Mr. PTT

I've been doing a lot of sighing lately. Not somber sighing. The kind of sighing that is a placeholder for screaming. The kind of sighing that forces you to bite your tongue, take a deep breath, and sometimes turn away.

This sighing came about with the new visitor in my home. I call him a visitor because I pray to Dear God, this is just a "visit" and he will soon go away. Far, far away. I will call him Mr. PTT -- Mr. Pre-Terrible-Twos. This friend, is not my child. He only likes to pop up every once in a while at the most inopportune times and say, Wazzzz up??!!! However, he and my child have seemed to hit it off lately. They're chummy. Even conspire against me.

Yesterday, Cub and I went to the bank. He loves the bank. We enter in all happy. He's holding my hand and walking, greets our usual Customer Service lady with a big, toddler, "Hi!". Then continues walking like he owns the place, dragging me along. Everything was all good. Then Mr. PTT showed up out of nowhere. Like, Blaaaahhhhhhhhhh! And my sweet child was gone. I was left holding this kicking, screaming, defiant person.

So I, sigh, and take a deep breath. Finish my transaction as quickly as possible and leave the bank.

Perhaps a little FroYo will bring back my Cubster. So we leave the bank and my child is back. Everybody happy. We've only had frozen yogurt one other time together. And it was just a taste. But since the shop is next to the bank, why not. We go in, help ourselves to the self-serve yumminess and sit down to eat a fruity yogurty snack. Cub takes a few bites, mmmm. Pleasantly sitting on mommy's lap then --- BLAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! Mr. PTT shows up again! Taking the spoon from me -- and he's STRONG -- and manages to splat the yogurt off the spoon all over my face and clothes. Nice. Then kicks out of my lap and wants to go monkey on me.

Once again, we leave and my Cub returns, happy camper and all. We go visit a dog grooming place, talk to the nice guy cutting the dog, meet some other kids, talk with their mom, talk to whoever else all this time and then get to our car. When I get inside to drive off, I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and I had a quality drop of dried yogurt on my nose like Rudolf the Red Nosed Yogurt Fool! And could only sigh, embarrassed as can be that all those people were probably staring at my nose and never said a word.

The Sisterhood of Motherhood

Many people can become mothers. Whether young or old. Medical science has proven and surprised us on both ends with that fact.

You don't have to go through a rites of passage, pledge a mom sorority -- although I'm sure there are many "Delta Drama Mamas" out there, not to be taken personal Deltas! -- or go through some painful initiation -- which some may associate with childbirth. But one of the perks of motherhood I cherish the most is the "Sisterhood of Motherhood". Which is open to everyone.

The other day I was at Whole Foods. I never sit down to eat in their cafe area, but since I had Cub with me and we had time to kill, let alone a piping hot delicious latte, I decided to take a seat. Besides there were some young kids playing over at the long communal table and I thought he'd enjoy watching them play and I could enjoy savoring my latte. So we took a seat beside the kids and their mom. The mom was staring ahead. Zoning out. While the kids tugged and pulled at her and... WHINED! She finally dropped her head onto the table and closed her eyes, shutting them out. I smirked to myself remembering feeling that way just a day before. Then I said to her, "You look like me yesterday." She raised her head and smirked. Then said, "Oh, my god! How do we do this?!" We both laughed. Her face brightened up. It was a Saturday morning and wet outside. There wasn't much to do with the kids and she couldn't fathom being with them for another two hours without a break. So I suggested taking them to the library. A light went off in her head. Of course, the library! Duh! She was relieved I made that suggestion. In all her tiredness her mind had gone blank. So there they were at Whole Foods, driving mom crazy.

As we talked more and the kids started to play together, her whole demeanor changed. Suddenly she was re-energized, refocused, and ready to take on the kids. Just a moment of being able to bond with another mom and yes, vent, did wonders. Like an espresso shot of relief. They left shortly after that, headed to the library. And we left too. Both of us grateful for the interaction.

The day before when I was losing it, I had called another mommy friend. To vent. I felt a little embarrassed but had to talk with someone. I was at that -- Oh, my god! moment. And my friend laughed and said, "You're just having one of those moments?? I go through that at least once or twice a week!" Hearing her say that removed the huge block of guilt balancing on my head. I then felt, renewed. Like, "Okay, I'm not crazy. This is normal."

What would we do without the sisterhood of motherhood?! I would probably hide under my bed and never come out.

Marble Poop

The other morning. 4 AM in the morning, that is. I went into Cub's room to change his diaper. When I got into the room, it smelled a little "poopy" but after I lifted him from the crib and did the sniff test, I passed it off as gas (pun intended).

So, it's 4 AM and dark. I don't turn on the light because he's still half-asleep and I'm changing him. The diaper by this time is heavily saturated and probably weighing half of his weight. I take it off of him, look inside and nope, no poo. Definitely was gas.

Then I snapped on a fresh diaper and started putting his little feet back into his pj's. You know the ones with the feet. Love those! Why can't we wear them as adults?! Anyway, as I push his little feet into the pj's and start to zip him up, I feel them. THEM. Little rabbit poops. A whole handful of them sliding behind his back and down into the feet, all across the changing pad. I have to lift one up to do a real sniff check and make sure it is what I'm thinking it is -- hey, it's dark, I said!!

And yep. It's poo. Tons of little marble poos. That slipped right out of the diaper in the dark. So there I sat, marble poops in hand, a now sleeping baby, freshly changed -- or so I thought. And what do I do?

Dump the "shit" in the genie -- with my hands (okay, I really used a wipe) -- and put the babe back in his crib. I'll do a thorough wipe down when he wakes up!

Don't judge me. And yes, I did wash my hands after that. I think. Heck, I can't remember, it was 4 AM!

Kick In The Pants

Everybody needs a kick-in-the-pants friend (KITPF).
Not somebody who will kick you when you're down.
Or someone that's a constant burden, kicking the life out of you.

But a friend that's a straight shooter.
Someone not afraid to tell you you're full of B.S.

As mothers, we especially need these types of friends.
There are too many reasons to justify why we did this or reacted to that or failed to do such and such. It's true we have a lot on our plates logistically, emotionally and physically.
But a KITPF will tell you when you need to suck it up.
A KITPF will tell you when it was your fault or when you are being childish.
And you'll be stronger and better after that good kick in the pants.

I was lunching with a KITPF this weekend. I was complaining in my most charming way about how difficult it is right now to decide whether I should return to working full-time for a studio or network or if I should stay at home longer, yada yada. And all the projects I'm developing at home right now but not sure if they're really going to be good, etc. So basically I was playing my violin.

My KITPF looked at me and said, "Boo hoo. You get to stay at home with your son, develop your own projects, meet with various people that a lot of people would die to meet with, and you're feeling sorry for yourself." Then she shook her head and said, "I'm sorry I don't feel bad for you at all." And essentially told me to get over it. Wow.

I sat there smiling, trying to take this kick in the pants with dignity but there was nothing to smile about. She was right. Nothing to frown about either. But it was time to straighten up and do what I gotta do. If it's gonna be this way, go that way. If it's going to go that way, then go that way. But don't sit around complaining about the wonderful opportunities in my lap!

If all your friends always pat you on the back and smile in your face, beware! Run!

Go find a good KITPF. You'll be better and the friendship will be stronger!

Now What?

I've officially entered the "Now What" phase of motherhood. That phase where the newborn honeymoon period is over and as much as you love your now crawling, creeping, cruising bundle of joy, you have to ask yourself, now what? What do I do with my life now? Have another baby? Go back to work? Start my own business?

Some women never enter the Now What phase as new mothers. They either thrive off of being a full-time SAHM or know that once the maternity leave is over, back to work they go. No questions asked. These lucky moms know their role. They're not afraid to admit they want to be a full-time, hands-on mommy and are proud to wear that badge. Or ashamed to admit they are working women. They love their children but they're just not the stay-at-home type.

So what do us NW moms do? For me, I start the networking ball rolling, but don't commit a hundred-percent. I try to settle into being a SAHM but become restless. I think up a million different business ideas but don't follow through. Then I wait. Wait for something to click. Wait for somebody to finally get back to me about my latest script so I can have at least one thing cooking. Then I watch the clock. It's been a year since I've been "actively" working. The ego side of me is like, what the ?? "You're going to lose your touch." "People will forget about you." "Your re-entry time is ticking away." Then ego begins to interrogate me with "What have you really accomplished this year?" Of course reality responds like, Um, I had a baby! I've been molding and shaping a new human being! Duh! But somehow ego's influence always wins. And I'm left sitting on the couch wondering if and when I'll finally reach that point.

That Point meaning that personal point of professional "arrival". The ah-ha point in your career where it all makes sense and comes together. That point as women where we're doing it all -- wife, mother, and career! Of course balancing all of it perfectly too, right?!

For now, I'll keep wading in this NW phase until the What becomes abundantly clear.

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!

Coffee!!

Every mom should drink coffee. It's essential. Mandatory. You should not be able to pass as a mom unless you drink a cup of Joe. At least one a day. Now I have a friend who's allergic to caffeine so I guess she's an exception. But if you aren't allergic to caffeine then there's no good reason you should not drink coffee. I don't care if you're trying to keep your teeth white. Drink through a straw or get them bleached. I don't care if you don't like the taste, add some sugar, mix it up, whatever. Not drinking coffee is like taking a college course without the main textbook. You will not pass. In fact you will fail, miserably. And it's the only legal drug us mommies can partake of and still be considered sane -- most of the time.

On the flip side, I know all the politics over coffee. How third world plantation workers are being over-worked, under paid and taken advantage of on coffee/cocoa fields. How one cup of coffee/espresso actually requires a ridiculous amount of beans that someone busted their behind to pick for us. But it's COFFEE. We can't help it. Blame the corporations ("The Best Part of Waking Up, Is A Folgers In Your Cup!")! We turn a deaf ear to the coffee plantation stories just to get one drip of the aromatic bliss. I'm sure right now as I type (and drink a luke warm cup of Joe from a Styrofoam cup!!) someone is probably doubled-over, dripping sweat and maybe even shedding a tear while finding me the perfect bean. And I feel for them! Really I do. But in all seriousness, it is really unfortunate what goes on behind the scenes in the coffee industry just so another Starbucks can go up in Timbuktu. And perhaps us moms should rally up to do something about it. But first, let's discuss our strategy, put our brains together, really take this issue seriously -- over a cup of coffee, shall we?

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.

New Mom Sexual Mind

Sex or Watch Leno?
Sex or Finish Folding the Laundry?
Sex or Movie?
Sex or Finish that Book?
Sex or Set my hair?
Sex or Write?
Sex or Sleep?
Ooh, sleep! Now that's sexy!
Sex or Watch the baby on the monitor?
Sex?
What's that again?

Free Moments

I'm out. All by myself. An independent woman. Alone. Driving down the street. Listening to the radio. Feeling old and out of date for not knowing the latest pop hits. But also relieved because they all suck these days. I have a few free hours to myself. To run errands, shop, do whatever it is I feel like doing. And for a moment I feel like I'm myself again. The me, myself and I self. It feels good if only for a passing moment. I do love the new me and how full my life is now. I am fulfilled. But being out by myself feels liberating. And womanly. I feel beautiful and cool. Someone I'd like to hang around. Chat up at a coffee shop. Then I'm at a coffee shop. Walking in this secret me. I don't need validation. Don't need anybody to look at me or strike up a conversation. I'm bad all by myself! Loving being alone for a few short moments in this day. As I reach for my wallet to pay for the coffee I find a rattle. Then the cap to a bottle. Then something chewy and yucky stuck to the lining of my purse. I am reminded. And tickled that I am a mother. A loved, loving mom of one of the most wonderful little boys. And I feel suddenly needed and assured. I get my coffee and sit down. Taking in the fun, freeing atmosphere. Slipping back into an alone but perfectly content moment. Then I reach into my pocket. Something's crunching. I feel crumbs. I pull out the crunchy fragile shell of a former Pepperidge Farm Goldfish. There's no escaping it. I am a mother. And that alone makes me feel even more attractive and sexy. All by myself.