Posts Tagged ‘motherhood’

This list has been in draft form for quite some time now as I periodically add to it. But at some point you just have to share and pray that you’re not the only one spouting sentences that you never anticipated.

Things such as…

“Is that oatmeal or a booger?”

“We don’t kiss with teeth.”

“Please don’t touch the toilet while Mama’s peeing!”

“We don’t color on our diaper.”

“Get your hands out of the poop!”

“Is there a [lion, monkey, elephant] in the car?”

“Manny [the dog] doesn’t have to dance if he doesn’t want to.”

“Please get the [toddler] knife out of Mama’s face.”

“Why are there sunglasses on your penis?”

“Show me how you wash your armpits.”

In fairness, I’m sure I could have expected some of these. But the sunglasses one…I didn’t see that coming.

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  1. Ask him to wear his boots so it will be easier to walk from the car to daycare. (You know he hates being carried anymore.) Concede to sneakers, but tell him he can’t walk in the snow then.
  2. Put his milk – which he wasn’t drinking anyway – in the fridge to save it for later. Only once it’s gone will he decide he wants it.
  3. Attempt to stuff him into his jacket (which wouldn’t have been necessary if he would have just put the damn thing on the first time you asked instead of running away from you).
  4. Strap him into his car seat after explaining that it’s too cold to walk that far [to daycare] and Mama has to get to work and you’re already running late.
  5. Carry him from the car to daycare because you’re wearing boots and he’s not, even though you explained the concept of boots and snow to him rationally just 15 minutes earlier.

If you follow these 5 simple steps (in any order, for your convenience), you, too, can ruin your child’s life* to the point that he shows up to daycare with tears on his face and your daycare provider asks you what you’ve done to him, you monster.

You’re welcome.

*Or morning, whatever. Same same.

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They say that you learn something new every day.

On Tuesday I learned that there is no parenting book in the world that prepares you for the sheer terror you feel when your 15-month-old takes a header down the stairs.

My heart rate sped up just typing that sentence.

In that instant, as I saw N lose his balance, tip head first down the (thankfully carpeted) stairs, and hit every step as he log-rolled down, I forgot everything I’d ever been taught about staying calm in a crisis.

I screamed and cried and screamed some more. I’m sure I scared both the dog and the baby (and likely Husband, who was just about to get in the shower). And I ran like hell down the stairs to pick N up and start feeling for broken bones.

Luckily, Husband was right behind me, because my shaky hands and tear-filled eyes were not the most effective at that point.

Now, more than 48 hours later, N is fine. Hell, he was fine less than an hour later, albeit with a Harry Potter-esque scratch on his forehead.

I, however, am still feeling the mom guilt of having that fall happen on my watch. I felt helpless and terrified and panicky. And if I think about it too much, I still feel all of those things.

I was a little worried that N would be scared of the stairs from here on out – I know I’m scared of him on the stairs. But he’s not. In fact, he wants to come down them like a big boy now, holding hands with someone and walking down like a little adult.

Something tells me that there will be more tumbles in our future. I just hope my heart can handle it.

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I am 29 years old.

I am too old for hickeys.

But apparently, my hungry, teething, 4-month-old did not get that memo.


Thanks a lot, kid.

Note to self: feed him immediately next time.

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