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.

A Good Day

Today has been a really good day.

C started school last week. It was quite the adjustment. I knew she would love it...eventually. But I also knew the first day (and possibly weeks) would be tough.  We talked about how much fun school would be, we took the obligatory "First Day of School" photos, we sang "Grown Ups Come Back" over and over again on the way there. 

And when they took her out of my car, no tears (from her)! I was so overwhelmed with pride and anxiety and excitement, I blew her a kiss, put on my sunglasses, and cried for the next ten minutes. 

Well, when I picked her up, her little face was red and she was crying, but through her tears, she said, "Mommy, it's so fun." So, even though it broke my heart into a million pieces, I counted the day as a win.

Well, today, she literally woke up excited. She ate breakfast, got dressed, read books in our bed while I fixed her hair, and told Husband she was going to school and was "so excited." 

She told me it was "going to be so fun"on the way there, and when they got her out of my car, she told me bye, blew me a kiss, and didn't cry. I was crazy mom today and was very first in line for carpool. So at 12:50, when they put my baby in the car, she was smiling!! She told me how much fun she had and then did not stop talking for the entire ride home. She told me about her teacher, about singing "Itsy Bitsy Spider," "Twinkle Little Star," and "ABCD" and then sang them all to me. She told me she played outside with her friends. My heart was so full. I was so proud of my baby for being such a big girl.

Then I read the note from her teacher that said, "Catherine is adjusting well to school. She is so smart!"

And my heart exploded with pride.

We stopped for Yogurt Mountain on the way home to celebrate, where she ate mostly toppings and danced to the music.

It was only 2:00 and we'd already had an amazing day. After playing a little, it was nap time for us both.

As I lay on my left side and closed my eyes, I felt something I've been waiting for for weeks. I felt my baby boy kick. The feeling is indescribable. Our baby has been moving around for weeks, and at twenty weeks pregnant, I finally got to feel his little movements, tiny flutters.

With one hand on my belly, I drifted off to sleep, filled with pride for my TWO perfect children.

Today was a very good day.

Dinosaurs in the Trees

The other night, C and I were pulling into the lake house for the weekend when she said, "Mommy, shhhhhh."

Me: (whispering) What is it?

C: It's a dinosaur.

Me: Wow! Where is it?

C: It's in the trees. Don't worry. It's hiding.

Her imagination is in full swing these days and I am loving it. She lives in a magical world where everything talks and everything is real. 

While I cooked dinner the other night, I overheard her playing in the living room and walked in to find her enacting a scene with finger puppets. She had a princess puppet upside down in a rhythm instrument saying "help me, help me!" Then, the knight (which she calls a "prince") said, "to the rescue!" and got her out. Then, they kissed. 

Sometimes, her imagination is too close to reality. Today, while playing in her baby pool on the deck, she said, "look, Mommy, a mouse!" I freaked out and ran over to see what she was talking about. I asked her where it was and she pointed in the pool and said, "right there. See? It's swimming."

She often reads books to her stuffed animals; her babies cry and need bottles; her trains get encouragement as they crest the mountain ("Great job! You did it!"). Everyone dances. Everything has feelings. Everyone has a name (thought most of them are Catherine). 

I get to live in a special world these days.

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.

Vices, Anyone?

Perhaps is it because baby girl slept until 7:40 this morning, or maybe Husband somehow willed himself to stop snoring for one night, but I woke up rested for the first time in a loooooong time and I'm giving most of the credit to my old friend, the Snoogle Pillow. It seems that, because my body already knows the drill, everything is coming earlier this pregnancy, including loose ligaments. So, I climbed up in the attic to rescue my old friend and I'm never letting go.

Ligaments aside, the second trimester is here and has started to work its magic. No more morning all day sickness, no more narcoleptic tendencies, and my skin and hair are finally starting to get that pregnancy glow. I still can't eat sugar without feeling dizzy, but let's face it, keeping me away from the pastries at Edgar's is probably not the worst thing ever.

I do miss my coffee, not because I've banned it, but because this baby has. I am a lover of all things coffee. Give me espresso in any form and I am a happy girl. I've cut out caffeine again this time around (mostly), but,  I can't even stomach the decaf. 

No sugar. No coffee. No wine. I need a new vice. I'll be taking suggestions.

Perhaps shopping?

We find out the gender of this little peanut on Thursday and I could not be more excited. I am so impressed with people who wait until the birth to find out. I don't know how they do it. I'm excited to give this baby a name and, of course, to sew a monogram on all things possible.  

C thinks it's a brother, but she also thinks my ultrasound photo is a cat, so we'll see. Her friend Sara thinks it's a baby bunny, and because of her recent visit to the Cabbage Patch Nursery, has informed me that you just count to 5 and then the baby pops out! Toddlers are funny. Here's to hoping for no cats or bunnies!

In case you're wondering what pregnancy looks like the second time around (and I know you all are), here you go. 16 weeks with each:

Two

This sweet sleeping face will almost make you forget about the hour long tantrum that preceded it.

Almost.

Tutu Full of Tears

I grew up dancing. Some of my earliest memories involve a tutu. My sister took her love of dance even further as she continued to dance through college and became a teacher. Needless to say, we've all been counting down the days until C was old enough for dance class.

Well, today was the day! She is taking a mini summer session for two and three year olds at Aunt Mallory's studio called Boogie Babies. It's four days for 45 minutes a day. They learn ballet and tap. It is pretty adorable.

So, we've been talking about this class for a while. We went to dance recital; we watched Aunt Mallory teach a class; she was getting so exited about getting to dance like a big girl. This morning, she woke up and said "I go to dance school!" After breakfast, she put on her tights and leotard with tutu and told me she needed her ballet shoes. The whole drive there, she kept telling me she was going to dance school.

Then we got there. 

She put on her new ballet shoes. She spun around in circles while we waited for class to start. She followed the herd of baby ballerinas into the classroom and sat on her very own dot. I was really impressed.

Then, they closed the door. And I heard the cry that was unmistakably hers. She was screaming "Mommy" over and over again. I sat down on the couch outside the classroom and thought she would start dancing and be just fine. I texted with Mom and told her what happened. She assured me that they wouldn't just let her cry and that if it was bad enough, they would just bring her out to me.

The door opened. They brought her out to me.

She was sobbing and begging to go to my car. I tried to talk to her about how fun it was and that I promised I wasn't leaving, but she was too upset. So, the teacher let me go back in with her. She put on tap shoes and partially participated while standing next to me and holding my hand.

At the end of class, they each got a piece of candy. She skipped out of the classroom, eating her candy, and said, "Mommy, dance is so fun!"

Seriously?

We're trying again tomorrow.