We’ve ordered a Little Mermaid cake. The Bird is obsessed with Her Fishy-taled-ness lately. I’m cranky. There’s a thread on my local mommy board about how many of the mamas shun licensed characters and TV. It brought up some icky feelings. Loving the concept of monitoring all that your kids are exposed to and keeping their childhood as innocent as humanly possible. (Also am very sick of fast-forwarding through the scary bits and feeling guilt for letting her watch videos that are too mature for her. And in less coherent moments of annoyance, raging at Disney for being such a twisted bunch of scary fucks in the first place.)
However: I’m absolutely too exhausted from thinking about every little thing. Also pretty sure that a Disney-inclusive childhood did not ruin me. She has massive mermaid squee and it’s hard to ban anything that makes the munchkin that freaking happy. (The video came in a load of hand-me-downs and she was enchanted from the moment she saw the box. A fishy! A princess! A princess who is fishlike! zOMG!)
Is it just laziness that makes me resent the feeling that doing things in accordance with my parenting intuition is a constant uphill battle against everyone and everything in our environment? It’s not a real big deal to me, this Disney Princess thingy- I suggested the cake theme. It’s just swimming ’round there in my brain, being examined. I’m just sick to death of feeling like I have good ideas but not doing anything about them because it’s easier to flow. Swim with the school. Snerk. I just wonder what it means that I take the easy way so often… I’m pretty sure it means
I am very, very tired
and have to cut myself some slack from the uber-granola ideals I have.
To address that, Bu has suggested that I leave the house a few nights at bedtime to let him take over. Maybe I can sneak back in and she’ll stay in bed with him. The weaning trend has reversed, and I’ve had to nurse her to sleep and through the days too. Then, of course, all through the nights. As tomorrow is the birthday, I think Friday night will be a better time to start the experiment. It also happens that a bunch of girls are going to see Sex and the City and have drinks that night, so the timing is good.
The Ariel thing isn’t all fraught with commercial anxieties, anyway. I read the Hans Christian Anderson story when I was young and I love it, so there’s some sentimentality watching her love the story too. Maybe I’ll get her the real version when she’s older and I’ll feel better. I had thought of making my own illustration and having a non-Disney mermaid cake, but- again- exhausted.
Posted in breastfeeding, co-sleeping, milestones, mom guilt, musing, night weaning, parenting, pop culture, ranty goodness, search for crunchiness, sleep, toddler, where's my worry stone?
Molly learned a new word today: rain. I’m so tickled by that. It’s like when she learned “moon” ages ago. Moon, by the way, refers not only to the mystical orb of Goddessiness orbiting Our Mother Earth but also to the dome light in the car, and occasionally to random streetlights:) Her “rain” is really impressive. The “r” is almost there. She’s liking to say bubbles lately a lot too, for her bath. My little watery baby, like her raft guide daddy.
Incedentally, a rainy day is not good timing for jumpstarting a Life Changing Six O’Clock Wake Up Regimen. It became 7:45, and then I was watching Curious George, and then I was late for work.
It’s a nice evening. The fire is glowy and warm and we’ve got a little store of locust wood. I didn’t know there was a species of tree called locust but there is- Wikipedia and Bu agree. It’s kind of golden wood and it smells amazing- I thought Bu threw sage on the fire the first time we burned some. It’s a sweeter smell than sage but a little similar. It makes me mellow down into my soul like Van Morrison.
Gonna make some chamomile tea and watch Dr. Sexy SnarkFace then go to sleep. Happy Tuesday night.
She says “chocolate”! Well, “gock-lit.” This is yummy chocolate whipped yogurt, which has so much fat and protein, I’ve decided to overlook the HFCS:) When we finish a cup, I look like this too, because she feeds me the last third or so. This might be my favorite word yet.
The cookout, featuring Molly’s sunscreen faux-hawk.
The All Gone gesture followed by patty-cake, in dress too girly for words.
Le cake. She was so dainty. Must have been the froufrou dress.
She’s one today. I’m on a seesaw of emotions. I was giddy at 7am when Bu woke us up with off key Happy Birthday. At 9am on the way to work I was a snot & tear covered mess, shocked at the date, how time has been meaningless for a year. Months whirled by with adorable milestones and changes, and at the same time it stood still while I stepped into this new life and it fit me like I’d always been here- been her mother since time began. Since this:
She’s incredible right now: a toddler shrinky dink, this tiny little wind up toy girlbaby bouncing and walking and climbing. She shrieks like a banshee when she’s denied what she wants- an ink pen, a beer bottle or glass of soda. Potato chips. The shelf with the phone and the camera equipment, to be outside or at a window allthetimeeveryminute, and never, ever to nap. Not to be woken up after she finally crashes headfirst from exhaustion. To consume only breastmilk & microscopic nibbles, and always to be in arms or in sight of Mama or Mamaw.
She has a mouthful of precious tiny white shining teeth that sound like laughter to look at them. Lighter than air honey colored hair, the front little tufts in a severe widow’s peak, the back in springy ringlets. Her wardrobe is chiefly sundresses and bloomer sets from older girls, thankfully in brighter color varieties than the pink vomit fest that were her smaller clothes. She babbles Lody, Lody, Lody and randomly mimicks. “Are you my birdy boo girl?” “BIRDY-DUDE!” “Don’t eat that! No-no! Yuk!” “YUK” Peek-A-Boo, a.k.a. Where’s Molly? is still the best game ever. She points, loosely and with varying accuracy, to her nose when asked. She has solid real person poops sometimes.
I’m thinking about this day last year, the whole medical hospital trappings, redoing it to my liking in my head, and the bulk of my wistfulness is never getting a do-over birth. It’s sad not getting to look forward to a new pregnancy and birthing experience. Not pining for a baby nearly so much as wishing for another birth with experience. Daydreaming about constant skin to skin contact in a Moby wrap at the birth center or hospital (since I don’t know how the rebellious cervix would behave a second time) and pumping from day one, as prophylactic against the Reglan prescription and f0rmula bottles. Wearing loose pull-up-able t-shirts instead of tight pull-down tank tops or convoluted hospital gowns. Smoothies to combat the lack of appetite for real food. Making 3 months worth of frozen meals. Actually making & mailing birth announcements.
So it’s not the tiny tiny toes and the sleepy melty baby. It’s the regrets & happy memories blending together and the mystified feeling that this is still a dream, too good to be real. This anniversary of her breathing her first air and seeing her first light, her first kisses and nursing and nap in her mother’s arms, her first portrait in her beaming Daddy’s arms feels like my birthday too. Like I was newly born too-instantly this little beautiful girl’s mama.
The cake is going to be one of those photo cakes from a bakery. I’m all about it- I get to design something- squee! (I’ll still bake the carrot cake for mass consumption by diabetics, babies, and mommies who are suddenly motivated to be less chunkalunk.) Here is the design for the full on sugary yum cake:
In other baby related news, we got a bag full of diaper covers and a couple of pre-folds from a co-worker for Operation Green Soft MollyButt. The plan is to try this out overnights and weekends. I need to grab some fleece to cut up for the overnights. Supposedly this should wick away alot of the moisture so she won’t wake up wet & screaming. Of course, it’s an experiment that may fail. She’s never had cloth on her silky little bum and that makes me feel sad somehow. It has to be more comfy.
I’ll know myself in a couple of days because I’m also going to try a cloth menstrual pad experiment. It’s this hip new technology I read about in the Menstrual Hut community: wash cloth folded up in well fitted panties. Hallelujah. The simplicity baffles. I’d never thought of it. I was longingly looking at this and this and bemoaning my po’ ass’s inability to buy nice cloth pads. The fabulous chica who made my sling makes them too, so when finances allow such frivolties I’ll commission some cushy new comfies that hopefully will ease the LIVING HELL that is my monthly.
I’ve been falling so hard for all those OMGZ!!!!! You don’t HAVE PMS you have PMDD it’s a DISEASE!!! BUY OUR DRUGGGGZ commercials but I’m too poor (recurring theme here) to get on fancy pills anyway, plus there’s the fact that my todddlerette nurses like a newbie still. I really think alot of my hormonal anxiety hell (as well as the good ol’ regular anxiety) will clear up when I make time to work out. When? When? When? Surely not in my precious interweb time;)
Oh fuck. She can climb. Suddenly and without warning she mastered climbing into a chair, and then onto the arms of the chair where she is perilously high. Fabulous. Now our baby proof zone is a base jumping park for extreme baby sports.
I hope the monkey girl has worn herself out. We have not had the good sleep for two nights (teething is the devil) and I’ve become a bitchy snarkmonster. Finished a couple of design projects, though, which is wonderful. And lost 5 pounds. I have a weirdly painful sore throat that is calling me to eat some ice cream but I am holding out. Please ‘verse no illness plz/thx? Bad timing.
I’m reading Nickel and Dimed and finding it collossaly depressing, reading it with my college degree which she seems to think should make me immune to a low paying job. Riiiiight.