Auld Lang Syne

One more day until we tip our hats and say fare thee well to 2012...ringing in 2013.  I don't know if it's the impending year end that has me feeling blue or the fact that we are already entering year 3 with our sweet sugarplum and has me wondering, where is the time going?

Today was a hard day.  I hardly write about the hard days...they aren't as much fun and I rather soon forget them asap.  But they happen.  They happen when we're cranky and have had too much time together.  They happen when we don't get our way and our stubborn Taurus instinct rears its nefarious head.  They happen for no reason at all. But man, do.they.happen.  

We've been off since the 21st, Garrett and I.  And we've left the house maybe twice. Why feel the need to always be somewhere, go places, when there's plenty to do at home and now, with all the snow, plenty to do outside?  But cabin fever has set in, and I think he's sick of me.  How do I know?  Because of the incessant asking for Daddy every five minutes.

Anyway, earlier today I had a moment that I've read countless times in some expert baby site that a parent (particularly emotionally frayed mom's) should never ever do in front of their tot...and that is show an emotion other than an even-keeled, cool, calm, and collected self.  I bawled. I don't even remember what triggered it.  Oh wait, yes I do.  I wanted to drink my coffee, savoring the delicious warmth, while watching my favorite Sunday morning show, CBS Sunday Morning, curled on the couch with a kitty or two, while my playful tot sat quietly nearby entertaining himself.  I haven't been able to watch it in ages.  Someone else wanted, no, demanded that he watch Sesame Street.   But he doesn't say Sesame Street, he says "I want Cook!" because Cookie Monster is his idol.  And the demand kept getting louder, more whiny and bossy.  And admittedly, something inside me just snapped and I started to cry.  No crocodile tears from this gal.  I'm talking full-on sobs, wracking through my whole self, and once I started, I couldn't stop. Briefly, though, in a split second of clarity, I do remember thinking to myself "Oh no! I'm scarring him for life by letting him see me react and cry!" Yeah, right.

And sometime during this spectacle, he got up, gathered his three favorite loveys (two Pooh bears and a well-worn Giraffe), and quietly brought them over.  He sat them next to me, got up on the couch, and put his arm around me, lightly patting my shoulder. Then, I heard the softest "Hi, Momma".  Of course this only made me cry harder.  I peeked at him through a glaze of salty tears and he was smiling at me.  I melted in my already slushy pool of despair. (For those wondering, Daddy was at work, and missed this delightful display of self-pity.)

Somehow I was able to compose myself, smile pathetically back at him, and gave him a hug.  Or rather, he hugged me and I just sort of clung to him.  Who's the needy one now?

Later, as we were watching "Cook", and he was standing there, counting along, singing by heart to his (and mine!) favorite skit of the number 4 with Feist , I reached a little perspective. These moments, like the early days of sleepless newbornhood, are fleeting.  These tantrums, moods, demands, etc. are all part of toddlerdom, the terrible two's so to speak...and one day, when he's grown up and living his own life, and mom is feeling blue once again, he probably won't be around to share his stuffies with me or pat me on the back with his precious little hand. 

Savor it! Relish it! As a wise friend mentioned recently, these moments are but a tiny blip in the long line of things we will go through and experience with our children. And in the grandest scheme of things, it's really not that bad.   

So on the eve of New Year's eve...while it's been a hard day, my wish is that the year ahead is filled with more recognizable precious moments, and less arduous ones.

Spring into Fall.

Labor Day came and went.  Hurricane season seems ramped up in full force.  Students are back at Bates, making the campus atmosphere feel like a contented cat after a sweet summer snooze--leisurely stretching and slowly awakening to see what awaits. Days are warm, nights are cool.  I guess it's safe to say that summer is officially over.

When I think about this summer, what comes to mind is how different this one was from the last.  Last summer, G was just an itty bitty guy, so dependent on me for everything, unable to appreciate much beyond his immediate needs of food, sleep and diaper changes.  Now our guy is 16 months old.  A walking chatterbox, he charges through the house to explore all the nooks and crannies.  The pitter-patter doesn't stop. He's into everything.  He closes doors. He opens doors.  He dances in front of the mirror and then laughs at himself.  He looks out the window. He taunts Gabby by stealing her rope toy and then holding it out for her to retrieve.  He races through the house with his arms behind him, imitating either an airplane or a really tiny mogul skier.  He climbs stairs.  He deftly shimmies over the barrier we set up to keep him in one room (guess we don't need the barrier anymore).  He nods when asked if he's ready for dinner.  We'll ask him if it's time for bed and he'll nod, make his way to the stairs, climb them, push aside the baby gate and enter his room, laying down on the floor.  The minor details of a diap change and pajama wearing escape him. He has, what seems to be, almost all of his baby teeth.  He is, by all accounts, a burgeoning toddler, complete with a toddler personality that can change in a flash.

When I started this blog, I noted that I wanted to capture all the highlights--this includes all the lowlights. Not only the exciting milestones, but also the frustrations, antics, tantrums, etc.  We've now reached that point.  The rollercoaster ride has begun.


With a blossoming toddler comes the testing of limits (and our patience), random meltdowns and tantrums, and the introduction of a personality that is frustrated by the minimal knowledge of how yet to fully express himself.   We've been spoiled this last year+ to having been blessed with a child who was very good-natured, easy to put to bed, easy to wake up, easy to get to nap, easy to deal with during teething, easy to take to restaurants, easy to travel in the car with, easy to travel in general with, easy to feed.  But with this new found independence that G's acquired and is still acquiring, comes a new host of challenges. 

Feeding times have become less than harmonious as of course he wants to be an independent eater and wield the spoon himself. One day he likes something, the next he hates it. While he's quite good at the spoon and plate, he still maintains the mischievous need to dip his entire fist into a cup of yogurt.  Sigh.

Playtime has its moments as well.  There are times when he just feels the need to break out into random bouts of crying, or sobbing, and almost nothing will appease him.  Except perhaps being held.  I am always ok to do this because let's face it, with his new-found freedom comes the desire to NOT snuggle much with mom anymore.  But then comes the battle of, well if I pick him up every single time, he's getting his way.  Yet why would I want to have him continue crying if by picking him up he stops?  See what I mean about testing the limits?

What needs to be remembered, I suppose, is that someday, I'll be wishing for him to need me as much as he does right this moment; when he's a moody, angsty teenager, and when I'm no longer cool to him.  So really, I should just cherish these moments; the good, the bad, the frustrating, the worrisome, the scream-worthy, etc, because like the first year that has so breezily gone by, these moments and these early years will continue to flash on without asking permission, without taking notes, without stopping to ask questions.  And while I'm not a fan of rollercoasters, I'll maintain my front row seat, hold on tight, and continue to enjoy the ride we embarked on 16 months ago. It may be scary, it may make me want to scream, but it'll never be dull.