to be the last. I decided at 15 months that I should start the weaning process. My strategy was to not offer but not to deny. I never had to deny her...she never asked. And just like that, my boobs were mine once again. Ungratefully returned to me in a very saggy, sad state. Thanks LO.
Except PT has not been anything like our nursing finale. She is severely stalling. Actually it has come to a complete halt. She did it that once and has kept me anxiously awaiting another delivery. That was a month ago.
The real kicker is that she completely understands the entire process. She has become quite the potty expert. Her favorite movie du jour is "Potty Power" (an ultra cheesy video made in the 80's that I checked out of the library...she's going to be devastated when I return it). Assuredly she chants the mantra "No more diapers for me" and marches around the room screaming "I'm proud to wear my underwear!"
Yet she has no interest in giving up her diapers and wearing underwear. She is perfectly content to wake from her nap, yelling "Mama, poo poo. I have poo poo." So what the Hades is going on?!?! It would be easier to accept if she didn't show any interest or if she didn't comprehend it.
She even cheers P on when she walks in on him peeing. She'll cheer "GO PAPA', GO PAPA'" and then claps and hollers "YAY" when he's done. She's literally cheering from the sidelines.
Mama is counting down the days before she decides to step it up and get on the field! Meanwhile I have the diaper bag fully stocked.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)