Empty Shelves

I have a few friends who have recently lost babies to miscarriage.
As a mother now, my empathy runs much deeper.

I didn't understand the heart-pull connection before Cub.
Sadly, I have lost two of my own children by my own will through two abortions. I didn't get it then. Maybe I didn't want to understand in those vulnerable moments. In fact, I know I didn't. It would've made "the decision" that much more real and cruel. When the nurse told me it was simply a "mass" the size of a grain of rice, I gladly accepted that explanation. Thank God it wasn't a baby... yet! Or so I told myself.

But ironically, on the other side of pregnancy, when "wanting" to be pregnant, every little day and week matters. That little "mass" is now proudly a little baby growing rapidly -- with a heartbeat! Oh, the joy! I remember when first pregnant with Cub at eight weeks, I was so excited to go and see him on my first ultra-sound. And then later that day it hit me, my last abortion was at eight weeks.

I'm being transparent about my own story because I realize that there are so many women out there hurting. And very confused. Whether losing a baby through an abortion or a miscarriage, somehow if the weeks aren't long enough, then you're not supposed to hurt as bad. If you had a miscarriage at six or eight weeks, our culture expects you to "get over it". It wasn't really a baby yet. Or not a "baby" baby... right? However, if you lose a baby at four months or even further along, then that should really hurt. Is grief really measured by time? For instance, if someone dear to you dies at 100, does that mean you shouldn't be that sad since they've lived a long life? Or is it still that someone you love has gone away -- whether 6 weeks in utero or 99?

The last few days I've been searching for a few good books to help one of my friends through her time of loss. There are several great ones online: Empty Arms, I'll Hold You in Heaven, Grieving the Child I Never Knew, Miscarriage: Women Sharing From the Heart (all on Amazon). While I knew I could order all of these online, I thought it would be faster just to run to Barnes and Noble or Borders. When I got there and asked about these books or a section on miscarriages, I got very concerned, even sad looks. But then lead to a TINY little area where a small sticker said, "miscarriages", but no books actually on grief or healing after a miscarriage or abortion. The sales clerks (I went to both Barnes and Borders) looked a little ashamed at the poor selection and quickly volunteered to order the books online for me.

Those tiny bookstore sections are symbolic of what little time we (and others) give ourselves to heal after the loss of a baby. We're supposed to wipe back our tears and either try again for the "next" baby or wait until we're "ready" for our "chosen" baby. But don't spend too much time mourning a baby that wasn't even "born"! Or never had a "full" chance at life. So instead we walk around with a tiny section in our heart labeled "miscarriage" or "abortion" on an empty shelf.

Yet if the topic is brought up in a safe or intimate circle of women and mothers, almost every one of them will say they've lost a baby through miscarriage or abortion. And most will be willing to talk about it. Especially if it's a miscarriage. However, even the most liberal of women often still have a hard time sharing their abortion story. Unless it's with a gruff, defensive response, denying any remorse. It's almost as if, if you're "pro-choice", you're not supposed to actually hurt or have any sad feelings about your abortion? How sad!

Feelings are real. The loss is real. You don't have to be a prisoner to grief. But you also don't have to be a prisoner to denial. Give yourself time and allowance to heal.

There's an opening note to the mothers in the book, "Miscarriages: Women sharing from the heart" that touched my heart and hopefully touches yours too if you've ever lost a child during pregnancy:

Dear Mother,
Regardless of the length of time you were pregnant, you carried a real, living being in your womb. That little being, your baby, died. What you are feeling is grief, a complex, yet normal, response to loss... Although the future appears dark, you will survive. You will find your strength along the way. You will see the light of day again. Together we'll hold steadfast through the tears.

Cooler

I'm back in high school. Or maybe middle school. Probably both. That stage in life where you're walking around constantly obsessing over if someone likes you or not. Questioning every look, reaction, and response. What did that blink mean? What did that yawn mean? Why did they look away? What do they see? What are they looking at? What's wrong with me? Those Marcia, Marcia, Marcia moments from the Brady Bunch!

And that someone is Cub.

I saw an episode of Cougar Town the other day (don't ask!) and there was a scene where one of the friends called desperately for advice because she feared her baby didn't like her. The main character suggested they go out and get the baby chocolate ice cream so he can like his mom again. And it worked! I thought, that insecurity must be pretty common if someone thought to put it in a script.

Maybe it's part of that whole mommy guilt thing. We know there are moments when we're not being the best mom so we get all insecure and ashamed and start doing anything and everything to win back that acceptance. I'm saying "we" but maybe it's just me!

Today I'm pushing Cub on a swing at the park. In my head I'm thinking "how long are we really going to stay on this swing?" Then Cub looks at the other mommy making goofy faces at her baby in the next swing and I start thinking, "Am I horrible mom for feeling bored right now? Is Cub wishing that other mom was his mom?" So then I start pushing Cub higher and trying different silly faces and sounds to make him laugh. It worked, kind of. But he also had this look in his eye (or so I'm interpreting) that said, "you're fake. You're trying to get my approval right now and I'm not going to give it to you a hundred percent, so settle on this half-smile." And of course the Marcia, Marcia, Marcias start up and the itty bitty shitty committee starts casting their votes on my parenting and I turn into a total head case.

Many moments I find myself drifting off somewhere mentally while playing with Cub and then feeling horrible for not being "present" 24-7. Or I'm watching Cub laugh hysterically with daddy and feel like I'm the biggest crumb for glancing at the clock for the next nap time or bedtime at times when he's with me. A "good" mommy would always have on a smile, have total patience, sing all the kiddie songs (and know the words!), play non-stop, think only about their child and so on, right? Right.

Does this mean I'm totally selfish and self-centered? At times, yes. But also that I'm a normal woman who happens to be a mom too and has needs and desires of her own apart from mommyhood. Dare I admit that?

While at the park today I also saw this dad pushing his kid on another swing. The little girl was perfectly content and the dad wasn't looking at her or trying to coax some giggle out of her. They were just swinging. Simple as that. And I wondered why can't I just swing in moments that I don't feel up to being silly and goofy? Just chill. Relax. Instead of feeling guilty for not being the funnest 24-7 mom in the world? Is it not more weird for Cub to have a mommy fighting desperately for his approval? Or getting a complex for being bored once in a while?

And if I am being selfish, maybe I need to simply acknowledge it, then make a mental switch and keep it moving!

Cub has become more and more aware of his surroundings and emotional environments lately. He's 11 months going on 15! If I'm acting weird, he knows it! No silly smile can hide that. If I'm tense, awkward, nervous, insecure, he's reading into all of it! He may not know what's going on, but he is thinking something's off with mommy. So this year, 2010, I declare will be the year of the Cool. I will be much cooler (not high school or middle school cool), but a cooler cucumber. I will smoke a cool person proverbial joint and just swing. Keep it simple, stupid!

Remembering...

Over Thanksgiving weekend I came down with the most terrible stomach thing. Not sure if it was food poisoning (my body's revenge for being a glutton) or a nasty stomach flu. Whatever the case, I was doubled over in pain, crying my eyes out and reminiscent of labor pains almost a year ago! My family was quick to suspect that I could be pregnant again since I was also running to the bathroom constantly to give back all the lovely food I had partaken of. That or had H1N1, Bird Flu, or any other heinous illness.

I ruled out the preggers possibility by asking my single sister, who's never had to buy a pregnancy test in her life, make a drug store run. She hesitated at first. Then admitted to being embarrassed. It was cute. Almost like she was in middle school and I was asking her to go buy some maxi pads. Or her first condoms purchase. But she went anyway for the love of her little sis. Wonder what her face looked like as she put the pregnancy test down on the counter. Did she make eye contact with the cashier? Try to throw in gum or water or something else to distract from it? I'm sure in her mind she was paranoid that she didn't have a wedding ring on and that the cashier would assume she was some irresponsible single person making a secret pregnancy test run in her pajamas. Hilarious.

Later that night the pains got worse. I really started to believe that I was about to give birth to a 10 pound baby. Maybe the test was wrong and I really did have a big huge baby stuck inside my belly, hiding along side my size 1 waist? Maybe I would end up on that TV show I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant!

Finally, when I couldn't take it anymore, I asked my husband if he could take me to the ER. I was giving birth... to something. So he did. And my sister came too, the loyal sis that she is. Naturally, when I got there the pains began to subside. But as we pulled in front of the ER and checked in, I began to have de ja vu. The last time I had been to ER was for Cub's arrival. As we sat in the ER triage room, amidst my discomfort, I felt a warm feeling of happiness come over me. Everything started coming back to me. The drive to the hospital, the wheelchair taking me up to the labor area, the smell of the hospital, the anticipation... and at that moment I felt like the luckiest woman alive. To be able to conjure up that memory. To have lived and experienced giving birth.

After our Ken Doctor (that's what we called him because he seriously looked like a Barbie doctor) couldn't find a reason to keep me there, and my husband was barely able to continue standing he was so tired (it was now about 1 AM), we were released.

While the stomach thing was the worst I've experienced in my 30-odd years of life, I am so grateful that I was able to experience that little moment of remembering... the day my first-born was brought into our lives. That made it all worth it... kind of.

Get Up, Stand Up

My baby is gone.

He was just here.

I found some of his old booties.
They're tiny and precious.
They belong on a doll's feet.

I put away some of his clothes. To believe that a very short time ago he couldn't fit into the newborn onesies we had. But now they're all piled up, shoved inside a closet and waiting. Either to be given away or for a sibling to come sometime in the future. Or to be eaten by nasty silverfish hiding in the deep crevices of the closet.

That baby I had, that yummy, gummy, beautiful cooing little baby boy has vanished. I cradled him to bed one night. All cozy and perfectly curled up into my arms. Then I woke up and poof he was gone. Just like that. I'm sure there was even the "poof smoke" when it happened too. But since it was the middle of the night I didn't get to see it.

Now I have a wiggly, twirling, adorable greased pig. Not a pig like the dirty, smelly, gross animal. A cute piggy. Like a Babe type pig. The frisky type of pig you want to kiss all over and play with. One that George Clooney would get. A Wilbur pig that bats his eyes at me and makes me laugh. That frolics and giggles and is impossible to catch or hold still.

I think this pig ate my baby.

Somehow during nap and bedtime this little piggy disappears. And leaves me with a bop bag. You know, those balloon-like things that you bop down and they keep bouncing right back up? That's what's happening in the crib.

No more baby.
No more pig.
Just a bop bag.

Cubby is now all about pulling up. He has mastered this skill and wants to show it off on every occasion. Especially during sleep times. I lay his little self down and bop he's up again! Standing, holding onto the crib railing with his four teeth grin.

I let him do this a few times, hoping he'll get bored or tired or both. But after what feels like 10 hours, I gently put him back down and firmly tell him it's time to go to sleep. He looks at me like, yeah right. Then scrunches up his little face with all his might, trying to use those little six-pack abs to pull himself up again. As soon as I step away --- BOP. What do I do with this new bop bag?

When I try to resort to picking him up and rocking him to sleep, the cute greasy pig comes back and is wiggling and squirming out of my arms!

It's a conspiracy.

They're double-teaming me. That bop bag and greasy pig.

And what's really pathetic is they're outsmarting me!

I guess I'll make peace with them for now.

I gotta admit, they're cute.

And when I turn my face during these moments so he won't see, I can't help but to want to laugh at how ridiculous this is.

Cub Hug

We move day to day like fall leaves scattering across busy sidewalks. We're in motion. Sometimes with purpose. Sometimes just floating. But on the go. It's called Motherhood, and even before we were blessed with such a title, it could be known as womanhood.

It's innate. To go. To keep moving. Even when every cell in our body is boycotting for us to be still.

Sometimes we just go because if we stop, we just might crumble. Or cry. Or stop forever. Or be completely puzzled by what to do with ourselves. So the appointments pile up. The meeting over here, play dates there, this errand and that one, push push pushing...

Then something extraordinary happens. Something so simple and lovely that forces us to stop and smile. Something so beautiful that only a moment can capture, too great for time.

I was driving all over the place. A to-do list of errands. Brushing past crowds of people, grabbing this off of that shelf and sliding my credit card here and there. Hopping in and out of my car. Watching the clock as if I actually could control time. And hurrying, because that's what I do.

When I finally got to the birthday party where I was headed, gift in hand, rushing because I was already late and Cub and my husband had been there for a while already, I opened the door and saw him. It was my boy. Cub. And he looked up at me with the biggest, happiest eyes, and my heart gushed. Not that it doesn't always flutter when he looks at me. But because amidst my goings and comings, moving through space and too focused to notice what's important in life, he stopped time. Made me inhale love and exhale all the nonsense and senseless stuff we often pile up in our minds.

Being a stay at home mom right now, Cub sees me every day. I know he loves and appreciates me. But because he sees me all the time, I don't get that same demonstrative welcome that daddy gets when he comes home from work. Legs kicking in the air, arms jolting up and down, etc. But that birthday party day, I got it. And it was everything I needed.

His little arms clung to my neck, legs wrapped around my waist like a koala bear, complete with a big slobbery teething bite on the cheek. And I was puddy in his little hands.

I gently folded up that moment, amidst the birthday party cheers and laughter, into the inner pockets of my heart and promised to keep it there forever.

The Sleep Sack.

The last few nights I've been sacked!!

Like a Quarterback.

I'm in the middle of a nice, peaceful sleep, probably dreaming about something lovely, then BOOM out of nowhere -- I get sacked!! The gang on Monday Night Football would even be impressed.

Allow me to explain...

For some odd reason over the last few nights my husband has been in this unconscious protective mode.

(Remember when you used to ride in the front seat while your mom was driving and suddenly she'd throw out her arm across your chest to keep you from falling forward at a stop even though you were like 18 years old? Well, this is happening with my husband in his sleep.)

He keeps thinking I'm going to roll off the bed whenever I turn over -- even though we have a CALIFORNIA KING BED and I haven't "rolled off the bed" probably since I was two, if even then, -- and he immediately grabs me up and pulls me to the middle of the bed in his sleep.

The first time this happened I almost peed my pajamas!
I didn't know what happened!

There I was in a deep sleep and all of a sudden I'm being grabbed up out of my sleep by these big, strong arms, like an intruder had broken into our home, only to hear my husband say a foggy, you were about to roll off the bed.

Initially when this happened, I thought, that's strange. I've never rolled off this bed or any adult bed for that matter. What's going on in my sleep? I thought it was ME.

But now this has been happening over the last 3 nights!

Last night when it happened yet again, I quickly defended myself and said, Babe! I'm just turning over! At which point his body went limp and fell back into a deep slumber.

I asked him about it this morning, and if this is going to continue to go on. And if so, maybe I need to start wearing football pads to bed. He had no recollection of even doing it! He chuckled.

He has a lot going on at work lately and different things on his mind, so it makes since that his subconscious is a little on edge. And most likely, we think he's thinking I'm the baby for some reason in his sleep. Even though Cub hasn't fallen asleep in our bed in months!!

I'm certainly glad his protective reflexes are on guard and stand alert, but can a girl get a good-night's sleep without being tackled? Geesh.

I Ate Poop.

This evening Cub, me and daddy were all sitting together at the dinner table. It was a lovely Sunday evening. We had just returned home from a Sunday afternoon cruise along Malibu and were feeling pretty darn good.

I decided to mash up some avocados for Cub's dinner since he hasn't had any in a while and I had these perfect plump organic (ooh lala) ones from the natural food store. Yum.

So we're all sitting there, just big fat happy campers. And I say to my husband, I don't think he's pooped yet today. Because you know that's the only topic of discussion these days. Forget what's on the news, the injustice and poverty happening around the world or anything else of adult interest and content.

My husband makes a comment about hopefully he'll get something out before his bath. And I agree. Definitely before bath or tomorrow morning -- NOT in the middle of the night.

We carry on, enjoying feeding Cub. Laughing at every little smile, expression, chomp and what not. Just doing what all silly new parents do. Then Cub starts making "the face". That red hot poop face. We're trying not to laugh because his face is literally beet red. Almost purple. If I didn't know any better, I would've called an ambulance because it was so ridiculously red. The poop face by itself is very unflattering, but all the more hilarious. Anyway, we don't want him to see we're cracking up, because our little munchkin is trying really hard to focus.

Then it's over. Just like that.

Cub's back to chomping down avocado and some butternut squash I threw on the side. Easy enough. I can definitely smell the results but it seemed like a pretty uneventful poop.

I start wiping down Cub's face preparing him to get out of the high chair and I notice there's some avocado on the chair. I swipe it off. Licking the remains from my finger. Then -- STOP!! What the ??... it's EVERYWHERE. Avocado EVERYWHERE. WAIT -- that's NOT avocado!! I just ATE poop!!

I'm in shock. Not just because I ate poop, but because this crap (pun intended) is ALL over the high-chair, on Cub's little chubby legs, feet, and now my sundress and thighs, which he's rubbing his poopy heel all up and down on.

I just sit there. Frozen. My husband's telling me to do something. But I can't. I'm poop paralyzed.

My husband then jumps up and gets some wipes. I manage to somehow get Cub out of the chair and to the changing table only to find MORE poop mysteriously popping out of random folds and crevices. Where did all of this come from??? My husband's enjoying every moment of this. (Side note: he was with Cub all weekend, so this is my turn to handle the diaper change. Great.)

Cub's finally clean. We get him into the tub. All is well. But to top it off, as daddy continues to laugh at mom getting poopified, Cub does a nice fountain of urine all over daddy's jeans. Now that's my boy!

As I sit here recanting this story to you, I'm suddenly remembering... I STILL haven't washed my mouth out! Quality.

Nightmares?

Cub must be having nightmares tonight.

He woke up the first time this evening with a fussy cry. I waited to see if it would escalate. It didn't. And then there was silence. Then I figured it may have been the TV that stirred him. Even though I have the TV on near mute and his white noise is BLASTING. So I turned off the TV just in case. It's the end of the summer anyway and nothing good is on. Waste of time. I digress...

Then a few minutes, maybe 10 minutes later, I hear this frightful outburst. As if he's in pain. But not exactly common pain like a gas cry. It was a scared cry.

I threw sleep training out the window (yet again, *smile*) and rushed to his crib-side. I swooped my precious yummy boy up and held him close. He settled down immediately, in that in-between sleep state. I was about to whip out the boobifier -- yes, I know! I know! I did give it up and I have given up nursing, kinda. But he wasn't interested anyway, to my chagrin -- see! So I rocked him a little and off to sleep he went. He's now sleeping as if nothing ever happened. Silence.

As I left his room I was mad. Who made up these stupid rules and theories about children sleeping in their own rooms and beds anyway?! I know there are major supporters and proponents out there for the "Family Bed" and Co-Sleeping. And I would be one of them but I also do value the sleep both parents and child get when they have their own space. And I'd still be a nervous wreck that I'd roll over him, even though I know most parents don't really do that unless intoxicated, yada yada. But just not my comfort zone.

Yet still as I left his room, wondering if my cutie-patoodie was having a nightmare, I wanted to crawl up into his crib and fall asleep with him. I hate sitting out here in this living room while he's alone in that dark room all by himself. So you say, then do something about it. Go get your boy! Join the Family Bed! But that's not going to happen. Instead I'll just look forward to the upcoming days in the near future when he's a toddler and has a "big boy" bed that I can climb into and fall asleep with him in. Or sneak into in the middle of the night to cuddle so he won't get attached with me going to bed with him.

For now, I'll just keep finding excuses to throw sleep training out the window and run to the boy's side. Just kidding. But I wish! :(

A True Artist, Indeed.

Two toddlers were drawing with sidewalk chalk today at the park.
They had to have been about 2 years old. Not much older. Maybe 2 1/2.
Me and Cub were watching.

One of the little boy's nannies suggested the boy draw Cub a picture. She actually said a "smiley face" but he decided to draw a snake instead. A very abstract snake.

Shortly after, it was time for the snake drawer to go. His nanny took his hand and tried to lead him away. But before they could take one step, the other little boy started drawing over the abstract snake.

The snake boy started panicking. He grabbed at his hair, in serious distress and shouted,
"That's my art! My art! Don't touch my art!"

The nanny kindly but firmly tried to pull the little boy away but he continued,

"That's my art! My art!"

He was truly devastated.

It was absolutely hilarious. The boy didn't say, "Don't draw on my snake." Or "That's my snake!" Or anything else an average 2 year old might say. But this boy was truly concerned about his art.

We were flattered since Cub had commissioned that snake drawing. Perhaps in the years to come we'll commission more of his abstract art.

This Week In Baby... Maybe

I set out to do a This Week In Baby for you with some quick snippets on what's going on in the world of babies and parenting in the news. But as I researched the news, I got utterly depressed. Most of the news I found was on infant abuse, remains found, crib deaths, sickness, etc etc.

Why depress you more when there's enough depressing articles on our local evening news?!

So instead, I'll brag about how cute Cub is "this week"!! Haha...

This week Cub started doing this funny little squint smile. I don't know where he picked it up from. He's only 7 months old!! Do they already start imitating facial expressions this young? Neither my husband or I do this funny squint so he had to pick it up from either a reading video we've been watching with him or someone totally random. Whenever he smiles and laughs now, he scrunches up his face and closes his eyes really tight. What's even more hilarious is he knows it's funny. So he keeps on doing it cracking himself up. Gotta love the kid!

Sniff Taste Crawl

Sniff, Taste and Crawl. That's what we do now as mommies with babies.

I just got back from the park with Cub. He fell asleep on the way home. Which is a delicate scenario if I want him to continue his nap. Do I let him stay in his car seat? Do I carefully try to remove him and then quickly put him in his crib? It's always a toss up. I used to be able to do a total martial arts move. I'd quickly unlatch him from the car seat, twirl him around in one swoop, then slam him down (lightly of course) into his crib while sliding his snuggy over to him simultaneously all in 15 seconds or less. Pretty impressive. Oh and without him ever seeing me! I suppose it was a martial arts magician move of sorts. But then he caught on and would immediately open his eyes and make eye contact with me, daring me to put him down. I'd then be stuck taking him on a late afternoon walk for forever until he fell back asleep. Unless I felt up to letting him cry for centuries, which isn't always a guarantee he'll fall asleep if it's a nap and turns me into a nervous wreck.

But now, I've learned I can take him out of the car seat delicately and quickly bounce him on my shoulder putting him back to sleep, then gently lay him down in the crib while simultaneously sliding snuggy into his arms and then -- DUCK! Yes, duck down so he won't open his eyes again and catch me in the act. It's very crafty. Then I sit on the floor for a few minutes waiting to make sure he's asleep asleep. Then CRAWL across the floor like a jaguar creeping up on his prey until I'm out of the room. Exhale.

A fellow blogger, Another LA Mom Blog, wrote about her crawl of shame a few weeks back. Pretty funny. I guess it's pretty common. Check her story out here.

Today while I was squatted down waiting for him to be asleep asleep. I felt something wet on the floor. Just a small little droplet. The room was dark so I couldn't see what it looked like so I dabbed my finger in and smelled it. Smelled like spit up. Hmm, did that just happen when I did my bounce bounce slam move? Or was it from this morning? And as I sat there investigating, I thought to myself, Wow, I'll really touch anything now and smell it or taste it. Welcome to Motherhood.

Another example: Cub had someone's bubble wand today at the park. The mommy said it looked like he could be swallowing some of the old soap in the wand because his mouth looked sudsy. So what did I do? I swiped the drool off of his chin and tasted it! Nah, didn't taste like bubbles. Proceed. Another wow mommy moment.

What are you guys doing out there that warrants a wow mommy moment? Maybe we should call them WMMs. I like that. Holla back!

Boobifier

Cub's back to crying again. And it's my fault.

I've created a suckling monster.

He was doing so well with sleep training and then I stepped in with my Super Mom cape and tried to save the day a few nights ago by nursing him to sleep.
We have now regressed, temporarily...

Not because I did this once, but because I've done it, oh, let's say a few more times too. I know, I know. But he's teething! So when he woke up crying at 11 PM the other night, which is unusual considering he's been sleeping through the night for over a month now, I was concerned. But a little too anxious to run in and offer him boob.

We also recently switched his formula and he's been trying out new solids, so there's no telling what could be going on with him. Any of the above could be keeping him up.

Technically, I believe you're not advised to reinforce sleep training while a baby's teeth are cutting through the gums or if the baby is sick, and neither are the case for him. So there was really no reason for me to run in to the rescue, other than he was crying pretty hard and I just couldn't stand to lay in bed for longer than a minute (literally one minute) and let him suffer! Yeah, I know, he's not suffering, but that's what it feels like to me!

So here we are now, day 1, 2 and 3 of the boob. It's no wonder why he's SCREAMING when I put him down in the crib and then leave -- without the boob!

A little crying is bearable. But these screams sound like "MAAAA MAAAAAAAAAA!" Which makes it even worse! Of course he hasn't officially spoken, "mama" yet. (Although he does babble off lots of "Dada's" -- go figure!) But whenever he's REALLY upset he whips out this "MAAAA MAAAAA!" Just to break me down! And it works. It's that shaky voiced, "MAAA MAAAAA". You know the one that quivers and gasps for air?! The Mom-Get-Your-Butt-In-Here-Right-Now-And-Save-Me-Or-Else-I'll-Be-Eaten-By-Green-Martians-And-You'll-Never-See-Me-Again Mama!!

The problem really is me. Ugh, humility is so over-rated!

You see, a big part of me LIKES being the boobifier. It calms him. Which calms me. Which makes me feel like a good mama. And what mommy doesn't want to be a good mama?! I also get to watch him fall asleep. Which is a rare special treat these days since he's all "grown up" now and usually falls asleep on his own. And hey, I have limited time left on this nursing clock! I want to cherish every little last moment.

But the bigger problem is, I've now confused him. Instead of being a good mama, I've become a confusing mama. He doesn't know whether he has to put himself to sleep or if mama's going to come in with the boobifier. So now he just keeps on crying... excuse me, SCREAMING, "MAAA MAAAAA!"

My husband reminded me that I can't always try to be Mommy-Fix-It. Cub has to learn to do things on his own and his confidence and comfort level will build as a result of it. Afterall, we definitely don't want a needy mama's boy.

And I get that.

But in the meantime, what am I to do with the MOMMY-GET-YOUR-BUTT-IN-HERES?! What if Green Martians really are eating him? Wouldn't a good mama go in and save him?

Pathetic

By the way, for those of you that just read the That Lady post, I actually got up from my computer after blogging and checked the fridge again, expecting to find something new. But of course it's still empty so I opened up Cub's cabinet and seriously considered eating one of his jarred foods! How pathetic is that?! You'd think I was a third-world mother. I promise to go grocery shopping tomorrow -- for the 5th time this week!

That Kid

Everybody knows that kid.

That Kid is the kid that's acting a fool, out of control, showing out, throwing tantrums and just being that kid.

I saw a that kid last week. We were at a function and this kid was a true wild child. Breaking things, all up into everything, making a complete mess and spiraling out of control. But the interesting part about it was that the kid's parents were enjoying their time, socializing, having cocktails, etc. (I guess one might need a cocktail or two if they have that kid.) But every time that kid did something crazy, the parents kind of glanced over, smirked, and then went about their business. Or poo pooed it like it was cute.

So my question is, do you know when you have that kid? I'm assuming you'd have to. But some parents act as if they're truly blind to this. And everybody knows they have that kid but them.

I was with a girlfriend the other day and her little baby was being that baby. Just a fussy-poo. And she recognized it. She even asked her little baby, "are you going to be that bratty kid today in the park?" We laughed it off. But at least she tried to do something to calm the poor child.

I've seen many parents just let that kid melt down right there in the grocery store, mall, bank and many other public places. I'm not talking about the occasional sleep deprived melt down. I'm talking about that kid. You know what I mean!

So please someone tell me if I ever have that kid and try to front like I don't. Because I definitely don't want to be that parent!

Chicken & Breast at Chick-Fil-A

Ok, I get it, but c'mon? What are we going to do next, March on Washington, boycott buses??

There's nothing wrong with demonstrating a little modesty while nursing in public. Is it really necessary to chomp on some chicken breast while someone's chompin' on yours?

What's up with the fast food establishments and mommy's lately?!

Birds Nest

I had a birds nest as a baby. I'm referring to the fuzz that sat upon my head. It was a perfectly rounded, interwoven nest. Now Cub has the makings of a nest. And if I'm not diligent about combing it out, he even lays eggs -- little nest naps (for those of you not hip to ebonics "naps" = tangles).

I Am

I admit it. I am the mom of an infant. A mommy aka mama aka walking burp cloth aka life-sized soothie aka human bottle aka mother of my husband's child.

I wear ponytails and cut-offs everyday. Fashion no longer exists. I eat Lean Cuisine during nap times and fantasize about cheap coffee. I think drool is cute and inspect poop.

Tonight my husband urges me to sneak out for the evening. It's a pleasant night. Warm and welcoming. People are out. People that don't have children. Or at least children under 3. Or at least that know better not to be out with children under 3 at this time...

I acquiesce, and go. Armed with my laptop but still donning the cut-off jeans -- my new staple. I look forward to getting some stuff done in an environment bubbling over with non-baby-related chatter. The evening is plump with potential. The city is my big fat Pacific Oyster!

I end up going to my favorite coffee shop on the west side. I go in, snag the best seat, get a decaf earl grey and pecan tart and I'm set. They are playing some really good reggae. The scene is hip. I am feeling great... until it kicks in: The Mommy Clock.

Just as I settle in to my evening alone, I feel the tick... tick tock tick tock... time for bed! time for bed! It sounded like a loud obnoxious talking parrot in my head. I try to hit the mental snooze button but it gets LOUDER. The parrot starts popping out every five minutes, time for bed, time for bed. "Noooo! I must stay out!" I tell myself. For the sake of freedom, creativity, women everywhere, world peace, starving children, and for ME!

Ten minutes later, I'm behind my steering wheel. Fighting to keep my eyes open as I drive home. "Hi," I say to my husband as I walk through the door. He looks up, "Hi?"

Lights out.

I am now truly a mom.

Dirty Water

Cub loves trying to suck the water out of a dirty washcloth.

I kind of remember that taste. I think I did that when I was little too. If I remember correctly, it's kind of sweet. The soap and water mixture soaked in the cloth makes for a yummy suckable treat. Of course being the awesome, health-conscious mommy that I am, I deny him this dirty privilege and quickly try to grab it from his He-Man grip. At which point he immediately starts searching the tub for it again, determined to snatch it back. We have had all out tug-of-wars with this. He usually wins.

I was sharing this with my mother-in-law yesterday. She told me that in her country (Jamaica), there's actually a superstition that says a little dirty bath water will actually make the baby strong and healthy. She's seen women cup their hands with dirty bath water and offer it to their babies. Now make note: this is the baby's dirty bath water not someone else's! As if it makes it better, right?

So that explains Cub's He-Man grip.
Who needs milk when ya got dirty bath water?