Dear Son,

Today you are three years old. It’s hard for me to believe it has already been three whole years since you joined us. You have brought so much joy and light into our lives. You’re funny. You’ll do just about anything for a laugh. You’re charming. That grin where you wrinkle your nose and squint your eyes is so very cute (but I’m on to you). You’re silly. You love to stand on your head and look at things, or use the wrong end of the binoculars to view your world. You’re sweet. There’s nothing better than hugs and kisses from you.

You are my little buddy. We’re together day after day, just the two of us until daddy gets home from work. You’re my constant companion. You keep me company. You want me to play cars all the time. You stand in my chair and run cars on my head while I type away at the computer. You give the best nose rubs and hugs. I hope you always have a special place in your heart for mommy.

You love to help. I hope you’ll love helping with your little brother. I don’t quite think you understand yet what it means. And I hope that it only brings you joy when we arrive home with him just days after your birthday. You and your brother will be exactly 3 years, 1 day apart. But I hope that you’ll always be good buddies.

I love you so much, little buddy. That will never change, even as we move into a new dynamic with our family. Happy 3rd birthday, little man. I cherish these years with you. I hope you do, too.

Always,

Mama

Our boy is trying to assert his independence. He’ll turn 3 in about 10 days, so it’s no surprise. He loves to have choices, so we offer him one thing or the other and let him decide. But sometimes he’s pretty insistent that he wants something even when we say no.

Especially when it comes to Go-Gurt. I don’t know if I should be happy we introduced this into our household or not. The kid really loves it. So I let him have one or two each day. But he’s constantly asking for more. And since he can open the fridge, he goes and gets one and presents it to me for approval. In fact, a few days ago he came to me, smiled the sweetest little smile, rubbed noses with me, and then produced a Go-Gurt from behind his back.

He’s a smart one, already learning how to work mama over.

Yesterday was a battle of wills. Every five minutes he was asking for a yogurt, then crying when we said no. It had been that way all day – the whining and battling. We were all getting exhausted from it. Daddy sternly told him enough was enough, and the boy came over to me, whining and putting his head in my lap. Daddy then told him he’d better turn that frown upside down and put a smile on his face. Again, sternly. The instant the word “smile” came out of hubby’s mouth, my son put on the biggest, cheesiest grin you’ve ever seen. It was immediate. I looked at him, then looked at my husband, trying hard to stifle a laugh.

Hubby’s face was turning red as he tried not to laugh. It took only seconds before we cracked up. Things went from super-serious, you-need-to-stop-whining-child to full-on tears running down our cheeks. I have never seen that child change his demeanor so quickly. It really was hilarious. By the time we finished laughing, everyone was in a better mood. And our sides were hurting. A lot.

Do you know how painful it is to make a 9-months-pregnant woman belly laugh?

Totally worth it.

STILL not caught up. Treading water. There are dishes in BOTH sides of the sink. The baby seat is still lost in the jungles of our garage. I still haven’t managed to complete some web copy and I desperately need to get it done. Also? Knee deep in resumes.

The work stuff is a good thing. Really. Trying to get as much done as I can before I take time off. But I swear my days are getting shorter and I just can’t quite find the time to finish everything. Especially with a clingy, demanding 2 year old attached to my hip.

Son’s hearing test was fine, so that’s a positive. They didn’t get to test each ear individually, thanks to his aversion to ANYTHING on his head. But it appears to be within normal range so they’re ruling that out as a reason for his speech delay. He’s never had ear infections or injuries, so we were pretty sure that was the case anyway.

Next steps, more evaluations.

And to add to the misery? Next week they’re paving our lot. Which means I’m either stuck in the house all day or stuck OUT of the house all day. No in between. Joy. Whose idea was it to pave just days before Thanksgiving? I really despise our management company. So much I might even name them one of these days.

Went to Java Mama today so the kid could have some fun while I worked. It was great, except for the other boy who kept pushing everyone and giving them headlocks. I mean, hugs. And even with repeated requests for her to WATCH HER DAMN SON, the mother was too busy chatting with about 10 friends and watching her baby in a stroller. That she could have taken IN the play area so she could watch her son more closely. Which she needed to do.

I never know how to speak up in those situations without getting so angry I make no sense. I fume and bite my tongue, unsure of the appropriate thing that will let her know her son’s behavior is NOT acceptable when it causes MY SON to hit his head. I am new to these waters, since it’s usually just me & my son hanging out at home. How do you handle misbehaving kids when their own parent seems content to ignore their bad deeds?

I took off this afternoon for a little out-of-the-house and alone time. It was sorely needed. I haven’t been out of the house much this week and the one time I was? Doctor’s appointment. And I had to get right back because the boy was with Daddy.

But this afternoon, just before the boy woke up from his nap, I took off. Ran a few errands. Perused Michael’s and the bookstore. And then I picked up dinner and went back home to be with my guys.

A little saner, a little refreshed.

After I walked in the door, the boy was nowhere to be found. Turns out he was playing in the bedroom and didn’t know I was home. After I put down all of my stuff, I called to him.

He came careening out of the bedroom with a huge smile on his face. He ran up to me and I expected him to fling himself around my legs. But he grabbed my hand to lead me back to where he was so he could show me what he’d been doing. And then he wanted to play on our bed (which he loves).

His laughter and smile were the perfect welcome home.

I was in the dining room, squatting down to look at something on the bottom shelf of our baker’s rack. I didn’t even see it coming.

Whack!

A very large car starts moving over my back and shoulders.

Wait, let me back up. My son is obsessed with cars. It’s really anything with wheels. If an object has wheels, he must have it.

Earlier this month, he threw a fit over a rain gauge that had a tractor on it. When I finally figured out what he wanted, I got it down for him. And then he threw a fit because the wheels wouldn’t move on the stupid thing. It was the funniest and most pitiful thing, all at the same time. He was so disappointed that the wheels were immobile.

So we have these cars (Ridemakerz, which we LOVE) that have been sitting on top of our stereo since last Christmas. After we got home from Missouri, the boy noticed them. As in, would not stop until we got them down for him. Point, whine. Point, stomp feet, whine. Repeat. I really don’t mind him playing with them, so I got them down for him.

And they have not left his side since. He even sleeps with them now. These cars are not small. They’re about 10-12 inches long. But he loves them and runs them all over the place.

Me, included.

So this car starts running across my back. I’m leaning over enough that he can balance the car on my shoulder and it will stay. So he leaves the car there so he can go get the other one. He brings it back and runs it all over my back, too.

I’m amused, but also glad there are no cameras around.

I think that I’m my son’s favorite playground. He’s constantly running his hot wheels cars all over me, too. Or when I’m laying in the floor, he crawls across me. Over. And over. And over.

So I’m a jungle gym. Or a car track. Or just a really soft play toy.

And I actually love every minute of it. Being a mom is so cool.

When I found out I was pregnant, I really and truly wanted a blue-eyed baby. Boy or girl, blue eyes please.

My dad has the most amazing blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Blue as the sky and so bright. They are striking. I so wanted my little boy to have those eyes. Instead, he got the same blue that I, my brother, and my mom have. They sometimes tend a little more towards gray, depending on what color we’re wearing. But my dad? His eyes never change – they are always the same vibrant pools of blue.

So while it’s nice that my boy has the exact eyes that I do, I wanted to pass on something else. The poor kid already has so many of my traits that it’s scary. He never even had a chance. I’m sure he’ll thank me (and never let me forget it) later.

The boy has been using sippy cups for a while now. We tend to use the non-spill versions since he’s in a mode where he likes to pretend he’s an Olympian discus thrower. My floors are constantly in a state of disarray with bits and pieces of food that sacrificed themselves to the whims of my toddler baby. You can’t step very far without crushing a cheerio or a piece of toast under your feet. That’s okay, they’re easily vacuumed. But the smooshy vegetables and ice-cold watermelon are a little much on my bare feet in the middle of the night. Let’s just say it’s hard to distinguish them from cat vomit in the dark.

So we bought some sippy cups that, while they are somewhat bottle-sized, have soft spouts and one of the two has handles. They’re called transitions, as in the transition from bottle to sippy. My child likes to bite and chew. So a soft spout is perfect for him. Give him one of the hard spouts and he turns away. (He already has an opinion on just about everything. I am in so much trouble later.)

Unfortunately, the soft plastic of the spouts tend to get a little gunky, no matter how diligent I am at cleaning them. Milk just tends to get goopy and icky. Add to that the chewing and chewing my son tends to do, and the sippy spout is to the point where I can’t use it – he has chewed extra holes in it.

Enter complications. The boy loves these cups. I’ve tried several other kinds. Doc Brown, some other Gerbers, and more. He tries them and then refuses. Doesn’t want them. Unfortunately, when I went back to the store to find them, they were gone. From everywhere. Gerber stopped selling them. In desperation, I started searching the web, even going to Gerber’s own site. No transitions cups. So I emailed them and asked what I could do.

And this is where Gerber went from good to great. They emailed me back within a few days and let me know where I could get replacement spouts and valves, the cost and how to order them. And then they sent me a couple of sets at no charge, thus saving much crying and wailing and knashing of teeth. We get to continue using the cups, which were serving their purpose just fine, but without the wear and tear from my sons very pointy – and well-practiced – teeth.

Thank you, Gerber. You went above and beyond, and I really appreciate it. It didn’t cost you much, yet you made this mommy very happy.

One year ago, I met a boy. He has taken over much of my life in this past year. But that’s not his fault. He had to rely on me for just about everything. It’s just the way of things.

Today, we celebrate the birth of our son, the great Boobah. He has changed so much over the past year. It really is amazing how fast the milestones fly at you. I can’t even keep up. But I love it.

Being a mom is hard. It’s getting up and caring for your child even when you’re feeling under the weather and they are fine. It’s pulling yourself out of bed at 5 when you really want to sleep until 7. Or 10. It’s making sure they’re fed before you are, because you can wait a 1/2 hour to eat, but your child doesn’t yet understand how to wait. It’s wiping tears, runny noses, kissing bruises, padding corners, washing bottles, and changing a heck of a lot of diapers.

It’s a freaking tough job. I do love it. Even as I wish for just a little time to myself to read, take a bath, take a nap, catch up on email, watch a little TV, or browse a shop. Even as I drag myself out of bed at 3 am to find a lost binkie. And especially when I get soaked from bathtub splashing.

Deep down, I always hoped I would get to be a mom. My parents are the most wonderful examples of love and caring, and I wanted to pass that along. I hoped that there would be someone to look at all of the pictures and hear all of the stories and just want to know where we came from. And a bit of what our lives were like. I want to leave a mark. We do that, in some small way, through our children.

But I never knew if I would get the chance. Hey, life happens and sometimes that chance can pass us by. I was lucky, though. It didn’t pass by. And here we are. My son is one year old. We survived with him only getting dropped on his head once! Or was it twice? (Oh, hai, CPS – just kidding!)

I’m still trying to find a way to balance being a mom with still being me. I’ve always found it easier to worry about everyone else ahead of myself. Maybe I’ll figure it out. Maybe it’ll continue to be a battle. Who knows?

I love that little guy of mine. And while I’m in no hurry for him to get bigger, I’m really looking forward to the adventures we’ll share.

Our son’s crib is in our room. Not just because I want him close so I don’t have to stumble through the house when he cries, but out of necessity. We live in a one bedroom place, so he’s either in our room or the middle of the living room. Not a lot of choices.

We arranged things to where he’s on my side of the bed, at a slight angle. Our bedroom is a jungle of furniture: bed, dressers, desk, sidetable, baby bed. Yeah, it’s a lot of stuff. I have a nightstand next to me, and his crib is on the other side.

Did I mention the kid can now stand up and reach outside of the crib? And that the nearest thing is my nightstand? Did I also mention said nightstand is now CLEAR? Um, yeah.

This morning, he stood in his crib, looking around, babbling, and waiting for his dear, precious mother to WAKE THE HECK UP ALREADY. He’ll usually entertain himself for a bit before he decides he needs a new diaper.

And today, he woke me up by yelling at me. Ma! Momomom. Ma! I rolled over and looked at him and was greeted with a most adorable and huge grin. How could I resist that? The crying? Eh, roll over and go back to sleep. But “ma” and a smile? Up in an instant.

He is crawling so fast now. Zips everywhere. We have a couple of laundry baskets as barriers between the living room and kitchen and barring the hallway to the bathroom and bedroom. He can’t move them YET, but he can stand up and hold on to them, which he loves to do. And he can finally sit back down from standing, which results in a lot less crying and frustration. From both of us. Also, he can move sideways while holding on to things. The coffee table, the couch, the rocking chair. It’s all so fast.

And last night? He got off of the couch. BY HIMSELF.

He was sitting with daddy, decided he wanted down, turned around, and put his legs off of the couch. We watched as he slowly lowered himself down. We cheered him a bit and then he took off. Wow.

Tomorrow is his first birthday. Last year at this time, well, it’s a blur. I was at the hospital, in labor. I had pitocin, and I believe they’d already put in the epidural as well. I don’t even remember when my water broke, but I know I was lying in bed and felt it happen. Did I mention I went to the hospital the day before Thanksgiving, in the morning, to get monitored and THEY KEPT ME? And I didn’t get to leave until almost a week later.

I guess I never really told the whole birth story. I may just have to do that in honor of the kiddo’s first year here. And it will be told often, because mommy didn’t get to have Thanksgiving (actually, I didn’t get to eat for almost 30 hours and I was begging for some food) thanks to a certain little rug rat.

So, maybe some more tomorrow, after we go to Balboa Park. I think we’ll forgo chocolate cake for some brownies or something like that. Haven’t decided yet. No party, just hanging with the boys. I can’t wait.

Yesterday marked the beginning of the kiddo pulling himself into a standing position. Before, it was just to the knees. Now it’s standing and wobbling. A lot of wobbling.

It’s funny, actually. He’ll crawl over to the couch, end table, or even his playpen, and pull himself up. And he’ll stand there for a bit, babbling and looking for things to grab or knock over.

But today. Today the shrieking started. He gets in that upright position and then has absolutely no idea what to do. He wants out of it, you can tell. Yet he doesn’t want to fall on his bum (even though he has, and it was fine). A couple of times I have pulled him away to sit him down on the floor. It isn’t terribly long before he’s in the same position. That’s okay. I know he’s learning to balance better. Another time I tried to get him to move sideways while holding on, so he could scoot over to me. He mostly just lifted his feet and put them down again. But once I grabbed his hands, he walked/wobbled his way over to me.

It won’t be long. This kid may be walking by his birthday. Christmas at the very latest. It’s all coming at us so fast. All of the changes. The milestones. The learning. I can barely keep up. And if I don’t write it down I’ll never remember. I’ve already forgotten when he exactly first smiled, or giggled. In some ways, it’s not important. Yet in others, for the writer and compulsive documenter in me, it’s extremely important.

I feel compelled to leave records. I don’t know why. I guess I want someone down the road to know us, to know what we were like. My grandchildren. Great-grandchildren. I want them to see us as more than just pictures on somebody’s hard drive or photos printed out and stuck in an album. I want the Boobah to have our memories of what it was like when he was a baby. Maybe he won’t care. But if he does, I want it to be there.

It’s funny, that as a parent I’m much more interested in what mothering was like for my mom. I always wanted to hear what it was like for her before she got married. Who she was, what she did, what she liked. But I never thought to ask her what it was like to be a new mom. I never knew that it took her quite a while to get pregnant with both of us, hence the difference in our ages. She had my granny and a host of sisters-in-law, all of whom had many kids (granny – 9 living, and many of her kids had an average of 5 or more kids) and could tell her about handling a baby. It’s been well over 30 years for her, so I relied more on a bevy of girlfriends, all around the same age, having babies within a year or two of each other.

Our lives are different, yet the same. Being a mom has brought me so much closer to my parents. I hope our kiddo is able to experience the same thing.

But one step at a time. First, he’s got to learn to walk on his own. And it won’t be long…