Tucked Away

Away, tucked away in layers of cotton and breath.
I so hurriedly herded and encouraged and needed you there.
I held your half grown self firmly against me, absorbed your heat, your smell, your relentless adoration.

My heart pricked with the shame of my shortcomings.

Out from her mouth spilled the verbal commitment of her heart to me, her appreciation of her existence.  And I no longer wanted to give her to the night.
I needed her to know how sorry I am for showing up to this task with a nearly empty tank.
It's not ok.
I should be able to do it anyway.
I wanted to wail at her feet and beg for the day back- to not yell, to not speak harshly, to hold hands, to be still and listen, to be on the floor and catch all the moments that cannot be retrieved in these mourning hours of the night.

I wanted to promise that by tomorrow I will have it figured out.
I will be outfitted, somehow overnight, with the gear I need to be that mom. 
Maybe I just don't have the correct candle scent warming and filling my nostrils,
maybe the motivational quote on my computer screen isn't potent enough,
maybe the GMOs in my snacks are impacting my brain function.
Whatever it is, I wanted to promise her to have it solved and resolved by 8am tomorrow.

Of course I don't actually share any of this. 
Look at her.
She sees only perfection in me.
Why would I trouble her world when all of this only exists in mine.

She falls from my grip like a felled tree, vibrating the bed frame, sending the creatures surrounding her into the air, collapsing the pillow up around her face.

Un-understandables

You can all relax now, I've officially identified the most ridiculous part of being a parent: comforting your precious babies through the voluntary absence of the other parent.

I've probably said this in the past, and I used to see my Dad once per year, for a month in the summer.  I'd miss him fiercely all year, then feel trepidacious leaving the comfort zone of my mom.  I'd love being there, a state away, with my Dad.  I was so grown up.  I did things I'd never do in California, mostly that meant being by myself for stretches of time unheard of in my Mom's care.  I could go anywhere, do anything, plan my day and then do something else. No one was there to say no, or yes.  If I rode my bike allllll the way across town, then there I'd be, with the consequence of now needing to pedal all the way back.  When it was time to load me back onto a California bound plane I would be stressed outright.  We'd be late, my luggage barely being tossed into the plane's belly, the front desk person throwing annoyed looks.  I'd be stressed because if I was late my Mom might decide that this was the last unacceptable flaw to my summer visits and I'd not be allowed to see my Dad again.  I'd be stressed because my Dad's roommates and friends would be standing there in the airport in their river shorts and ripped/no shirts, scraggly and tanned, to say goodbye to me too and I didn't want them to see how sad I was.  How near I was to bawling.  I was so very sad to be leaving my Dad for nearly a year and I hated missing him.  That feeling, it's a very specific one, and it's impact hadn't punched me in the face in long while. 

A year and a half ago this very feeling showed up on my child's face when her Daddy told her he'd be no longer living here.  You should know that this feeling is the worst feeling I had as a kid- complete helplessness.  It is wanting something that is vital to your life force, something that you are incomplete without, and having people you love take it away.  It's incomprehensible.  There is a tight squeeze around my heart- it pumps harder, my throat closes up, painfully and I sweat.  My feet chatter on the ground and I can't stop chewing the insides of my cheeks.  I talk about random things.  Nothing makes me feel better.  Suddenly here it was again, this time on the face I love the most.  I was looking at myself, losing my dad and feeling like this couldn't be so.  Then all of the reasonings and thoughts to make the situation be less devastating pour out of her, because there must be a mistake.  We adults must have overlooked the obvious solution, if we could just let her fix/mend/behave these wrenching consequences away.  I'm not sure I've ever been so angry.  Besides knowing that divorce was not going to be a part of her life, I'd never imagined needing to defend my daughter from this old feeling.  I was in a panic, enraged, desperate to get her past the moment where the world changed.  I later wrapped my whole body around her, having coached her into some measured breathing, still feeling the tremors of a meltdown move through her, and I imagined all the yuck of the world trying to get past my cocoon, trying to stain her loving heart.  In my mind I succeeded in all the right ways, but the worst offender wasn't outside, he was in.  And I have no say in that.

She is having these attacks of reality more often lately.  She lays in bed, holding back scathing accusations at the world about not seeing her Daddy enough, and eventually they spit out of her bright red, crumpled face.  Two or three words at a time I get the story.  I agree with all of it: the unfairness, the un-understandables, the inquiry as to why.  She told me last night that she felt like she was going to explode.  She told me tonight that it felt like, "I cracked my head open again, only my heart feels cracked not my head".  I see it in her eyes and in her defensive body language.  She is in it.  She's there, where I was, and she is feeling so helpless and out of control and longing.  I squeeze her and she wraps her legs in knots around mine.  Maybe if I squeeze her just so, it will wring all of this ick out of her tender heart.  I keep her there until she is asleep.  Heavy.  Twitching.  At peace.

New day, new male cow excrement

Remember those weeks where you just wanted to bury yourself in bed and let the throbbing tragedy be muffled by your heavy, depressed slumber?  Yeah, that.  I just watched my entire paycheck be gulped down by a bill that I spent the previous hour frantically making phone calls to avoid.  The ding of my phone notifying me that my account is now hundreds of dollars overdrawn brought me back into the comforting arms of my bed.  Children still needed through my tears.  So and so looked at me this way.  I can't find my fairy house.  Look at this octopus I made with bendy straws.  Why are you crying.
I lie to my children a lot.  I carefully picked over the real reasons I was crying, an exercise that dove me deeper into the sadness.  The final response- after it was weighed for the possible level of inquiry it would illicit and the amount of life altering thought processes it could set off, was that, "I'm sad about the way I wish things could be." My eldest accepted that answer, responded, "I love you Momma" and left the room.
A friend told me that these challenges are being given to me in this life because I am being called to "level up".  On the path to enlightenment there are obstacles and navigating them is the test.  I don't like it.  I am very, very attached to the way I want things to be. I've let go of the physical manifestations- the house, the yard, the marriage.  Now I just want the peace.  I want a break from defending my children's growing up against the chaos that disguises itself as faithful, truest love.
On that note, I also want to say: faithful truest love doesn't ask you to be someone you're not.  It doesn't fight for you to have angry relationships with other people.  It doesn't leave you in lurches of sadness while it goes off and shares it's body with another before coming back to you.  It doesn't require you to tippy toe about, just in case it is having an insecure moment.

I'm not delusional about what love looks like.  I think it allows for all parts of oneself to be perfectly present, even the yucky parts.  I think the results can't be that you are left questioning and stressed and turned upside down and wondering what essential parts of yourself need to be remedied.  No.  That is not it at all.

Sundays are for wailing

There is a moment lately that I hate.

It happens on Sunday nights.  I come home to my children (after being gone for the weekend so they may have time with their dad without being shuttled around), in time to love on them a bit and help get them to bed,  They get to have both of their parents read to them, snuggle them into their covers and then leave them to slumber.  However, on Sunday nights they wail.  They know their daddy is leaving after he closes their door.  My six year old pouts at me, accusingly, "Why does daddy only get to see us two days a week and you get us five days?".  Her look is volatile, angry, wounded.  I tell her I agree, it isn't fair.  She flails back into her pillow, sobbing.

I hate him so much on these nights.  I am called back to comfort the casualties.  They are inconsolable.  And there is nothing I can do to make it better.  This is the part that makes me insane.  This is the part that leaves me silently crying along side them in the dark.  I'm helpless.  I can hold hands, rub backs, provide squishy, comfy stuffed animals, but I can't fix it.  I send him angry texts, imploring him to think about what he has done to his perfect, amazing children.  I regret it almost immediately.

Eventually their melt down exhausts them to sleep.  It's quiet and the rage I felt is lessening, but a punching bag would be ideal right now.  I realize it's a futile effort, and I try to see his side.  Every time I come up short.  I just couldn't leave my children, my family, my life for another person (this scenario, of course, doesn't involve abuse).  I would fight and fight and fight to see my children more than just on the weekends.  As a matter of fact I did.  I fought and fought and took on new, uncomfortable shapes and agreed to awful, unthinkable solutions and became a shadow.  I disappeared into an ugly dark place that had me unable to eat or smile or sometimes even get out of bed.

While it is undoubtedly the one thing I knew would never be a part of my story- I am getting a divorce.  The paperwork is cold, impersonal and daunting.  Seeing my precious children's names on a legal form makes me want to vomit.  Sitting for an hour and a half to hand over a pile of papers to a clerk who then questions why I would fill out such-and-such form (well, because that legal help desk over yonder told me to) has the tears that were welling up begin to spill over.  She doesn't care much.  I finally leave and take time to ugly-cry in my car before I can drive away.

This process sucks and has repercussions beyond oneself, we all know this.  He is learning the round about way, experiential learning is what I believe it's called.  I just never expected to have to protect my children from their father's "learning process".

So, you want a baby brother

Rosanna keeps telling people she is going to have a baby brother.  Those people then look at me with wide eyes.  I follow up with vigorous head shaking and silent concerns that maybe she knows something I don't.  Then, sometime later, I get the flow of relief - if you know what I mean.  So far, my kid ain't clairvoyant.

She also regularly asks if I can get pregnant.  I tell her that I can, but that's not in the game plan right now.  I told her to ask me again in a year.  You guys: I will not be shocked one bit if she asks me in exactly one year.  That's how creepy little kids are.

So all this baby talk has me wondering and thinking and considering.  Emotionally, yes.  Babies forever and ever.  Not because pushing them out is so much fun, but because that moment when the little buggar is lifted from your crotch and placed into your arms is unlike any moment ever in the history of all moments.  I want that moment again.  And again.  I also want to smell fuzzy baby hair and hold a person in the space between my elbow and my wrist.  I want a small blob of squishy goodness sleeping with head rested in my neck and frog legs perched on my chest.

Practically, no.  Sleep deprivation was one thing when there was no one else to take care of and that is no longer my scenario.  And can you imagine three- I mean four people in four different phases of eating?  One gets a regular plate, one gets stuff that's mostly mushable, one gets a dumbed down version of the regular plate and one gets baby food.  Also we'd have to basically never fly.  Affording 5 plane tickets might happen once, but we'd have to drive home.

Yeah, yeah, people have three (or nine) kids all the time.  Ask me again in a year.

Oh, the 'fours'

So I have to say I mostly write (blog) when I'm stirred up.  If you're looking for some picture of my day-to-day (and seriously, let's not be a weirdo, huh?) then this is not the place.  If this is the only place you get input from me, then I may seem a bit like a drama queen: see my previous "stirred up" comment.

Luciana is nearly one whole year old.  No, really.  And I may have said this 10 times before, but I LOVE this age.  It is my favorite.  I might cry when it's passed.  Scratch that- I WILL cry when it's passed.  She's sweet, her needs are simple, she's snuggly, she's silly, her laugh is joy.  I would have babies over and over if only to have this time with them.

Rosanna is four.  She's FOUR.  I love her, therefore she still sucks air.  I think the person who coined, "terrible twos" was unclever and thought alliteration was more important than accuracy.  I'm bitter.  The "twos" are a memory, and the "fours" are fawful.  Or farty.  Fickle.  Fitful.  Fussy.  Every conversation is laborious.  Her ears absorb everything.  I say to you, you do not know how sloppily you speak until there is someone to call you out on your inconsistencies and to mirror all of your lovely speaking habits back to you.  She talks.  Endlessly.  She asks a question, keeps talking and then asks why you aren't answering her.  She swings from mood to mood like a monkey in the trees.  Her feelings are hurt, she's fine, she's found a new friend, they aren't friends anymore, she's fallen from the top of the steps and is ok, she's bumped her shoulder on the chair and is yelling in pain.
My grown-up brain is not wired to spin at this frequency.  Not all the time.  It freaks me out.  I have the patience of a crotchety old dog being bombarded by a puppy.  The effort it takes to be a 'good mom' is less and less available to me.  And I don't know what to do about it.

Then there's Luci.  She wants milk or she's tired.  Those are the two biggest issues I face with her.  Haha!  "Issues".  The kid doesn't even care if she sits in her own poop for a bit (not that I would do this purposefully...she's just not one to cry about a diaper change).  Rosanna's challenges are really just the difficult side of some really great characteristics: outgoing, exuberant, inquisitive, thoughtful.  I am grateful for these attributes (she says to herself over and over and over and over).

To all this I say: OYE.

So it goes

Luci is 9 months old.  She is long enough now that her head is just under my chin if she is perched on my lap.  Lately I am finding myself mourning the loss of my first baby to toddlerdom and now, little-girlness.  She is so tall, so articulate and so sassy (note to self: stop being sassy).  She dresses herself, uses the restroom and repeats all the things you didn't intend for her to hear.

Now, with Littles on my lap, I am verging on tears.  She might be the last baby that is my own, and despite my best efforts to slow her down, she is nearly an entire year old.  I kiss her temple, my nose is in the sweet softness of her wispy baby hair and I breathe in.  She smells like my baby.  I stay here for as long as she'll let me, admiring, from my vantage point, the swoop of the bridge of her nose.  Her lashes are long, her eyes are gentle and she sighs.  I move to press my nose into her full, round cheeks.  They are less round now, power crawling is her new hobby, but still so perfectly squishy.  At this, she pushes her head toward me, mouth open and finds my cheek, blowing a perfect raspberry.  God I love this child.

Rosanna smelled this way once.  She rocked on her diapered bum in excitement and crawled clumsily after me across the house.  I am terrified that I will forget how precious this time was.  In the frustration of our daily interactions, I do.

Here's to being present.

THAT Mom

Would you like to know a surefire way to have your ego slap the sh*t out of your enlightenment?  Just state out loud how you've got it figured out, that you've discovered a thick vein that will keep you tapped in and guess what?  Your ego will have a hay day.  EDIT: my ego will have a hay day.

Today I was THAT mom.  I put my baby down on the floor of the pet store to find the right 'jacket' for our wisp of a dog and let her chew on the hangers.  A few feet away my 3 year old didn't stop talking while finding furry balls to perch on top of her shoe a la Tinkerbell.  I actually said, too loudly, "Rosanna, stop talking" so that a complete thought could skitter through my brain.

I showed up to purchase a table from a fellow civilian a half an hour late, and when I opened the rear portal to my van (I'm in my thirties after all) our dog was trying to clamber over the seats, my baby was sobbing and my 3 year old was.....talking.  Yay.

Now it's 7pm.  Bedtime.  No one has eaten.  Eating out is the only option.  We arrive and I whip out a boob for the baby only to discover that half of my chest has been unsupported (see: nursing bra, unclipped) since the last time I fed her- 3 hours ago.  And guess what else?  The 3 year old has to go potty.  Again.  She JUST went...like we walked in the door and straight to the bathroom.  So of course, now that the boob is out, she would have to go again.  Fast forward to actually having food on the table.  This lasted approximately 5 minutes before I decided that to-go boxes were the only way to deal with Fast Hands McGrabberson if I wanted to leave with the same number of children I showed up with.

Bonus: the dog didn't poop or pee in the car!

And now......they sleep.  It is oh, so blissfully quiet.  So freaking, awesomely, divinely serene.

Don't tell anyone, but I miss them just a smidge.

Blow it up

My friend Wendy is wise.  She said to me one day that all kids are perfect and learning how to be in the world.

I do my best to let my kid be herself.  Loud, overbearing, exuberant.  These are all words that I own, that give me anxiety.  These qualities say to me, "Be embarrassed, care about what others might think about your parenting, get that girl to stop drawing attention to herself".  They aren't what my kid is.  She is perfect.

How freaking cool is it that she can scream with excitement in a small coffee shop and care not about others' opinions.  How freaking cool is it that she will insert herself into a stranger's family to seek out their similarly sized child and then steal that child away to frolic about, as if she'd known them her whole life.  How freaking cool is my kid?

So why would I want to bring down the numbness, the separateness of my adulthood onto her?  What a lame thing to do.  By all accounts I am the one whose life is dull and lackluster, while her's is wild with vibrant colors and freedom to just "be".  Why would an unbiased observer say to me, "Yes, Mrs. O'Hagan, your child is clearly in need of a dose of your life.  The one where she dies a little.  Yes, that's my opinion."  Well, that just wouldn't happen.  Quite the opposite would be true.  That person would beg me, implore to my humanity that I see her for who she is: the most incredible person walking the earth.  And they would ask me, why- why am I so willing to snuff out that inspiring beam of unfiltered light, when I could learn so much from it?

I could only answer with the sad realization that I have crossed over.  I am that boring adult who I didn't understand as a kid.  I am fully in the embrace of rules, politeness, manners and all other form of tippy-toeing.  And it sucks.  Those qualities have added nothing to the quality of my life.  They may have inspired others to think kind thoughts about me, or perhaps to not have thought about me at all as I made no impression of myself.  At this rate, I'll go to my grave with people saying how nice I was and that may be it.  I won't have stood for anything.  I won't have lived 'out loud' as they say.  And for whom am I muting myself?

The moral of the story is that my kid is PERFECT.  I hope she never learns to fit into this social structure and instead blows it up with her amazing self.

Some perspective

Being a mom is not the same as not.  (Duh, right?)

It was weird, in the beginning, hearing my own voice loud and purposeful, waxing about how Ferdinand is content to sit just quietly and how Max's misbehavior sends him on an egoistic journey.  Now, it's odd for me to hear others' voices reading aloud to my daughter.  I get anxious for my turn, as creating a scene with inflection and drama have become something I look forward to.

Gross things have happened.  Why, only hours ago, burbling and rumbling from my infant's bottom resulted in a costume change for the both of us.  My pre-mom days never had me consider how sticky infant poop is.  And, well...never mind.

My body is free reign.  A baby on a boob, a toddler in an armpit and a chunk of my butt in my husband's palm.  I don't take the time to hide myself at home, because it's just too much work.  And besides, why create body issues in my daughters so soon?  I do clothe myself, I'm not that "free".

Our bed is truly full of love.  By 6 a.m. there are no less than 5 bodies, breathing peacefully, resting side-by-side.  I never thought this would be something I loved.  It sounds quite annoying to 20 year old me.  However, being squished by two people who grew in my belly and who I couldn't love more if I tried, well that's pretty freaking awesome.

Unraveling my clenched up fists

There is a lot of relief that come with letting go.  I suppose that's why every self-help/inspirational-quote book isn't complete without a shout out to the 'letting go' factor.  I find, however, that it is indeed one of those things that cannot be understood on faith or because it was once explained to you.  No, sir.  If you're interested in all that 'letting go' has to offer, then you must do just that.

Today I noticed a cinching in my chest paired with a tensing in my shoulder blades.  The day's activities would include certain family members who are known for their critical eye.  Perhaps they have been overbearing with their opinions in the past and it's possible that I've found myself fumbling for justification of my parenting style.  Or did it just seem that way?

Today I experimented with confidence.  I chose to hear critiques as merely conversation.  I chose to answer questions as they were, not as I heard them.  I let go of my need to defend our choices.  Of course, I am not so good at this quite yet.  I bumbled around with it and lost sight of it completely at times.  Overall however, it was wonderful.  Freeing.

I've also become quite good at letting go of how I assume others see my child's behavior and how that reflects on me.  It's good fun if you can do it.  I've grasped that not only do I not particularly care what others are thinking (who are you anyways?), it really doesn't matter.  It's an invisible transaction that leaves me feeling less about myself, and who needs that?  Not I.

It's all about letting go people.

She's a professional on the topic:

Tantrum, at long last

So we had our first 'real' tantrum today.  It was gonna happen, as today started out sketchy and just kept on that way until the end.

Pre-tantrum we had a morning of furrowed brows, snappy comments and the whine-factor was high.  I braced myself because I knew this would be a no-nap day and we already seemed to need one.  Both of our social events went well, shockingly; it was the in-between times that got our patience muscles some good practice.

We were in Target.  I told her that she could choose one thing from the dollar bins.  She waffled, she asked for two things, she finally chose a purple plastic cup.  As we wandered on through aisles of crap we really wanted and didn't need, she re-employed the snotty voice and stinky attitude.
Warning number one: lose the 'tude or lose the cup.
Response: I want my cup!
Rebuttle: Great, I want you to have your cup too.  Please change the way you are speaking or we will put it back.
Fast forward 60 seconds.  Snotty McSnotterson is at it again.  My worst nightmare happens: follow through.  OK, I say, let's put the cup back then.
Oh, man.  It's on.  Tears, big fat heavy tears.  Screaming about how she wants her cup.  Me: holding the cup in one hand and wrangling the writhing child as she tries to escape my intentions to scoop her up and replace the cherished cup.  I was THAT person.  All eyes on me.  My kid screaming about a dumb purple cup, me trying not to drop her, my bulging belly not helping one iota.  I chose not to look around, not to make direct eye contact and I could see them watching me.  Reinvented screeches as the cup actually makes it back to it's home, piled with other purple, blue and green cups.  Pleading and promises of her new found attitude blocking out all other sounds.
Wow, I think, this is shitty.

Again at bed time, we had a similar incident.  Warning, continued pushing of the envelope, consequence.  Melt down.

Now she's asleep.  I wish I felt relief, and I do a little, but I feel more like I want to hug and kiss and cuddle her.  To have her tell me that the crappiness that happened today was perfectly handled and any other response wouldn't have helped her along the path of being the best person she can be.  I feel in my gut that this is true, or our house wouldn't operate this way.  It doesn't make my heart feel less heavy though.

Emotional vomit

It's either pregnancy or I'm just a bummer.

I feel on the verge of crying half the time and I have to talk myself into being patient with Rosanna like it's a chore.  I don't want to have the same "I don't want to close my eyes" conversation every freaking night.  Especially when I've never, not once, told her she has to.

Watching her tonight dance around to the music on the credits of a movie I thought to myself, "this won't last forever.  Soon enough she'll be too self-conscious to be silly".  That made me sad.  She was so joyful.  She jumped and flitted and fell and laughed herself into hiccups.

Right now I'm questioning my place in this house.  How much of my responsibility should I expect to shift as a result of my "condition"?  So far it would seem that zero of it will.  Be prepared for this place to become the sty of a pig upon the arrival of #2, I don't really see any way around it.

And on a final random note, how is it so danged warm outside?  I don't own warm-weather maternity clothes and I am certainly not going to go buy any just for a few weeks of my life.  This was an unexpected turn of events and I'd really love it if I could get four more weeks of chill.  Fingers crossed....

Testing, testing

Always testing.  I get it.  She's growing up, finding her voice and self in the world.  This requires some pushing back, you know, to see where the boundaries really are.  But do we need to draw out that line EVERY DANGED DAY?

There is nothing I am more willing to do and also dread more than consequences.  One time I shocked myself by threatening to take away the chocolate pumpkin we had just bought at Sees.  We spent a good 5 minutes choosing the treat, it was now a prized possession.  So when the threat came out of my mouth, that the squawking in the mall had to stop or else....I was afraid of what I might actually have to do.  She did it no less than three more times, with a very, "I'm doing it anyways" sort of attitude.  Boom- chocolate pumpkin confiscated.  

The following scene wrecked me.  Crying.  Urges that, "Now I'm listening" and, "I'm behaving now" though red, puffy wet eyes.  I explained that I appreciated her behavior now, and that she still wasn't getting the chocolate.  She didn't like that so much.  Following through is the worst/best thing ever.  So completely awful for the instinct to rescue my beloved from her hurt that I created.  I crowded out those thoughts with reassuring ones that this moment and others like it will be why she doesn't behave like a wild dog whose parents have no say.

Tonight and last night's consequences were no books before bed.  Our routine calls for two books before lights out.  This is a big deal.  After making the decision to continue with the unacceptable behavior (tonight it was splashing tons of water out of the bath tub), I laid it out.  

Again, the drama.  Again the insistence that now she was behaving/listening.  Again I wanted to read the books anyways.  But I didn't.

Short term discomfort for long term awesomeness?  I hope so.

Parenting is hard!

Woes of two

Have I been pregnant forever?  No?  Only 16 weeks?  Are you certain?

I am 16 weeks pregnant.  I've lost 20 pounds and gained back 4.  I no longer feel wretched in every moment, hence the 4 pound gain.  Hooray!!  My eating habits are still highly suspicious.  My food aversions include almost everything.  At least it seems that way sometimes.  I've given up being vegan for now.  Everything I ate pre-prego gives me the heaves.  The new game plan: be as vegan as my appetite allows.  I've gotta say this is a huge relief.  I still won't be eating meat.  For the most part this has meant allowing for cheese.  Also some baked goodies which almost always means eggs and butter were used.  Have I noticed a difference?  You bet!  Adding dairy back in after 8 months clean has meant gas pains, feeling grossly full and phlegm.  Awesome, right?!

Then there's this other kid.  The "original" O'Hagan family addition.  Did you know that she's 2 years old?  The age of 2 is as glorious as it is stupefying and maddening.  She's undeniably brilliant.  She wants to sign everything, including letters.  She asks thoughtful questions, she's observant in ways that I hadn't considered and is on a quest, it seems, to conquer the world and make it her friend.  I mean really, try and not be this kid's friend.
She also ask questions.  Those questions lead to more questions.  Which opens up another line of questioning.  In my less proud mommy moments I have been heard saying, "OK!  Let's be done now!  I don't know!" while the cauldron of impatience is writhing and seething and verging on a really unbecoming breakdown.
She also has mind numbing mood swings.  We're talking: happily chatting away, traumatizing meltdown, resumes chatting...all within 60 seconds.  Ethan and I just look at each other, a mixture of, "Did that really just happen?" and, "I can't mentally deal with this sort of insanity" emanating from our eyes.
Then there's the testing.  We are no longer newbies at using the 'time-out'.  In some of her more insightful moments she actually chooses a time-out.  Almost like she gets that she can't handle life in that moment and needs to sit just quietly for a moment (did you get that "Ferdinand" reference?).

Parenting is a real treat.  So much joy and so much stress in each day.  The emotional output is intense!   It's no wonder I'm exhausted by 7pm everyday.

It's a trip, man.

Kerblooey

Ever feel like your head is gonna explode because your kid has asked you the same question seven times in one minute even though you've answered her each time in a different way (just in case there was something about the previous way that she didn't get), and she is still asking with a sweet, innocent, honest little face?

That's me.

"Don't be mad Mommy"

Ohmigawd.  I'm having a conflicted parenting moment.

After laying down for a good twenty minutes, my kid is heard lurking in the doorway.  I say, "Are you ok Rosanna?", to which she replies, "Don't be mad at me Mommy".

WHAT?!

Pros: The kid is forming complete and logical sentences and is willing to be a request for what she wants.
Cons: She assumes I'm going to be mad at her.

For the record, it is only upon her second, third and fourth attempts to free herself from bedtime when I become stern.  Not an ounce of mad, mind you- but stern and unyielding.  Her response to my increasing sternness is melt-down.  It's a voice and attitude that I rarely take with her and I think it shocks her a bit.

It makes me sad that she wants to avoid me being mad at her....then again, she is two and her interpretation of the word "mad" and mine are vastly different.  As you can see I have attached negative connotations to it, which is something I'd like for her to avoid and instead accept that she and I can be "mad" and it's ok, it's not something to actively avoid.  It's just normal.

Ergh.

Easter....eggs...oh, no

It's safe to say that I am hyper-aware of the things I want my child to remember.  As if I have a choice, ha!  I treasure and fondly reminisce on yearly traditions I had as a wee-one.  I am certain most of the memories weren't choreographed by my parents either, which takes my hovering to a new silliness-level.

So consider me: mom who wants to create smiley memories at every turn, and add into the mix Easter (a holiday traditionally marked by egg coloring)  along with new-found veganism.

My tradition-o-meter was flashing and honking and steaming and raising a ruckus that had my blood pressure rising and tears forming in my eyes as I considered that egg dying my not be in my child's future.  I spend a good few minutes freaking out about this.  Then, all hail the internet, I checked in with my vegan brethren and found my new traditions!

As my wise old Uncle Joe told me (nearly 6 years ago- so don't quote me verbatim): we are making a new family, with new traditions and new habits- you are a new unit, the old one is still there, but this one is for you to take and make your own.

My Uncle Joe married us, but before he would he wanted to meet with us and chat some.  Good move, Uncle.  I remember that ALL the time.  I cherish it.  It gives me permission to be a new family, unbounded by the old one and free to make new choices, if that is what we want to do.

Our new tradition looks like this: cover a small balloon with tissue paper painted over with a flour/water mixture, let it dry and pop the balloon to get it out.  Fill the "egg" with goodies (this year will be stickers, Annie's gummy bunnies, and something else) and then hide the eggs Saturday after the wee-one falls asleep.

OH MY GOSH I CANNOT WAIT!

I love, love, LOVE watching my kid explore new experiences.  It's like crack for me- I get so amped up to see what she'll do, how she'll problem solve, her excitement at figuring things out.  What a rush!  I guess vegan Easter won't be ruined after all.

On a related note: stay tuned for an unlikely Easter bunny story, coming soon to this blog near you.....

Today is not the day

Today is not a day where I think, "Hey, look at what a cool chick I am!".  Or, "Wow, I'm pretty good at this 'life' thing!".  I'm not going to use this day as a prototype for future days.  Nope.

Granted- it's only 2:30pm.

I feel like my frustration cup is brimming, overflowing while my patience cup sits dry and forlorn.  I'm going to have an ugly-face day.

Most mornings, this one included, my husband wakes up feeling less than stellar.  Some new ache or ailment, some barely audible croaking about not getting enough sleep.  My morning attitude has taken a turn for the worse, thinking, "Please, just don't say whatever it is", I feel judgmental and irritated.  Not my best wife moment.  So I get up, change a diaper and shut him into the bedroom while Ro and I scrounge around for breakfast (quesadilla, anyone?).  We, inevitably, are too loud in our weensy house and the big man doesn't get the rest he so desperately desires.

Now he's grumpy, his 'tude is transferring onto the toddler and frustration coupled with epic whining are all my ears can hear.  The logical next step of course, is that now I'm irritated.  My victim-brain says to my situation, "Why do  always have to be the adult?  Why am I the one who is left to handle it all?  Why am I left taking care of two little kids?".  Of course none of this is true.  Being the victim is so much easier than being responsible.

So off I went.  Whisked myself and the child away to a friend's to do crafty things.  With my irritation level on high alert, it was a relief to find my friend had actually set up an activity for Ro to do, unlike all the crap I brought witch was not toddler friendly.

Eventually we left, Ro was getting into all the things she was asked not to (and who could blame her, there wasn't much for her to do) and it was nap time.

For 20 minutes, she tossed, turned and practiced gymnastics while laying in bed.  I called it quits.  I left her there and told her to please go sleep now.  The calmness with which she agreed was creepy, and short lived.  Dramatic crying and sobbing about how she was sad followed with requests to be done sleeping were not far behind.  Throw in a few other annoyances (see: cat while I'm trying to eat) and I'm spent.

The thing is, this isn't unlike most days.  I must only have so many that I am able to cruise through before I max out and freak out.  I feel like my heart is tight and my head is heavy.  I've got the, "I don't give a f*ck" feeling pumping through me.

The feeling sucks.

The kid's asleep now.

Momma Trauma

Moments like this one, where my kid is in her bed, screaming "Mommy!" while coughing and choking on heavy sobs, make me wonder: what was I thinking?

I've already put her back to bed twice.  I can see her on the monitor.  I've decided that my methods aren't working (this is a trend for the past four nights).  I can see her getting out of bed so I call to her from my spot on the couch, "Lay down Rosanna".  A fresh gusto of dismay and tragedy pours out of her.  She lays down and pulls the covers up.  Her small body is jerking with spastic breathes and she is still crying.

I am fighting reasoning against intense momma-bear coddling that is urging me to go in there and hold her until her breathing is normal again.

This sucks.

In this moment I ask myself: what was I thinking?  In a few years this upset will be small beans compared to what the world will bring to my most treasured soul.  It will tear me up and require of me to make more choices that won't make my baby happy, might even make her mad at me.  And it will be the best choice for her.  It'll likely give me heat palpitations (like tonight is) and I'll cry myself.

I signed up for this.

Right now she's quiet.  Every so often I hear a hard sniffle, one of those gasps that last for awhile after a hard cry.  She's still in bed.  I didn't even get up.  I feel like this should be a proud moment for me.