Last year on Halloween, we were trying to get discharged from the hospital so we could get home before the neighborhood parade took over our street. We struggled to buckle Spence into his carseat for the first time and I sat in the back next to his sleepy, scrunchy face. Once home I struggled with breastfeeding while hiding in the dark to avoid trick or treaters. What a difference a year makes!
Warming Up
Party Time!
After:
I should be sleeping. If my first year of motherhood taught me anything, it’s to sleep when you can. But, I can’t. My head is flooded with thoughts as my baby is on the brink of turning 1. One year ago tonight I went to bed for the last time with Spencer in my belly.
I am thinking of my labor and how primitive and animalistic it was. How the physical pain tears down the curtains we surround ourselves with to shroud our true emotions. At a certain point you just let go. You don’t care who’s looking or what you look like or what you sound like – you’re never more centered or in the moment.
When the baby arrives you are flooded with beautiful wonderful chemicals that allow you to enjoy those first few moments together instead of collapsing in a tired heap. Those primitive instincts continue and you want to hold and feed and protect your baby. You don’t know each other yet, but your mission is clear and you accept your new responsibility with trepidation and wonder and awe.
The first year unravels and you get to know each other. You share your innermost secrets over a jar of Stage 1 Peas. You lie on the floor next to each other giggling at nothing. Your limits of patience are tested. But you never question your limits of love.
Sometimes the days fly by and you are saddened by your inability to take in every detail of development. Other days feel like eternities and you wonder where you’ll find the strength to be able to wake up and do it all over again.
You learn to give up control. And give up sleep. And give up a little slice of your sanity. But somehow you still manage.
Your life is complicated in every way imaginable. Your marriage. Your career. Your relationships with friends. Drinking a hot cup of coffee. It’s all different now.
And the source of all this complication is the most uncomplicated creature. He smiles when he’s content. And cries when he’s frustrated. He laughs when he’s joyful. He hasn’t learned to put up those curtains to hide his emotions yet. If he could talk, he’d never tell you he’s "fine." He’d tell you the truth.
I think if Spencer could talk to me today he’d tell me he’s happy and that I’m doing a good job. And to remember he’s pretty easy to please so not beat myself up when things aren’t perfect. He’d also ask me to feed him cheese for every meal and to stop trying to sneak in veggies. And to please give him back the cool whirly helicopter that he saw me put on top of the refrigerator when I thought he wasn’t looking.
A few weeks ago, much of my emotional energy centered around the sadness of seeing my baby grow up as I get ready for his 1 year birthday. I hadn’t really taken the time to think about what life would be like with a a 1 year old. It’s this in between age – not a baby, but not yet a toddler. I’d heard of the terrible 2’s and tantrums, but I still had a year until I had to deal with that business.
Or so I thought. I’ve been living in denial these past few weeks. I thought there simply must be something physically wrong with my sweet-tempered boy to cause him to spontaneously burst in a screamy, crying ball of trouble. Or to bang his head against the chair and scream when he doesn’t like the food I give him for lunch. Or to sit outside the bathroom door screaming so hard that he throws up when I won’t let him go in. I’ve been googling ear infections and teething and sore throats trying to come up with a diagnosis that fit his symptoms.
Finally today I googled "1-year old temper tantrum". [I know you "been there done it" moms are thinking "duh". But, I really thought tantrums came later.] Anyhow, this is what I found:
Our 1-year-old has started throwing tantrums. Is there anything we can do to stop them?
Some developmental milestones that are commonly achieved at about 12
months (for example, walking and talking) are wonderful to see. Others,
like temper tantrums, are a little less pleasant.
"Less pleasant." Ha. Understatement of the year. Anyhow, the article goes on to basically say that we need to let him tantrum and get it out of his system. If we give in, it’s just going to get worse.
This scares me on many levels. I’m scared I won’t have the strength to let him cry. I’m scared I’m not going to have the patience to deal with these outbursts. I’m scared I’m not going to have the energy for this. I’m scared to be the mom of a toddler.
One slip of the finger on the keyboard and you end up with 11 boxes of breakfast bars instead of the 1 you wanted. 11 boxes * 6 bars/box = 66 morning of baked apple tarts.
We had a pumpkin-filled weekend. I had pumpkin lattes, pumpkin loaf, and we went pumpkin picking. But for every pumpkin indulgence, I also had a load of pukey laundry to deal with.
First the pumpkins. We went to the pumpkin patch today. On the way we stopped at Applebee’s for a rare suburban restaurant lunch. Spencer loved his lunch – chicken, salad, cheese, pasta. He’s only been eating cheese and cheerios lately, so I was happy to see him eat something else. (Though if you keep reading you’ll see I’m cleverly foreshadowing bad things to happen…)
Ok, ok, so the pumpkins. It was weirdly warm today – over 80 degrees – so it felt like we should be picking strawberries or jumping in a sprinkler, but all that didn’t matter because they gave us a wagon to collect our pumpkins. I could say Spencer loved the pumpkin patch, but that would be a lie. Truly he just loved the wagon ride. And banging on the pumpkins in his wagon.
For those of us not so easily enthralled by wagon, there were apple cider donuts and plenty of ridiculously adorable photo opps — Seriously anyone can be a professional photographer if they just set up shop in a pumpkin patch.
After the pumpkins, came the puke. In our (brand new) car on the way home. I’ve been spoiled this first year. Spencer hasn’t really been sick – just a few sniffles here and there. But he’s been pukey the last few days and I’m concerned, but not sure I should be. Do kids just upchuck sometimes without showing any other signs of illness? He’s thrown up 5 times since early Friday morning. But, between pukies, he’s totally fine (as evidenced by the photos above). The thing that’s really throwing me is the quantity of the sick. I guess maybe I’m used to the baby spit-ups, but this is a lot. And it smells like big people puke – the kind you need to put sawdust on in school to cover up the smell. My books all seem to say just to keep him hydrated and not worry too much. I am worried about a reflux redux. Any realworld advice out there about the sick?
Seriously, this thing is HOT. Paris Hilton will be wearing one any day now. Alcohol monitoring anklets are so last season.
Speaking of Paris, there are a bevy of new reality shows that are so bad they’re good including these two that I just discovered this week:
Keeping Up With the Kardashians – I somehow (thankfully) missed the whole Kim Kardashian sex tape scandal. So, I first heard of her a week or two ago when I read about how she balances a rolled up towel on her butt after her shower and if the towel doesn’t stay on her butt shelf, she knows her butt is getting too small. (What’s the big deal – can’t everyone do that?) Then when I looked up Brody Jenner on Wikipedia after this week’s episode of The Hills (Q: Why is he famous? A: Nobody knows), I discovered he and Kim K. are step-siblings. So, fate was drawing me to Kim from all directions and I decided to watch the show. It’s my new guilty pleasure. Bonus: You get to check in on Bruce Jenner and see how his facelift is healing.
The Salt-N-Pepa Show – I admittedly still listen to Push It sometimes when I’m at the gym. It’s high on my all time favorites list. So, I had to check in on the musical duo. The deal is that Salt has found God and lives in an ugly split-level house on Long Island. Pepa still likes to simulate fellatio while performing. The dichotomy makes for some good old-fashioned celebreality tension.
I should probably be embarrassed to admit I watch these. But I’m hurt, so I can get away with blaming my bad judgment on painkillers for at least another week.
I was having a delightful weekend when I did it. I was walking back from the park with Spence where he dazzled me by going down the slide headfirst. I decided to continue our fun by playing the "zoom zoom" game with the stroller. It’s simple – I run for a few seconds and he laughs. However when I went to zoom, I zammed instead and my foot caught the back wheel of the stroller. My ankle turned. I felt ligaments stretching and grinding in a very bad way. And well, since then things have pretty much sucked.
I hobbled home. I was only about 3 blocks away. When I got home I knocked on the window to have hubby come out to carry the stroller down the steps and I burst into tears. The pain. I spent the rest of the day with foot elevated and iced. I was hoping I’d make a miraculous recovery overnight, but I’m not really able to walk today even with a wrap. I just paid $32 for a cab to get to work. I guess I’ll have to pay that to go home too.
I’m mad at myself for deciding to play the dumb game. If I’d just walked home normally, I would be fine right now. We make so many little, seeming inconsequential decisions every day and you never know which one could turn out to be the little decision that becomes the big deal. I know I’ll heal. I know it’s not that big of a deal. But, right now I’m in pain and feeling sorry for myself.
PS – What kind of doctor do you go to for an ankle sprain? I have no primary care doctor so I need to go directly to a specialist.
Update – I went to the doctor – an orthopedic specialist – I have a hairline fracture. And a beautiful air cast to keep it company.
Dear Teething Committee –
You really messed this one up. Which one of you thought it would be a good idea to have teeth come in some torturously? One at a time. Slowly and painfully pushing through the gums. Causing excess slobber, loose stools, and fever. All this happening to an innocent little creature who can’t yet talk and ask for some Baby Orajel. Not to mention the sleepless nights it causes his poor parents who were just getting used to long luxurious nights of sleep. And, just when one those little peaks of white finally pokes through the gums, it’s time to start over again. 20 times you want us to do this! Talk about excess!
And for what? Just so these teeth can all fall out in a couple of years? I’d like to request a formal investigation into your collusion with the Tooth Fairy. I suspect someone is getting some kickbacks. And if not, then you’re all just big meanies! Knock it off already.
Sincerely,
Sleepless in Brooklyn
Have you seen the episode of 30 Rock where Tina Fey goes to Cleveland and she keeps getting stopped on the street and asked if she’s a model? In New York, she’s just an average looking woman, but by Cleveland standards, she’s a goddess.
I went to my own version of Cleveland this past week – a tech conference. In New York, I’m constantly comparing myself to these put together, model-like women. At the tech conference I went to in London, the crowd was a tad bit different (to be polite).
It actually reminded me a bit of college. I chose a geeky university. A place where more people went to see robots playing soccer than to football games (the kind played by humans). I went from being sort of average in high school to being a hot girl in college. That first Valentine’s Day, I got 4 dozen roses from 5 different guys. Granted, they ranged from slightly to super geeky, but they all thought I was hot stuff.
Those were some good years. Then I graduated, left Pittsburgh and moved to Greenwich, CT. Suddenly I found myself surrounded by incredibly rich, attractive people. I felt poor, ugly, and fat. In that first year, I lost 20 pounds, got a sweet duplex apartment, and a shiny new car. The weight loss was cool, but I was living beyond my means and racking up debt. All because I wanted to fit in. It didn’t matter that I had just graduated from college and starting my first job – I wanted it all, now.
My Connecticut time ended both disastrously and fortuitously. I got a new job where I met my husband and moved to Manhattan. Living in New York City has been both a blessing and a curse. There are gorgeous people everywhere. Impossibly beautiful women wearing impossibly hip clothes. They wear impossibly high heels and don’t wobble. But there’s also lots of people like me. Walking one block, I can see someone who makes me feel frumpy & lumpy and then two steps later pass someone who makes me feel beautiful. Hopefully someday I’ll stop comparing myself and just be happy with who I am. In the meantime, I’ll just go to a few more tech conferences.
No matter where you are, there’s no arguing that he is impossibly adorable and I’m happy to be back home with him:
This and These 