General Updates

Well, I find it difficult to focus on any one subject when it has been so long since I've contributed anything to this blog...yet, so much has happened.  C is 20 months old.  Her favorite things include walking, hopping, "golfing," pushing her piano around the house, mimicking anything and everything anyone does, time-out, Little Einsteins, and dancing.
And there's more....
-She is experimenting with the idea of being a picky eater with a penchant for cookies like her daddy and a milkshake fiend like her mommy.
-She is very selective about who she opens up and flies her freak flag for, but once you are her buddy you have an all access pass to her toys, her ramblings, and her laughter.
- She is slowly growing some hair in daddy's mullet pattern, but we're in no rush since she won't keep anything cute in it.
- Through no encouragement of my own, she has taken to rocking, feeding, and caring for dolls and stuffed animals - while still playing ball and driving her cars all over the house. (and I kind of secretly enjoy watching it)
- She also prefers to wear tutus while doing any activity.
- During the coldest months I finally gave in and started covering her with a blanket at night.
- I have still yet to go a night without getting up to check on her, much less sleeping away from her.  I estimate that's about 600 nights in a row.
- I see what other people see, she totally looks like me.  Makes me appreciate what I look like just a little more.
- She got to the snow in her life approximately 32 years earlier than I did.
Here are a couple of pictures and my solemn promise to TRY to update more:)

Call Me Cinderella

18 Month Appt

Vroooooooooom!

Hop, hop, hop, hop....

Rocking Baby Gloria

Go, Go, Go, and....Sleep.

Words

This couldn't possibly be interesting to anyone other than myself, but as C works so hard to express herself, here is what her vocabulary consists of (and how it really sounds) - and for those of you who say animal noises are not words, I confirmed it with a learned doctor (aka the pediatrician)...

Woof (oouf, oouf)
Meow (Aeaow)
SSSStttth - the noise a snake makes
Quack (cock caulk)
Howdy (owty)
Hey (Hey)
Daddy (Daaatee)
Doggy (Daaatee, but followed by Woof)
Ball (Bahw)
Mama (mmmmahmma)
Nanny (NnnnaNNy)
Cookie (Ccccki - like a throat clearing)

This is on top of the secret language that she shares with Mr. P.  This sounds like "mwi mwi mwi, dubba, dubba, dubba!" at high volumes followed by hysterical laughter from both of them.

Party Like It's 1999 (if 1999 = me surviving a whole year of motherhood)

Well, if you think it took me a long time to get to the post about Charlie's first birthday party, then you'll find it amazing that I still haven't gotten to the Thank You notes.  She has already outgrown some of her presents!  It was a good day- I was less emotional than I thought I'd be...I don't really yearn for any of the time back as much as I stand in total awe of what has become of this little person in just a year's time.  It's so fun to watch that once teeny tiny helpless thing figure out her entire world.
The party was exactly what I wanted it to be.  A mellow day with a LOT of friends and family, good food and drinks, beautiful weather and a fun theme!!! Another plus? I wasn't being cut open, so MUCH improvement from the year before!
All the grandparents, and a great grandparent, were in attendance, along with lots of other people...the nugget was in high demand that day!
After little gym that morning, I dropped C off with my mom to get a proper nap (which is impossible to get with a running stressed mama).  I went home and finished everything up with Mr. P.  Here are some highlights....
I had the most fun with the party favors and am glad that enough kids came to make this fun! I didn't want to include candy because the kids are mostly too young for that so I used Oriental Trading Company and Michaels to add mini beach balls, sticker beach scenes, and leis to beach pails.

Party Favor Buckets

Little Kahuna-ess' Throne (note: Kahuna is unisex in the world, but not in my head)

 I freaking loved the cake, AND it was super duper easy.  One of the best tips I ever received was to buy a Costco cake plain and then decorate it yourself, because for me...that's the fun part!  For this I made a flat sheet of blue jello (which ended up being way tasty to boot), crushed some teddy grahams and let some live (fun fact: one of the teddy grahams is a boy in a speedo and one is a topless chick - the artist gets to decide this stuff). The rest is candy.  I'm not outrageously talented OR creative.  Pinterest. Duh.

The everybody fun cake

 These are my totally un-fun cupcakes that I made for Charlie and any other food-issue kids.  The recipe here on this website I've used for feeding questions and ideas for the last 7 months. I was so afraid of all the stuff in the cake and frosting...but two months later the kid has had- and loved- pancakes, cookies, ice cream, and juice.  She's more of a powerhouse that we thought.

The Gluten-, Dairy-, Soy-, Refined Sugar-free cupcakes for C

 There are so few pictures of me and this bug that I had to post this even if it isn't that great of me.  I don't have a tiny birthday hat on either...that's someone's shorts behind me that are just well placed.

C loving the un-fun bday cupcakes

 This part took the longest...I made the tutu and threw together the head piece out of the left over pieces without checking the size.  It's hugeness was kinda cute.  Also, her onsie says, "Life's A Beach, Then You Turn 1."

Too Cute

Independence Day

Freedom Bra

Shortly after celebrating the Independence of our nation and before celebrating the Independence of C from my womb, I declared independence for the vast nation of my boobies...bordered by my neck and my torso (although the nation of boobies is always threatening to invade the peaceful land of my torso, and it is taking increasingly strong walls to resist).
The morning of July 9th was C's last taste of the boob.  It seemed like a good time because Jake had the week off and could attend to her more often.  Most people I know stopped breastfeeding because they dried up or their kid made the decision for them - I did it because I was tired of my hair falling out and my body was screaming that I needed to stop giving away my hydration and nutrition and freedom.  I had to Google how to do this because I didn't take the freaking breastfeeding class because I was tired of seeing the hospital and figured either C and I would figure it out or we wouldn't.  Well, we figured it out. And we stuck with it.
The first day we snuck it under the radar pretty easily, but by day two she got the hint and wanted to make sure we knew she did NOT approve. It took about 5 days of violent tugging at the neckline of my shirts, dirty looks, and climbing into my lap and putting herself into prime boob eating position, for her to really give in.  As long as I fed her food or distracted her every time, she seemed to be mildly okay with it.  However, it wasn't lost on me that she became very attached to Mr. and -call me crazy (or stand in line to do so) - but I'm pretty sure she essentially STOPPED saying "mama."

WTF?! and Where Can I Find One of These?

I did alright too...I did not let myself dwell on the fact that we would never have that particular bond again or that this was a true sign that she was moving on from being my little baby or that if we crashed on a desert island, LOST style, I couldn't single-handedly keep her nourished (yes, these things cross my mind more than you'd like to know).  I was easily able to bring up the feeling of "done-ness" that inspired this in the first place.  I was Pamela Anderson for about a week...with rock hard Jugs that hurt like crazy and couldn't be any fun even though they looked great.  I had to bind them and heat them and ice them - ironically in my office the only ice I had was a leftover frozen bag of breast milk - and once I even broke protocol and emptied out the super producer (otherwise known as LEFT BOOBIE) in the shower to relieve some of the stabbing pain - and discovered that should be PART of protocol.  It hasn't had any further pain since then.  (now on day 15).
So now Mr. can get up with C - although the universe's joke is on me...since she's not gonna get any boob juice, she's not so interested in getting up in the middle of the night anymore.  I can now wear high necked anything and regular bras...speaking of which, I'm researching one that makes cream puffs out of flapjacks.  Suggestions appreciated. They are definitely not full on pancake boobies, but the have migrated slightly south and lost a little gusto - like a week old Mylar balloon.  Ok, enough about my fun bags.  C is done breastfeeding and I own my body once again.  At least for the time being....

Get Me the Number for CPS

It was the scream (2 in a row actually) heard 'round the world (or my world...about a 1/4 square mile of it, I'm guessing, because the windows were open).  After some failed attempts at crib-napping my little sleep resister, I tried laying in my bed with her.  She was up climbing over me and then doing laps to the end of the bed and back.  She would crawl, sit-to-turn, and crawl back.  I figured I would let my little free spirit get her sillies out then maybe she would sleep...but before she did, one off-balanced sit-to-turn resulted in me watching my daughter spill backwards, and disappear over the end of my bed.  I screamed twice and then went into mommy mode.  When I got to her, she looked a little stunned...understandable since it was her first solo back-flip dismount...but instantly started silent-superlongbreathless-followed-by-howling-crying.  The fact that this proved she lived made me feel better for about 0.2 seconds, and then I was overwhelmed by the tidal wave of guilt that crashed over me.  I calmed her down, telling her over and over that "we" were ok ( insert C thought bubble here: "of course you're okay, you sorry excuse for a parent! You laid there while I plummeted!").

 Once she was calm, I put into practice my extensive experience as a D.H. (Doctor of Hypochondria) and checked for bruising, moving limbs, fluid from the ears and nose, bleeding, or weird eye movements.  In my hysteria I figured I was missing the sign that I had permanently damaged my child.  I picked up the phone, considered 9-1-1, but I looked out the window and called my neighbor instead.  She came over and took C while I lost my momentary calm.  She checked her over and told me stories of HER son falling off of HER bed.  Finally, mom's sharing their stories gives me relief- there's a first time for everything!! Ultimately I convinced her we were both fine and she left, giving me a little welcome to the club grin.  I was still not ready to smile.  I was, however, ready to call the nurse so she could tell me what I knew in my head - that I needed to rush my daughter to the emergency room.  Turns out HER babies fell off the bed too! Damn, are we a bunch of shitty moms or WHAT?! She said the baby sounds fine and told me the stuff to watch for - like if it ever happened again, because she was so sure C was ok.

At this point I just sat holding her for the hour or so until Mr. got home. He wasn't all that concerned - hello! Aren't any of these people as compelled to call Child Protective Services on me as I am? I'm obviously an unfit, lazy parent - who, by the way, at this point was also having PTSD-style flashbacks of the fall.

I'm told this will not be the last time, and that this is parenthood. Well, that's not acceptable. See how easy that is? C is strictly forbidden from being in any form of danger or getting hurt in any way. I may have laughed in the past - but I am SOOOO not against a full time helmet policy. Or a full time bubble wrap policy. Whatever works...hey, you live under my roof! If a plastic bubble is good enough for John Travolta, it's good enough for my little nugget!

P.S. - Don't ever write a similar blog, and then look for a picture by Googling "Bubble Wrap Baby." Trust me on this one.

The New Crawl (aka The "Igor")

C's crawl has evolved from the Wounded Soldier to the Igor.  (She actually can crawl the old fashioned way, but she doesn't do it very often)

Happy Tuesday!

I Am A Working Mom

Ok, this is not going to be a popular post.  I don't  like the idea of pitting granola mom against Gerber mom, or PBS mom with Nick Jr. mom, and all that crap.  Do your best, the kid is probably going to need therapy either way...no one is perfect, yadda, yadda, yadda.  I know quite a few SAHMs (Stay At Home Moms) considering I didn't know they really existed when I was young and it was just the TV moms that stayed at home.  Some moms don't WANT to be SAHMs, some moms can't for whatever reason, and a lot of my teacher friends do it one way during the year and do the SAHM thing during the summer.  I personally would love to be a SAHM, and really loved the time I was home with C for the first eight weeks, and on our recent "staycation" together.  Maybe it's because I didn't try to conquer the world while I did it or try to be a lady who lunched, but I enjoyed it.  It wasn't a walk in the park (wait, it actually literally WAS for an hour or so a day) and I was legitimately tired by the end of the day.  Loads of laundry I had my eye on never left the bedroom floor, recipes  laid unmade, a nap schedule never quite found its way into our home as I planned.
I will admit though, I do take offense to the following phrase, and phrases like it:

"All Moms are Working Moms"

I'm sorry (no I'm not) but there is a difference between being a mom who also has a job outside of the house and one that doesn't.  Some of the differences are to my benefit.  I can make my breaks line right up with the times that I have to use the bathroom - and therefore I use said bathroom without getting a gyno exam by a 10 month old who is hanging onto my panties for dear life while trying to get her sea legs.  I don't have to share 1/2 of my lunch by ripping it into un-chokable pieces.  There are semi-long periods of quiet and some of the demands on me are articulated in discernible English. But this is all while I do my job.  My job (as discussed with an over-intellectual friend who happens to agree with me) is something that has to be done, but other people don't want to do, so they give me money to do it.  Parenting is a decision I made, something I wanted - always wanted - and that I love.  A labor of love, but love - unpaid love - nonetheless.  Unemployed-Americans that have dogs, or a house, or other elective responsibilities would be regarded as asinine if they professed to actually have a job even if they didn't get paid.  Yes, there is value in walking a dog and in caring for, cleaning, and maintaining a house.  There is value in providing childcare too, but when you are at home with your own child it is just different.

When I leave for work in the morning I feel guilt that I am not taking care of my baby.  I have the best of all possible childcare and C barely notices that I leave, but I am keenly aware that Monday through Thursday, between 8a.m and 5p.m. I won't be pointing out the color of things on our walks or holding her hands and she does endless laps up and down the hallway.  Not surprisingly, if I leave that laundry, or those bills, or healthy ingredients home when I am away - they don't wash, bake, prepare, and pay themselves.  I don't always come home to a clean, well rested, nutritionally loaded child with whom I can just sit lovingly with and read educational materials until it's time for her to drift off into a peaceful sleep. (Ha ha, get it? - Sleeping like a baby?! Really? Lame phrase)  In the morning, things don't go according to her little internal clock.  I'm pretty sure if I stayed home I wouldn't have to compromise and let her use the toilet as her indoor water table so that I could straighten my hair and apply some blush, or at the very least brush my teeth (because that's a good example right? Double Whammy) within the allotted 2 hours we have together in the morning.
And another thing...Mr. is an amazing dad - truly amazing, but if anyone believes that if both parents work, then they are even-steven in the parenting - well, it's just not true.  As a general rule, mom is the project manager of baby land.  I keep track of what C has and has not eaten and has and has not reacted to.  I make appointments and notes on what to ask at the appointments.  I adjust the amount of formula and obviously the breastfeeding schedule.  I notice when we need different stimulation with different toys.  I decide on her swimwear and know if she's taken tylenol or put on sunscreen.  I don't know when my car's next oil change is...but I do know some very detailed information about what the last poopy diaper looked like.  Maybe it's a control thing to make up for not being with her all the time.  Maybe it's nature or maybe it's how I was raised -but I know as far as the moms I know go, this is the norm.
So, there you have it, as challenging as being a SAHM is, in my opinion it is not being a working mom.  Why not just be proud of what you are and not trying to make it into something else? Why isn't not having a job for the sake of being your child's exclusive caretaker acceptable? Why, just because we now supposedly have the "right" to do it all, do we beat ourselves up when we chose a few things to give our all to?
Ok, rant over.

Nothing to do with the post, but these kids are awesome!

On a lighter note, I'm now 33 (and 3 days).  So far it's just as awesome as 32 was and 31.  30's rock so much more than 20's.  I can only assume I'll glow in the dark or have some other awesome super power by my 40's!