Poetry and Pottery Barn

I'm sitting in the parking lot waiting for Pottery Barn Kids to open so I can pick up Wilson's bedding. I've dropped C off in carpool, driven through Starbucks, and felt I should break up my stereotypical SAHM morning with a little poetry on my phone. 

I have never read this writer, but I found this and loved it. 

"I was satisfied with haiku until I met you,
jar of octopus, cuckoo’s cry, 5-7-5,
but now I want a Russian novel,
a 50-page description of you sleeping,
another 75 of what you think staring out
a window.

 "

"Changing Genres" by Dean Young

While I'm pretty sure it's in reference to a lover, I couldn't help but equate it to motherhood, perhaps because we tend to mold things to our own surroundings. 

As I dropped off Catherine this morning, and watched her until she disappeared through the school doors, I drove away with this overwhelming sense of pride and fear and excitement all wrapped into one. I am watching her turn into a little girl before my eyes and it is beautifully terrifying. 

I read articles on how to nurture her into a strong woman. I mix in dump trucks and dinosaurs with babies and bottles to ensure she isn't sucked into a pink stereotype before the age of three. I teach her both the proper way to kick a soccer ball and to bake cookies. When we role play, I tell her she can be anything she wants to be. Sometimes she is a princess, sometimes a cowboy. 

I want her to be comfortable in her own skin, to know she is smart, to know she is kind, to know she is remarkable, but to know enough to be humble about it all. 

I want her to know I am amazed with her every second of every day. I want to write a Russian novel about the curls of her hair, the pursing of her lips, the inflection in her tiny voice as she tells me she loves me, arms outstretched, and says, "give me hug."

I want to spend my days soaking up every bit of her brilliance and my nights recording it all to memory, locking it away so that I may never forget this beautiful, terrifying, mystifying stage of childhood.

But alas, I can't possibly remember it all. I will simply soak in all that I can and hope the Russian novel in my head will stay intact, memories dog-eared for quick reference, for days when I am too tired or overwhelmed to recall the beauty of it all.

When You're Weary

I have been in a funk lately. Maybe it's because I've seen Husband a total of 24 hours at best over the past three weeks. Maybe it's because I'm exhausted from being six months pregnant and taking care of my very active two and half year old while Husband has to travel for work. Maybe it's because the "nursery" is still the guest room/laundry room and I have no clue when I will have the time or energy to get it all done. Maybe it's because I bought string cheese last week that expires AFTER my due date. Maybe it's because C is convinced there are dinosaurs in her room and incidentally refuses to sleep with the lights off, waking up multiple times throughout the night to tell me about it. Maybe it's because there is never enough time or enough money or enough patience. 

Maybe I'm just being dramatic. Maybe I'm just letting all the little things pile up and drag me down. Regardless, I'm tired, I'm anxious, and I'm losing my cool. 

So, tonight, I'm sitting down for a few minutes to write about it, even thought I still have to pack C's lunch for tomorrow and pack Husband for this week's travels. Because, after watching a poetry reading online today, I was reminded of what makes me happy - writing. I haven't let myself write lately because something else always seems more pressing than my sanity. I have errands to run and laundry to do and a very cute little girl begging me to stop cleaning the kitchen and come dance in the living room (which I do). I forget to count myself as a person instead of something else on my to-do list. I forget to give myself a break, even if it is disguised as a decaf latte and current pop music while C naps in the car.

I forget that I matter too. I think that's pretty easy to do as a mother. It's not intentional. I realize I'm a person outside of my role as mother and wife, but there isn't always time for me. I can't leave whenever I feel like it and grab a drink with friends. I can't just go for a morning run to clear my head. I can't be spontaneous. There are calendars to coordinate and babysitters to hire and prepping for said babysitters to be done, all while feeling guilty for leaving in the first place.

But this weekend saved me from myself. 

I spent two hours Friday night at dinner with friends. Two whole hours. We laughed and caught up and shared ridiculous college stories and I began to feel whole again.

Saturday, while Husband was in Tuscaloosa for the Bama game, I called a friend and asked if she wanted a latte, I drove to her house, and then, as C woke up from her car nap, we scheduled an impromptu park date. It was exactly what we needed. C got to play with her friends and I got to talk to mine. The stay at home mom world can be a lonely place. Yes, I get to spend my days playing, but sometimes I just need to vent to someone else who understands the stress involved. Sometimes, I need to use big words and laugh at myself and relish in the knowledge that I'm not in this alone. 

Sunday, I helped host a baby shower for my sweet friend and was able to spend time with some of my favorite women, including C and my mom (who let C sleep on her for two hours during the shower). 

Ladies, because of you, I found a little piece of myself this weekend. I found the renewed strength I so desperately needed. I am still tired and anxious and so unprepared to welcome a new life into this home; but I'm also happy and I'm no longer losing it when C colors on the kitchen floor or feeds her dinner to Banks. 

And because I have pregnancy brain and can no longer remember anything, I thought I needed a little reminder, at least for the next three months:

I put it on the fridge. No way I'm missing it there.

The Top of Your Head

It is past my bedtime. I am staring at a pile of dishes in the sink, at the leftovers from dinner on the stove, at the toys strewn across the living room rug, and ignoring them all completely as I stare at the top of your head. You are sleeping, or you were sleeping. And as I heard stirring over the monitor, I glanced at the camera to see you sit up in your bed, adjust your animals and your blanket, and settle back in, snuggling your blanket against your cheek, curling to your side the way I do. 

You will be soundly asleep again soon, and I am left with the image of those curls, the curls that are the perfect blend of your daddy's and mine, perfectly formed on the top of your head. 

I spend most of my day seeing you from this angle. It is the first thing I see when I wake each morning to the sound of running, and look down from my side of the bed to see you as you say, "good morning, Mommy." I pat your curls before helping you climb into our bed, as Daddy hits the snooze button one last time for morning snuggles before the day begins. 

I watch the top of your head intently as you walk downstairs, slowly, one step at a time, one hand on the rail, the other tightly grasping your blanket. I trail right behind you, but don't touch. "I do it myself" was heard loud and clear, but I'm always right behind you.

I pat your head while I make breakfast. You perform an intricate dance of weaving in between my legs as you say, "Mommy, I help you." I help you into your seat at the table and stand beside you, pouring milk over cereal, or syrup onto pancakes, or juice into your cup. 

I sip water and watch you eat. I can never eat this early, but breakfast has become my favorite part of the day. We talk about our plans for the day. I look at the mess of curls on top of your head and think of how much you are starting to look like me.

I sit beside you as we play. We stack blocks, we play with your princess castle, we feed your babies endless bottles of milk of juice. We play with your train table until it collapses. All the while, I see the those curls on the top of your head.

We get ready for whatever adventures the day may hold. Per your request, I brush your hair into a ponytail or pigtails or simply a bow. I spray leave-in conditioner until your hair is wet, manageable, and once again, am reminded of my childhood, sitting still while my parents attempted to detangle the mop of curls on my head. You sit still in my lap, usually waiting patiently for me to finish. When I am done, I pat the top of your head, the signal that jumping and dancing and running are allowed again.

We continue with our day, whether errands or the park or the zoo, and I continue to see the top of your head. I can pick out your head as you scale to the top of the slide or slip into a group of other kids. I know your head. I know your curls. I know you.

I snuggle you in my lap for a movie before bed and my chin rests perfectly on top of your head. We sit that way for a while, quiet, content, and I forget that you won't fit there forever.

It occurs to me that you are growing and I am suddenly very aware of your height, of the distance between the top of your head and the bottom of my chin. As my belly grows and you sit beside me for bedtime stories instead of in my lap, my chin still finds the top of your head. As you insist on reading "all by yourself," I still pull you in closer to me, rest my chin on those curls and listen intently as you recite books from memory.

You are growing. Our family is growing. I know you will do more by yourself and need me less and less. But, I hope that somehow, no matter how big you get, that you will still find comfort as you snuggle into my chest until I can rest my chin on the top of your head - a simple reminder that I'm right behind you and everything will be okay.

The Boss of Me

C is a bit on the bossy side. Let's call her "opinionated" or "persistent" or even "driven"-it sounds nicer. She spends her days telling me what to do. 

Sit down, Mommy.

Stop it.

Mommy, try this.

Tonight, we were playing in the backyard. We have a steep hill on one side which Banks climbs so he can pace back and forth and bark at the neighbor's dog. C, of course, wants to go with him. I usually help her, holding her hands, trying to keep her (and myself) from tumbling back down. But tonight, she took her hand from mine, pushed me away, and said, "Mommy, go swing."

Seriously?

Excuse the dark iPhone pic. It was 8:00.

Then she climbed the scary hill all by herself. But, just as I was sitting on the swing, licking my wounds of rejection, she reached out her little hand and said, "Mommy, I help you" and I held her hand on the way back down.

Watching her gain independence is both exciting and heart breaking. I want her to have the courage to try things on her own; but, a part of me still wants her to run to me for help. Can't I be her best friend forever? No. No, I cannot. But, for a little while at least, I still hold the BFF title in her little world. 

I will simply cherish the moments when she grabs my hand, points to the sky and says, Yook (look), Mommy. The Moon!

I will love the moments when she climbs in my lap and says, Mommy, snuggle; but I will watch with pride as she loosens her grip on my finger and climbs mountains all by herself. That's my girl.

Soaking It Up

We are coming off of a birthday month high, filled with sweet friends and family, new toys and clothes, and fun outings all in the name of turning TWO. 

Cousins watching Tangled

Wesley outnumbered by the girls

Playing her new piano

Loving her new "princess castle" (aka house)

Two is such a special age. Every day is completely different. She says new words and phrases each day, surprises us with her comprehension (and repetition), and does more and more independently, like climbing the ladder to her slide all by herself. We still have to keep a close eye on her all the time as she lacks fear. She will climb on anything, jump off of everything, and stand on top of a pile of toys she has carefully stacked into a personal platform.

The other day, I was on the phone with the pediatrician trying to schedule her two year old check up. As I verified our insurance and turned around to C echoing "Blue Cross," I found her in the middle of our table, eating a banana she had just gotten from the bowl and peeled.

She keeps me on my toes.

I'm still finding it difficult to believe C is actually two, but then she kindly reminds me with one of her epic tantrums. She is certainly stubborn (a trait she gets from both Mommy and Daddy) with a flare for the dramatic (a trait for which I will have to claim responsibility); and not getting her way often results in a show.

This past week in Kindermusik, everyone was sitting quietly in a circle for story time. C was spinning around in the middle of the circle saying, "weeee. It's fun." In her defense, the activity immediately preceding story time was dancing and playing sand blocks to music. Still, I grabbed her and tried to make her sit still in my lap.

She was not a fan.

When she started to do that toothpick/noodle trick that makes toddlers impossible to hold, I picked her up and took her in the hall to have a chat. We talked about the importance of listening and following directions. When she continued to pitch a fit, I sat her in a chair at the end of the hall, told her she was in "time out" and walked around the corner. 

She said, "bye!"

We went back in the room, got our things, and left.

I refuse to be the mom that lets her child disrupt an experience for others, whether it is a music class or a meal. I was so embarrassed, but I know it's just a part of being two. Plus, it's hard to be mad at her when she looks at me with arms outstretched and says, "Mommy hug."

Tantrums aside, two is pretty fun. Everything is a lesson. Everywhere is a classroom. C is a sponge, soaking up everything we say and do. Watching her learn really is gratifying. Knowing her personality is a direct result of your genetics and your actions rolled into one not only makes you feel pretty great about yourself (when she copies the good traits, of course), but also holds you accountable to the little things you do or say without realizing it. She is a tiny mirror, reflecting the good and the bad, and reminding me to touch up the imperfections on a daily basis.

Spring is finally trying to make its grand entrance and we are loving the weather! Our days are spent mostly outside, either in our back yard or at a park. She asks, "outside?" as soon as we come downstairs in the morning. 

I'm just so thankful for my little sunshine. I had the worst day a couple weeks ago trying to renew my car tag. It was ridiculous. I waited in line for 5 hours, had my info checked twice while in line, and, when I finally made it to the counter, was told (with attitude) I needed my car title, Husband's car title, and my marriage certificate (in addition to the huge file of paperwork I brought with me) in order to renew. I went home with nothing. I was so mad, I couldn't even write about it. I'm still mad. But then, I walked in the door and heard, "Yay, Mommy!" She ran and gave me the biggest hug; and suddenly, I didn't care about my wasted day or the incompetence of Jefferson County. I was just glad to be home.

That's the magic of parenthood. It is rewarding every day. Sure, there are days that are harder than others; but I cannot imagine our lives without C. After a day like that, I used to crave happy hour and a dirty martini. Now, I crave snuggles and Play-doh time. I crave peek-a-boo. I crave a fuzzy blanket and Finding Nemo with my girl. I crave a tiny, sassy, little girl brushing my hair, jumping on my bed, and asking me over and over again if I want to go outside. Her existence makes my days brighter. I just breathe and try to soak it all in, try to memorize her scent, try to commit her little speech imperfections to memory, to cherish how easily she still fits in my lap, my head resting perfectly on hers. 

Life is good.

Imagination Station

Sometimes I have to stop doing for a minute and just watch my child's imagination explode before me. It's amazing, really. I fear that while these sweet little moments are fresh in my mind now, I won't remember them later. In a few months, she will be doing so much more. Her language skills will improve and her imaginary playtime will develop into something new and altogether just as amazing. But, for the sake of my fleeting memory that is threatened daily by Elmo and sleep deprivation, these are some of my favorites at 23 months:

• She plays with her food. As in, she takes a bite of a pancake, cocks her head and looks at it, then exclaims an animal she now sees ("a donkey! Hee haw") while she makes it trot across the table.
• She is an excellent cook. She cooks play-doh meals and presents them to me. They are typically cookies, cakes, pancakes, or pasta. No surprise there. When she takes something out of the "oven," she uses an oven mitt and tells me it's hot. Then she takes a fork and takes pretend bites with me while saying, "yummm." 

She also makes food for Banks. He's not very good at pretend eating though.

• She doesn't like to color in the lines. She likes a blank canvas. I only figured this out this week. I love coloring. I owned coloring books far before she was born, so I did not understand why she wouldn't sit and color with me. Then, I gave her a blank piece of paper and she was in her element. She scribbles on the page and tells me it's a blue puppy or a black sheep. She draws a squiggle and proudly exclaims, "C!" "More paper?" she asks. She will paint and color as long as I keep the paper coming, just as long as it doesn't have lines!

• She loves dancing. She has lots of signature moves, but she recently gave one a new name. She has a Disney princess castle and when you turn a pedestal, the princesses twirl. So now, whenever she twirls, she says, "I dancing princess."
• She likes to make her toys dance together. Often, I will find her humming while a hippo dances with Snow White. Sometimes they kiss and hug too.
• It's no secret I take tons of pictures of her. Last night, I looked over while I was cooking dinner and she was squatting with a magnet up to her face, her eyes squinted, saying "cheese" as she pretended to take pictures.

My little corner of the world is certainly entertaining these days. It's magical, really. I wonder, if I spend enough time on her level, will I see the world like she does?

Protective Skills Patch

It finally happened. After almost two years of going up and down our stairs multiple times each day while holding C, without falling, my streak ended.

This morning, as we headed downstairs, I picked her up to carry her (you know, so she wouldn't fall) and, with four steps left, I slipped and we tumbled down to the floor.

I'm bruised and beaten up, but C doesn't have a scratch on her. I feel like I passed some sort of protective mother skills test. Do I get a patch or something?

Pass the Advil, please.

Mommy's Day Off

When you become a parent, whether you are the caregiver or the family provider, there is never a day off. When you're sick, you're still a parent. When you are exhausted from working until 3:00 am with out of town clients, you're still a parent three and a half hours later when little bit wakes up. But in order to keep our sanity, Husband and I try to give each other a "break" every now and then. 

I let him sleep past 6:30. He lets me shower. It's the little things in life.

But, Husband outdid himself for Mother's Day and gave me a day "off." Really, what he gave me was an "Andrew Day." A few years ago, he dubbed the days in which he did whatever he wanted with no schedule and no accountability as "Andrew days." Sometimes, I would go with him. We may get a late lunch and some drinks while watching football on a fall day. We may catch a random movie. But, whatever we did, it was spontaneous - something I find difficult to do these days.

I cashed in my "Andrew Day" this past Sunday. I woke up early with Catherine, mostly because it was 5:30 and Husband was in a coma, but also because I wanted some mommy time before my day "off." We played fetch with Banks in the back yard. We watched some Sesame Street. We read some books. And I rocked her to sleep for her morning nap. Then, it was officially my day!

Because I am a planner, I had to have some sort of schedule for my day and started the day with a late brunch with my sister and my girlfriends. I can't remember the last time we were all together and it was so great catching up with everyone. We celebrated Heather's birthday and talked about new jobs and new houses and important things like the Real Housewives. I love these ladies. They keep me sane.

During brunch, I received this text from Husband: "Is it okay if she eats the yogurt dip by the handful?... Just checking..."

We're going through a dipping stage. She will eat almost anything if she can dip it in this dip, which is plain yogurt, lemon juice, and dill. Ha. Whatever works...

After brunch, a few of us ventured to get mani/pedis. It was much needed and so nice to just relax and talk about nothing in particular. 

Then Ashley and I went to see a chick flick. Husband and I take the occasional movie date night, but I wanted to see something ridiculously cheesy that I knew he would never see with me. So, we went to What to Expect When Expecting. It certainly delivered in the cheesy department, and is probably a renter, but I had so much fun hanging out with Ashley and contemplating buying CKOne and lip gloss from the machine in the bathroom.

I had the best "Andrew day!" I was able to relax, catch up with friends, and enjoy some time to myself. The best part? I came home to dinner, a fridge full of groceries, and was home in time to give C her bubble bath. Time off is needed to keep my sanity, but I'm always happy to come home to my happy little family. 

I have a beautiful life.

I've Got the Musik in Me

The first day of Kindermusik was as nerve-racking as the first day of seventh grade. I found myself worrying about wearing the right outfit and dressing C in the right clothes. Would I like the other moms? More importantly, would they like me? I hadn't been doing this mom thing very long and I wanted new mommy friends so badly, I feared my desperation was palpable. I just wanted to be cool - except, you know, in mom form.

I nervously carried my six month old daughter in my arms as I walked through a giant baptist church, praying I wouldn't get lost within its halls. I entered a classroom and found a blanket spread on the floor and plastic egg shaped shakers in the middle. The teacher, Mrs. Jill, greeted me enthusiastically. She wore no shoes. What had I signed us up for?

I was early (a fluke that would never once be repeated) and I sat on the floor, legs crossed, shoes removed, with C perched in my lap, waiting for the other moms to arrive. She seemed as nervous as I was.

The other moms began to pour into the room, babies in tow. They all knew each other already. I was the new kid. (Seriously, it was seventh grade awkwardness all over again). But, they all greeted me and were genuinely nice. I secretly surveyed the group for my potential new mommy BFF. 

Everyone removed their shoes, took a place around the perimeter of the blanket, and gave their child an egg shaker. The children ranged from six months to sixteen months, C being one of the youngest. I helped C hold a shaker in her tiny little hand and gently bounced her up and down in my lap as we sang a "hello" song. The song greets each child by name and I watched C light up as this new circle of strangers addressed her. Maybe this was a good idea after all.

Mrs. Jill reminded us that in Kindermusik, we leave our dignity at the door. I wasn't sure what this entailed. Then, shortly after this announcement, we were singing and square dancing around the room, babies on hips, weaving in and out of one another in a do si do. It was ridiculous. It was silly. It was loud. And Catherine loved it. 

The rest of the class was filled with ringing bells, beating on drums, and even a few minutes of quiet time. I was amazed at how much stimulation (and physical exertion) was squeezed into the 45 minute class. We ended the class the same as we began, addressing each child by name. I had been pleasantly surprised by how much fun the class had been for both of us. But, I still needed to make friends. I was desperate to bond with other mothers. So, I started to join in the conversation as we all changed diapers, put shoes back on, and gathered our things.

Still painfully apprehensive about revealing C's hemangioma to new people, I adjusted her headband with a nervous frequency; but, once it revealed itself, and I regurgitated my usual spiel, I was met with nothing but positive and uplifting responses. Not a single person asked me what was wrong or if I had hit her head on something. No one even reacted much at all. It was at that moment that I realized we had found a new home. I may not have made an instant MBFF my very first class, but I had met a room full of genuine, accepting, and equally exhausted women, all carrying their own load of motherhood baggage. 

We eagerly came back the next week...and the week after that... and the week after that... until it became the one constant each week. It was the one activity we didn't dare miss. I watched C grow up in this class. She started only barely sitting up on her own and we ended this past semester with her running around the room. She began with no friends and finished the year with a room full of friendly faces. I watched her learn to clap and to go and to stop. I watched her beat on a drum and shake a bell for the first time. I watched her light up with pure joy from the moment we stepped into the room and they sang her name. And, yes, I even picked up a few friends along the way. We sadly break for summer, but we will eagerly return in the fall to a new class, with some familiar faces and some new.

This time, we'll go without reservation, kick off our shoes, and gladly check our dignity at the door.

A Day in the Life

Today was a good day. It was filled with a morning of coloring and a make believe tea party, lunch and an escalator ride with Daddy, a carousel ride followed by MORE escalator rides, another dance recital, a bubble bath and a bed time story filled with snuggles and giggles. Strike that. It was a great day.

A Mother's Mommy

You know how sometimes, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror at a certain angle or you start dancing in the car to your favorite new song or you catch yourself saying things like, "nothing good happens after midnight" and you think, I am officially my mother. 


Luckily, I can't think of a better person to see in my reflection. 


I may look like my dad, but there is no doubt that I am my mother's daughter. We are so very similar from the way we make to do lists with things already done on them (just so we can cross them off) to the way we cry uncontrollably during a Publix Mother's Day commercial. 


The simple similarities make me stand back and laugh a little at times, realizing that the older I get, the more and more I act just like her. Whether it's spending 10 minutes making a bow for a present or rearranging the living room by myself at 11:00 pm because I just had a feeling it could look better. But it is the greater moments that I have experienced these past fourteen months, that make me realize that everything I am as a mother, I learned from her. 


Whether she realizes it or not, all those years she was lovingly raising me from lullabies and bubble baths to dance recitals and boyfriends, she was teaching me how to be a mom. I often find myself singing the same songs she sung to me as a child and reading the same books with the same inflections. As I read I'll Love You Forever to C before bed, I am five years old again in a room decorated in stenciled sheep, leaning on Mom's shoulder. When I sing My Favorite Things at bath time, I am six years old, in a pink and blue tiled bathroom, having my long curly hair rinsed clean with a plastic cup as I tell Mom all about my day. When I serve my family dinner and sit down to join them, I feel the same warmth and fullness that was felt at our family dinner table over something as simple and delicious as Chicken Divan.


It's easy to overlook the subtleties and the mundane of each passing day, to let them pass by without paying them a bit of attention. But, it is the mundane moments that will shape my daughter into the mother she will hopefully become one day. Something as seemingly insignificant as our car conversations and sing-a-longs will one day be something she shares with her children. The way I brush her hair and snuggle her in my lap as we read a book before bed, will be the way she does it.


How do I know these things? Because I learned them all from my mommy.


It is nearly impossible to thank someone for a lesson as great as motherhood; but today, on my second Mother's Day, I am thankful for the woman who taught me everything I know and who is an even better grandmother than she is a mother. Thank you for always being there to sing, to love, and to listen. These were the greatest gifts you could ever give me.


Happy Mother's Day!

Sick Day

The past two mornings, I have started my day covered in C's vomit (after reflexively catching it in my hand --- what is with that involuntary mom refelx?!) Hello, stomach virus.

In 14 months, this is the first case of the stomach virus to hit our house. I would be completely okay if it stayed away for a while. It has been so sad. She loves milk, but has thrown it back up every single time I've given it to her. She ate absolutely nothing yesterday besides a popsicle.

Today, I got her to eat a little JELLO, a few Cheerios, and to drink a lot of juice/water mixed with pedialyte. But, she hasn't thrown up again since this morning! 

I am hoping so much that tomorrow morning doesn't mirror the past two.

We stayed in town instead of going to the lake house to celebrate Mother's Day weekend with my family. I hated so much to change plans, but I just couldn't put a sick baby in a rear facing carseat for two hours.

So we spent our day watching Sesame Street on Netflix, coloring, reading books, and snuggling. I hate so much that I have a sick baby girl, but I have enjoyed getting to spend some time getting sweet snuggles. 

Here's to tomorrow...

The View From Here

Sometimes I find it difficult to recognize the view before me. I watch her every day. We play games. We go on outings and adventures. We learn together. My view is the same every day. Everywhere I look, she is there.

But sometimes, like today, I don't recognize what I see. Sometimes, I look at my baby and she is trying to put socks and shoes on her feet because she knows that is where they go. She is sorting her toys into categories... correctly. She is pretend drinking from pretend tea cups. She is placing a bow on her head and putting the top on her sippy cup. She is putting dirty clothes into the hamper and trash into the trash can. She is brushing her hair and her teeth after her bath.

When did she learn all of these things?

It's funny, really, to think of such simple tasks in the eyes of a child. With each new task she learns, she lights up with excitement. Her eyes widen and she flashes her seven toothed smile because she has never been prouder.

I hope she knows, neither have I.

Preach It

14 Months Old!

I'm a bit behind these days, mostly because we stay busy running around and playing all day long. C turned 14 months old on the 23rd. Not that I feel the need to elaborately celebrate each month birthday, but we needed an activity. These days, we are antsy if we can't play outside and it was unseasonably cool (that one day) as well as crazy windy.

So we went shoe shopping with Aunt Mallory (where C threw multiple shoes into a nearby trashcan) and then got ice cream. Not a bad day at all!

Check out her sassy new bangs!

It amazes me each month how much she changes. She really is a tiny little person now, personality, moodiness, and all. She has opinions. She understands directions. She chooses to ignore the word "no." 

She walks runs all over the place. She is independent. She takes my hand when she wants to and pushes it away when she doesn't. 

She dances to music. She makes music with bells, shakers, and drums. She bangs on tupperware and pots and pans. 


She loves to chase me and to sneak up to Daddy and Banks. (If you say the word "sneaky," she tip toes and giggles).


She still loves her fuzzy blanket more than anything. We left it at my parents' house last weekend and they had to overnight it to us. It was a big deal.


She is a pretty good eater most of the time, but chooses to survive solely on milk, cheese, goldfish crackers, and Cheerios some days, and that's okay too.


She loves Beanie Babies. She puts them into her Easter basket or a bag or a box, carries them around, and takes them back out. It's a good thing we saved all of ours! Unfortunately, we completely devalued them by removing the original tags. There goes her college fund...


She loves a ball. She throws it. She kicks it. She sits with it in her chair. Any ball will do, but her favorite is a little soccer ball she got for her birthday.

She knows no boundaries. She will attempt to climb over any barricade, puts her leg through the baby gate, jumps out of her chair. She also falls a lot. These go hand in hand.


Banks is her best friend (and depending on what she is eating, she is his). She sits on his bed, lounges on him, pets him with play silverware, feeds him some of everything she is eating, and chases him around all day gently placing things on his back (wash cloths, socks, toys). 

She loves Kindermusik. She lights up in class and repeats what she learns all week long. Her favorite thing to do is ride around the room on a beach towel, singing songs while I pull.  We will miss it so much this summer.


She talks constantly, though not much is English. She says "doggie," "daddy," "momma" (working on "mommy"), "uh oh," and "weeeeee." She says "weeeee" all day long, especially when she's having fun. Instead of "vroom," she says "weeeee" when playing with cars or anything with wheels. She says it with arms raised as I pull her in the wagon. It is, by far, my favorite sound in the world.


She is everything I hoped for and so much more. I wake up to her smile each morning and rock her to sleep with giggles each night. I am thankful every day I get to be her mom.


Fourteen months old and growing, and I've got a ringside seat. I am utterly in love with this sweet, kind, funny little girl. 

Through Her Eyes

Sometimes, I think about how my daughter will see me as she grows up.


Honestly, she may never know the professional me. My life before hers is irrelevant. To her, I am Mom. I am changer of diapers, washer and (occasional) ironer of clothes, scrubber of dishes. I am mac and cheese chef, maker of pancakes, filler of sippy cups. I am boo boo kisser, tear wiper, lullaby singer.


While my suits and tailored dresses collect dust in the back of my closet, my daily wardrobe involves yoga pants and t-shirts, food stains and diaper cream. My hair is dirty and my makeup routine has been reduced to mascara and a cheap concealer/foundation combo I found at Target.


I look forward to trips to the zoo, carousel rides at the mall, and afternoons at the bookstore. Kindermusik is the highlight of my week. But, I wouldn't have it any other way. I actually get to spend my days playing peek-a-boo, reading books, and playing with blocks. I get to watch my daughter discover the magic of bubbles and sidewalk chalk. I get to kick a tiny soccer ball across the backyard. I get paid in toothy smiles and upside down giggles. My life is perfection.


Some days, I'm beyond tired. Some weeks, Husband is across the country for work and I begin to feel as if I am living on a secluded island of motherhood. But, then, I remember that instead of sitting in an office all day, I'm spending my entire day with this tiny, wonderful, sweet, and funny little girl...

...and I no longer care if I am seen as a professional, because all of the energy I spent on my work, I now get to spend on my daughter. I have no doubt that she will know the real me. She will learn so many things from me, some on purpose, others not so much. But, being known as "Mom" is by far the most fulfilling job I've ever had. I'm just glad I'm lucky enough to get to hold that title.

Today

Today was one of those days. You know, the days where only a couple hours in, you're ready to call a do-over? It really all started last night. Last night, as I was getting C ready to take a bath, she had her first walking catastrophe. 

The bathroom makes me nervous anyway. While virtually the entire house is baby proofed at this point, it's pretty impossible to make tile floors and bathtubs not hard and scary. So, as I was filling the tub, C was unrolling the toilet paper (I pick my battles). She was so excited to have toilet paper in both hands, that she ran toward me, arms outstretched with her new find. Then, because she's been walking for all of four weeks, she lost her balance and, before I could catch her, face planted into the edge of the tub.

It. was. terrifying.

There was screaming and crying and then I saw the blood and then I was screaming and crying. I completely lost my composure. I called Husband, who was still at work, in hysterics. She wouldn't let me look in her mouth so I couldn't tell where the blood was coming from. I was hoping she had just bitten her lip, but was imagining an ER visit and stitches. She was doing that kind of crying where she gasps for air in between screams, only making me cry harder. 

Husband quickly snapped me back into gear, reminding me that my freaking out was only going to make her more scared. So I took a deep breath and began treatment. We used ice chips in a mesh teething bag, a cold wash cloth, and a sippy cup of ice water to soothe until the Advil kicked in. Then we snuggled and snuggled and snuggled while she cried for a couple hours. Finally, at 10:00, she fell asleep. I thought we had made it. She would sleep it off and feel fine in the morning.

Then she woke up... an hour later. We watched Baby Einstein. We watched Elmo. We had a snack. I even got desperate and reverted to a bottle, but when your lip is cut and swollen, no bottle or paci will work. She finally cried herself to sleep at 4:00. 

Today, our morning started at 7:00. She woke up screaming. A sippy cup of milk and some morning cartoons (plus more Advil) calmed her down a little, but our day was pretty dicey from there. No morning nap. She finally crashed around 12:45 for 30 minutes. Then, with dinner plans at 5:30, I put her in the car at 4:30 hoping for a car-induced nap on the way.

But...surprise! The garage door broke. It went up 6 inches, it went down 6 inches. I used the manual release and all the strength my arms could muster and it wouldn't budge. We were trapped in our garage. Awesome.

So I cancelled dinner plans, unloaded C, and gave her a snack since a nap was clearly not happening. Then it was decided. This day was in desperate need of brownies.

So C got to eat brownies for the first time AND the whole mixing and pouring process was distracting enough for her to forget she was tired and cranky. Win win.

And then, against all odds, she actually let me rock her to sleep at 7:30. Tomorrow is another day. Until then, I think I'll eat a few more brownies and go to bed. Sometimes being Mommy is exhausting.