I Have a Confession to Make

Pregnancy is all about change you can't control. I suppose it's good preparation, then, for all the changes you are about to encounter as a mother. Intellectually, I knew motherhood would change me, but it wasn't until all those changes started happening that I realized how easy it would be to lose myself to this mom person. And that is a big part of why I started this space...to have a place of my own, somewhere to voice the thoughts, the frustrations, the joys, sort out the confusion.

Recently, I've noticed a few of the subtle changes from the professional working gal to the stay at home mama.

• The steady increase of the number of flats in my closet, their position at the front for easy reach and the fact that on our few and far between date nights I often plan my outfits around which pair of heels I can wear. Sad, but true.
  
• The budget, oh, the budget!
  
• The metaphorical dust on the iron. Hubby's got the market on this household appliance, lately since my t-shirts, shorts and jeans very rarely, if ever, need an iron.
• The complete and utter lack of math skills. Okay, I never really had a strong handle on math, but my working life required enough budgeting skills that at least it kept it fresh. Let's just say there was a coffee brewing mishap this weekend because I couldn't differentiate between ounces and whatever the heck was marked on the side of the coffee pot. Sorry again, hubby, for the caffeine headaches!
  

But the biggest indicator...this news junkie has canceled her daily newspaper subscription. It was all too often going straight from the driveway into the recycle bin. I suppose I should take comfort that in canceling it I'm actually doing something good for the environment. The fact of the matter, however, is that I feel like I'm admitting some sort of defeat. I used to read three papers a day, not to mention track more news websites than I can number, five business journals a week, and a slew of news mags and trade journals. And that was just the print media I kept up with, then there was the TV and radio.

Have I had withdrawal yet? Nope. As I said, I wasn't reading it before anyway and I can seek out the news I want/need. So why does it bother me so much? At least with the paper nearby, there was always the potential that I'd get to it. That I'd be an educated citizen.

It's probably worth pointing out that in the media relations field, I was paid to read, watch, know what was the top story of the day and how to include my client's messages into that narrative. Now, I'm not exactly paid to stay on top of the news. It's much more urgent that I know Brown Bear sees a red bird or that My Friend Rabbit means well or that the elephant is allergic to flowers.

And that's really all the news that's fit to print around here. Which sounds like a happily ever after ending to me.

My Son the Comedian

Sorry for the repeat title, but I can't think of anything better today!

The other night, peanut was offering up words for the "Name Game" song while we were diapering and readying him for bed. It all started out innocent enough:

Peanut: "Mommy!"

HHM & the Hubby: "Mommy, mommy, bo-mommy, banana-fana, fo-fommy, me, mi, mo, mommy. MOMMY!"

Peanut: "Car!"

HHM & the Hubby: "Car, car, bo-bar, banana-fana, fo-far, me, mi, mo, mar. CAR!"

Peanut: "Kitty!"

HHM & the Hubby: "Kitty, kitty, bo-bitty, banana-fana, fo-fitty, me, mi, mo, mitty. KITTY!"

Peanut: "Truck!"

HHM & the Hubby: "Truck, truck, bo-buck, banana-fana, fo-WHOOPS! WHAT?!"

Cue peanut giggling mischievously while the hubby and I practically fall on the floor in hysterics for falling for this one - even if peanut has no clue what the heck he just said.

I won't even get started on how funny it is when he says "Let's go" because it sounds like something else entirely (think "Meet the Fockers") or how hilarious he thinks it is when he poots in the bath tub. As the only female in the house, I'm doomed to a lifetime of fart jokes and dirty word puns, aren't I?

A girl to even the score around here...now THAT would be a reason to try for another!

When I Knew We Were a Family: Summer Edition

The first time I heard his heartbeat while holding the hubby's hand.

The first time we saw him swimming around in there, healthy, taunting the ultrasound technician, showing off his goods.

The first time the hubby could feel him kicking from inside me.

The first time I held onto my little bundle and the hubby held onto me moments after he was thrust into this world.

The first time we walked through the doors of our home as a threesome.

The changing of the outgoing answering machine message to include a third name.

The retiring of a variety of boxed Hallmark holiday cards to be customized for each receiver for the Shutterfly, family photo version.

The "party of three" announcement at a restaurant.

The family membership at the YMCA.

All of these things, in the past 22 months, have solidified that the hubby, peanut and I are a FAMILY. Not just a husband and wife. But a bona fide, playground loitering, crafting, endless photo-shooting, memory making, holiday focusing family.

But it really hit home for me Sunday evening while sitting on the front porch with the peanut and the hubby eating a popsicle in the warm summer sunset. The same popsicle. Passed around between the three of us. Knowing that peanut has a cold.

Nothing says family like sharing licks off the family petri dish.

Friday Night Fever

Peanut was sniffly all day Friday. An icky cold has been circling amongst his toddler posse and a free-for-all toy pass-along during our Wednesday workout meant peanut had his share of exposure to it.

I'm a seasoned enough parent at this point that a little sniffle doesn't have me panicked, but the kicker was we actually had a babysitter set to come for the first time since February for an impromptu date night (I know, I know. We need to get out more. But with no family nearby to sit for free or at the last minute...well, you all know. It sometimes slips your mind that you need to schedule parent time outs). Needless to say, I spent the remainder of the day analyzing his symptoms from moment to moment.

Well, until he went down for his nap, the hubby came home from work early and I headed to the salon for a much needed trim and blow out.

After I returned, ironed the evening's outfit, spot cleaned the house for the sitter and wiped up some more snot, I thought I might have noticed a warm forehead on the peanut. Sniffles I can ignore, but a fever. Not so much.

The hubby kept trying to reassure me he didn't think peanut felt hot at all. Trusting my instincts, I whipped out the thermometer for a quick check. Sure enough, we were around 100. The one time I didn't want to be right. Do we go out leaving a sick child in the care of another? Do we stay home for only a minor ailment? Does leaving mean I don't care about my kid's health and comfort? Does staying make me a paranoid mother?

So, we took a deep breath, dosed the kid with Motrin, passive-aggressively told the sitter if she didn't want to stay we'd understand and left quickly after she said she was fine with it. By the time I was halfway through my mojito and our third tapas dish, the guilt had taken a backseat. By the time we were at the movie and the peanut would have been well in bed back at the house and the cell hadn't wrong, I was feeling pretty good.

And of course peanut was fine. Fine enough that we actually haven't seen a trace of fever since then. It's a good thing, too, since we had tickets to the game on Saturday afternoon!

The moral of the story - sometimes you just have to put yourself and your marriage first regardless of the speed bumps. Sure - leaving a possibly sick child in the care of another is a gamble - but how many of us complained of tummy aches, were sent to school by our parents anyway only to be picked up a few hours later after we puked all over the first grade reading corner?

At least I got a mojito, Harrison Ford and a quiet night with the hubby out of the deal. Just what the doctor ordered.

Coming out of my Shell

With last year's bathing suit experience still burning a hole in my memory, I headed out this weekend to try on a few suits. The hubby's (not-so) baby sister is getting married at the beach this summer and a few days of beach bumming and a summer of mornings with peanut at the pool means mama needs a new suit.

Luckily, last year's post-preggers, still-nursing suit is too big. Once I stopped nursing in August, I was able to drop the last of the baby weight, which means most of last summer's wardrobe is a no go. I shouldn't complain, I know, but the thought of going through the whole body in a bathing suit, fluorescent lighting, icky mirrors humiliation just wasn't inspiring a lot of excitement as I left the house Saturday afternoon.

Because I wasn't very hopeful, I decided to try on some suits at Target while I was there picking up a sand & water play table for peanut. I figured this would give me a total excuse if they all ended up looking horrible. I took a deep breath, navigated my cart into the aisle, ignored the teens giggling over the itty-bitty-teeny-weeny-pink-and-white-polka-dot-bikinis, and started grabbing just about every style suit they have in just about every size not sure what would look good or what would fit.

First of all, curse the Target six-items only rule for the fitting rooms. It took me about three trips in and out to try on everything I'd picked up. Second, the new Target near my house has seriously good mirrors where you can see front and back without that weird three way mirror widening effect.

There were still some horrible suits out there with too little support, too little fabric or too short torsos that (and I didn't even think this was possible) pulled the boobs even farther south than Key West. But, as I stood in the dressing room bravely trying on two-pieces, I started gaining a bit of confidence. Considering this body has born a child, it was looking pretty good. Sure, it wasn't looking like it did at 18, but for 32, pretty decent.

Since I've stopped working, I have had a crisis of confidence. The third party validation, the public speaking, the satisfaction of putting ideas in front of people and seeing them work all boosted my confidence while on the job. As mom, it's a bit tougher. I know I'm doing the best that I can do, but a screeching toddler isn't always the best job review. So I made a conscious decision while standing in a dressing room - to feel good about me. To feel good about who I am. And so I put the judgements aside and bought two suits. And neither of them is a one piece.

Even as I write this, the thought of wearing them makes me smile. Sure, the belly skin still puckers when I sit, my booty will always be big and I will continue to make sure the ladies get pulled into the right position, but when I play with peanut on the beach, I won't feel like a fuddy-duddy-mummy. I'll feel like a hot mama. Even if I'm not one, it's all about the mind-set, right?

I'm taking a risk in order to take a little ownership of the non-mommy me that is so often given the cold shoulder. Of course trying them on for a dressing room mirror and the hubby is different from wearing them out in front of other people, but it's a risk I'm willing to take.

And I have the safety net of wearing my best accessories - the hubby and peanut. Their laughter and fun are the best confidence boosters I can imagine.

See you in the water.

Philosophy of the Terrible Twos

We are so there. That crazy land between 18 months and three and a half where being contrary is an art form. All hail the terrible twos.

*sigh*

I have noticed, however, that I can sum up these tantrum moments in one parent/child impasse regarding the "no" word:

Peanut is always allowed to use this word in any and all situations.

Mommy and daddy, however, are not.

I'm sure this is no revelation to parents out there. I think the real shocker to me has been the sheer number of times I can say and hear that word in a mere 24 hours. It's reverberating off the walls and echoing in my mouth.

Any advice from those experienced parents out there on how to get a 21 month old to listen/obey/respond/stop forward motion/cease and desist/pause/or otherwise acknowledge that I actually am speaking to the child? I'm starting to feel like a broken record.

And I'm sure it was a record that peanut broke after I asked him to put it down, took it away from him, warned him not to do it again, spent 20 minutes attempting to put him in time out and then he managed to get his hands on and throw at the cat and break anyway.

Hooked on Laundry Worked for Me

My mother-in-law often tells the story of how the hubby could read when he was two. Apparently, while reading the paper, the hubby read the word "Sears" off an advertisement. Like most moms who brag about their brood, she gets teased about this story a bit.

I have no doubt that the hubby was probably an early reader and that he was super curious, super smart little boy (after all, that's the man he became). And I definitely don't doubt that he recognized the word. My theory, though, is that Sears would be a really tough word to truly read. I mean the "ea" - if you're sounding that out - would a two year old be able to figure that out? I don't know, but I believe that my mother-in-law believes that he read it, so who am I to argue?

Especially after yesterday.

After a morning out (Happy Birthday again D!), we stopped by the grocery store to pick up milk and a few other essentials we wouldn't be able to survive the afternoon without. It was raining and the idea of strapping peanut into and pushing a huge cart around for just a few items wasn't worth it to me, so I let him walk the aisles with me. He was actually very well behaved and only stopped to look at a few things and everything stayed on the shelves.

We were taking a short cut through the detergent aisle when peanut stopped at the end cap display, pointed at a bottle and said what sounded like "Tide." I peaked around and sure enough, it was a bottle of Tide. WHAT?! We buy Tide, but I always just call it soap around the peanut when we're doing laundry.

I took his hand and we found the shelves of Tide products. I pointed again, "Peanut, what does this say?"

"Tide."

WHAT?! So I did what any good parent does...I called the hubby on the way home and said "Holy cow, the kid can read."

Okay, so I don't really think he can read. I imagine he saw something on the bottle and whatever he was trying to say just came out sounding similar (after all, his word for outside sounds a lot like tide). A pure coincidence probably. Peanut knows his letters (well, all of them except for L, K and G), but putting them together? I'm not convinced.

To really kill my thrill, when the hubby came home, we took out our own bottle of Tide, showed it to peanut and asked him what it said. His response: "Soap."

Oh well. Either this is an example of severe over-excited-mama-bragging-itis or an indication that I spend entirely too much time doing laundry.