Tag Archives: mother

Yet another reason to have a dog.

Last night was rough.

We’ve moved into the new house, but Little Man can’t stay there during the day because, until yesterday, the paint was still wet and all of our worldly possessions are stacked in the middle of each room. So, every day we drop him off at our nanny’s house and pick him up at day’s end. All fine, except our nanny lives an hour away, sometimes more as traffic during rush hour is always going with you.

So, last night I left work at 4:45, got to her house at 5:20 (amazing time), packed him up and set off again at 5:45. He hates the car seat now so he goes stiff as a board when you try to put him in it and starts screaming. Last night he alternated screaming and whining for an hour in the car. I was so frazzled when we got home; I called Mike to vent but just ended up being nasty to him out of frustration (he was at the old house trying to empty the fridge).

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You know you’re a mom when…

Apparently I got old somewhere along the way. I didn’t notice it until it was pointed out to me by my coworker that keeps saying things like, “Wow, I was the youngest person on Jury Duty. Everyone else was old – I think the next eldest person was in their 30s.”

It bugged me to start with, but now I’ve decided to embrace it. So, in the spirit of getting older I feel I am allowed to start using parent terms without incrimination. I will start saying “wireless” meaning radio not cell phones and I will point out the ridiculous youth of today.

Prime example: What the hell is up with models these days? Check out the girl in the center from ShopBop.com:

Model posing, youth of today

This dress is like so heavy

What’s up with her? Is she so skinny she can’t hold herself up? Or is she just sick of modeling? Either way, I don’t want to spend $348.00 to wear this clearly heavy dress. Do you think it’s made of pink lacy chain mail? Can you imagine yourself like this at a party? I would think people would get awfully tired of me sighing. And I would spill my drink all over the carpet while shrugging off questions like, “Why are you standing like that?” and “Are you suffering from polio?”

You know you’re a mom when you want to tell high earning models to stand up straight.

Childless Friends

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

I have some friends that have no interest in having children now or in the future. No problem say I – we can still be friends. But can we?

Turns out it’s not as easy to remain friends when you have such a huge difference between you. On the surface, this just means that you don’t talk to each other about children, you just go out to dinner and act out your old life, prechild right? Sure. It’s possible to not talk about the one thing that occupies 50% of your brain at any given moment, the thing that keeps you awake at night, the things that runs your schedule. At least for a couple hours. Except, you have to get a babysitter to go out. So, scheduling that dinner is not as easy as it used to be. But they’re understanding right?

Well… not as much as you might have thought. One friend told me when I was pregnant he was quite sure I wasn’t going to be “one of those people that posted about my baby on Facebook.” This was a relief to him. Apparently the info I share on Facebook should pertain to the mass audience. So, I made a “no baby updates group” on Facebook, but it rubbed me the wrong way that he wouldn’t want to know about this part of my life.

After I had Little Man, I was surprised at the lack of interest of another friend. First time we ran into him at an event, he didn’t mention the child strapped via
Baby Bjorn to my front. Acted like he wasn’t even there. In the last four months that same friend has continued his strange comments and lack of regard for our child. Today he referred to my son as an “expelled parasite.”

I know that folks that choose to not have children hear a lot of complaints from friends and family hoping to persuade them, which is annoying. If you don’t want children, don’t have ’em. Having children is like getting a tattoo on your face – you’ll never be able to go back so you’d better be committed. I have learned that you should never tell someone how to raise their child, your opinion on having a child when they don’t ask for my opinion, or that they shouldn’t have cut their hair off once it’s done. But on the flip side, if you aren’t having kids,
try to think of the most important thing in your life – something that relies entirely on you for survival – your dog, your business, your hamster, whatever. Multiply your thoughts and feelings, fears and hopes for this thing by a million and that’s close to how a parent feels about their child. It’s a completely unconditional love, the strongest feeling you will ever experience. I would give
up my life for my child.

When my husband and I were planning to get pregnant we would talk a lot about how our child wouldn’t rule our life. We vowed that we would stay close with friends that had no children now or in their hopeful future. We never considered the fact that those friends may not be having the same
conversation.

 

Aside

However far away, I will always love you
However long I stay, I will always love you
Whatever words I say, I will always love you
I will always love you Continue reading

Sophie’s home

We decided not to involve the cops in the Sophie the Giraffe kidnapping, and instead paid the $18.99 (plus shipping and handling) to Amazon.com. Five to seven days later, Sophie arrived home. Praise be to God!

Strangely, she’s cleaner than when she left. There were no remnants of last week’s oatmeal crusted on to any of her legs, let alone all of them and it made me wonder if she didn’t set this all up just to get a little R&R. No matter, she’s home now, Little Man is lovingly mouthing her nose as we speak.

OMG Sophie the Giraffe is in trouble!

This may, or may not, have arrived in the mail.

Joke’s on you Sophie the giraffe! (but, if you’re reading this, we still want you home)

 

Postcard from the edge (of where?)

So, listen Sophie the giraffe. When I was a little girl I used to “run away” when I was unhappy. I would shout something dramatic like, “THAT’S IT!!,” slam the back door of our house and stomp down the driveway, only stopping to look behind me to make sure someone was watching. They were obviously out of sight, so I held my head up high and continued my march. I would get to the road in front of our house and sneak down to hide under the bush. Honestly, Sophie, I was too scared of strangers to go any further and running away wasn’t my real motivation. But I think you know that already.

I would sit under that bush imagining my mother crying wretchedly, howling, “Oh if only I had given her a Barbie instead of Sindy, the English knock off. Maybe she would still be here.” The police would come, the whole town would start lamenting how great I am… until I stroll out only to be covered in hugs and kisses, carnivals would be thrown in my honor and Barbies would rain from the sky. However, after about six or eight minutes, I couldn’t hear the sirens so I’d wander out and see no one. A little further and still no one. Finally, I’d walk back into the house and realize that no one had even noticed I was gone. My point in this fascinating, if not lengthy, story Sophie, is that life goes on.

So, if you happen to be hiding behind little man’s bed (*note to self: check behind bed) thinking, “Oh, they miss me so much,” you may be surprised to find out that maybe we don’t.

And if giraffes understand irony, I apologize. I realize that in writing a blog about your missing status, I might be showing that we do actually miss you, but…  umm… ok, I have no explanation.

Oh, just come home or crawl out from behind the bed please. I’ll look into giraffe carnivals for you.