I have baby on the brain lately. And by baby I do not mean LO, for LO is no longer a baby. She's a walking-talking-blooming little person.
I am talking about a "wahhh" baby. A nursing every-two-hours kind of baby, with wrinkly toes and chubby cheeks. LO had the yummiest cheeks as a baby. She has stretched out and lost the baby cheeks. Although she's still very yummy.
I think I want one - a baby. The fever is building. P and I had severe baby fever for over two years before we decided to go for LO. We would stare and ogle at toddlers at the park or grocery store. We were tot stalkers, in a non-criminal sort of way. Having LO was an emotional decision, not a practical one. We never discussed my biological clock, finances or any other valid point. Our hearts made the decision, not our brain. We thought we would have some time to deal with the practical factors but fate gave us LO right off the bat. First try. What a blessing! We cried mostly out of excitement and partly out of fear. Is this really happening so fast? Nine months is all we had to sort out the details. But as far as our hearts were concerned, this baby was long overdue.
When LO was one month, my friend asked if we had given any thought to when we want the next baby. What? But I have a brand new baby now. And I barely know what I'm doing with this one. She had some good arguments for getting on it again. The two would be close in age, buddies for life. And although it would be a hard few years, then we'd be done. True. But I didn't want to be "done" with anything. I wanted to give all of myself to this one baby. And I didn't think I could do that while growing another one. I wanted to fully experience the love, the fear, the euphoria, the frustration of this new relationship. I am sure other women can handle both beautifully, but I knew I could not and did not want to. So the idea of having babies one year apart was buried.
Then when LO was getting close to her first birthday, I revisited the idea. I did not feel the need for another baby yet. LO was still a baby in many ways - still nursing (not every two hours though!) and barely asserting some independence through crawling. But maybe we should try for baby # 2 now so the girls (I'm convinced another girl is in our future) will only be two years apart. We can stay in our home town, where we had moved to from LA a few months prior, while I cooked the baby and have some family support during the arduous newborn stage. But then our plan of starting anew in Austin would be postponed even further. Plus, P was between jobs and my career was on hold. We had too many loose ends to add another baby to the mix. I shelved the baby idea again.
Now that we are semi-settled in Austin, I'm back to this baby issue. I get overwhelmed at the magnitude of this decision. The first time around it was more simple. The desire grew and grew until there was no other option than to take the leap. This time I am much more analytical. Is it because I know what is in store? I am now aware of the intensity and the commitment because I have lived it. It's like an out of body experience and I am barely, very slowly, coming back. I'm getting back to my own personal aspirations. Can I let that go already? Or would I be better at juggling the next time around?
I often wish I were one of those people who had a stringent life plan. A game plan, set in stone, so that you can refer to it when you are very confused (as I often am). I follow a blurry outline for the future, full of beauty but just a bit out of focus, like a Monet landscape. I have a general direction I'd like to go in but the details are often murky.
For instance, my biggest dream in college was to spend a semester in Italy. Walking around the Florentine cobblestone streets and drinking cappuccino while contemplating the meaning of life was my vision. I was so blown away by the fact that I was going to ITALY (I just must be part Italian), that I never thought about all the traveling I could do while I was there. It was the foam on my cappuccino, so to speak, to also explore Spain, France, and England. Now when I think back on that semester, Barcelona - with its mesmerizing architecture and vibrant streets - is as memorable and meaningful as Florence is to me.
When I got pregnant, I didn't think beyond LO. She was everything. Maybe Baby #2 is my Barcelona. But the question still remains: When?
Monday, September 19, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Time
Where does it go? LO started "school" last week and I have been left pondering this question. The last two years have been enveloped in a foggy haze. A bittersweet, tender sort of hazing....full of sleepless nights, snuggles and the expansion of my heart.
Although she only goes to Pre-K two days a week for four hours, this is a monumental change in my life. For the last two years I have lost J (me) and gained LO. It was not demanded nor expected of me by P or anybody else for that matter. This full immersion into motherhood was self-imposed. It is not how I imagined it, but it was full-heartedly my choice. I always thought I would be the kind of woman who did it all; great marriage, a crazy love affair with my baby, successful career, many hobbies and charity work. All the while, maintaining an immaculate manicure and baking delicious treats regularly.
The reality looks quite different. I have managed to be (at least I think so) a good wife, a loving (bordering on obsessive) mother, a decent daughter and friend (I could step it up a notch), a formidable "housewife" (things are clean enough and homemade meals are prepared most days.) What happened to the thriving business endeavors and all that volunteering I was supposed to do? And forget about the manicure, my cuticles are as dry as this Texas drought.
When I dropped off LO on her first day of school, she rose to the occasion like a champion. She held back the tears as I waved goodbye because, for some strange reason, she is a brave almost-two year old. I have protected and nurtured her, but I wasn't aware that I had taught her courage. It probably has nothing to do with me. She may just be a natural warrior. She disconcertedly looked around the classroom at the hollering kids; her brown eyes as big as saucers. She was scared but as soon as she saw her good friend Elmo, she was ok.
I knew that she would love the experience of school. Coloring, P.E., music class, reading! She'll be in heaven with all those activities. I, on the other hand, did not have any activities planned. I was so busy packing her lunch and getting her backpack ready that I never thought about how I'd spend my time. I sat in the car (after wiping only a couple of tears) and thought "Now what?"
Although I am completely smitten with LO, do not think that I want or need to be with her every waking moment (it just works out that way sometimes). I love those precious hours when P takes her to the park or to their favorite establishment, Chuck E Cheese. I cherish the quiet grocery shopping experience, without a little voice repeating "BooBeBeeS" (blueberries) or "Banana" a million times in the produce section. There are nights when I count down the minutes to bed time, highly anticipating a bath and glass of wine. Why was this free time so hard to fill?
I did not want to go home. I made a rule that I would not use LO's school time to do housework or run errands. If she is enjoying enriching activities, I need to be also. I headed to my favorite coffee shop and sat. I did not drive-thru like I normally do with LO in tow. I read a newspaper (I'm embarrassed to admit that I haven't read a paper since I had a subscription to the LA Times over two years ago). Once I finished the entire paper - I even read the sports section - I was stumped again. I did not have a book, my laptop, or even a pen and paper!
Although I wanted so desperately to be productive, I couldn't break my rule on the first day. But I could run to the post office, put gas, hit the grocery store. All in record time because I don't have to take LO in and out of the car seat. No, I must honor my time by doing something enriching. I could shop. But I'm not a window shopper and lack of funds makes actual shopping, well, impossible. And I'm quite sure shopping isn't considered an enriching pastime. What else? Two hours in and I declared LO's first day of school a bust. On my end. I was sure she was ripping it up, finger painting or shaking some maracas.
Was I jealous that my daughter was enjoying herself while I eavesdropped on a stranger's (very boring) business call in The Coffee Bean?
The answer was yes. I was bitter that I wasn't shaking maracas with her! Then the cutest little girl skipped in with her mom. The two of them...two peas in a pod. I missed my LO. How pathetic.
I pulled myself together and moseyed across the street to a bookstore while I chatted on the phone with an old friend. I felt better.
It was time. As I walked down the hall to her classroom I heard a familiar sob. Is that LO? What happened? Poor thing. It was too much for her.
LO ran to me with big crocodile tears running down her cheeks. "Mama, Mama," she shouted. Music to my ears. I picked her up and held her tight. "Mama is here, I missed you too," I reassured her.
She then pointed at her nose and said "Hurt Nose. Hurt Nose."
What? Ms. Teena interjected, "She was hit in the nose by a book right before you got here."
So she hasn't been crying incessantly for her mother? Nope. Not one cry until the nose incident.
LO calmed down, waved bye to Ms. Teena and said "C-ya Niños."
And just like that, I realized that my daughter had a life and I had to get one too.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Panda
We had a great couple over for dinner this past weekend. After dessert, they showed us pictures of their recent Caribbean trip on the laptop (Barbados has been added to the ever-growing list of places I must see before I die). This somehow segued into looking at ridiculous You Tube videos. We laughed so hard at this Panda Cheese commercial from Egypt:
Hysterical, right? It wasn't just being under the influence of Prosecco that made this video a hoot. It's the subtle, demure manner in which the Panda hurls objects and maintains an adorable and almost innocent expression throughout the fit of rage.
As the laughs subsided, I burst out "I live with that Panda!" The three of them stared blankly at me.
It's true. LO resembles the Panda. Yes she has big dark eyes and is so huggable. Unfortunately, I'm not referring to physical similarities. LO acts just like this naughty Panda. And also looks so dang cute while wreaking her mischief.
LO is what I like to call a chronic FLINGER. She flings things all day long. And when the bowl of Cheerios splatters against the wall, she faces me with the most calm, unrepentant look. There is no sign of rage; no explanation for the act of destruction. She did it and that's that.
I first realized that Panda and LO were kindred spirits when Panda nudges the TV over so nonchalantly. Although LO has never attempted this particular move, she has tipped over kitchen chairs, her own shopping cart full of "groceries" and her painting easel; all with an air of composure.
Most of the time, LO's flinging is a reaction to my action or words: "LO, no more raisins." Yet she never gives me a warning. Not a screech or angry grunt. Nothing. Just the confident launch of her sippy cup.
At least the victims of Panda had Buddy Holly's song as their cue to duck and cover.
Maybe I should take the advice of the advertiser and Never say NO to LO!
I first realized that Panda and LO were kindred spirits when Panda nudges the TV over so nonchalantly. Although LO has never attempted this particular move, she has tipped over kitchen chairs, her own shopping cart full of "groceries" and her painting easel; all with an air of composure.
Most of the time, LO's flinging is a reaction to my action or words: "LO, no more raisins." Yet she never gives me a warning. Not a screech or angry grunt. Nothing. Just the confident launch of her sippy cup.
At least the victims of Panda had Buddy Holly's song as their cue to duck and cover.
Maybe I should take the advice of the advertiser and Never say NO to LO!
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Boob
I've learned that having a toddler inevitably means having mortifying moments. LO barely learned to articulate her thoughts and already manages to make me duck and hide at times. And laugh my arse off at other times.
She has taken a liking to the following words and phrases:
"No Way" - Self explanatory...her bratty response to me when she isn't feeling cooperative.
"C ya, be ya" - As in "See ya, wouldn't want to be ya." If you're asking yourself why she would be using this super-dated, super-lame adieu it's because her mama is super-dated and super-lame.
"Ohhh, Thank Eee" - Her enthusiastic response to "Do you want to watch Dora?" or "Do you want a cookie?" With a full-on bumpkin accent.
"Teach Dougie" - Referring to the song "Teach me how to Dougie" and she busts out with the corresponding dance.
"Push out Poo Poo" - She sits on her seat and repeats what I have been coaching her during potty training. I would have chosen my words more carefully if I would have known she'd repeat my instructions every time she has a bowel movement. I hope she outgrows this one fast. I'm waiting for her to say this in a public bathroom.
"Sowwy" - She does not always use this in the normal apologetic way. She may say sorry when she falls, for instance. Maybe she's apologizing to her own body for the pain she has inflicted upon it? I don't know.
"Boob" - She's obsessed with naming body parts. This word is at the top of the list now. She caught me off guard when I was exiting the shower and she stared perplexed. I should have said "this is called a chest." Instead I said "this is a boob." She walked off. Later as P was changing her, she points to her chest and says "boob." Great. She now identifies this body part everywhere (only places where bare chests are acceptable of course): at the pool when men have on swim trunks and no shirt; at Abercrombie where the shirtless male model stands. If she sees a nipple, she'll point and scream "boob." Sorry for the embarrassment at the pool, fellow neighbor. My daughter was not calling you out for having "man boobs" (although you did). She was just practicing her expanding vocabulary.
She's such a tiny tot; I thought I had a few more years before I had to watch what I say but I was mistaken. She imitates EVERYTHING I say and do.
I really only have myself (and P) to blame for these embarrassing encounters. She does not go to school yet nor does she spend any extended (or short, for that matter) amount of time without one of her parents. There are no outside influences to point the finger at. We are responsible for everything that LO learns right now. How frightening.
We better step up our game and teach her perfect and polite diction. Or we could just sign her up for a toddler class and blame the teacher and kids.
She has taken a liking to the following words and phrases:
"No Way" - Self explanatory...her bratty response to me when she isn't feeling cooperative.
"C ya, be ya" - As in "See ya, wouldn't want to be ya." If you're asking yourself why she would be using this super-dated, super-lame adieu it's because her mama is super-dated and super-lame.
"Ohhh, Thank Eee" - Her enthusiastic response to "Do you want to watch Dora?" or "Do you want a cookie?" With a full-on bumpkin accent.
"Teach Dougie" - Referring to the song "Teach me how to Dougie" and she busts out with the corresponding dance.
"Push out Poo Poo" - She sits on her seat and repeats what I have been coaching her during potty training. I would have chosen my words more carefully if I would have known she'd repeat my instructions every time she has a bowel movement. I hope she outgrows this one fast. I'm waiting for her to say this in a public bathroom.
"Sowwy" - She does not always use this in the normal apologetic way. She may say sorry when she falls, for instance. Maybe she's apologizing to her own body for the pain she has inflicted upon it? I don't know.
"Boob" - She's obsessed with naming body parts. This word is at the top of the list now. She caught me off guard when I was exiting the shower and she stared perplexed. I should have said "this is called a chest." Instead I said "this is a boob." She walked off. Later as P was changing her, she points to her chest and says "boob." Great. She now identifies this body part everywhere (only places where bare chests are acceptable of course): at the pool when men have on swim trunks and no shirt; at Abercrombie where the shirtless male model stands. If she sees a nipple, she'll point and scream "boob." Sorry for the embarrassment at the pool, fellow neighbor. My daughter was not calling you out for having "man boobs" (although you did). She was just practicing her expanding vocabulary.
She's such a tiny tot; I thought I had a few more years before I had to watch what I say but I was mistaken. She imitates EVERYTHING I say and do.
I really only have myself (and P) to blame for these embarrassing encounters. She does not go to school yet nor does she spend any extended (or short, for that matter) amount of time without one of her parents. There are no outside influences to point the finger at. We are responsible for everything that LO learns right now. How frightening.
We better step up our game and teach her perfect and polite diction. Or we could just sign her up for a toddler class and blame the teacher and kids.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Mo money Mo problems
I don't know anything about these problems Biggie Smalls raps about. This was made perfectly clear recently when P took pictures of all of our valuables for insurance purposes. I followed him around the apartment like a curious cat (Lizzie, our cat, would follow P everywhere when she was a kitten...now I see the allure). This should be fun. Let's see all that we have acquired in our 7 years together!
He snapped the requisite technology; two TVs, a desktop, a laptop, a stereo (do we even call them that anymore?) and an IPOD the size of a brick we bought as newlyweds (I hope our policy is replacement value because this one isn't worth 5 bucks). A nice camera we purchased for our Babymoon in Maui (just a cheesy name for your last chance to live it up before the ball, I mean, baby drops). What else do we have? The jewelry, of course. As I arranged the items on the kitchen table (a couple of nice watches we have bought for each other, our wedding rings and some lovely pieces P has gifted me), I saw it. This all fits in one shot. That's it. No need for more pictures. All of our family jewels (no double entendre intended) fit neatly on one placemat.
Shouldn't we have MORE? I know that sounds greedy and awful but that is how I felt after our inventory session. When you see, piece by piece, the items in your life that are insurable it can be shocking.
Why had I never realized this before? Is it because I'm a glass half-full type of person so I have never dwelled on what I don't have? Or is it because, thanks to a very practical mother, I have always understood that life is about priorities. We prioritize experiences over belongings. I would rather spend on a nice dinner with friends than a dress, any day. I guess I have had my share of dinners because I don't own many dresses. I have also prioritized financial security above shopping. P and I socked away a nice percentage of our paychecks to an emergency fund. Turns out we have needed it. Finances are a very personal thing and what works for one person may not for another. I am not trying to get all Suze Orman on you and shell out financial advice. I'm only interested in finding out why a $25,000 renter's policy is more than enough for us.
The photo shoot also made me think about the expectations I used to have for an adult when I was a kid. And whether I was living up to them being that I am, in fact, an adult now. I suppose I thought that nearing thirty years old, I would be a bit more, let's say, sophisticated. I would be an owner of a nice string of pearls and something Chanel other than sunglasses. A nice tweed suit perhaps? Although I worked in costumes for five years I didn't get swept up in that lifestyle. I only made a few big splurges on designer handbags as rewards for surviving some grueling film projects. Now I cannot even fathom spending that kind of money on a purse. That money could make a nice contribution to LO's college fund. Such thoughts confirm to me that I will most likely never own another Chloe bag. So I'll take extra good care of it. Should I photograph it too?
Anyhow, as I struggled with my disappointment, a positive realization came to me. Seeing my sparsely accessorized placemat was liberating (here's the glass half-full trait at work). We are not tied to much - just to each other. Life seemed more clear and simple. Money is irrelevant. I was in the middle of an 'AHA' moment!
What matters is really experiencing all that life has to offer....love, sunsets, nibbling on your baby's toes, sipping wine with friends, seeing new places. Wait, I already have a problem with this epiphany. I can't renounce money all together. I do need money to experience life the way I like. I want wine and travel and in practical terms, LO needs diapers and plenty of food. Money should be respected (if you have too little, life can be a bitch) but not adored. Maybe P and I were on the right track to begin with. We spend on what we need and what brings us joy. And try not to get swept up in the rat race (this is not always easy which is why I don't even step into a Sephora; I always come out of there with another lipstick I don't need).
So when I get overwhelmed by the material world, I'll think of my placemat. It will remind me that I have it all and not much at the same time. Just how I like it.
The pearls will have to wait for now. Where would I rock them anyhow... the playground?
He snapped the requisite technology; two TVs, a desktop, a laptop, a stereo (do we even call them that anymore?) and an IPOD the size of a brick we bought as newlyweds (I hope our policy is replacement value because this one isn't worth 5 bucks). A nice camera we purchased for our Babymoon in Maui (just a cheesy name for your last chance to live it up before the ball, I mean, baby drops). What else do we have? The jewelry, of course. As I arranged the items on the kitchen table (a couple of nice watches we have bought for each other, our wedding rings and some lovely pieces P has gifted me), I saw it. This all fits in one shot. That's it. No need for more pictures. All of our family jewels (no double entendre intended) fit neatly on one placemat.
Shouldn't we have MORE? I know that sounds greedy and awful but that is how I felt after our inventory session. When you see, piece by piece, the items in your life that are insurable it can be shocking.
Why had I never realized this before? Is it because I'm a glass half-full type of person so I have never dwelled on what I don't have? Or is it because, thanks to a very practical mother, I have always understood that life is about priorities. We prioritize experiences over belongings. I would rather spend on a nice dinner with friends than a dress, any day. I guess I have had my share of dinners because I don't own many dresses. I have also prioritized financial security above shopping. P and I socked away a nice percentage of our paychecks to an emergency fund. Turns out we have needed it. Finances are a very personal thing and what works for one person may not for another. I am not trying to get all Suze Orman on you and shell out financial advice. I'm only interested in finding out why a $25,000 renter's policy is more than enough for us.
The photo shoot also made me think about the expectations I used to have for an adult when I was a kid. And whether I was living up to them being that I am, in fact, an adult now. I suppose I thought that nearing thirty years old, I would be a bit more, let's say, sophisticated. I would be an owner of a nice string of pearls and something Chanel other than sunglasses. A nice tweed suit perhaps? Although I worked in costumes for five years I didn't get swept up in that lifestyle. I only made a few big splurges on designer handbags as rewards for surviving some grueling film projects. Now I cannot even fathom spending that kind of money on a purse. That money could make a nice contribution to LO's college fund. Such thoughts confirm to me that I will most likely never own another Chloe bag. So I'll take extra good care of it. Should I photograph it too?
Anyhow, as I struggled with my disappointment, a positive realization came to me. Seeing my sparsely accessorized placemat was liberating (here's the glass half-full trait at work). We are not tied to much - just to each other. Life seemed more clear and simple. Money is irrelevant. I was in the middle of an 'AHA' moment!
What matters is really experiencing all that life has to offer....love, sunsets, nibbling on your baby's toes, sipping wine with friends, seeing new places. Wait, I already have a problem with this epiphany. I can't renounce money all together. I do need money to experience life the way I like. I want wine and travel and in practical terms, LO needs diapers and plenty of food. Money should be respected (if you have too little, life can be a bitch) but not adored. Maybe P and I were on the right track to begin with. We spend on what we need and what brings us joy. And try not to get swept up in the rat race (this is not always easy which is why I don't even step into a Sephora; I always come out of there with another lipstick I don't need).
So when I get overwhelmed by the material world, I'll think of my placemat. It will remind me that I have it all and not much at the same time. Just how I like it.
The pearls will have to wait for now. Where would I rock them anyhow... the playground?
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Wimp
My baby will never, ever be this little again. In the midst of all the craziness, good and bad, I remind myself of this profound fact. Each day she grows and grows. So when she shadows me and demands every morsel of attention, this realization gives me patience. So what if the house needs to be vacuumed (Cheerios jab the soles of my feet) or my eyebrows look like an overgrown forest. Let's go play kitchen!
Making time for myself has been a constant challenge since LO's birth. As she gets older though, it has become more of a priority to make Mama a priority. With P's support, I'm spending more time alone doing things that I enjoy. Hence, the creation of this blog. I have read 3 books in the last month (that's more than I have in the last 2 years) and taken a cooking class. Also, I am officially a regular movie-goer again!
I still have an addiction to Bravo TV, but it does not account for all my "ME" time anymore. I'm taking steps to become a real, whole person again. Not just a mom and a "Real Housewives of (insert any city because I watch them all)" junkie.
These are tiny steps but this is the technique of my choosing. I am not ready to make drastic changes. I enjoy waking up with LO and putting her to sleep and not missing much in between. It is what works for this mama right now.
Just as I am basking in the triumph of my personal challenge, LO decides it's time for her to become more of a challenge. We were coasting along when suddenly and abruptly the Terrible Not-Quite Twos torpedoed us. Help. Mayday!
I read the books and articles on child rearing. But some days I just feel like I've been kicked in the rear. No matter how much knowledge I attempt to arm myself with, there are days like today where it's all a bunch of hoo-ey! The expert advice fails.
At Target, a mother with a dribbly, sweet baby in the Bjorn, looked over sympathetically as LO hurled Elmo across the aisle. She sees what awaits her and doesn't seem terrified in the least. I know I used to be when I would see toddlers. I would think "Oh no, not yet, please God, not EVER." Yet here I am with a crazy one on my hands.
As calmly as a frazzled and embarrassed person can, I ask LO to please stop torturing Elmo and put him back with the rest of his posse.
"NO!" she retorts.
"Please, LO," I ask firmly but nicely (just as the book says).
"NO MAMA," she screams as she sprints off.
Now what, Dr. Child Expert??? I want a full refund.
How and when did this happen? I was the proud mom of a sweet baby like the one in the Bjorn. I would get "ohhs' and "ahhs" from strangers. Now I get cold, judging stares as I chase down my toddler. I must be doing something terribly wrong.
And then I remember we are talking about a 21 month-old. She is quite new to this gig called life. A mere 9 months ago she started walking. I can't remember ANYTHING noteworthy I have accomplished in the last 9 months. In that time period, LO has mastered running, learned a new language and picked up numerous hobbies. For the little time she has had on this earth, she has learned a lot. It's just too bad listening to her mother does not seem to be high on the priority list, and judging by most teenagers, it won't be any time soon.
So my not-so-expert advice to myself is to cut her some slack. And myself while I'm at it.
Au revoir
(LO has inspired me to learn French)
P.S. Target Mom is not a mother of one child, but of four cute girls. She swore that it only gets easier the more you have. She said the first and second are "rough" but by the third and fourth, it's a breeze. "They practically take care of each other." I'll take your word for it.
But thanks, Target Mom, for making me feel better about being crazed with only one when you could have just called me a WIMP! (Although you probably thought it. I would have if I were you.)
Making time for myself has been a constant challenge since LO's birth. As she gets older though, it has become more of a priority to make Mama a priority. With P's support, I'm spending more time alone doing things that I enjoy. Hence, the creation of this blog. I have read 3 books in the last month (that's more than I have in the last 2 years) and taken a cooking class. Also, I am officially a regular movie-goer again!
I still have an addiction to Bravo TV, but it does not account for all my "ME" time anymore. I'm taking steps to become a real, whole person again. Not just a mom and a "Real Housewives of (insert any city because I watch them all)" junkie.
These are tiny steps but this is the technique of my choosing. I am not ready to make drastic changes. I enjoy waking up with LO and putting her to sleep and not missing much in between. It is what works for this mama right now.
Just as I am basking in the triumph of my personal challenge, LO decides it's time for her to become more of a challenge. We were coasting along when suddenly and abruptly the Terrible Not-Quite Twos torpedoed us. Help. Mayday!
I read the books and articles on child rearing. But some days I just feel like I've been kicked in the rear. No matter how much knowledge I attempt to arm myself with, there are days like today where it's all a bunch of hoo-ey! The expert advice fails.
At Target, a mother with a dribbly, sweet baby in the Bjorn, looked over sympathetically as LO hurled Elmo across the aisle. She sees what awaits her and doesn't seem terrified in the least. I know I used to be when I would see toddlers. I would think "Oh no, not yet, please God, not EVER." Yet here I am with a crazy one on my hands.
As calmly as a frazzled and embarrassed person can, I ask LO to please stop torturing Elmo and put him back with the rest of his posse.
"NO!" she retorts.
"Please, LO," I ask firmly but nicely (just as the book says).
"NO MAMA," she screams as she sprints off.
Now what, Dr. Child Expert??? I want a full refund.
How and when did this happen? I was the proud mom of a sweet baby like the one in the Bjorn. I would get "ohhs' and "ahhs" from strangers. Now I get cold, judging stares as I chase down my toddler. I must be doing something terribly wrong.
And then I remember we are talking about a 21 month-old. She is quite new to this gig called life. A mere 9 months ago she started walking. I can't remember ANYTHING noteworthy I have accomplished in the last 9 months. In that time period, LO has mastered running, learned a new language and picked up numerous hobbies. For the little time she has had on this earth, she has learned a lot. It's just too bad listening to her mother does not seem to be high on the priority list, and judging by most teenagers, it won't be any time soon.
So my not-so-expert advice to myself is to cut her some slack. And myself while I'm at it.
Au revoir
(LO has inspired me to learn French)
P.S. Target Mom is not a mother of one child, but of four cute girls. She swore that it only gets easier the more you have. She said the first and second are "rough" but by the third and fourth, it's a breeze. "They practically take care of each other." I'll take your word for it.
But thanks, Target Mom, for making me feel better about being crazed with only one when you could have just called me a WIMP! (Although you probably thought it. I would have if I were you.)
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Gaga
My heart beats to music. Although I am a big fan, I am not musically inclined in the least. A fact recently confirmed by the maintenance man who came to fix a shelf in the closet and as he was leaving, teased "You should take that show on the road." I turned red. I completely forgot he was here as LO and I belted out "In New York..." (Jay-Z's "Empire State of Mind") while I mopped the kitchen floor. Being that LO is not even two years old, I was actually the only one belting. She was my back-up dancer. How mortifying!
I have a soundtrack for everything. For cooking, it is anything foreign; samba, salsa, french cafe' music. For eating, some old tunes from Billie Holiday. For working out, maybe Biggie Smalls or MJ. I am such a loyal lover that I will not apologize for still listening to The Cure (my grade school favorite), The Smiths (I caught severe Anglophilia in high school) or Luis Miguel (my first love).
True love endures feathered bangs, M.C. Hammer pants and neon green braces. So if I listened and loved you when I was a goofy, lanky kid chances are that the lanky, goofy adult still loves you. But the rule is that I had to be IN LOVE with you. Sorry to the very talented C+C Music Factory who inspired many Running Mans and Roger Rabbits but didn't survive the test of time. "Everybody Dance Now" is not on my IPOD. At least I don't think so.
So what's the point, you ask? In the same way that LO has my brown eyes, thin lips and long toes (awesome traits I know; her eyes are truly amazing though) she also has this crazy love of music. Since she was a squishy baby, she bobbed her head to the beat, any beat. Our favorite pastime is snuggling while jamming to "Da Beeeeeturs" (commonly known as The Beatles). There we are barefoot in the living room singing "Yeah, Yeah, Yeah."
She loves all music but has recently taken a great liking to pop, specifically lady pop artists (torture for me and P sometimes). She is head-over-heels, bonkers OBSESSED with Lady Gaga. She chants "Gaga, Gaga" when she wakes up in the morning, while she eats lunch, in the car. Anytime is Gagatime for LO.
We were at Nordstrom Rack where she was not a fan of the Michael Bolton song playing. She started shouting "GAGA, GAGA." I laughed. How cute is this, I thought to myself. This was a journal entry for tonight. (Side Note: I keep a journal in which I document sweet little somethings. This my attempt to remember details otherwise forgotten in the fog of daily life.) I explained that I did not have control over the music selection at Nordstrom Rack. I often speak to her in full sentences as if she were an adult.
"Do you understand?" I ask. She utters back an enthusiastic "YEAH" and goes back to planning her escape from the shopping cart seatbelt. These exchanges leave me convinced that LO is a genius toddler.
"Mama, GAGA!!," she insisted. Ok, maybe not a genius.
The thing is that when she asks for Gaga, I usually deliver. I indulge her in these kind of things at home. She did not understand why her tunes were not starting and why this snoozer (Michael Bolton) was still on. The chanting became louder and steadier; "Gaga Gaga Gaga Gaga." People began to stare. Now I was embarrassed. This was no longer cute. Does that happen to you? One second you think they're so dang cute doing what they're doing and the next you just want them to stop immediately.
When I can no longer reason with her, I bring out the snacks. Thank God for Annie's Cheddar Bunnies. I don't go anywhere without them.
Close call. We were seconds away from a wailing, back-arching tantrum. LO channels her inner contortionist in the heat of a tantrum. I felt very relieved because I was not ready to make a Dash of Shame: a hysterical (and not in the "ha ha" sense of the word) toddler-initiated exit. I hadn't even made it to the shoe department yet.
But you bet that the minute we got in the car all I could hear was "GAGA" so I cranked "Just Dance" and we drove away into the sunset...and into traffic.
Keep jamming.
Accompanying MOTY moment: LO in my rearview mirror, head banging to S+M (the explicit version) by Rihanna. I think, well it's not sooooo bad. She can't understand or even decipher the words. Next, I hear her shout "S,S,S,S,S,S" and then "M,M,M,M,M,M." Just perfect.
Tip of the day: If you must listen to music inappropriate for your tot at least make sure she/he cannot pronounce the lyrics. Better yet, choose songs with complicated words and not abbreviations for sexual fetishes.
I have a soundtrack for everything. For cooking, it is anything foreign; samba, salsa, french cafe' music. For eating, some old tunes from Billie Holiday. For working out, maybe Biggie Smalls or MJ. I am such a loyal lover that I will not apologize for still listening to The Cure (my grade school favorite), The Smiths (I caught severe Anglophilia in high school) or Luis Miguel (my first love).
True love endures feathered bangs, M.C. Hammer pants and neon green braces. So if I listened and loved you when I was a goofy, lanky kid chances are that the lanky, goofy adult still loves you. But the rule is that I had to be IN LOVE with you. Sorry to the very talented C+C Music Factory who inspired many Running Mans and Roger Rabbits but didn't survive the test of time. "Everybody Dance Now" is not on my IPOD. At least I don't think so.
So what's the point, you ask? In the same way that LO has my brown eyes, thin lips and long toes (awesome traits I know; her eyes are truly amazing though) she also has this crazy love of music. Since she was a squishy baby, she bobbed her head to the beat, any beat. Our favorite pastime is snuggling while jamming to "Da Beeeeeturs" (commonly known as The Beatles). There we are barefoot in the living room singing "Yeah, Yeah, Yeah."
She loves all music but has recently taken a great liking to pop, specifically lady pop artists (torture for me and P sometimes). She is head-over-heels, bonkers OBSESSED with Lady Gaga. She chants "Gaga, Gaga" when she wakes up in the morning, while she eats lunch, in the car. Anytime is Gagatime for LO.
We were at Nordstrom Rack where she was not a fan of the Michael Bolton song playing. She started shouting "GAGA, GAGA." I laughed. How cute is this, I thought to myself. This was a journal entry for tonight. (Side Note: I keep a journal in which I document sweet little somethings. This my attempt to remember details otherwise forgotten in the fog of daily life.) I explained that I did not have control over the music selection at Nordstrom Rack. I often speak to her in full sentences as if she were an adult.
"Do you understand?" I ask. She utters back an enthusiastic "YEAH" and goes back to planning her escape from the shopping cart seatbelt. These exchanges leave me convinced that LO is a genius toddler.
"Mama, GAGA!!," she insisted. Ok, maybe not a genius.
The thing is that when she asks for Gaga, I usually deliver. I indulge her in these kind of things at home. She did not understand why her tunes were not starting and why this snoozer (Michael Bolton) was still on. The chanting became louder and steadier; "Gaga Gaga Gaga Gaga." People began to stare. Now I was embarrassed. This was no longer cute. Does that happen to you? One second you think they're so dang cute doing what they're doing and the next you just want them to stop immediately.
When I can no longer reason with her, I bring out the snacks. Thank God for Annie's Cheddar Bunnies. I don't go anywhere without them.
Close call. We were seconds away from a wailing, back-arching tantrum. LO channels her inner contortionist in the heat of a tantrum. I felt very relieved because I was not ready to make a Dash of Shame: a hysterical (and not in the "ha ha" sense of the word) toddler-initiated exit. I hadn't even made it to the shoe department yet.
But you bet that the minute we got in the car all I could hear was "GAGA" so I cranked "Just Dance" and we drove away into the sunset...and into traffic.
Keep jamming.
Accompanying MOTY moment: LO in my rearview mirror, head banging to S+M (the explicit version) by Rihanna. I think, well it's not sooooo bad. She can't understand or even decipher the words. Next, I hear her shout "S,S,S,S,S,S" and then "M,M,M,M,M,M." Just perfect.
Tip of the day: If you must listen to music inappropriate for your tot at least make sure she/he cannot pronounce the lyrics. Better yet, choose songs with complicated words and not abbreviations for sexual fetishes.
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