Where did 14 months go???
This is insane, I thought to myself as I unloaded the dishwasher. Madison is having a nap, I'm changing out her baby spoons for big girl spoons, and forks!, and knives!! (Ok, we aren't there quite yet, but they come in the pack of cutlery).
I look at my hands, fine wrinkles, broken nails, chipped clear nail polish. And I think to myself, I'd love a manicure. And a pedicure. And a massage. Mother's Day is around the corner, surely I can attain one of these goals, if not all three. 'Wishful thinking' I say out loud as the kid practically runs past me, chasing the fat cat while trying to eat raisins out of the box. Do you know how hard it is to teach a 13.75 month old how to eat raisins? They eat the cardboard. You can't stop them, even if you show them. Just let it fucking happen. Cardboard is probably the least shitty thing your kid will eat that day. Where. Did. My. Life. Go?
There was a time, only 2 short years ago when I'd watch the 11pm Global news. I love the news. I have since I was a kid, and that was instilled in us growing up to be aware of current events and the world around us. Back then if you asked me who hosted the morning news, I'd have looked at you like you were looney tunes. Now, now it's different. I haven't watched the 11pm news in over a year. I actually don't know if the news at night exists. That's because my days now start at 6 am and end at 9pm. Who. Am. I?
I'm sure one day I'll have the time to sit down and write about all of the trials and tribulations of raising an infant to toddlerhood. I say that because there are days when I didn't think I'd get through infancy. But honestly, by then, I won't remember them. There's 101 details about the first few months that not everyone needs to know. There's also a very large part of the population who has gone through it, therefore I don't need to tell you about nipple issues, 12 am-230am-330am-513am feedings, and feeling like you're in a fog. I am however here to tell you about the other side. The things we don't usually talk about. And the first part of being a parent is that everything changes. Everything.
More than once I sat on the couch nursing Madison, looking across at my mom who gladly moved in to help us through a colicky baby stage. I looked at her with tears in my eyes thinking I can't do this. Thinking she's not eating enough, what do I do? Thinking 'you're wrong' when she would say to me that I won't remember this part. Well fuck. She was right. She's always right. It's been 1 year 1 month and 18 days since we met and I scramble to hold on to the memories of her as an infant. I watch her sleep in her crib at night, but during the day we go to IKEA and tryout big girl beds. I watch her practice stabbing her scrambled eggs in the morning but I see her drink her bottle of milk at bedtime like she's six months old again.
It's different now. I don't remember her first walk in the stroller, I remember the first time I was late for work because I had to chase her around the house putting on a diaper. I don't remember the noises she made, I remember listening to her scream at the top of her lungs because she is not allowed to play on the window sill. I remember hearing Dada and Mama and now, some days, I wish she'd stop talking. (Not actually, she's just really noisy!)
I've become 'that mom'. The mom that no longer has guilt about going to work, who no longer rushes home to get her after the day is over. But I'm now the mom who takes her to daycare on my own days off. Hell, I take her early on those days!! Get the fuck out, kid!! ahhahah! Mommy wants to have a nap and not be subconsciously listening for you to also wake from your nap. Or I want to eat a hot breakfast. Or I want to clean the house - which I'm not shitting you is the fucking last thing I want to do. There must be a fairy maid service that will come to my house. Maybe that's my Mother's Day gift? I hear my husbands alarm go off at 5:45am. What fucking time is that? It's the middle of the night is what. Good Christ, I love this man, and good for him for getting up early to go pay the bills. Because he's the one paying for Molly Maid.
But even though he's up that early, I'm not that far behind him. I'm up at 6 no matter what day it is, or what my work schedule is like. I may lay in bed for a while but it's the only time I have to check Facebook and Reddit whilst not being bugged by a minion who tries to shove legos up my nose. I used to wonder, long before I had kids, just what the fuck parents were doing up so goddamn early. What I've learned is that it's not the parent waking up at that time, it's the child. And the parent would give almost anything to sleep another hour, because by law we are required to take care of them. Assholes.
I want to promise to you, and to myself, that I won't let these blog posts become few and far between. But I struggle with that. Because if I'm not dealing with my job, or my husband, or my dog, then I'm dealing with Maddy learning to climb from her learning tower on to the kitchen counters. And for fuck sake, this kid goes to bed at 8 and I'm right the fuck behind her. Can someone please tell me if Paul Dunphy is still the weatherman at 11pm? thanksssssnnnnnnnnnorrrre.
I look at my hands, fine wrinkles, broken nails, chipped clear nail polish. And I think to myself, I'd love a manicure. And a pedicure. And a massage. Mother's Day is around the corner, surely I can attain one of these goals, if not all three. 'Wishful thinking' I say out loud as the kid practically runs past me, chasing the fat cat while trying to eat raisins out of the box. Do you know how hard it is to teach a 13.75 month old how to eat raisins? They eat the cardboard. You can't stop them, even if you show them. Just let it fucking happen. Cardboard is probably the least shitty thing your kid will eat that day. Where. Did. My. Life. Go?
There was a time, only 2 short years ago when I'd watch the 11pm Global news. I love the news. I have since I was a kid, and that was instilled in us growing up to be aware of current events and the world around us. Back then if you asked me who hosted the morning news, I'd have looked at you like you were looney tunes. Now, now it's different. I haven't watched the 11pm news in over a year. I actually don't know if the news at night exists. That's because my days now start at 6 am and end at 9pm. Who. Am. I?
I'm sure one day I'll have the time to sit down and write about all of the trials and tribulations of raising an infant to toddlerhood. I say that because there are days when I didn't think I'd get through infancy. But honestly, by then, I won't remember them. There's 101 details about the first few months that not everyone needs to know. There's also a very large part of the population who has gone through it, therefore I don't need to tell you about nipple issues, 12 am-230am-330am-513am feedings, and feeling like you're in a fog. I am however here to tell you about the other side. The things we don't usually talk about. And the first part of being a parent is that everything changes. Everything.
More than once I sat on the couch nursing Madison, looking across at my mom who gladly moved in to help us through a colicky baby stage. I looked at her with tears in my eyes thinking I can't do this. Thinking she's not eating enough, what do I do? Thinking 'you're wrong' when she would say to me that I won't remember this part. Well fuck. She was right. She's always right. It's been 1 year 1 month and 18 days since we met and I scramble to hold on to the memories of her as an infant. I watch her sleep in her crib at night, but during the day we go to IKEA and tryout big girl beds. I watch her practice stabbing her scrambled eggs in the morning but I see her drink her bottle of milk at bedtime like she's six months old again.
It's different now. I don't remember her first walk in the stroller, I remember the first time I was late for work because I had to chase her around the house putting on a diaper. I don't remember the noises she made, I remember listening to her scream at the top of her lungs because she is not allowed to play on the window sill. I remember hearing Dada and Mama and now, some days, I wish she'd stop talking. (Not actually, she's just really noisy!)
I've become 'that mom'. The mom that no longer has guilt about going to work, who no longer rushes home to get her after the day is over. But I'm now the mom who takes her to daycare on my own days off. Hell, I take her early on those days!! Get the fuck out, kid!! ahhahah! Mommy wants to have a nap and not be subconsciously listening for you to also wake from your nap. Or I want to eat a hot breakfast. Or I want to clean the house - which I'm not shitting you is the fucking last thing I want to do. There must be a fairy maid service that will come to my house. Maybe that's my Mother's Day gift? I hear my husbands alarm go off at 5:45am. What fucking time is that? It's the middle of the night is what. Good Christ, I love this man, and good for him for getting up early to go pay the bills. Because he's the one paying for Molly Maid.
But even though he's up that early, I'm not that far behind him. I'm up at 6 no matter what day it is, or what my work schedule is like. I may lay in bed for a while but it's the only time I have to check Facebook and Reddit whilst not being bugged by a minion who tries to shove legos up my nose. I used to wonder, long before I had kids, just what the fuck parents were doing up so goddamn early. What I've learned is that it's not the parent waking up at that time, it's the child. And the parent would give almost anything to sleep another hour, because by law we are required to take care of them. Assholes.
I want to promise to you, and to myself, that I won't let these blog posts become few and far between. But I struggle with that. Because if I'm not dealing with my job, or my husband, or my dog, then I'm dealing with Maddy learning to climb from her learning tower on to the kitchen counters. And for fuck sake, this kid goes to bed at 8 and I'm right the fuck behind her. Can someone please tell me if Paul Dunphy is still the weatherman at 11pm? thanksssssnnnnnnnnnorrrre.
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