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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.

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