I've always heard people talk about the Miracle of Life; the overwhelming feeling when they first see their baby and how amazed they are that they created that little tiny life.
It was different for me when I first glimpsed Little Man. I did feel a rush of emotions. I was overjoyed at finally seeing my little baby. I had waited 9 months to find out if we had a boy or a girl; 9 months envisioning what the tiny little life inside of me would look like but I didn't feel the amazement that I had helped create that life. I am a little too logical, too scientific for that. Sperm met egg and biology took over. It is the natural course of things.
For me, the miracle is in watching him grow and learn. I find his little brain a mystery. How are his thoughts formed without words? What goes through his head when he sees his favorite ball? His security blanket? Me? His father?
The miracle is watching him learn he could roll over. The miracle was when he learned to crawl and then to walk. The miracle was him learning to communicate without words. He goes to the fridge when he's thirsty and the microwave when he's hungry (hey - I made all of his food. He was used to me warming it up in the microwave so of course he associates the microwave with food).
Every day I look at my son and I am amazed. Not amazed that I helped create the life but amazed at his growth. Each night, when I put him to bed, I look forward to what the next day will bring (and being woken up by a 20+ lb imp jumping on my chest, pulling apart my eyelids and then giving me a hug).
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Evolution of a Suburban Mom
When I first moved to DC, I lived the life. I went out clubbing until the wee hours of the morning; would watch the sunrise before grabbing breakfast and then to bed. I hit all the hot spots on opening night. I learned quickly how not to wait in line and how to avoid paying cover charges.
Over time I gave up my restlessness, bought a condo and settled to some extent. I became a Hill Rat which means it took A LOT to get me to leave Capitol Hill. My friends were Hill Rats. The man who was my boyfriend, became my fiance and then my husband - I turned him into a Hill Rat. He was worse then me though. I lived, ate, drank, did everything on the Hill except for one thing. I didn't work on the Hill. He did.
I still went out but not necessarily long enough to see the sunrise. I was no longer interested in hitting the latest hot spots. In fact, I refused to try a new place until it had been open for several months and some of the coolness had wained. Getting me to leave the Hill for the 4th was hard (we had the best, unobstructed view and most importantly - we weren't innundated with tourists). Being in the thick of things was no longer important to me.
Marriage didn't change our lives. Hell, it didn't even change my name. Still haven't gotten around to that. We continued to live life on a whim. We did what we want pretty much when we wanted.
Until I found out I was pregnant. Talk about having your life turned upside down. We were living in a 625 sq ft condo with a bar on the first floor of the building. Not exactly kid friendly.
7 months pregnant and I found myself unpacking boxes in a 3-story townhouse 20 miles outside of the city. I've traded the main drag for a court; sewer roaches and rats for squirrels and deer; sirens for chirping birds; cars for trees; a walk to the corner store for a 3 mile drive to the corner store.
An exciting Saturday night now is a game of Uno Attack and a bottle of wine.
I don't drive a minivan. It is too early to tell if my son will play soccer but for me the transformation is complete. I am a suburbanite. I will occasionally drive back to the old neighborhood. The traffic makes me cringe. Searching for a parking space sends my blood pressure sky high and the pedestrians and tourists? Oh it make me ill just thinking of it.
I am not one of those suburbanites who is afraid of the "big bad city". Spent most of my years in one city or another. No. The stereotype doesn't scare me. The pace does. I've slowed down. I've mellowed. Shit I've morphed right into a stereotype myself haven't I?
If you see me listening to Adult Contemporary (formerly known as easy listening) while perusing the latest minivans, please do me a favor? Find the nearest Chevy Avalanche (my brother will loan you his) and run my ass over. Then back up and run it over again just to make good and sure!
Over time I gave up my restlessness, bought a condo and settled to some extent. I became a Hill Rat which means it took A LOT to get me to leave Capitol Hill. My friends were Hill Rats. The man who was my boyfriend, became my fiance and then my husband - I turned him into a Hill Rat. He was worse then me though. I lived, ate, drank, did everything on the Hill except for one thing. I didn't work on the Hill. He did.
I still went out but not necessarily long enough to see the sunrise. I was no longer interested in hitting the latest hot spots. In fact, I refused to try a new place until it had been open for several months and some of the coolness had wained. Getting me to leave the Hill for the 4th was hard (we had the best, unobstructed view and most importantly - we weren't innundated with tourists). Being in the thick of things was no longer important to me.
Marriage didn't change our lives. Hell, it didn't even change my name. Still haven't gotten around to that. We continued to live life on a whim. We did what we want pretty much when we wanted.
Until I found out I was pregnant. Talk about having your life turned upside down. We were living in a 625 sq ft condo with a bar on the first floor of the building. Not exactly kid friendly.
7 months pregnant and I found myself unpacking boxes in a 3-story townhouse 20 miles outside of the city. I've traded the main drag for a court; sewer roaches and rats for squirrels and deer; sirens for chirping birds; cars for trees; a walk to the corner store for a 3 mile drive to the corner store.
An exciting Saturday night now is a game of Uno Attack and a bottle of wine.
I don't drive a minivan. It is too early to tell if my son will play soccer but for me the transformation is complete. I am a suburbanite. I will occasionally drive back to the old neighborhood. The traffic makes me cringe. Searching for a parking space sends my blood pressure sky high and the pedestrians and tourists? Oh it make me ill just thinking of it.
I am not one of those suburbanites who is afraid of the "big bad city". Spent most of my years in one city or another. No. The stereotype doesn't scare me. The pace does. I've slowed down. I've mellowed. Shit I've morphed right into a stereotype myself haven't I?
If you see me listening to Adult Contemporary (formerly known as easy listening) while perusing the latest minivans, please do me a favor? Find the nearest Chevy Avalanche (my brother will loan you his) and run my ass over. Then back up and run it over again just to make good and sure!
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
I am the parent.
“Do NOT throw that phone”.
“Ma you take the fun out of everything” was the look I got in return; from a 16-month old.
Well . Then. FINE! …
He grabbed my finger and proceeded to lead me where ever his fancy took. Of course his fancy also involved glancing over his shoulder at me to laugh the entire time.
An irony not lost on me.
That mumbling is my latest mantra: I am the parent. I am in control. I am the parent. I am in control.
Control of what, I still don’t know.
But I am the parent. I am in control. I am the parent. I am in control.
I now have steel drums in my head.
I am the parent. I am in control. I am the parent. I am in control.
Someone pass me the Jack.
I am the parent. I am in control. I am the parent. I am in control.
I’m now dancing to this
I am the parent. I am in control. I am the parent. I am in control.
Twirling
I am a parrot. I am in…
“Ma you take the fun out of everything” was the look I got in return; from a 16-month old.
Well . Then. FINE! …
He grabbed my finger and proceeded to lead me where ever his fancy took. Of course his fancy also involved glancing over his shoulder at me to laugh the entire time.
An irony not lost on me.
That mumbling is my latest mantra: I am the parent. I am in control. I am the parent. I am in control.
Control of what, I still don’t know.
But I am the parent. I am in control. I am the parent. I am in control.
I now have steel drums in my head.
I am the parent. I am in control. I am the parent. I am in control.
Someone pass me the Jack.
I am the parent. I am in control. I am the parent. I am in control.
I’m now dancing to this
I am the parent. I am in control. I am the parent. I am in control.
Twirling
I am a parrot. I am in…
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
The Joys of Pregnancy Revisted
One of my best friends is pregnant. I couldn't be happier for her. Well, I'll be happier when the morning sickness finally walks its ugly butt out the door. I never had to deal with morning sickness but I still feel for her. And the stories have begun.
"Honey, we need to clean out the garage. And by we, I mean you". And she proceeded to sit her ass on the nearest comfortable chair and "supervise" the proceedings. "Are you sure you want to put that there?"
All husbands take a step closer to sainthood when their wives are pregnant. Hers is no exception.
And her journey has just started. She is, possibly, a tad ahead of other first time moms because she has a friend who doesn't believe in holding back. There is no topic off limits as far as I'm concerned. Some things people don't want to tell you because they don't want to scare you anymore than you already are. I understand that.
Other things, they don't tell you because of a sadistic sense of humor. Like the fact that your brain goes. Completely. No one warns you about that. No one warns you that on a good day you will start to walk out of the house with your hair still in a towel or that you will succeed in walking out of the house with 2 different shoes with 2 completely different size heels on and you won't realize until you are a block down the street. No one warns you that you will completely and utterly forget every day words like closet, or wall, or toothbrush.
So being the good friend that I am, I warned her. Well, re-warned her since she experienced some of my brain farts first hand.
I also warned her about something else. When your mommy friends tell you not to worry, its temporary - THEY LIE! It doesn't come back. Not entirely. 16 months into this and I still can't remember simple words. I sit there and point, snap my fingers and become exceedingly frustrated why my husband can't understand that I am pointing to the COUCH not the laundry on the couch or one of the other myriad of items in the general vicinity of where I am pointing.
It does explain the reason why your mom would give up and just yell "hey you" though doesn't it?
"Honey, we need to clean out the garage. And by we, I mean you". And she proceeded to sit her ass on the nearest comfortable chair and "supervise" the proceedings. "Are you sure you want to put that there?"
All husbands take a step closer to sainthood when their wives are pregnant. Hers is no exception.
And her journey has just started. She is, possibly, a tad ahead of other first time moms because she has a friend who doesn't believe in holding back. There is no topic off limits as far as I'm concerned. Some things people don't want to tell you because they don't want to scare you anymore than you already are. I understand that.
Other things, they don't tell you because of a sadistic sense of humor. Like the fact that your brain goes. Completely. No one warns you about that. No one warns you that on a good day you will start to walk out of the house with your hair still in a towel or that you will succeed in walking out of the house with 2 different shoes with 2 completely different size heels on and you won't realize until you are a block down the street. No one warns you that you will completely and utterly forget every day words like closet, or wall, or toothbrush.
So being the good friend that I am, I warned her. Well, re-warned her since she experienced some of my brain farts first hand.
I also warned her about something else. When your mommy friends tell you not to worry, its temporary - THEY LIE! It doesn't come back. Not entirely. 16 months into this and I still can't remember simple words. I sit there and point, snap my fingers and become exceedingly frustrated why my husband can't understand that I am pointing to the COUCH not the laundry on the couch or one of the other myriad of items in the general vicinity of where I am pointing.
It does explain the reason why your mom would give up and just yell "hey you" though doesn't it?
The Joys of Pregnancy Revisited
One of my best friends is pregnant. I couldn't be happier for her. Well, I'll be happier when the morning sickness finally walks its ugly butt out the door. I never had to deal with morning sickness but I still feel for her. And the stories have begun.
"Honey, we need to clean out the garage. And by we, I mean you". And she proceeded to sit her ass on the nearest comfortable chair and "supervise" the proceedings. "Are you sure you want to put that there?"
All husbands take a step closer to sainthood when their wives are pregnant. Hers is no exception.
And her journey has just started. She is, possibly, a tad ahead of other first time moms because she has a friend who doesn't believe in holding back. There is no topic off limits as far as I'm concerned. Some things people don't want to tell you because they don't want to scare you anymore than you already are. I understand that.
Other things, they don't tell you because of a sadistic sense of humor. Like the fact that your brain goes. Completely. No one warns you about that. No one warns you that on a good day you will start to walk out of the house with your hair still in a towel or that you will succeed in walking out of the house with 2 different shoes with 2 completely different size heels on and you won't realize until you are a block down the street. No one warns you that you will completely and utterly forget every day words like closet, or wall, or toothbrush.
So being the good friend that I am, I warned her. Well, re-warned her since she experienced some of my brain farts first hand.
I also warned her about something else. When your mommy friends tell you not to worry, its temporary - THEY LIE! It doesn't come back. Not entirely. 16 months into this and I still can't remember simple words. I sit there and point, snap my fingers and become exceedingly frustrated why my husband can't understand that I am pointing to the COUCH not the laundry on the couch or one of the other myriad of items in the general vicinity of where I am pointing.
It does explain the reason why your mom would give up and just yell "you"
Friday, May 15, 2009
Baby Fever
My neighbor recently had her second son. A few friends are pregnant. Little Man adores babies. He loves to sit next to the infants at daycare. He will rock them. Talk to them and much to my dismay, try to kiss them. Why does he always seem to aim for the soft spot? All of this translates into a horrible case of baby fever; a fever my wallet does not share. I’ve stopped calculating how expensive this kid is. The day I stopped buying formula was a cause for a celebration and not just a happy dance in the store kind of celebration. Oh no, this was worthy of a black-tie ball! You see my son could only digest the most expensive formula on the market (an irony not lost on my parents mind you).
Now I dream of the day we leave diapers and wipes behind. Of course they will only be replaced by astronomical food bills, school supplies, sports equipment, and of course, college. You would think all of this would be enough to kill a fever but apparently my hormones are immune.
I think back to that tiny little munchkin who used to wake up at 5 AM to eat only to curl up in my arms and fall back to sleep until 8; his little hand holding my finger and occasionally whispering a sigh of content. I think of those first smiles, the first laugh, the first roll. I think I want another one.
It is amazing how the female brain works (humor me here people and agree that this is all females, not just me ok). I conveniently forget the other times. I forget sitting for 45 minutes doing nothing but popping a pacifier in his mouth. He so desperately wanted it but couldn’t hang on to it. I sat there thinking “Great. I’ve been reduced to pacifier patrol”.
I forget being so exhausted remembering to put shoes on when leaving the house was an accomplishment. As far as I know, I never left without shirt or pants. At least I think I never did since there is no police record.
When reminded, my response is” I am better prepared this time”. Um, yeah, sure. I am so prepared to deal with an infant and a toddler while sleep deprived.
Flashback to Little Man’s first week home. Time to change his diaper so up to the changing table we go. I’ve already experience the incredible arc and reach my little peanut has managed to attain in only a few short days and learned very quickly to cover said equipment less I want to spend more time on my hands and knees scrubbing or reaching well over my head, neither an easy task when recovering from a c-section. I don’t think about positioning.
Little Man let loose. Right into his eye.
He blinked. Nothing else. No flinch. No cry. Not even a whimper.
There was a shriek though.
From me.
The Saint (my husband) remains calm and tells me its ok. Just wipe his eye.
“Oh my GOD! Get my mom. Get my mom. NOW.”
“It’s fine honey. Just use the cloth in your hand to wipe his eye.”
“GET MY MOM NOW! What if he’s BLINDED!”
Yup. I am definitely ready to handle sleep deprivation, a newborn, and a toddler….
Now I dream of the day we leave diapers and wipes behind. Of course they will only be replaced by astronomical food bills, school supplies, sports equipment, and of course, college. You would think all of this would be enough to kill a fever but apparently my hormones are immune.
I think back to that tiny little munchkin who used to wake up at 5 AM to eat only to curl up in my arms and fall back to sleep until 8; his little hand holding my finger and occasionally whispering a sigh of content. I think of those first smiles, the first laugh, the first roll. I think I want another one.
It is amazing how the female brain works (humor me here people and agree that this is all females, not just me ok). I conveniently forget the other times. I forget sitting for 45 minutes doing nothing but popping a pacifier in his mouth. He so desperately wanted it but couldn’t hang on to it. I sat there thinking “Great. I’ve been reduced to pacifier patrol”.
I forget being so exhausted remembering to put shoes on when leaving the house was an accomplishment. As far as I know, I never left without shirt or pants. At least I think I never did since there is no police record.
When reminded, my response is” I am better prepared this time”. Um, yeah, sure. I am so prepared to deal with an infant and a toddler while sleep deprived.
Flashback to Little Man’s first week home. Time to change his diaper so up to the changing table we go. I’ve already experience the incredible arc and reach my little peanut has managed to attain in only a few short days and learned very quickly to cover said equipment less I want to spend more time on my hands and knees scrubbing or reaching well over my head, neither an easy task when recovering from a c-section. I don’t think about positioning.
Little Man let loose. Right into his eye.
He blinked. Nothing else. No flinch. No cry. Not even a whimper.
There was a shriek though.
From me.
The Saint (my husband) remains calm and tells me its ok. Just wipe his eye.
“Oh my GOD! Get my mom. Get my mom. NOW.”
“It’s fine honey. Just use the cloth in your hand to wipe his eye.”
“GET MY MOM NOW! What if he’s BLINDED!”
Yup. I am definitely ready to handle sleep deprivation, a newborn, and a toddler….
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Sir Mix A Lot
I'm thinking about buying Little Man his own chair. You know, the mini-me version of an easy chair. Why? Well, I never quite put away the Bumpo.
It had been sitting in our room collecting dust for a few months. Little Man would occasionally use his little butt to dust it for me but he didn't really use it. The other night he decided to carry it into his room so I thought: "Cool. He's going to let me save my cash for a little while longer".
Bedtime stories used to take place in the glider but now he likes to switch it up. He'll curl up on the pillow or he will sit in the Bumpo. He became bored with the pillow and moved to the Bumpo where he read one book and then let me read one. When he got bored he simply stood up and walked to the door.
With the Bumpo attached to his little butt.
Giving a whole new meaning to "Baby Got Back".
It had been sitting in our room collecting dust for a few months. Little Man would occasionally use his little butt to dust it for me but he didn't really use it. The other night he decided to carry it into his room so I thought: "Cool. He's going to let me save my cash for a little while longer".
Bedtime stories used to take place in the glider but now he likes to switch it up. He'll curl up on the pillow or he will sit in the Bumpo. He became bored with the pillow and moved to the Bumpo where he read one book and then let me read one. When he got bored he simply stood up and walked to the door.
With the Bumpo attached to his little butt.
Giving a whole new meaning to "Baby Got Back".
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
To Scar a Child
It’s inevitable. Once you become a parent you are going to scar your child. You will do something that your child will never let you forget. For years you will hear this lovely phrase from their (no longer so sweet and cute) mouth: “You scarred me for life!” This sentence will almost always be preceded or followed by: “It’s all your fault!”
“But your son is only 16-months; how could you possible know this?” you ask.
Before I became a parent I was a child (and have moments where I still act like one). Ask my mom how many times I have uttered that phrase to her. Go ahead. Ask her.
Of course, I only remember the times I said it in jest. I am sure she can tell you each and every time my overdramatic teenage self uttered it in all sincerity. Ok I do remember a time well before I hit my teenage years. Mom spanked me. That in its self did not scar me. Knowing me, I probably more than deserved it. No what scarred me was she used my favorite purple hairbrush top spank me and BROKE IT. Granted it was a cheap brush but to me – oh it was worth more than all the tea and porcelain in china. It was priceless.
And she broke it. *sniff* *whimper*
Scarred me for life.
(I can see her rolling her eyes and hear her groaning as she reads this. “Oh not the stupid hairbrush again”)
You just can’t avoid it. It is going to happen. Actually, in the case of Little Man, it has already started.
I married a Republican; a Yankee fan; a Redskins fan. I am a true-blue Boston Liberal Democrat who has been rooting for the Patriots since I was 3 and the Red Sox since I was 5. Then I found out I was pregnant.
So my brilliant husband claimed party affiliation and baseball while I get football. This means our son, according to my very smart, very loving husband, will be raised a Republican who roots for the Yankees and the Patriots.
So when you son or daughter comes up to you in the next 10+ years and asks you to pay for medical school don’t say no. Just make sure the child goes into Psychiatry. Little Man will pay for student loans, your child’s house on Martha’s Vineyard, and your house on the Outer Banks.
“But your son is only 16-months; how could you possible know this?” you ask.
Before I became a parent I was a child (and have moments where I still act like one). Ask my mom how many times I have uttered that phrase to her. Go ahead. Ask her.
Of course, I only remember the times I said it in jest. I am sure she can tell you each and every time my overdramatic teenage self uttered it in all sincerity. Ok I do remember a time well before I hit my teenage years. Mom spanked me. That in its self did not scar me. Knowing me, I probably more than deserved it. No what scarred me was she used my favorite purple hairbrush top spank me and BROKE IT. Granted it was a cheap brush but to me – oh it was worth more than all the tea and porcelain in china. It was priceless.
And she broke it. *sniff* *whimper*
Scarred me for life.
(I can see her rolling her eyes and hear her groaning as she reads this. “Oh not the stupid hairbrush again”)
You just can’t avoid it. It is going to happen. Actually, in the case of Little Man, it has already started.
I married a Republican; a Yankee fan; a Redskins fan. I am a true-blue Boston Liberal Democrat who has been rooting for the Patriots since I was 3 and the Red Sox since I was 5. Then I found out I was pregnant.
So my brilliant husband claimed party affiliation and baseball while I get football. This means our son, according to my very smart, very loving husband, will be raised a Republican who roots for the Yankees and the Patriots.
So when you son or daughter comes up to you in the next 10+ years and asks you to pay for medical school don’t say no. Just make sure the child goes into Psychiatry. Little Man will pay for student loans, your child’s house on Martha’s Vineyard, and your house on the Outer Banks.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
The Little Things in Life
It was a good day today. It was productive. Little Man decided to wake us up early which meant I got to work early. That in turn resulted in my getting out early.
I had a slight problem remembering it was Tuesday. I thought it was Wednesday. All day. (One good night's sleep does not erase all side effects of sleep deprivation. Thursday will be a bit of a shock when I finally realize it isn't Friday).
Thanks to an opposite commute (I know, shocking I can say that for the DC Metro area) the ride home was pleasant. Could you ask for anything more?
Arrive at daycare. Little Man is outside playing. He sees me. Stands up in the little car and yells "MA"!
He doesn't talk. Let me correct that. He has very long conversations with us. He even has the pitch down pat. For all I know, he is having a conversation that would impress Steven Hawking but damn if I can understand a word of it. I have trouble deciphering a 2 year old. You want me to decipher a 16 month old? Makes me wonder if this is how people feel about talking with me after I've spent too much time in Boston.
But that one syllable came out loud and clear and hey - he even pointed at me. He called me MA. I would do cartwheels but I am not sure I could handle the hospital bills right now. Made my week.
I had a slight problem remembering it was Tuesday. I thought it was Wednesday. All day. (One good night's sleep does not erase all side effects of sleep deprivation. Thursday will be a bit of a shock when I finally realize it isn't Friday).
Thanks to an opposite commute (I know, shocking I can say that for the DC Metro area) the ride home was pleasant. Could you ask for anything more?
Arrive at daycare. Little Man is outside playing. He sees me. Stands up in the little car and yells "MA"!
He doesn't talk. Let me correct that. He has very long conversations with us. He even has the pitch down pat. For all I know, he is having a conversation that would impress Steven Hawking but damn if I can understand a word of it. I have trouble deciphering a 2 year old. You want me to decipher a 16 month old? Makes me wonder if this is how people feel about talking with me after I've spent too much time in Boston.
But that one syllable came out loud and clear and hey - he even pointed at me. He called me MA. I would do cartwheels but I am not sure I could handle the hospital bills right now. Made my week.
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