Mom: Why We Love Her.

My mother is pretty cool. She raised three kids completely on her own, is obsessed with health and fitness, teaches Zumba, runs half marathons and 5ks, and places in the top three at the 5ks, has a huge knowledge for crap no one cares about (this must be where I got that talent from), is a gifted writer, is always open to offer up advice about anything, and is the grandmother who sends cards/candy/loud toys to her grandchildren at every holiday because she's out to spoil the kids and drive the parents nuts.

That's a big list of cool stuff to love her for, but that's not even the tip of the iceberg.

This past Thursday was my mom's 58th birthday. It was a good day, but at the same time it was particularly rough. My newest niece was born (that's a good part, obviously), but my grandfather was in the hospital, preparing for a surgery that could have very well ended his life, and then we ate at a Mexican joint that didn't serve margaritas. Terrible, how can you eat fajitas and not wash them down with tequila?! Anyway.

My mom, being herself, had to be everywhere at once. So off to see my brother and his family, we went. She never once let on how stressed she really was, or how she, along with everyone else, was a ball of nerves about Pa's surgery. No, instead she smiled, laughed, took a gazillion pictures, and carried on. She did the same thing, minus the pictures, when we visited Pa. 

On her feet, my Ma is admittedly, not always graceful, just watch her two step after three margaritas and a beer, but that day, she handled EVERYTHING with a grace and strength that can't be taught. Way to go Mom.

The next day was the old man's surgery. And again, everyone else had fear written all over them, but Mom on the other hand, just did her usual; handled all this business, asked questions, went with Pa to pre-op, and did it all without even a ripple in her sea of poise. I don't know how she does it. I sat there next to her just waiting, fidgeting, talking way too much and too fast, and she was calm. 

We love Ma for this. She's the glue that holds our family together. My Grandma passed that position down to my Mom many years ago, and it's a position that fits her well.

Of course there are many other things Madre is special for. For instance, her Adam Sandler version of Good King Winseslas that stops my kid from crying every time, or the rocking chair she let me borrow, that she rocked my brothers and myself in, her homemade chicken and dumplings when I catch a cold (yes 23 years old and Mommy still makes me something to eat when I'm sick), or how she remembers EVERY.LITTLE.THING. the grand kids tell her, and she buys them gifts based on what they told her. She still goes to every ball game and event she can make it to that the grand kids have. She takes amazing care of my Grandpa, her dad, which is hard because he doesn't complain unless he's starving. And the list STILL goes on.

My point for this post is, all moms are special to their families, they/we all bend over backwards at times to take care of everything, but no one has a mom like mine. Mine does it all for everyone. Always has. I know one day she'll tire of being the old bottle of Elmer's and it will be my turn, I just hope I can do half as well as she has. 

It's Only Bed Time!! These Tears Aren't Needed!! Part 2. The Mom Cryer.

Tonight's bed time was exceptionally cry-y (I couldn't think of any real adjectives to fit the situation, so made one.) Typically after I take the baby out of the bath, she cries for a little bit, (This kid LOVES bath time.), and as usual she cried some. But shortly after she calmed down, the dam broke, and dear old mom here just lost it.

It's been an emotionally charged month. Especially the last two weeks. Lots have happened, and then today we had a great event, it was my mama's birthday, and my newest niece was born late this afternoon. (By the way Baby J, the new little, is cuuuttteeee! I'm so excited!)

Seeing this new little teeny tiny made me realize how big my little teeny tiny is, and how small she was. Since she was born I have reminded myself daily to take it all in, to cherish these little times because it will go fast. Thankfully I can enjoy it to the fullest because I'm one of the few lucky moms who get to be home with their babies. But it just seems like I closed my eyes, two months passed, and now there's this big little girl with a head full of hair and the brightest smile, and I just don't know where the time went.

It all just hit me at once. I had rocked her, laid her in her crib, because I thought she was sleepy, then her pretty eyes sprang open, and the smiles and cooing started. I'm not sure what she was telling me about, but she was pretty excited. This is when I started crying.

I think she knew I wasn't really sad, just a little nostalgic, grateful, and a little stressed. So, as if to say something along the lines of "It's okay Mommy, I love you. I'll always be your baby." she gave me a big smile, a few more coos and then snuggled in to sleep.

I really didn't want to leave her side. I wanted her to keep telling me all about it. And I did stand there for a few more minutes and listened to her, but I knew it was bed time and she was clearly fighting sleep. So I turned the light off and stood in her doorway, and she talked for a few more minutes, then sighed really big and was asleep. This made me cry even more. I just love her to pieces.

This kid, she melts my heart. I never really wanted to be a mom, but then baby happened, and man, my life is 1000% fuller and happier with her here. 

I know children aren't for everyone, so I won't say that life really starts when you have kids. But, if you do have babies or will eventually, just remember to hold them tight, give them lots of love and kisses, but don't spoil them, and above all else remember that time goes so fast. So fast, that sometimes you just need to be the mom who stands in their bedroom doorway and cries about how much they love their sweet little miracle.

Becoming A Mom.

Most moms will say that their kids are the best things to happen to them. While some truly mean it, some really don't. For me, it's true my daughter coming into this world was the best thing that could happen.

Having a baby meant becoming a mom. That's not a title everyone deserves. There are women out there who are just worthless, and should not be having kids. I thought I was one of those people. 

Not because I don't care, or am lazy, or some nut job, but because I was selfish, obsessed with structure and control, and while I enjoy a good thrill, the anxiety that went with something new kept me from doing many things I wanted to do. Above all I didn't believe I had the capacity to love myself, much less a child.

Then along came Robbie Jo.

This little girl has changed me. While I'm still very selfish, I willing put her and her needs before me, like a mother should. There are many times I find myself googling all the ways to help her grow and life hacks for motherhood. I still have a need for structure, but control is now a distant, dark memory. It is no longer planning every second of every day and trying but failing to handle my life and emotions. Instead it has become order; aligning myself, my finances, my career goals. I am finding order goes with structure, much better than control ever did. I don't fear the world around me anymore. I am not scared of stepping out of my comfort zone, or the initial stress that comes with all the dreams I've always wanted to chase. But the biggest, most important change is love. 

I had never viewed myself in a positive light. She did away with that. The image I had in my head of my life, and my physical self was negative. But stretch marks, and tiny hands and feet made me realize that it's okay that I didn't go to college right out of high school, any mistakes I made in my past were just that, my past, and being a size 2 isn't going to make me happy.

Opening up my heart to myself made room for my baby and gave me the ability to grow as a person, and a mom. I know I am not done changing, that I will continue to shift and move as she and I both get older, I am ready for it, when the time comes. And one day, when she's old enough to understand, I'll tell her how she changed me and my life for the better. 

Safety In Numbers, At Walmart.

I, like everyone else, hate Walmart. Yes it saves me lots of money, but it's crowded, hot, loud, and full of tweakers. It's not very baby friendly either. Anyway I had to go buy groceries today, and I had to take the baby, by myself.

Yesterday the little lady had to get shots, so she's slept all day today, so I was thinking she would sleep the whole time we were in there, and I wouldn't need a diaper bag. I didn't take I'm the diaper bag. 

BIG MISTAKE.

She was awake the whole time, and thankfully didn't cry. But about halfway through, she pooped. Me being an idiot, I thought from the sound, and smell, that it was just a little gas, and maybe a tiny bit of poo, and it could wait until we got done. I should mention that because of the fussiness and shots she hadn't pooped yet today.

So I finish shopping, go through check out, and rush home, which is less than 5 minutes from Walmart. 

I get home, pull her out of the car seat, and am holding her, gathering up wipes and stuff, and I notice her onesie is a little wet. Okay probably pee, maybe sweat, no big deal. Mind you, I'm wearing A WHITE SHIRT. 

Again, idiot me, I have a kid. You don't wear white with kids.

I lay her down to change her, and realize why exactly that onesie was wet. That little bit of gas was a massive super poo that was long over due for the day. It filled the diaper, leaked out the sides, and was ALL OVER the car seat. How I missed that when I pulled her out, I don't know. Thankfully it didn't get on my white shirt, but now I'll never wear white again.

Boy she was proud of herself. And now I'm completely one thousand percent sure that you NEVER go into Walmart without the diaper bag, and you NEVER EVER go into Walmart without an extra person to go change that super poo or finish your shopping.

And don't wear white shirts.

Music To My Ears...sort of.

So today I had to take a long trek across the great wide state highway with the baby. She did well in the car, but I had a thought as I jammed out to Sia's "Chandelier" and Gemini Syndrome's "Stardust" back to back for the gabillionth time, because that's apparently all Sirius felt like playing on Hits and Octane today.

Is this really the crap I want my kid to grow up on? Songs by a creepy looking possibly albino guy who's live show, was not that impressive, (he really is creepy looking, YouTube, Gemini Syndrome, look it up.) and some about swinging from chandeliers and the lyrics sound as though some one doesn't know what number comes after three?

But it gets better. All of this was followed by, dun dun dun, freaking Jason Derulo. *insert eye roll/face palm here* If you know me, you know I'm no fan of Jason and his songs about trumpets and ham sammiches. I don't like ham sammiches. Maybe if his songs were about tuna salad sammiches, or a philly steak sammy, I'd be a fan.

Anyway, I started wondering, what happened to the days of good music? By good I mean mostly clean, and not saying things like "Disregard females, acquire currency.", except with the f-bomb, and the B word, *Thank you Paige, for that one*, and no auto tune or reverb. Ya know, when you actually had to sing.

Then my thought got deeper.

What if she doesn't like all the classic rock/country/pop/heavy metal/show tunes/Elvis that I listen to? What if one day she tells me "Mom, Led Zeppelin sucks, and Conway Twitty is lame. I will only listen to the Billboard hits, and HipHop Nation on Sirius. By the way Five Finger Death Punch is a stupid band name." What do I do then?! Just let her listen junk about twerking on table tops and driving cars with names that I can't even spell? Or worse. What if she likes Steel Panther? =|. (YouTube Steel Panther, your ears will bleed, and you'll be offended, but you'll get my point.)

This is a real concern. I love music, and I want her to love music too, just not the crap that is, well, crap. I'm trying to educate her young, but she already hates show tunes, so I think this ship was doomed to sink from the beginning. Who doesn't live show tunes? Is this kid even human?

Now I know how my mom felt when I made her listen to all my "noise". And my kid isn't old enough to listen to "noise" yet...Lord help me, my ears hurt already.

It's Only Bed Time! These Tears Aren't Needed!!!

Bedtime routines are extremely important for babies. It gives them idea of what to expect is going to happen at the end of everyday. This helps them settle down in the evening, develop a sleep pattern, and eventually they will sleep through the night. Unless they are my kid.

As always I am very lucky my kid is actually VERY content, but the things that make her unhappy, she gets super unhappy about.

Our bed time routine is pretty simple but is spread out over three hours. At the start she wakes up and eats, we jack around and watch tv for an hour, she then lays on the floor and we play then she does a little tummy time, by then another hour has passed so I get her ready for a bath, then jammies, we read a book, I rock her for maybe 5 minutes, then she's out shortly after I put her in her crib.

Simple. Same time every night. Same thing every night. After almost two months of the same thing she should be cool with this. Nope. The first half is fine. But after the bath it's all down hill until she's asleep.

She likes bath time. No problem. She knows exactly what I'm going to do next. She even lifts her head so I can has under all her chins, but once the water is turned off and you're taking her out of the tub, the crying starts. 

It's more like a scream than a cry. Almost like you broke her leg, but all you're doing is wrapping this wiggly, screaming child in a towel. It's HORRIBLE. I'm sure the neighbors hear her and think I'm the worst mom ever. "Hey guys! Don't mind me. Just took the baby out of the bath, I swear. She's totally fine!" Insert a face similar to this one =|.

The screaming continues until she realizes that "hey, Mom put lotion, a diaper, and jammies on me while I wiggled so much you thought I was dancing to a Jason Derulo song." and then cue the "I'M NOT GOING TO BED YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!" Cry/whimper flailing mosh pit.

This girl can throw some bows man.

I'll get her all propped up in my lap with her boppy pillow, start reading whatever book it is I picked out and she goes ham sammich. (I'm not entirely sure what going ham sammich is. I just thought it sounded cool, and I like the word sammich.)

Flailing, kicking, the whimper/cry, if she could talk she'd probably tell how she's never sleeping again, and I'm so mean. This goes on for a solid 15 minutes. I just keep rocking and reading to her, and try to address any needs she might have, and then BAM! She gets all limp and I think "GOOD LORD SHE'S DEAD! BED TIME REALLY DID KILL HER!!!" And she sighs and then it sets in that oh she's just sleepy.

All of that to just go to bed. You would think I was pulling teeth because it can be so difficult. And I'm surprised I don't have any black eyes or a missing jugular vein from all the baby violence. I'm sure one day she won't be so against bed time, but that will probably be when she's a teenager, and all she does is sleep....I think I have my work cut out for me. =|.

The Nose, Knows.

I am a pretty routine person. Because of years of pretty much having the same daily routine, my internal clock goes off exactly when it should everyday. I knew having a baby would change my schedule, and I would struggle to get around, and wake up. 

Yea, no, that has not been the case.

My daughter tends to take after me. She sleeps almost exactly 4 hours at a time. She goes to bed around 10pm, wakes up about 2am, sleeps till 6am, then is up for the day and stays awake for a couple hours at a time, and is back to bed at 10pm. This is great and awesome, and I  certainly happy that she is down with structured schedules like me, but I'm now so used to her schedule that I'm starting to get good, deep sleep again.

I'm no sleepy brain doctor, but I'm going to assume that 4 hours is not long enough for a complete sleep cycle. So you can assume that 4 hour intervals poses a problem for waking up sometimes. Now, I've never just not woken up when the baby cries. For the most part my body just knows to get up when it is supposed to, but sometimes it just takes a little longer. Unless she poops.

Her room is across the hall from mine, so I can hear her pretty well, but I shouldn't be able to smell her. Well, I can. Come 6 am every morning, she wakes me up, via smell.

I snap up right, grab my glasses, and tear off into her room, for fear that in the 5 seconds it took me to wake up and get in her there, her diaper has leaked all over her crib, and is now smeared on the white wall beside her bed.  While this hasn't happened yet, one day, when she's more than a month old, I'm sure I will walk in there to find poo flung everywhere. 

Lord help me. 

There are three things I can't stomach well: snot, IV's, and uncontained poop. I rue the day.

They always say, once you become a parent you can stomach just about anything, but they don't tell you about the super human sense of smell you'll develop to protect your walls from being painted brown.

In long (I would say in short, but this post is rather long I feel.), I'm glad she's a good sleeper, and that can now call myself a super human of sorts. I just wish my power wasn't that of smell.