I’m one of those strange hybrid creatures you read about in Buzzfeed articles: the introverted extrovert, or extroverted introvert, or whatever label we’re using these days for someone who likes to be social but tends to become totally exhausted when my calendar isn’t empty. I can also get extremely socially anxious—every so often, I feel like I’m floating outside my body and am sure that everyone can see what a phony I am as I make sure to laugh in the right places and stand in a way that I don’t look as awkward as I feel. (Overshare!) But this weekend I got over all that when I made myself just say yes—to a full three days’ worth of unforgettable experiences.
My Heart Is Full
You know the feeling—when your heart is so full it feels like it’s going to explode. Yes, love is messy—in the most wonderful way possible.
Sometimes motherhood is awesome
If you’ve read this blog often enough, you’ve seen my posts about how hard motherhood can be—like the time one kid trailed poop after her all over the house, or the long length of time breastfeeding was insanely hard, or the roughly 12 months I didn’t sleep more than 3 hours in a row. But sometimes motherhood is awesome.
Take, for instance, the other day. Peeper and I made cookies for absolutely no reason other than the fact that sugar and chocolate chips are delicious. When they were done, the heavenly smell of perfectly browned cookies filled the house.
Shockingly, Kiwi was still asleep—couldn’t she smell the chocolate chip cookies?—so Peeper and I got some more one-on-one time.
I decided to teach her a vital life lesson.
Dunking cookies and bonding
Some life lessons are hard to teach—like that friends aren’t always nice to you, or that there are people in the world who value girls less than boys. This was not one of them.
I poured two cups of milk. I placed two chocolate chip cookies on plates. I sat Peeper down at the table.
And I taught her how to dunk a cookie in milk.
Peeper had never dunked a cookie, but the practice combines two of her favorite things—dessert and milk.
She and I ate our milk-softened cookies, still warm from the oven, and giggled. It felt as if we were sharing a beautiful secret. The feeling of doing something special just for us filled the room like the scent of baking chocolate.
Cookies and milk and motherhood
Kiwi woke up a few minutes later. I still try to limit her sugar as much as I can, so before I got her from the crib I cleaned up the evidence of cookies and milk.
When Kiwi and I rejoined Peeper in the living room, Peeper looked up at me and smiled. She had a smear of chocolate on one cheek. As I smiled back at her I thought, Motherhood is awesome.
My linea nigra is gone: The changing marks of motherhood
Just like I realized one day that I no longer have a baby—holy shit, she is a toddler—I recently realized my linea nigra is gone.
That dark line that snaked from my belly button on down disappeared in an equal but opposite proportion to the growth of my baby. In almost imperceptible ways, Kiwi got bigger day by day. She rolled over. She sat up. She crawled. And now, somehow, she grins and peeks around the kitchen island at me, itching for me to chase her down the hall.
Likewise, my linea nigra faded bit by bit, and I didn’t notice until it was gone. I was busy with other things, I guess—things like, you know, doing my damnedest to keep my new family of four alive. More recently, being a mother of two has felt easier, or at least less heartbreakingly hard. So it makes sense that I only now registered its absence.
For one boob nap, a second child becomes an only child
As I tap this one-handed on my phone, I’m nap trapped. My toddler has fallen asleep breastfeeding, leaving me unable to put away all the kids’ new toys, go through unopened mail, unpack our suitcases or do any of the other things on my list. But I am not complaining. Today, I’m happy for this boob nap.
Kiwi rarely falls asleep on me these days. And on the occasions she does, I can’t let her snooze on me. I don’t have that flexibility; I have a preschooler.
But Peeper went down to Eugene with her dad to pick up our dog, so for today I am mom of only one kid. And that “only child” has a doozy of a cold. So it’s really not that shocking she fell asleep at the breast—and why I let her keep sleeping on me, boob nap style.
My end of 2016 Gratitude List
At the beginning of this year, I wrote a gratitude list of 50 things I’m grateful for. I remembered that post recently when I thought ahead to the New Year. I feel a lot of fear when I think about what is to come next year and beyond, but fear doesn’t do a lot of good unless it motivates some sort of positive action. I have been working to incorporate doing good every day (more on that later), but positive action can also include acknowledging all the things that are right with the world. After all, a perfect antidote to anxiety and uncertainty is reflecting on the many reasons to be thankful.
If you’re like me and you’re feeling anxious—whether that’s from the incoming president or post-Christmas bills—I invite you to make a gratitude list, too. It may just help you feel better about the end of 2016 and look forward to the New Year.
My daughter made me cry (and I’m so glad)
The other day, my daughter made me cry.
It wasn’t because Peeper punched me in the eye (on accident!) while we were playing. And it wasn’t because she drew this picture of me.
(Yes, I’m so #momglam with my unibrow and lopsided boobs.)
No, it was because she said the words I didn’t even know I’d been waiting to hear.
Hello ice cream truck, goodbye summer
“Hey, what’s that noise?” I asked. Peeper looked up, her eyes wide. She turned to look out the window. “Let’s go see!” I said. I figured we had to do this one thing before we said goodbye summer.
As quickly as I could, I got our shoes on, picked up Kiwi and dashed outside. The metallic tinkling tune was fading as its source moved farther away. Undeterred, I hurried us along the quiet street.
Then, to my relief, the cheerful song got louder. And then we saw it: the ice cream truck.
A few times this summer, the ice cream truck has stopped in our neighborhood. The driver must have known about the groups of kids who rove through our block. They play chase, ride scooters, flirt and let the summer afternoons drift by as if time did not exist.
Yet I hadn’t taken my girls out to have their first ice cream truck experience. The truck always seemed to come right before nap time. Or, more honestly, I just didn’t want to deal with the sugar buzz, no matter the time of day.
But summer is coming to a close. Before we said goodbye summer, I wanted the girls to say hello, cream truck! Read more
Happy Mother’s Day to me: I see you
This is the final post in my Happy Mother’s Day to Me series—written by yours truly. I have been inspired, humbled and and motivated by the many mamas who have contributed their stories and messages to themselves. Check out all the posts in the series, and don’t forget to wish your mom a happy Mother’s Day!
Dear Me,
Happy Mother’s Day! You will be hearing this greeting from all corners—family, relatives, friends. But I wanted to tell you again. After all, I see every moment you spend with your kids—the good ones and the ones you wish you could take back. And I’m here to say, you are a good mother.
I am that voice in your head. Not the one that whispers, “You are messing this up,” “Why can’t you get it together?” or “What’s wrong with you?” That voice if full of shit.
I may be quieter, but I am honest. I am true. I am the one you should listen to.
I am the cheerleader who is rooting for you especially on the days you think you just can’t for one more minute. I am the one giving you high fives for getting both kids out of the house before 9am, or for that killer read-aloud voice, or for simply making sure everyone is fed. I am the one telling you that you are enough.
Happy Mother’s Day to Me: Loving myself more
This guest post comes from Selena Maestas, an integrative nutritionist who is super-serious about helping women accept, love and cherish themselves—as they are. Her Love YOU More Project is inspiring women across the internet to adopt radical self-love. In this Happy Mother’s Day to Me series, Selena and a whole slew of mothers are celebrating themselves for the dedicated, loving, tireless mamas they are. Check out all the posts in the series!
Selena,
You are an amazing woman who has been through so much. You don’t like to complain or whine about what has happened, because without it, you wouldn’t be YOU. You wouldn’t be who you are today. You wouldn’t have the insight and knowledge to help women the way you do.
But it still hurts.
And you cry. A lot.
As strong as you are, you are still soft. You are full of emotion.
Tears are just your way.
Feeling is something you embrace.
You’ve learned that if you don’t feel it, it will eat you alive.
You used to hide those feelings.
You used to conform to what others expected of you and demanded of you. In fact, you lost yourself so deep, that you become physically ill.
But guess what?
What did that teach you?
It taught you to BE YOU. No matter what people think. Read more
Happy Mother’s Day to Me: My 100 year old birthday prize
This guest post is by Jenni Bost, expert party-thrower, generous extrovert and wonderful mama to two boys. She blogs about DIY entertaining projects and motherhood at A Well Crafted Party and organizes the blogging group Portland Bloggers—in addition to working outside the home. (Phew!) In this Happy Mother’s Day to Me series, Jenni and a whole slew of mothers are celebrating themselves for the dedicated, loving, tireless mamas they are. Check out all the posts in the series!
Do you remember that feeling of never being big enough, fast enough, or strong enough? Living life through the eyes of my sons—with the knowledge that comes with getting older—is humbling to say the least.
My oldest son is four years old and very much enjoys growing older. While I wince with each creak of my aging body, I hear my son talk about his next birthday (not for many months yet) and all the joy that comes with that celebration. (He is totally my kid.) He often talks about “when I get to be 100 I’ll be faster than anyone” or “when I get to be 100 I’ll be a giant.” One hundred years is not old to him.
On a recent car ride and yet another discussion about his birthday he quieted in concentration and then quite seriously asked me, “Mom, do I get a prize when I get to 100?”
“A prize?” I asked.
“Yea, like a toy or a present or something?” he asked in explanation.
I laughed at the time and joked about telling him once I get there. However, the thought stayed with me for some time—especially as I had been mulling around about what I’d write about for this “Happy Mother’s Day to Me” series.
I work in the senior living field and know firsthand that living to 100 (or much older) is no longer the complete fantasy it might have been.
I also totally believe that a prize should happen if I hit 100 years old. The thought inspired my letter to my son for when I hit 100 years old. Read more