Five Years Ago

It seems like ages ago.  But it was only five years.

Five years ago, at about this time of night, we were headed to the hospital.  We were full of excitement, trepidation, and worry.  We were headed into the unknown.  And five years later, parenthood is still full of unknowns.  And excitement.  And worry.

Five years ago, we were a couple of kids playing house.  And five years later, I sometimes still feel like we’re playing house.  The only difference is, we’re no longer the only ones in it.  And the house is a lot louder now.

Five years ago, I had just finished a long day at work.  I was dog tired.  And five years later, I recognize the true meaning of tiredness.

Five years ago, we were anxiously waiting for time to speed by.  After months of waiting, we were ready for her to arrive, and for our family to finally begin.  And five years later, I find myself asking for time to stop.  How can she be five already?  It doesn’t seem plausible.

Five years ago, we knew everything.  We were so sure of ourselves, our marriage, and what we believed.  And five years later, we admit that we’re learning.  And that we will never truly know an iota of what we should know.

Five years ago, the car was packed.  A brand new carseat was installed, checked, and triple-checked.  Bags were packed with tiny newborn clothes.  And five years later, I find myself packing the car once again.  With two dozen Rapunzel-decorated cupcakes frosted in her favorite colors.  And treat bags with trinkets fit for a gaggle of preschoolers.

Five years ago, our family numbered two.  And five years later, we’ve doubled.  And we have realized that we weren’t truly a family back then.  Not yet.

Five years ago, we stood on the precipice of parenthood.   We thought we knew what love was.  And five years later, we truly know what it is.

Happy Birthday, Bobo.  I still can’t believe you’re a whole hand already.

The Very Hungry Momma

In the light of the moon, a little egg lay waiting.

One candlelit evening, after a romantic dinner and a few martinis, the egg was, well, bombarded.  And… pop!  It started to grow.

When the egg was discovered, the parents were ecstatic.  They immediately dubbed the little egg “Chip.”  Because, as they explained to their daughter, it was only the size of a chocolate chip.

But as “Chip” grew and grew, it created a tiny, and very hungry little momma.

She started to look for some food.

The first trimester was rough.  She ate through 6 boxes of Saltine crackers, a dozen 2-litres of Ginger Ale, and a ginormous bag of lemon drops.

Alas, even though she felt like ralphing all the time, she was still hungry.  It’s just that nothing sounded appealing.

But by the second trimester, her appetite returned with a vengeance.  She ate through 10 rotisserie chickens, 23 Big Mac Meals (super sized, of course), countless slices of pepperoni pizza and a 5-gallon tub of Red Vine licorice.

And she was still hungry.

By the third trimester, she was on a roll.  She was eating through a jelly donut every morning, as well as any other food that dared stand in her way.

But she was still hungry.

Sometimes, after hoovering all of the non-perishable edibles in the house, she’d have a tummy ache.  Her doctor called it heartburn.  She ate through one bottle of Tums.  After that, she felt much better.

And after that, she wasn’t hungry anymore.  Because there simply wasn’t any room on her little frame left to accommodate any more food.  And she also wasn’t a little momma anymore.  She had gained almost 50 pounds, and was now a big momma.  She was ready to burst.

So she made a nursery and decorated it lovingly with stars and cowboy hats fitting for a little buckaroo.  She nested.  She cocooned.

One night, she was awoken by some strange stirrings from within the cocoon.  They made their way to the hospital.

Where they waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Through multiple episodes of Cash Cab.  Through a dozen games of solitaire.  Through nine hours of watching the lines of the contractions make pretty little hills and valleys up and down the paper.

In the midst of this she felt a familiar rumbling in her stomach.  She was hungry.

She asked for food.  A banana, a cracker, a jelly donut… anything besides popsicles and water.  She pleaded.  They denied.

“It won’t be long now,” they told her.  “Just a little while longer, and then we’ll get you something to eat.”

So she waited some more.  And, finally, it was time for him to arrive.

And when he emerged?  She suddenly forgot getting something to eat.  She instantly forgot about the months of morning sickness, and the pain.  She forgot about how tired she was, or the ravenous hunger that gnawed at her belly.

All she could think was that he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Happy belated birthday to my sweet Chip.  How did two years fly by so fast?

It was so much more fun the first time I turned 29

Today is my birthday.

And I won’t be here.  In bloggyland, that is.

Because in real life, I’ll be too busy:

  1. Dealing with the fire department because I accidentally started a huge blaze while attempting to blow out the candles on my cake.
  2. Recovering from Black Friday.
  3. Waking up from my tryptophan-induced hibernation.
  4. Reminiscing about how 25 used to seem old.
  5. Thinking about how I’ve officially closer to 40-something than I am to 30-something.
  6. Drinking copious amounts of beer due to the aforementioned thought.
  7. Drinking prune juice and taking my Geritol.  ‘Cause I’ve heard that’s what old people do.
  8. Realizing how pathetic I sound bemoaning another birthday.  In reality, I have lots to be thankful for.  Like the fact that I still get carded at the grocery store.
  9. Admiring the shiny bling my husband got me card my kids made me for my birthday.
  10. Celebrating my latest fantasy football win.
  11. Spouting some belated Thanksgiving sentiments over at Kludgy Mom’s place.

Hint: the correct answer is #11.  However, #1, 6 and 7 may also be true.  And I remain optimistic about #10.

      Cloudy, with a chance of mama

      I got a little crazy with the word clouds for this one.  That’s my inner tech-geek showing through.

      Chip’s vocabulary has grown like wildfire over the past month.  Up until now, he’s uttered a few words here and there, but overall has been our family’s equivalent of Silent Bob.  (I guess that would make Bobo “Jay,” minus the swear words… not to be confused with my husband, Jay)

      Until recently, his vernacular consisted mainly of ball, uh-oh, dissy (sissy), Booyah (the cat), with his favorite (and first) word being dada.   Here’s a word cloud representation of what his vocabulary consisted of a few months ago:

      It probably goes without saying that the fact that he used dada, dissy and yes, even the cat’s name, more than my own made me feel a tad bit like chopped liver.  He knew the word “mama,” but used it pretty sparingly, most commonly after he had just blown chunks.

      Well, the month of May rolled around, and brought with it lots of changes.  My little guy started spewing new words left and right.  To illustrate my point:

      My favorites in this little cloud have got to be:

      • pee-you: There are some stank diapers changed around our house.  And flatulence.  Somewhere along the line, Chip learned to wrinkle his little nose and wave his hand in front of his face, while saying “pee-you.”  We may need to curb this behavior later on, but for now, I’m thinking it’s pretty funny.
      • ruff/moo/cack (quack):  Chip is starting to identify different animals and associate them with sounds.  He still gets a little mixed up, like the time he saw a chihuahua and starting meowing, but I think the confusion there is completely natural.
      • boob and boys: There’s a mildy amusing story behind these if you want to read further.
      • ooh-ooh-eee-eee:  On my recent cross-country trip with Chip, I entertained him part of the time with games on my iPhone.  It has a monkey app for kids on it that he went crazy for.  Now, every time he sees anyone pull out a cell phone, he starts screaming like a wild monkey.  I’m sure others wonder about that, but it always makes me giggle.

      And yes, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more than pleased to see the word “mama” vault to the top of his usage.  To be fair, he actually calls both Jay and I “mama” now.  I’m not sure where the confusion sprung from, but I’m not rushing to correct him.

      Let’s face it, I love hearing the word roll off his little tongue.

      Cool cloud tags created on Wordle.  There go another two hours of my life.  My love/hate relationship with the internet continues.

      Let’s hear it for the boys

      I don’t know what terms other parents use to describe the nether-regions, but for some reason, I just can’t bring myself to use anatomically correct words with my kids.

      I’m not trying to be prude.   Maybe I’ve seen Kindergarten Cop one too many times.  You know, where the little boy declares proudly, “Boys have a penis, and girls have a vagina!”  The thought of my kids uttering those words isn’t something I’m personally ready to deal with yet.

      So, at my house, there are “girl parts” and there are “boy parts.”

      Imagine my surprise the other day when Chip, in the middle of getting his diaper changed, grabs himself squarely in the cahones and squeals, “Boys!”  This stopped me in my tracks a bit.  Then I giggled out loud.

      “Yes, those are the boys,” I acknowledged.  He beamed with pride at his new word, while I felt a new gray hair sprouting.

      This is one of many new words Chip’s been uttering lately.  He likes pointing at my eyes, hair, mouth, etc, and giving me his rendition of what they’re called.  Truly amazing to see my little guy picking up vocabulary at a mile a minute.

      Although, Jay and I had a bit of disagreement the other day about his latest word.

      When he was going through his list of body parts he knew, Chip grabbed his little chest and shrieked, “Boobs!”  Jay immediately marched in to where I saw getting ready, and said very seriously, “Did you teach him the word boobs??”

      “I dunno, maybe,” I said.  That was his main source of sustenance for quite some time, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he was quite familiar with the word.  “What should he call them instead?” I asked.

      Jay thought for a minute, and promptly came back with, “Pecs.  Boys have pecs.”

      This simple statement is probably one of the reasons I love my husband so much.  He always makes me laugh.  Even if we do disagree occasionally on the proper vocabulary to teach our kids.

      What can I say to that?  Boys will be boys.

      NOTE:  Apologies for the bad Photoshopping.  Couldn’t find a picture I liked, so what’s a gal to do?  I should probably also mention I stole the t-shirt off Zazzle.