18.
When did I stop counting the months?
When did life with you become so....normal that every 30 days I didn't have to stop and stare at you in awe simply because you're here and I MADE you?
I didn't even realize that it was your half birthday until someone asked me how old you were the other day. As I stopped to think about it, your dad chirped up with "18 months....today!" And I thought, "woooah." That didn't even occur to me. Weird.
And do you know what I think this means? I think this means that I made it. I think I finally made it to the place where saying "I have a son," or "I'm a mom," don't feel like really weird groupings of words coming from my mouth. I made it to the place where waking up before you so I can take a shower is the better alternative than trying to get just 15 more minutes of sleep. Where the highlight of my week is not going to the bar to get very, very drunk, but instead the story time we go to at the local library followed by a visit to the cafe across the road, where you get to play in the sandbox and I get to drink coffee and chat with this really awesome group of other moms.
I am trying to remember what I found so hard at first. Because I know that it was hard, I don't doubt that for a gosh darn second. I remember how, for at least 6 months, my daily mantra seemed to be nothing other than, "S**t. This is hard." Because I was too tired to think of anything more profound, and I don't think that there was anything specific that I could pin down, per say. It was more the general life-upheaval that comes with having a baby than any one of the little tasks or minor inconveniences. And let's just say that I am rather interested to see how things go down this time around. Will having baby #2 be any easier because my lifestyle is so much better set up to cope with it, or will it be harder because dropping everything to tend to a baby isn't an option when your other baby still needs your love and attention? I'm hoping that it's the former. But I'll be sure to let you know.
Anyways. Back to YOU, Trip. You're such a little person now, it is astounding and such a pleasure to watch. You really love trying new words, and are even experimenting with body language. For example, the word "helicopter" (which, actually, sounds nothing like "helicopter" but you get points for trying. And for being so friggin cute as you try.) must be said with an exaggerated nod of your head, and the word "please" must be said with your head cocked to the side, preferably with your hands out in a "why not" type of gesture. More about the word "please:" you are beginning to understand its power. You pull a cup out of the cupboard for juice and say, "please." You walk over, grab my hand to guide me somewhere you really want me to go, and say "pleeaaaase." Unfortunately, this also comes with the difficult lesson that just because you used that awesome, magic word, doesn't mean you get what you want. Sometimes, you can't have juice (no really...I didn't buy any more, you really can't have any!). Sometimes you don't get to go outside (dude! It's 100 degrees and humid as all hell out there, we are not going outside.). And sometimes, this disappointment leads you to throw a tantrum. Which involves a full-body collapse with your forehead slamming into the floor. With copious amounts of wailing, of course. And I'm sure it would only upset you more to learn that, mostly, I find these rants of yours to be cute. And a little bit funny. I should videotape one of them, so that one day I can show you what I mean!
So here we are. 18 months in. And I must say, your dad and I are more in love with you than ever. I know that we feel the same way because I hear it when he says "gosh, I do love you," as he picks you up sometimes. It's the same way I say it, like it's this sudden wave of feeling and saying it out loud is almost an involuntary reaction. We have this silent battle over who gets to pick you up from daycare. Because really, walking into that building and being able to watch you play unselfconsciously in those 30-60 seconds before you see us, followed by the light on your face as you point and yell, "MOMMA!!!" is just about the best thing since apple pie. So when it comes to deciding who gets to go pick you up on Monday, your dad and I silently weigh up who has had the hardest day, therefore deciding who gets to come get you and who gets to stay and finish up a little more work. We used to be the same with tucking you in. And when I knew that your dad had a hard day, I would remind him to go tuck you in, and man, if only you could bottle a smile like that...
Is this too mushy now? Should I stop? I'm sorry. But it's your fault, you know. And let's just hope it takes you a little longer to figure out how wholly you have us wrapped around your finger...and once you do figure it out, please use this power for good. We never stood a chance.
xox
Mommy
When did life with you become so....normal that every 30 days I didn't have to stop and stare at you in awe simply because you're here and I MADE you?
I didn't even realize that it was your half birthday until someone asked me how old you were the other day. As I stopped to think about it, your dad chirped up with "18 months....today!" And I thought, "woooah." That didn't even occur to me. Weird.
And do you know what I think this means? I think this means that I made it. I think I finally made it to the place where saying "I have a son," or "I'm a mom," don't feel like really weird groupings of words coming from my mouth. I made it to the place where waking up before you so I can take a shower is the better alternative than trying to get just 15 more minutes of sleep. Where the highlight of my week is not going to the bar to get very, very drunk, but instead the story time we go to at the local library followed by a visit to the cafe across the road, where you get to play in the sandbox and I get to drink coffee and chat with this really awesome group of other moms.
I am trying to remember what I found so hard at first. Because I know that it was hard, I don't doubt that for a gosh darn second. I remember how, for at least 6 months, my daily mantra seemed to be nothing other than, "S**t. This is hard." Because I was too tired to think of anything more profound, and I don't think that there was anything specific that I could pin down, per say. It was more the general life-upheaval that comes with having a baby than any one of the little tasks or minor inconveniences. And let's just say that I am rather interested to see how things go down this time around. Will having baby #2 be any easier because my lifestyle is so much better set up to cope with it, or will it be harder because dropping everything to tend to a baby isn't an option when your other baby still needs your love and attention? I'm hoping that it's the former. But I'll be sure to let you know.
Anyways. Back to YOU, Trip. You're such a little person now, it is astounding and such a pleasure to watch. You really love trying new words, and are even experimenting with body language. For example, the word "helicopter" (which, actually, sounds nothing like "helicopter" but you get points for trying. And for being so friggin cute as you try.) must be said with an exaggerated nod of your head, and the word "please" must be said with your head cocked to the side, preferably with your hands out in a "why not" type of gesture. More about the word "please:" you are beginning to understand its power. You pull a cup out of the cupboard for juice and say, "please." You walk over, grab my hand to guide me somewhere you really want me to go, and say "pleeaaaase." Unfortunately, this also comes with the difficult lesson that just because you used that awesome, magic word, doesn't mean you get what you want. Sometimes, you can't have juice (no really...I didn't buy any more, you really can't have any!). Sometimes you don't get to go outside (dude! It's 100 degrees and humid as all hell out there, we are not going outside.). And sometimes, this disappointment leads you to throw a tantrum. Which involves a full-body collapse with your forehead slamming into the floor. With copious amounts of wailing, of course. And I'm sure it would only upset you more to learn that, mostly, I find these rants of yours to be cute. And a little bit funny. I should videotape one of them, so that one day I can show you what I mean!
So here we are. 18 months in. And I must say, your dad and I are more in love with you than ever. I know that we feel the same way because I hear it when he says "gosh, I do love you," as he picks you up sometimes. It's the same way I say it, like it's this sudden wave of feeling and saying it out loud is almost an involuntary reaction. We have this silent battle over who gets to pick you up from daycare. Because really, walking into that building and being able to watch you play unselfconsciously in those 30-60 seconds before you see us, followed by the light on your face as you point and yell, "MOMMA!!!" is just about the best thing since apple pie. So when it comes to deciding who gets to go pick you up on Monday, your dad and I silently weigh up who has had the hardest day, therefore deciding who gets to come get you and who gets to stay and finish up a little more work. We used to be the same with tucking you in. And when I knew that your dad had a hard day, I would remind him to go tuck you in, and man, if only you could bottle a smile like that...
Is this too mushy now? Should I stop? I'm sorry. But it's your fault, you know. And let's just hope it takes you a little longer to figure out how wholly you have us wrapped around your finger...and once you do figure it out, please use this power for good. We never stood a chance.
xox
Mommy
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