Jump Jump Jump

If I could tell my son just one thing, it would be this lesson. It took me a little over thirty years to learn the lessons of self respect and self love. Approval is not necessary to thrive. 

In the evenings my son and I have a dance we do. We jump jump jump, we shake shake shake, and we wiggle wiggle wiggle. I started this dance as a fun game for him and I to play together. He never really jumps. He crouches down and raises up. And he is so proud of himself. I exude excitement over his jumping skills, and I really am proud of him. I do not care if his feet never leave the ground. When company comes over or when we meet new people, one of the first things my son does is show off his superior jumping ability. He seeks approval and attention. In the first year and a half of his life he has already learned love equals the approval and attention of others. That is not true. 

Let's not even begin to fake because we are adults and we are better than a toddler. We are no better. We go on Fakebook and parade a life which doesn't resemble reality. We do it for a click of a button so people may 'Like' us. We desire a retweet. And I have to ask, if we do this behind a computer screen then what are we doing in our real life so people may 'like' us? 

We may chase a boy who never wants us. We may sacrifice our pride, our self dignity, and our own morals in order to gain love, so we are finally accepted. The seeking of love, the chasing of approval, and the proud accomplishment we feel because we've gained a hundred 'likes' will only end in people who consistently sell themselves short. Opinions and acceptance doesn't make your talents. Your talents are your own God given right. They are yours. We are all self made.

Hear me baby. Hear me loud and clear. Mommy and Daddy love you no matter how high you jump. We love you when you fall. We love you when you are angry. We love you when you smile so big that every heart in the room melts. You do not need our approval to be great. You are already great. Be you.  

Jump because you want to touch the sky.

Baby Gold

Almost everyday I am amazed at the objects which bring my son the most joy. These are the things I don't ever notice in my day to day life but he notices them. He will say "babababa" at a rapid pace and an excitement will buzz over him. These are the things that make my son happy. And since they make my baby happy, these things have become pretty big deals in our little world. 

1. Flags (it doesn't matter what kind of flag.) He LOVES FLAGS! He can spot them a mile away and the funny thing is I never noticed how many flags hang in our local grocery stores or are flying all over my small little town. I notice them now. The best part is when we decorated his nursery, I hung prayer flags above his crib and on his door. He was never so happy as when he realized he had his own flags. 

2. Stop Signs, actually any road sign. My child has what our family likes to call the "Hawk Eye" to spot every sign which has been stuck and cemented in the ground. When he goes for a walk he will let you know that he wants to touch every sign along the way. You never realize how many random signs your town has until you are beckoned by a 15 month old to touch every single one of them. And big points are scored to our neighbors for their handicap sign. This makes it convenient every time my son goes into the front yard to play. The handicap sign causes him to run towards the street which makes me a freakin' nervous wreck.

3. Goodnight Moon and this one page from the book "Tails." Seriously, he has major giggle fits over this one page. He loved it so much he ripped it out of the book so he could  conveniently carry it around with him. Because you don't need an entire book when you 

love the SHINY peacock tail.

And in true mom fashion, I had a shit fit over him ripping a page out of a book because we don't destroy books. We love books. We treasure books. Books are knowledge. 

4. Balloons. ALL BALLOONS. BALLOONS ARE BABY GOLD! Babies and toddlers go bat shit crazy over balloons. And guess what? In "Goodnight Moon" there is a red balloon. It is not even a real balloon and my son goes nuts because we are talking about balloons.

It was advised to not let the baby swallow any pieces of balloons because it will apparently mess up their digestive tract and they can't pass it. So don't let your child swallow balloon pieces. Still remember, Balloons=Baby Gold. 

5. Water, not in the drinking form but in the 'I am gonna toss this cat bowl full of water into the floor and flop in it like a fish form.' This can also mean a bucket of water. Because the bucket can be dumped as well. Pretty much any kind of water which can be thrown into the floor, this is usually proceeded by laying on the floor and thrashing around. It is easily mopped and our floors look like the peacock's tail, SHINY. On the downside to this, my son knows no fear of water and will run at a lake or a creek without a second thought. And then once again, I am a freakin' nervous wreck. 

Adults seem to lose joy. Balloons, water, flags, and other simplicities do not make us happy. We don't even notice them, much rather get excited about them. We grow up and become excited over money, over stupid material possessions. Not all that glitters is really gold. I do have one small thing which makes me feel young. It creates my own personal heaven covered in buttercream dreams. Every time I get this thing, I am so happy. I am even happier to share this joy with my child. My little joy is CAKE. I freakin' love CAKE!

Cake made by Sweet Confections Bakery

The Wife who Became a Mommy

She was never uptight. She was always fun. She could drink and laugh a night away. Then she became a Mother. Now, she is stressed. She can't remember how to have fun. And she can't relax by drinking because she doesn't want to be hungover when he wakes up. She still laughs though. She laughs even more now but with the laughs also come a harping nag which is neverending. In the beginning of our marriage, she vowed she couldn't stand Kate Gosselin from "John & Kate Plus 8" because Kate always nagged John. I do give Kate credit, she was watching over 8 little humans who each had 8 little poops and 8 different little personalities. Nagging was a way to protect 8 little children while trying to keep them safe and alive for that particular day. Still, my wife has only one little human who she is trying to keep alive and safe. And I know she is doing the best job she can, here is a sweet picture of our son playing outside.

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Haha, just kidding. Our son only wears bubble wrap and his special helmet outside because she doesn't want him falling down. She thinks the big bubble is too dangerous and he would smother in there. The other day she let the child play in the bathtub and then she had a panic attack because the child stood up in the tub. Since then she started bathing our son in this thing. I really don't know where she found this contraption. She probably built it while I was asleep the other night. She's crafty like that. But our kid is super safe in whatever this thing is and he can't stand up. And she doesn't have panic attacks during bath time anymore.
 

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I really miss my old wife. She was a lot of fun. This wife is fun in her own way. She sings songs like "Row Row Row your Boat" and "London Bridge is Falling Down." She won't sing "Rock-a-bye Baby" because she thinks she will scare our child and he will not become a secure adult. She stopped singing "Pat-a-Cake" because it encouraged hitting. Here is a pic from an old Friday night where I'm with my wife and friends dancing. And I really miss it.  

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 I love my wife. I really do. She is trying to raise a child. It can't be all fun and games anymore. Yea, she gripes at me a little more (okay, a lot more) than she used to. She wants our baby to be safe and healthy. And no, she doesn't sing her old "Queen Bey" songs anymore but that's okay. The new songs are fine and the boy seems to like them. He always smiles. I might hide the bubble wrap and that tub contraption though. The tub creeps me out.  My wife became a Mommy and even though it wasn't the person I married, she is the person who gave me a beautiful son. I love her for that reason. And I will always love her mad dancing skills. Most of all, I love that each new day is pretty neat and it's always a great adventure. Through the nagging, she is still able to make everyday pretty awesome.

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A Sunday Walk

I don't have any pictures to go with this post. I am not going to overload this post with funny jpegs or gifs. This post is only a story in words. 

Yesterday I walked my son around the local park. We like to go on Sunday to walk because the LARPers are there. For those who don't know what LARPing is, it is Live Action Role Players. They always have cookouts and are dressed in medieval attire. Plus, they fight with pool noodles. To a little boy, I figure this scene is all very magical. I'm a grown lady and I find it enthralling. I always try not to rubberneck too hard as I pass them. It makes my heart so happy to see them gathering every week and having a sense of community. 

After we passed the LARPers, I decide to take the little boy to see the fountain in the park. It was flying high with water. I deemed it also as a magical experience. I take my phone with me on walks, not for pictures but for safety. I noticed sitting on the edge of the fountain how many parents were not watching their children. They were watching their phones. I do not doubt the importance of their phone watching. Maybe they were working on this Sunday. Maybe they are waiting to meet someone at the park who is also bringing their kids so everyone can play together. Still I only wanted my attention to be on one little boy. 

He was mesmerized as the plumes of water flew high into the air. He giggled because the lightest spray would wet his face. He was happy. He didn't need a camera to capture this moment, and neither did I. 

As we walked home, I begged my God (my Creator) to please don't ever let me forget this moment. Because I didn't take a picture and I was scared I would forget the happiness. Even a picture wouldn't have captured the moment though. I replayed it over and over in my mind. How I could see his seven little teeth up front as he smiled. How he kept calling the fountain a 'baf' (his word for bath.) How he stretched his arms as far as they would go in hopes of reaching the arching liquid beams. 

Technology is a beautiful tool. It has connected so many people in ways which never existed 20 to 30 years ago. However, gathering at the park with all your friends is still beautiful too. Watching a fountain doesn't need a picture because it became an instant Polaroid memory. Staring at a screen can't compare to staring at a happy little boy's smile.

The Lady in your Salsa Aisle

Rules were made to be broken, until now. One rule I have truly remained adamant about, besides no hitting and biting, is we should always dance. Dance away your negativity. Sing positive vibrations. And Marky Mark (I don't care that you prefer not to be called Marky Mark and I truly doubt you are reading this anyways, but hi-fives if you do. I love your new burger show!) can you feel it? The good vibrations? 

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The good vibrations will clear away all the negative. From the beginning of my pregnancy till present day, I have played music for my child. I have sang (and I can't sing, but I do it anyways.) I have tried to encourage music in order to bring harmony into this chaotic existence.
 
When the baby was in the belly, I would put headphones on my stomach and play classical music. He loved Mozart. He would kick away and I always knew it was a Mozart song playing on my IPod. When he was born I kept the tradition of playing classical music. I also started new traditions of playing the music we love. I encourage dancing. For some reason, when my child dances he looks like Miley Cyrus twerking. I'm not going to post her picture because we've all seen it. Yea, my child falls down and twerks but he doesn't know he is twerking and I don't tell him. I just say "YAY! We are DANCING!!" and act real excited while waiving my arms in the air. It's kinda similar to this:

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 Okay, I look exactly like this but not as skinny and not as blonde. Dancing is a big deal. You can have the worst days but come home and sing at the top of your lungs while giving your booty a good shake, and guess what? The day is completely better. I realized another great positive outcome in singing. By singing and distracting I have avoided a common scenario because all children are alike in some ways. They all have their tantrums of "I WANT."

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Right before my child enters full meltdown mode, you will hear a soft voice coming at him singing "All the tired horses in the sun, How'm I supposed to get any ridin' done? Mmm, Mmm Mmm." It was the only song I could remember all the lyrics to, so it's what I got. You are reading this right, I sing Bob Dylan's worst song in public all the time. But if you have ever watched "Peg + Cat" consider this my child's calm down before he "totally starts freaking out." 

Yes, I am the lady in your store singing to her child. I am also the crazy lady who has to sing this tune when she enters the salsa aisle at any supermarket:

Have fun trying to get this little ditty out of your head. It's been years and I still can't. 

Shit is Gonna Fly

No one told me when I became a parent it would be easy. I heard how much I would love him. And it was true. I heard how there is nothing like it. Once again, true. What I didn't know was shit would fly across room and I wouldn't care. I wouldn't gag. I wouldn't flinch. I would come together in a stronger form of myself and clean the shit off the wall, off my son, and eventually off myself. I would wait till last to clean another human being's poo off my shirt and hands. This is a true story.

He was little and I went to change a diaper and he wasn't done. It flew and landed on my coveted red dining room wall. It missed the treasured art piece we had received as a wedding present.

To Mr. Poe, you have no idea how lucky you were on this fateful day. This portrait was done by a childhood and dear lifelong friend of my husband's. We love it. We cherish it. My son happened to be aiming in Poe's direction and missed.

I learned an important lesson this day. Shit will fly. Wipe it away and laugh because these are the moments you will remember. Last night we set up the big boy tub. We infiltrated our last room with toys and a fish bath mat along with a little lion robe. It wasn't his first time in a big grown up tub but it was a first time for us. And he yells when you pull him from the water, he roars. He will even dive back in face first trying to recapture his magical moment. A Pisces mother knows water. She knows her son. She will grab him the moment before his head hits the hard basin. He may scream because he didn't get his way, but at least he didn't cry due to hitting his head and swallowing too much water. He can be angry at me, I will take anger over him getting hurt every day of the week.

No one told me it would be easy. No one told me there are nights where I am emotionally exhausted. No one told me shit could reach such lengths. But it does. And when it does, I know two things. I am capable of wiping it off. I am capable of being the arms who will always catch and clean a little boy.

To all mothers who do this without knowing, you are great women. To all  the women who manage this time and time again with multiple babies, I applaud you. There are things I still do not know. How do you watch one toddler while bathing a baby? How do these women handle several little lives while they are only one person? I will never know these answers. It doesn't make my respect for these ladies, and the daddies who help hold them up, any less.

A friend posted a comment on Facebook the other day. She reminded me of a great song which had been forgotten. Because in a day where every person can voice an opinion through this great Pandora's Box known as the Internet, it seems like "Everybody's talking but no one says a word."

This song is dedicated for all the things I didn't know, may never know, and still don't know.

 

Smack in the Face Day

I had a bad day yesterday. Like one of those days where you get smacked in the face and I mean literally. Woke up to a realization. Some people may claim to be friends but really they are not my friends. Felt hurt over realization. My true best friend saw my placenta. She is a real friend, text her to say I love you and tell her I am grateful she is in my life. Go to work. Computer at work was not feeling the idea of work.  My solutions to most computer problems are:

 So I pull the plug and start all over again after punching computer in the face (not really, I can't do that, I don't own this computer.) Go about my day. Finish work. Start process of giving son bath. Get son out of bath, fight to put diaper on, and then I pick him up. He proceeds to smack me in the face because he couldn't reach his blanket in the next room. He was angry and didn't have words to express himself. His best way to express upset emotion is to smack Mommy in the face. I use my best judgement and decided to rely on a Super Nanny method. Sat him down immediately. Get eye level. Make eye contact and say "We don't hit. Hitting hurts. We hug. We don't hit." I use my best firm voice.  Next, I get this face from him:

This is toddler speak for:

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 Take it in stride. He has to learn not to hit. Note to self, we will have to work on not hitting. Another note to self, he also must learn to not bite. Worried about him biting and hitting other kids. Can't worry, must read "Goodnight Moon."

Finish "Goodnight Moon," sing bedtime songs. Tell him even though Mommy is upset because he hit her, she still loves him. Kiss goodnight. Go downstairs, check home computer. EBay buyer does not want to pay. Tell her it's okay but an unpaid item case has been opened. Don't bid on things you don't want. She calls me several bad words which include "douchebag," she follows with a derogatory slang word used towards gay people accompanied by "little b!%tch." Chalk that experience up to the fact she was not raised with good manners. 

Next, call Mom. Mommy makes everything better. Sometimes, a grown up 33 year old still needs her Mommy. Go to bed. Wake up to a new and better day. 

Paradise Lost in Longing

Parenthood brings the mixture consisting of both good and bad. Over the last year I have allowed certain times where I wallow in the life I once had. The carefree nature consisting of a wild Friday night, a Saturday spent recovering, and a Sunday filled with fantasy vacations. I could spend an entire day planning a trip to Paris knowing I would never actually go there. Parenthood has created a longing. 

1. Longing for days where these were the only bottles I worried about keeping stocked in my house:

 

2. Longing for a time where I didn't actually have things to do. Laziness. A longing choice to choose laziness. Laying around for entire weekends without showering, without putting on fresh clothes, without having to cater to needs. 

3. Longing for choosing loud uninhibited sex where ever we were; in the house, or in the car, or pretty much where ever we wanted.  I miss the naked ambition. The option to be naked, walk around naked, or lay naked where ever I wanted. 

4. Longing to have a social life outside the house. Weekends were once filled with anticipation which always held the promise of fun. Staying up till 3 or 4 a.m. Meeting up with friends, having cocktails, talking about relationships. Pretty much the lives of my Sex in the City girls before Charlotte and Miranda had babies. I didn't have the fancy shoes, but still I had the opportunity to go out and be with the girls.

5. Sleep. I used to not sleep. I now constantly crave sleep. I can't get enough sleep. I long for the days where if I wanted a nap, it was a possibility. It wasn't disturbed by the sound of a cry or the need to cook a meal. 

6. Longing to not have to cook three squares in a day. To not be the mess hall where every bit of food is scrutinized as to what am I putting in his body. Will he get Cancer from ingesting too much fake sugar substitute? Is the fresh produce we bought on Saturday moldy by Wednesday? Why does he only want chicken? Is the chicken I made full of hormones? 

7. The longing where my main worry was only about money. Now, being an anxious over analyzer all I do is worry. I worry about him facing cyber bulling and real bullying when he goes to school (he is only 15 months old.) I worry about how much cat food is ingested before it creates an intestinal problem (he loves cat food, I can fix a feast and he will still try to grab for the cat food after eating.) The first eight months, I worried he would suffocate. I constantly checked to make sure his chest was moving up and down. I finally let that one go. Still the old worries are always replaced by new worries. Always worrying for and about him. 

8. Longing for entertainment. I don't watch any television now, with the exception of "Super Why" (his favorite.) I will finally have finished my first grown up book since he was born this week.

Reading is my favorite escape. I miss the Sunday where Netflix was never turned off and my recommendations weren't cartoons. Instead, they were grown up dramas and documentaries. 

After I am done longing, I look around. I look at him and none of this shit matters. Not one single ounce of it has any substantial bearing. I was a selfish drunk once upon a time. My life had no meaning, no real purpose. It was never a paradise. The paradise was gained when I met him. When I come home and a little boy is so happy to see his mom. When he smiles because she always gives him a cookie and grapes. When he laughs because she makes the funny voices and reads "Goodnight Moon" every night. 

The longing is always subdued because innocence exists again. Childhood is a do over and since he came into my life, I discover a paradise every day. It is spent in every minute as I watch him grow, smile, laugh, and turn into his own person.

The Mythical Hairless Creature

This post does not reside in the past. It is part of the every day. It has been the part of a woman's life since she was too young to recall. And it has become the norm. As I went to get ready for a Saturday spent with my little family, the husband remarked to the son "we gotta let Mommy get ready. She takes FOREVER."

If I didn't take FOREVER, I would resemble: 

Courtesy of Liberzone

 I do so love to bust  a move. But maybe this is an exaggeration. Maybe Teen Wolf (not the new one, but the Michael J. Fox one) is a more precise representation.

Courtesy dvdizzy.com

 Either way, I am not a mythical hairless creature. Tweezers, wax, shaving, Nair, and a million other products play into the fact that yes, it does take forever. This does not include the time it takes so I can be oh, so pretty. 

Courtesy of Flavorwire.com

 See, I don't look entirely like Chewbacca. It all takes time. I worry my son will develop into a man and will ask the all important man question. 

Courtesy of cdbabypodcast.com

Hell no, I am not ready yet. We are going out into the world, my child. And it takes time. I like to have my face on. I like to not resemble either Chewbacca or Teen Wolf. I like when my husband says "your legs feel nice." I like to feel pretty and somewhat presentable. So yes, I do take forever. I am not the mythical hairless creature. I do not wake up beautiful and confident while ready to take on the world. I wake up with a frizzy mane, and it needs tamed. I wake up with no makeup (shock and awe) but I wake happy to transform into woman. Bear with your momma, son. It's  going to be awhile.

What I DON'T tell my Son About his Birth

Painting a pretty picture in words is easy when you leave out the gory details. I tell my son the pretty parts of his birth. What I don't tell him is momma looked more like this:

Photo Credit to hotnewton

This is before the spinal, of course. And her hair looks much better than mine did. I vowed to myself that I would not become one of these women:

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I wouldn't kick my son out of his home by growling and screaming in a demonic voice to "Get it out of me." I couldn't be that lady. But I was another kind of lady. The cussing and swearing kind. 

Every time a contraction hit I would start out with either two phrases. One being "Oh GOD, OH GOD, HERE IT COMES AGAIN!" or "HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!" I would then follow with a Tarantino profanity laced dialogue causing all around me to blush, especially my mother. During the spinal I did apologize to the nurse, who was two inches from my face, for being such a "weenie." Then came relief which left me feeling:

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 The big story I leave out from my son's birth is what I did to my OB. I had two and the one who made the decision to induce my labor came to check on me during the labor. His first fatal mistake was bringing in a group of doctors in training into the room. No one wants a group of strangers staring at them while they are in labor. It is rude. This is what I saw from my point of view:

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And I'm in hard labor. Back labor, front labor, and whatever other kind of labor there is. A train was coming through my lady parts. It hurt. Then the doctor made another fatal mistake. He asked how I was doing? I was crying and I said it hurt. I told him it felt like I was peeing on myself, I whimpered through my tears. He laughed. Do not laugh at a woman in labor because she will give you one of these:

This is exactly what I did to my doctor. I apologized the next day and he apologized for laughing at me. So we made our mistakes, admitted them, and made our amends. Still, I don't tell my son about this. 

Birth wasn't a magically happy ordeal for me. Seriously, a train is barreling through your lady parts. And I only had a four and half pound train. So, I send my sincerest congratulations to the ladies who deliver and suffer with 8, 9, or 10 pounds and plus trains going full speed through your va-jay-jay. You're braver and stronger than I.