Is it you, or is it me?

Um...Okay. So remember how I was talking about Christmas, and how I wanted it to be special for Georgia, but I wasn't sure what to do about the religious part, I want her to partake in all cultural traditions, not have it all be about presents, blah blah blah. REMEMBER? REMEMBER WHEN I SAID THAT?

Okay... well.... Fuck that.

I have just spent all weekend gleefully buying Christmas presents for my daughter myself and have not given one thought about the true meaning of Christmas, or what Christmas means in other countries, or that it is important to know that the world is made up of different nationalities that celebrate all types of holidays.

Nope! I got a load of the American Girls doll collection and BAM! I am hooked! Matching outfits? Limitless accessories? A doll salon in NYC? Here you go honey!

Pink retro kitchen? YES PLEASE! And if you have a pink kitchen you need pots and pans to cook with, and fake eggs, milk, fruit, and other such important condiments that go in the kitchen. And a shopping cart to put all that shit in!

And while we are at it, you are at an age where Mommy would like to make you her walking fashion billboard, so here are some pink uggs* and faux lepoard fur vests for you to roll around the dirty playground in!

Oh also-I would like for you to start your singer-songwriter career THIS YEAR, so here is a guitar. I know you are only 1 year old, but seriously, it is never to early to begin your path to stardom.

I don't know what all of this means about me. Probably that I am going to be one of those mothers who lives vicariously through the posessions of my child.

Awesome.

*Fake Uggs

Think About It

So I'm in the shower at 5:15AM this morning trying to figure out what is so great about being a parent.

I'm in the shower at 5:15AM because darling daughter decided at 3:30AM that, "Hey servants! It's time to get up!"

I tried everything I could to get her to go back to sleep.

"Me rock-a-bye" (that means rocking chair) We go to the rocking chair. Rock for 1.2 seconds.

"Me head in mommy pilloooowwww" We go to the bed, I try to lay her on my pillow. Lasts less than 1 second.

"Me go Gee-Ga's hooooouse." 

Translation: Gee-ga= Georgia. Gee-Ga's House=downstairs in our house. I have no idea why she calls downstairs "Gee-Ga's house" but whatever. That's what it is. And anyway, um NO we are NOT going downstairs at 3:30AM. People are still coming home for god's sake! I am not waking up before  professional partiers go to sleep!

Temper tantrum ensues. I lay with her on the floor. Chris is somewhat helpful. I give up. Chris takes her in her room. I am not helpful at all.

The much hyped phrase, "Go the F**k To Sleep" enters my mind.

I get it.

I wonder why people become parents. I wonder what the point of parenting is. I wonder why so many people can't wait to have these small crazy people run their lives. I wonder why I didn't notice I was out of shampoo.I wonder why I say to people that becoming a mother is the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. Because falling asleep in the shower blows.

 While not rinsing and repeating, I think of the pumpkin patch. And how I always thought that going to the pumpkin patch with your kid ( or anywhere that you would never go without a kid)  would suck. And how much it didnt' suck.  I thought of how excited she was to see pumpkins. And how she picked out her own two pumpkins to take home. And how proud she was that she picked them out. And how she freaked out over the chickens and goats and said, "Hi Chicken. Hi Goat. Me Gee-Ga."

I thought about how she loves to tell me her numbers and letters because she knows I will be proud of her. How she caresses my face and says, "Nice Mommy". How we eskimo kiss, and how she pretends to fall down so I can act all wacky and yell "MY BABY FELL" in a southern accent.

 And how she grabbed me by the knees and said, "I yuv you mommy. Awwww mommy"   

I don't understand how anything that sucks so bad can be so wonderful at the same time. I'm exhausted. I'm a bag of nerves.I know I am going to worry the rest of my life. I go to sleep at 7:30PM almost every night. I haven't read a book in 19 months. My husband and I literally have been out alone  about 4 times together... A wedding, 2 dates, and a Bruce concert. 

Yet I would crawl through fire for my child. I love her with my whole entire heart and soul. I think about not having her, and I die inside.

 If someone else told me about my own life, I would tell them NO THANK YOU.

But I feel like I am the happiest I have ever been. Except when it sucks. Which is a lot of the time. I don't get it.

Do you?

Don't you bring me down today...

So I am going to write about something, and it is a sort of sensitive subject to people, and it is a subject that I am not really comfortable writing about, but I've been reading a lot of blogs "from mother to daughter" and a thought popped up. I can't let go of it, even though I keep telling myself that I am being ridiculous for even thinking this far down the road, I can't GET IT OUT OF MY HEAD.

Okay anyway. I am a lover of blogs. I read a lot of them. A common theme among mommy bloggers is the message to their daughter: Love Yourself. Love your Body. Don't play with Barbie-yeah tha last one is stupid, but whatever. It's out there.

I have never had body issues. Like for a hot second in 7th grade I wanted to be really tall with big boobs and hips like some of the "cool girls" in school, but by 10th grade I loved my little frame and have never had any issues since. I have stayed the same weight-maybe got a little thinner after high school. No food issues, no bikini issues, no sir not here. I get the occasional "go eat a hamburger" comment from people, but at 35 years old that is such old news in my life it doesn't bother me at all. Okay no body issues. I've always been skinny.

Now- on to my face. From 1st to 7th grade I HATED my face. I thought I was the biggest dog around. I was actually cute when I was little, but there WAS serious woofin going on from about 12-15 years old. But again, , I was over it by 10th grade. I was content with being 'pretty enough". Definitely better looking than a good portion of the population, but also there are lots  of women who were/are prettier than me. Fine. I will  never be a soft, whimsical raven haired beauty with eyes that sparkle like the sea- but I could get a date. And with serious professional make up and airbrushing-I am STUNNING (see airbrushed wedding photos) Now, when I look bad, I look BAD. I am not the type of woman who would look cute in rock climbing gear (um, like I would ever wear that), or when I wake up-but you catch my drift. With a little help of Clinique-I am good to go! Bring on the Men!

Okay-back to my face. I have always (even when I thought I looked my best) HATED my nose. It's big, "roman" "prominent" whatever the F you want to call it. My mom did a good job of telling my I was beautiful, and that it was a "striking" feature on my face, but of course I have been called elephant nose, been told I would be super hot if I had a small nose, ( and my favorite from countless little children) WHY IS YOUR NOSE SO BIG? One time a crack head hooker got mad at me because I did not give her money when she asked me for a dollar, and she was like, "Bitch you need a NOSE JOB" Um...yes, that happened to me. I mostly took it in stride. It did not have an effect on my social life. But still. It was troublesome and something I thought about often.

So what I never experienced on the body end, I have experienced on the face end. You can't make your nose look skinny by wearing black, you can't diet or exercise your nose to make it look better. People had no problems telling me about my nose, which I always found strange. I would never tell some of these people that they had fat thighs, or cow butts. Why was it okay to be mean about my nose?

I had rhinoplasty in 2007. To fix my nose. That I hated. I was tired of "loving what god gave me." One day I was just like, "I fucking hate my nose." And I went to see a plastic surgeon.

Okay-you are probably wondering where I am going with this.

So all of this leads me to this question regarding my daughter, what lessons I am going to need to teach her and what kind of role model I am going to be.

I have no weight issues. If Georgia does, I will not even begin to know what to do.  I mean, my mom was skinny and never talked about weight but I was too, and so were my sisters, so it was a non issue in my house.  Like a NON, nothing, I didn't even know it WAS an issue, non issue. I didn't even know people ever thought about their weight, until one day in high school I went out with some friends and they both threw up on purpose before we went out. I was SHOCKED.

Okay and also, I've had plastic surgery. Now I was 27 when I had it, and paid for it myself, but what kind of role model is that? I mean, I didn't go into having rhinoplasty intending to be a role model, but what if Georgia hates her nose too? I can't tell her to live with it, because I chose not to. I guess I could say, "get one when you are 27" But how is that helpful?

The thought of her being unhappy with herself breaks my heart. Like literally rips to shreds. She is so funny and confident and happy.  I want to violently murder any pain that will ever enter her soul. However, having been a teenager, and knowing other teenagers, the pain is bound to happen. I want to be prepared. But realistically prepared. And it seems like moms these days are starting early. Banning Barbie from my house is not going to really teach any lesson except to hate people who look like Barbie and yes-you do run into those people in life so better to be okay with them at an early age.

So anyway, part of me is like screw this. I have nothing to worry about. There are worse situations to be in. Like, how is Madonna going to explain her SEX book to her children? Or maybe she doesn't. Maybe she says "Do you like your fancy clothes, fashion lines, private schools, and brand new cars? Then shut up!"

So this is what I am thinking about. It never would have popped into my brain, had I not been reading what all the other moms are thinking about. But I did. So now I wonder...

Do I just tell Georgia to mind her own business when it comes to me? What if she has an eating disorder? Will it be my fault? What if she hates her nose? What if kids are mean to her? What if SHE is mean to other kids?

 WHEN DO I TALK TO HER ABOUT BIRTH CONTROL???

AGGHHHHH.

ABC...easy as...123!

HI. God, I've been busy. Well-kind of busy...you know vacationing and all of that nonsense. I have missed you. And missed writing in my blog. So here is the 411.

I said the words VACATION, but what I did last week had nothing to do with vacation. It was more like, staying at home with lots of children at someone else's house. Which is fine-this past week was for the kids and the grandparents for sure. Georgia had a blast, and uh, can I talk to you about HOW MUCH she is talking? Like we have real conversations. Sort of. I mean, they are conversations, but kind of like the conversations you have in Spanish I class in 8th grade. 

Hola, Me llamo Teresa, y tu?

Hola me llamo Juan. Donde esta tu lapiz?

Um...No me gusta bilar.

(Uh...what? dancing? We were just talking about pens!)

See, what I mean? There is conversation going, but not much vocab flying around

 Now, with that  amazing example of Spanish out of the way, here is a typical conversation between me and Georgia.

Georgia: Hi Mommy

Me: Hi big girl

Georgia: HAHAHAHA. Hi big girl

Me: Um...yes, hi big girl

Georgia: Me big girl

Okay.... (weird silence)

Georgia: Me highchair. Me have bluebberys in chair. 

Me: okay I'll get you some blueberries

(She points to my wine glass)

Georgia: Mommy wawa!(that means water)

My internal voice: Fuck! She thinks the wine glass is my water!

Georgia: Mommy wawa. Mommy wawa. Awwww mama. (hugs)

Me: i love you

Georgia: Doggy good boy. Good boy Buckley. Blueberries? Blueberries?

Or let's take it back to dinner last night when no one was talking because we were all stuffing our faces with pizza.

Georgia: Mommy poop.

Alrighty then.

In Honor of the 35 Anniversary of my favorite record.

It was 1997. I had a broken heart. A BROKEN heart. I had never experienced anything before like it, and actually have never experienced anything afterwards like it.

My soul mate and I had broken up. We were done...finished. I had moved out and moved home. I knew it was the right decision. I knew he had been cheating on me a lot. I tried to look the other way, pretend it wasn't happening, but there were just too many signs. I still loved him when I left. *side note-he has a daughter now. I hope he feels like a jerk

Anyway, that morning I was talking on the phone to one of my very best friends. She told me that HE had confirmed slept with a girl. my friend.  We were broken up, I was miles away, but man... It hurt so bad. I felt sucker punched. I threw up. I wanted to die. I couldn't believe she or he could do that a week after I left. I couldn't eat, couldn't go out, couldn't talk to anyone. I was totally destroyed.

Okay-have I set the stage for you? Good.

It was some random night. My twin sister was out at some cool "under twenty one" club. I opted to stay home. I wanted to be miserable, to cry, and to sit on the couch. My mom was flipping through the TV.

"Fleetwood Mac is back together!' she started yelling at my dad.  A Fleetwood Mac concert special was on MTV or VH1-I can't remember which.  My dad walks in. " I had the Buckingham Nicks record when I was younger. I should have kept it." I had no idea what he was talking about, and I really didn't care. I had always liked Stevie Nicks in a very casual fanlike manner. Dreams, Landslide. Yay. I knew the songs everyone else knew and that was about it.

Actually, at that time in my life, I was mostly into musical theater, although I did get into Alanis, Fiona Apple, and Jewel  two years before-but mostly classic rock was not on my radar at all.  ( Um, except for the Beatles and David Bowie, because my mom was totally obsessed with David Bowie). But whatever. Fleetwood Mac Sheetwood Flack was how I mostly felt about them.

"Well, I have nothing better to do," I remember thinking, and sat down on the couch. 

Actually, I totally don't remember thinking that at all-but I decided to watch the concert with my mom, so what the fuck else could I have been thinkingt? And also that makes the story flow a little easier, so yeah...

Well, I have nothing better to do. I plopped down on the couch.

"Wow Stevie looks great!  OMG the biggest soap opera in rock history blah blah blah blah" my mom is going on and on about Fleetwood Mac. "Lindsey is the most underrated guitarist EVERRRR"

Um, how the hell does she know about guitar playing talent? I was mystified.

And also interested. "The Chain" was the first song. I liked it-it was familiar. "Dreams was next" okay, I like this song too. I had always wanted to be in a band anyway, I was liking the harmonies...humm...could be interesting.

Christine McVie song...um...okay...time to take a piss.

I'm back! Rhiannon, Go Insane, Big Love-um...cool! I think I could like Fleetwood Mac.

Everywhere...um...soda break.

Landslide. My mom is like sobbing "THEY USED TO BE SO INLOVE!" ( for those not in the know...um..never mind. If you don't know the story of Fleetwood Mac, you probably aren't reading my post.

Then IT happened. THE song.

You could be my silver springs...blue green colors flashing....

I could be your only dream...your shining autumn ocean crashing...

Humm..what is this song? I have never heard it before. Silver Springs? I like the visual.

Did you say she was pretty? Did you say she loved you? Baby i don't want to know...

I seriously couldn't breath. My break up...the cheating...my heartache...how was this song describing me? Like, exactly describing my feelings?

I'll follow you down 'till the sound of my voice will haunt you, you'll never get away from the sound of the woman who loves you...

I was a singer. These lyrics hit home. I wrote songs about him ( um that no one ever heard). What the fuck?

I seriously almost fell of the couch. I was like in some kind of crazy trance. I wanted to scream and cry and OMG LOOK HOW THEY ARE LOOKING AT EACH OTHER! Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks! Singing to each other and giving each other the side eye! omg they HATE each other! But I could still see that they probably wouldn't be upset if they wound up in bed together.  AHHHH! WHAT IS THIS SONG?

I'm like attacking my mom with questions and she was vague.

 "Humm..I think it was a B-side or something"

Beside?

So anyway I was totally "knocked out" as La Nicks likes to say. The internet was just, like, a thing, so you know I couldn't just google "the making of Silver Springs". I forget-I think I went to a Fleetwood Mac website. Nothing on Silver Springs, but I was learning a lot about the band.

I went to a record store the next day, I forget which one, but I bought the Fleetwood Mac White Album, and Rumours. Maybe "Silver Springs" had a different name on the record? I was determined to hear the original version of the song. I HAD to hear it . I HAD TO PEOPLE DO YOU HEAR ME??!!

I played both records back to back that day, and after I heard "Gold Dust Woman" it was like FORGET IT. I becaume obsessed with everything Stevie Nicks, Fleetwood Mac, and Rock and Roll of the 60's and 70's.

So Happy Anniversary to me.

PS-I finally hear the original Silver Springs while I was going to the bathroom in Denny's at 3AM after like a 24 hour bender. It was so awesome.

Footprints

I don't want to write too much, because it is not my story to share, but a close relative has been in and out of the hospital with her baby since he was born in february. He just had his second open heart surgery this morning.

When our babies cry for 24 hours straight, or refuse to sleep, or throw up in our mouths when we are kissing them, or poop all over those nice white pants, or throw cereal on the floor and then purposely hit us in the face with her toy phone ( ahem...that would be my baby) just feel lucky.  Babies are supposed to do those things. Mommies are supposed to be exhausted from night time feedings, and colicky babies, not from being in the hospital because their baby is in surgery.

We need to say a million prayers for the mothers who have gone to hell and back for their babies, big and small. I've been sitting here with a knot in my stomach all day. I can't imagine how she feels and I am not going to pretend to. Did I cry when Georgia was a newborn? Yes. But I was crying for myself because it was hard. It seems so stupid now. I guess that is what I want to say. Like, what was the big deal? My baby was being a baby and doing normal baby things. I almost feel guilty.

The mother and the baby I am thinking about were meant to be together. She is his mother because she is strong, and someone knew he was going to need her from the minute he was born. They are very lucky to have each other,  and their story is just beginning. There isn't much for me to do except offer my prayers,  and admire her strength. This is what parenting is about.  Being selfless. She hasn't complained once. She is a great role model for us all.

Time after Time

I really want to ignore the new TIME magazine cover, but I can't. My uneasiness has nothing to do with mommy wars, attachment parenting, not feeling "mom enough", or extended breastfeeding. I just can't help thinking about that little boy. Why would his mother put him in the middle of such controversy? Yes. The photo is controversial.  A MILF in tight pants with perky boobs and her large three year old son standing on a stool breastfeeding is not a natural or nurturing comment on breastfeeding or attachment parenting. It's awkward and confusing.

Also, why does she have to be sexy? That is not to say that moms can't be sexy. But one of the things our country struggles with regarding breastfeeding is how sexualized breasts are. Many people can't move past  "OMG BOOBS!"that when they see a woman breastfeeding in public. They see it as dirty or gross or weird. This picture is weird and stupid, so great job to TIME magazine for making a joke out of attachment parenting. And shame on this mother for putting her child in the middle of it.

So tell me whatyou want, what you really, really want

So I submitted my post titled  Waaaav, True Waaaave to Babble-a popular parenting website. I thought it was a really nice piece, different from the eighty thousand essays titled:

"WHAT NOT TO SAY TO MOM"S OF TWINS!" "WHAT NOT TO SAY TO YOUNG MOMS!" WHAT NOT TO SAY TO OLDER MOM'S!" WHAT NOT TO SAY TO ANYONE WHO LOOKS AT YOU!"

And also different from the "Mommy is allowed to drink wine"  "Mommy is allowed to plop kid in front of the TV" posts-which I am guilty of too. I'm not saying tthey are all bad. It's just,everything is SO sarcastic, including my own writing, and I thought something genuine would be a nice switcharoo.

So anyway, I submit and I get an email back that "Thank you, but it is not quite right for Babble" That's fine. Whateves, I tried, and I understand that people aren't always going to like what I write. I wasn't mad or anything...I'm still not mad. I barely proofread my own blog. 

BUT if THIS is what Babble is selling, I'm not buying, and I refuse to read anything or go to their website again and I am defriending them on facebook. Calling your kid a pussy in your blog is not okay. It's a stupid, trashy, low rent way to get blog hits. I would never do that to Georgia, let alone ever think that about her-and if that is the new, cool way to parent, I do NOT want to be part of it!

Reiterating, I do NOT think I am the best writer, or that I deserve to be on a parenting website. But that post pretty much disgusted me. And I am not disgusted by much.

*Hairflips out of babble!

I do realize that by linking to the website, they are getting more hits-should I copy and paste also and take the link off? I still don't know much about linking, live links, and all that jazz.

So grease my knees and fleece my bees...

Today my baby turns 1.

I just can't get over it. I can't get over how fast, yet how slow this year went. I can't get over how awesome it was! Sure, there were nights, (especially in the beginning when I was figuring out how to breastfeed) where I remember praying "Dear God, Get me through this...let this stage be over," but for the most part, Georgia has been a fabulous baby! She has slept through the night  since she was two months old, so we never really had the sleep deprivation that I was so nervous about, we did not ever once eat microwave popcorn for dinner, and even though of course we get in stupid arguments, my relationship with my husband has gone to a whole other level thanks to how we've learned to work together.

 Working full time and having a new baby has been hard emotionally, and the physical part of it IS exhausting, but to me the pros outweigh the cons. Smiling, walking, kissing Buckley, kissing me, bath time, story time, learning new words, it's just been a joy, people. For realz.

I've stopped obsessing over myself and what it means to be me. I no longer contemplate my purpose on the planet, or worry that I am not living up to my potential, or worry that I am not doing what I am meant to be doing. That is not to say that I think I was born to be a mother or that motherhood trumps all, it's just that I'm so busy, that I don't give a fuck anymore. Do you know what a RELIEF that is to have that off of your plate? WoooHooo! I have something to think about besides what cool, awesome thing I am going to do this weekend, worry about what cool, awesome thing everyone else is doing.

That said, I've refused to let myself go all the way to the other end. I've tried to find a good balance. To some, it is a badge of honor to let your stretch marks hang all out  and to be covered in vomit in order to show you are a good mother(and I am basing this statement on articles and blogs I have read.I have no idea if anyone I know IRL thinks this), but...I couldn't get down.That terrified me. I think in order to keep your sanity you have to keep some pieces of your former self Now, I did wear "yoga pants" when Georgia was a teeny tiny baby ( and let's be real, if you aren't doing yoga, they are sweatpants, so actually let's just stop calling them "yoga pants") but that was because I also had to wear those ginormous ice packed maxi pads after giving birth, and there is just no way to look cute while wearing those big boats.

So, yes, it was a pajama-fest for a month or two, but I always made sure they were cute pj's and that I showered every day, brushed my hair, and had a little make up on. I would bring Georgia in the bathroom with me in her bouncy chair. Did I scar her for life because I wasn't in her face 24/7 reading "Goodnight Moon" and taking a shower instead? I don't know. She slept most of the time, so I actually don't think she gives a shit. I did this for no one but myself. I'm happy I did it.

I know it sounds like I am contradicting myself, when I said I stopped caring, and then I talk about how I made sure to shower and put on make up every day, so I guess I mean this: Throwing on some lip gloss to make the day brighter is not in the same category as feeling like a failure because you did not end up in a field where your originality and creativity take the world by storm. I'm just happy I'm over myself. 

Chris and I also became a real team. I mean team with a capital T! For a while, I felt like we barely spoke to each other because we were so busy learning how to be parents, but neither one of us felt resentful. We just knew that we were in the same boat, and chugged along until we figured it out.  Even though I leave the house by 7:30AM,our morning routine is so awesome now that we have 15 minutes to have coffee together before I leave. This may not seem like a big deal to you-but I feel as though this is progress! This is getting it done and then some! We cook dinner together every night, he cleans, I do bath and story....yes I pass the fuck out at sometimes at 7:30PM, but whatever. I would never trade Georgia for a bedtime of 10AM. What would I be doing anyway? Reading?

Who am I kidding? I would be at "happy hour until 1AM". A baby is better than happy hour.

The one thing I will say that has sucked, is my anxiety level has hit a new high. When I actually let myself get lost in how much I love her, I freak the fuck out- I have to look at my friends' pictures on facebook and know that they love their kids just as much, and they are getting through the jungle of parenting without putting their kids in bubbles. That is sometimes the only way I can calm myself down.  I am thankful for social media, and for all of the pictures, and status updates because it puts motherhood into perspective. I don't feel alone, and I feel confident that I can get through the terrifying moments-because of you, reader!

My life changed a lot, but I don't feel like I lost myself in a sea of diapers and vomit. I am a mother, but I am also still Teresa. Just a new and improved Teresa, and I have my beautiful Georgia to thank for this!

Georgia is turn...

Georgia is turning 1 year old in 2 months. I am totally beside myself with excitement for the future, with a dash of  sadness because ...well...where is my little baby going?

 I seriously always thought it was stupid when parents said things like that. I would be all, "DUH-your kids grow up dumbass, get over it" and get annoyed by the whole thing.  I totally didn't get it-but then, as a woman who had never had a child, I really should  not have been expected to.

So, what is this "it" I speak of? I don't know if I can put it into words. I think "it" is the big frying pan of love that smashes you in your face as soon as you have your baby. I remember when I took her home, the thought of her turning 10 months old made me sob. I would miss my teeny tiny infant. And now when I think about her being a toddler, I want to cry because I will miss my little baby. And I'm sure when she is a toddler I will think about her being a big girl and I will cry about that too..it goes on and on I guess, although I don't remember my mom ever getting very emptional about me growing up. Obviously, Georgia will not remember me crying over her now too small "coming home from the hospital outfit", but I can still see myself crying when she graduates 6th grade, so IDK, I think I'm just destined to be one of those sobbing mothers.

But anyway, crying aside, a first birthday party is in order. I don't really want to have anything big. I'm just not up for it. As long as she has a cake to smash around, we should be good. In some respects, I think I'm a great mom, but as far as sending cards,pictures, parties... things like that-I suck. I did not do those Christmas cards that everyone does-the baby looking adorable in some type of Holiday ensamble sitting under the tree, or in a quaint little park filled with snowflakes-parents gazing adoringly. Nope-coudn't get it together for that. Maybe next year. I thought i would be all over that shit. Didn't happen.

The other things that has suprised me about myself is in regards to G's wardrobe. When I was pregnant, I KNEW I would not accept hand me down clothes. I was totally against it, thinking that I could provide for my own child, and that she would  be dressed in her "Sunday Best" every single day. Sure-dumbass. There is a reason why other mom's do not do this. You are not the only clothes loving mother who has ever had a child.

 Picture this. A dress from Janie and Jack. $80 dress for a 2 month old girl. Cute matching bloomers for $10, $20 baby headband, and $10 baby tights. I forget how much the shoes were. Anyway this one night we go out to dinner for my cousin's graduation party. I put Georgia in her Academy Award worthy get-up from Janie and Jack, not really thinking anything of it. I always overdress, why should my daughter be different?

As soon as we get to the restaurant she pukes all over both of us. I only have a minor freak out. It can be wiped off! The Janie and Jack dress can be salvaged! I take her to the bathroom... lo and behold! A changing station! This will be easy peasy! It is my first experience at the "changing station".  Little did I know.

I'm trying to wash her dress, and keep her from falling of of the changing station. OMG WTH!! Riiiiiiip! She busts ass like nobodys business and I smell a funk so bad, I thought I was going to pass out. Poop. She freaking pooped. Ugh. I lift up the dress. There is shit EVERYWHERE. How did this baby make that much shit? It was all over her tights, all over the shoes-I rip them off, take off the diaper-all of a sudden the poo is flying out of her like a machine gun. OMG! SHE IS POOING AGAIN! DUCK! I'm avoiding poo spray, trying to hold her on the little changer, trying to fish the wipes out of the diaper bag, now there is shit all over her dress, she throws up again. I'm like what is samhill is going on? it was all so fast! I'm also traumatized because I actually saw the poo come from her butt and for some reason that really made me feel sick. The Jack and Janie dress is my last concern, as I try to change Georgia and clean the bathroom of the projectile poo. Then she pees everywhere. I thought people peed before they pooed? Now there is PEE all over the changing table and on the floor-I'm practially SOBBING at this point-I have no idea what to do. I did  not bring myself a change of clothes-I'm wearing a white top, I'm holding wipeys, my hand is on Georgia on the changing table, there is pee all over everything now. What the fuck?

I was ready to take my white top and turn it into a surrender flag full of poop, when thankfully, my cousin walked in the bathroom. 

 "Can yo go get my mooooooooom" my 33 year old self sobs to my 17 year old cousin. Meahwhile Georgia is just sitting there drooling like a mental patient. UGH!

So anyway, my mom comes in and helps me. And that was the last $80 dress I bought for Georgia. It is hand me downs from now on people!  no bows, no tights, no nothing. Girlfriend is destined for a life of second hand baby tracksuits and I am okay with that!

Waav. True Waav.

I am woken up by little sounds. Little sounds that fill my "new mom" soul with relief that everything is okay. At 6AM on the dot, Georgia Grace is telling us that she's hungry. I sit up and peek in her room. 

She doesn't cry really. It's kind of a whiny noise.  Chris gets up to make her bottle. We take turns- I did it yesterday morning, so it's  his turn today. We've gotten good at this parenting thing. He goes into her sweet pink room, and I hear the cheerful "Hiya!' come from my little baby's mouth in between hungry whines. She now knows that "Hiya" is a proper greeting, that we clap when she says it, and she loves nothing better than to get us to clap and praise her when she does...just about anything.

It's our usual morning routine. She has her baba in bed with me, while Chris walks Buckley. I feel guilty for half a second that Chris has to walk the dog in the freezing cold while I get to snuggle with our sweetie, but as soon as she turns towards me, my guilt is replaced with glee, and I kiss her cute little face, and feel proud that she can now hold her baba herself.

Her adorable eyes are open. I wonder what she is thinking about. We smile at each other. She gulps, gulps, gulps like a big girl. I decide she is probably thinking about food, while I am thinking about love. I compare her to Buckley. Then I uncompare her to Buckley. Then I remember I have to go to work, and I silently curse. Having 10 days off from work has totally spoiled me. I missed her so much yesterday and I dread leaving her today.

Georgia finishes her baba, and tosses it aside. It cracks me up when she "tosses things aside". She is making decisions. "I don't want this anymore!' It is so funny to watch children start to process thoughts and opinions. Or maybe, it is so funny to watch my own child process thoughts and opinions. I remember when you were a little seedling in my belly, and now you toss your bottle aside like you own the joint. In a way, she does own the joint.

She sits up, looks around, and then falls forward and belly crawls towards my night stand.I usually have some of her toys sitting there or books...shimmying over to Club Nightstand is usual business, and I get ready to hand her some toy that was laying there waiting to be drooled on. She usually crawls over me to get to the night stand, so when she puts her hands on my chest and tried to scoot upwards, I think nothing of it.

I give her a helpful push up, she is on my chest, and I expect her to crawl off of me towards treasure.

LAND HO! There is the nightstand! Give me my toys servant!

Instead, Georgia stays on top of me. She puts her cheek on my chest, her hands grab my hair, and with a low, almost throaty, sob-like whisper, she says,

"Mama."

She pats my cheek.

Lump in my throat. Ache in the pit of my stomach. Tears in my eyes. A choking gasp.

She is thinking about me.

ME!

Bad Mom

Hello and Happy New Year! I could never be a professional blogger because I'm down to writing once a month. I do have a good excuse though. I started my new job and I've been EXHAUSTED!  A new job is very stressful and combined with taking care of little G, I can barely keep my eyes open. Everything is working out fabulously, I really like it, and I'm happy I decided to make the switch. That's all I'm writing about work, because blogging and work don't mix.

Now on to the love of my life. Georgia Grace. She is 9 months old now, says "Mama" and "Dada". She points at objects she wants, and has great control when picking up things and switching them in her hands. The doc says this kind of baby work is ADVAAANCED. Yes, I was annoyingly proud that the doctor said this. She claps her hands, says "HIIIYA" when you enter a room, gives me a hug when I say, 'Where is my baaaaby?" And she french kisses me when I pucker my lips. I want to melt into a puddle each time she kisses me. It actually makes my heart hurt, and sometimes I wonder how parents  survive this kind of love. It is the biggest kind of love-so heart achingly beautiful and scary. I don't know how else to describe it.

Christmas in Cancun was really fun. Not very relaxing, as far as how you relax when you don't have children. But relaxing in the I have kids an can't really relax kind of relaxing. I would never want to go on vacation without Georgia. I would miss her too much. It doesn't matter that my life is not my own. I've grown up so much this year, become less self-absorbed and more self-satisfied. I love being Georgia's mama. Everyday I thank the stars for sending me my perfect little babe, and wonder what I ever did to get so lucky to get to be HER mom.

I hope she one day feels lucky to have me as her mom. When I think about what a big deal I am going to be to her over the next 18 years, it gives me chills. Parents can make or break their kids in some cases, and I never want her to feel lonely or unloved, or bad about herself.  Obviously, I know most parents go into parenting with these goals,  but I don't understand how their view changes as their children get older. Do they forget how HUGE there role is in shaping their children? Once the sweet baby face is relpaced by an annoying acne faced 12 year old, is it easy to forget everything you pledged on the day of their birth? 

 I guess only time will tell. I will not be concerned with that now. Right now we are into going to playgrounds, reading stories, watching Barney.  Ugh kill me now, the kid loves Barney. My granny let her watch it one day while she was babysitting.  At first I was horrified-not about watching television, but actually horrified about Barney.  And then I'm like, "I've never even watched Barney. I just think I'm SUPPOSED to hate this Barney who I have never seen"  So then it was all confusing, and I decided to watch an episode with her to see what was up. She laughs her ass off. Seriously, it is so funny. She screams and laughs, and points( in a very advanced fashion) at the television. Who am I to deny her such fun?  Plus, Barney shares and helps people, and sings. Georgia LOVES music and dances andwatching other children so whatever.

Yep, Georgia and I watch television together every once in a while. Bite me, haters.

                                                                                             ( Role Model)