Skip to main content

Ketchup Graffiti (Or Almost Two!)




Lando is almost two years old. TWO! It makes the most  nauseating  of maternal  figures to repeat that as oft as I do, but two  years! How!  Does this make me a real mom now?

I'm still sort through all of that--this real mom gig. But suffice it to say, I've loved year two so much more than the first year. Infants are...terrifying, exhausting, and needy.  Oh so needy.  They can't walk, talk, or grab snacks out of the fridge. (They also can't raid your wallet for dollar bills. Thanks, child.)

Happening live! 
I've come to grips with mama anxiety, that gripping worry that reminds a mother that the world is the most dangerous oyster ever. Properly installed carseats, an eagle eye, and accepting that billions of children have survived toddlerhood  keeps the worry at a relatively sane level. But it's still there, and always will be. There are many poignant tomes written about a mother's love and dedication, so I won't wax poetic about that. However, there's a magical terror when you  realize that your heart has expanded in order to be able to wrap itself around a little, precious human. It leaves a person wretchedly vulnerable, but so full of painfully intense love.

 And then your toddler bites your butt and pulls you from that ethereal plane back to a messy kitchen  with  ketchup decorating the floor.

But amid the ketchup graffiti (and egg cracking-ahem) there's  been watching the Barney counting episode to learn how to "count" to ten, which has entirely lost its luster now that its a mandatory part of the day. There's been the progression from potato baby, to sitting dumping, to crawling roly poly, to toddling mini toddler, and now full fledged two year old with a bent for destruction. And while I had the best intentions of weaning him at that oft-touted one year mark, I failed miserably at that. Well, would have failed if I tried. He'll be a two year old nursling and I will wean him--at some point.
How we feel about weaning.
(Blurry pic because paranoid.)

But one of the great gifts this large domed child o' mine has given his mama? The desire, will, and discipline to drop down to a happy Susie size. Weight isn't everything, and I'm the last person to think that being skinny > more attractive. But health is a real thing, and being "sphere-shaped" (thank you, candid brother) was making motherhood and every aspect of my life less awesome. And who wishes for that? I've lost two Landons so far, and have a little more to go--if I can push past this cookie plateau. (I literally eat too many cookies--that's my cookie plateau.)

So welcome two years old, with all your toddler craziness and tantrums. I welcome the chance to chase you more, relish holding you tight, and teaching you (along with Barney) the wonders and working of this world.

Comments

Post a Comment

Add your thoughts! <3

Use your good manners, grammar, and humor, and we will all be happy!

Popular posts from this blog

Surviving, Losing, Living: Post Lockdown 3 Thoughts

    April 12th, 2021. That was the day England's shops and outdoor dining opened up. The day that I could once again take my child to swim lessons. The day we could once again stay somewhere overnight - not a hotel or someone's house, but anywhere self-catering.  Confusing, American readers? Welcome to my life.   People like to tell me they can tell this has been hard on me as if this is radically new information and they're providing deep insight into my life. Truthfully, a Euro-style lockdown is hard on any healthy person. The struggle to survive a brutal lockdown is more indicative of a person living a full life than anything else. Sprinkle that with negative commentary from US dwellers who think a lockdown is an optional event, and it makes for a nearly unbearable, dark winter.  But we survived. All of us. Infection numbers are down, down, down. Vaccination numbers are up, up, up, and the adults in our household are the unusual fully vaccinated non-medical...
Post a Comment
Read more

Losing Your Religion

  I  used to see religion as a warm, safe place.   It was somewhere that created a routine, a social network, and a place of belonging.   Oh, and we were right. About everything. And that’s a great feeling, being right.  Never having to doubt.  Knowing my neighbor was wrong, but I was right.  It was strange how every other religion was Oh So Wrong.  So clear how they hurt other people. So obvious that the adherents were worshiping themselves, rather than a god.  And then I..changed.  They’d say that I fell away. The people in the pews. Because I was no longer convinced that I was better than others.  That I could be cruel, selfish, vain, and legalistic, and it was okay if I sat in a pew on Sunday. In fact, I could doubt and wonder and process as much as I needed, if I kept mindlessly repeating the same tropes as everyone in the pew. Recite the same Bible verses. Sit in the same seat. Drink the same bad coffee. Go to the sa...
Post a Comment
Read more

When Motherhood Breaks You

One of the axioms of good writing is writing what you know. Know thy strengths and write about them. When I was pregnant with Landon, I was excited to write about motherhood. I LOVED writing my bumpdates . Chronicling Landon's gestation and birth remains one of the best decisions of my life, and I hope to do that again if I have another child. I wrote authentically (as best a first time mom can) about pregnancy and birth, and I wanted to write authentically about life as a mother.  But what I didn't know, what I couldn't have known, was that I wouldn't be able to be authentic. Know thyself? I couldn't. I didn't know who I was or what I was feeling. For the first time in my life, I didn't have the words to express what was going on in my head.  What was wrong with my brain? "A depression suffered by a mother following childbirth, typically arising from the combination of hormonal changes, psychological adjustment to motherhood, and fatigue." (...
2 comments
Read more