Perfection Isn’t in the Pillows

This past summer Dan and I invested in a new bedroom set. This collection of furniture is my “Big Girl Set.” The “We’ve Made It Set.” The “We Are Adults Set.” It consists of a beautiful mahogany sleigh bed, a top of the line mattress, and all of the matching pieces sit proudly without any water rings or “we’ve been moved about 1,000 different times” dings and scratches on them. When the furniture was delivered, I even went out and purchased beautiful new bedding to go on it with shades of aqua, ivory, and chocolate brown with the intention of creating, not just a sophisticated master bedroom, but also a serene retreat. I seriously love this set of inanimate objects.

When I made my bed this morning, I was sure to smooth out all of the wrinkles in the comforter and fluff all 10 pillows (Yes, you did read that correctly. This bed is worthy of a photo spread in Better Homes and Gardens). I straightened out all of the books on the nightstand, cracked open the windows a bit, sprayed a shot of Febreeze Air Effects to add that finishing touch and smiled a deeply satisfying smile as I looked around my sleeping sanctuary. Ahhhhhhhh……

Then the phone rang. I left the room to answer it and, within minutes, Caiden quickly ran into the bedroom, jumped on the bed like it was a WWE wrestling ring, tossed all of the pillows off of it (with the sound effect of “Crrrrr-waaaaash!” each time one hit the floor, I might add), and simply shrieked with toddler delight and enthusiasm as he destroyed the one spot in our home that is supposed to be "kid-free". My Ahhhhhhhh... had now turned into an Aaaaaaaah!!!! Out of pure exasperation, I actually caught myself saying, “UGH! Why can’t I have nice things with you around?!?!”

I want “nice things”. Not necessarily expensive things, but items that would make my house a home—a place that is warm and inviting. A place that you would want to come to visit, or, perhaps, even live in yourself. I want to have “nice things” around like scented-candles burning, beautiful linens throughout the place, matching plates in my cupboard, and rooms that are clutter-free.

Now flash forward to a “snapshot” of our home. The beds are made, but trampled upon (usually you can also find hidden toys under the pillows—aka: “tunnels”). Despite all honest efforts, there is always a dish in the sink, handprints on any shiny surface within 3 feet of the floorboards, pet hair floating around, and dust bunnies breeding in corners. There is the occasional work of art on the walls (crayon is Caiden’s preferred medium), while Hot Wheels, trains, and blocks become scattered throughout the ENTIRE place. (This is especially true in areas that I have just spent time “perfecting”. Apparently, clean spaces are actually magnetic force fields for toddlers.) Framed photographs are even no longer safe here and slowly migrate their way onto closet shelves where they will remain until my children no longer stand on the furniture, remove them from the walls, and point out everything and everyone that they see pictured. Obviously, our home is not a haven for “nice things”. Don't believe me? Take a look at the photographic evidence below:

(Exhibit A: "Mealtimes." Notice the plastic seat covers we purchased to put on the white upholstered chairs "Just In Case")

(Exhibit B: Let's Just Call This "Any Given Tuesday". Always be weary when you hear your child declare, "Momma! I cook!" )

(Exhibit C: "Craft-Time". Although this was supposed to be a messy project to begin with, finger painting turned out to be total body painting...)

Maintaining a beautiful home feels like a never-ending battle. I feel extra pressure to do so because I am a stay-at-home mom. Granted, this is a lot of self-inflicted pressure, but I do feel that since being at home is my job, somehow I am supposed to find the time to dust the chotchkies in the China cabinet between nursing boo-boos, planning dinner, running errands, and attending playdates. (Thank GOD for Curious George because without him, the little “perfection” that I do achieve would never be possible!) This pressure for attaining perfection is even more exacerbated now that I am in a nesting phase during these final weeks of pregnancy.

Now flashback to my wreck of a room this morning. Frustrated by the chaos of my home and my fruitless attempt of “niceness”, I decided to just leave the pillows on the bedroom floor and fix them later during naptime. (Hey, then they would look pretty for at least 2 hours of the day, right?) I called up a friend and made plans to meet up for a walk around the neighborhood. At the end of our walk, I allowed Caiden to get out of his wagon and run the rest of the way home (Don’t freak. He runs on the grass and it is the length of two houses. He gets a kick out of the independence though.). He stopped in our next-door-neighbor’s yard to pick “flowers” (aka: dandelions). He refused to move on to our own property until he had a big handful. Proud of himself, he raised the “flowers” to his nose, declared “Ooooh! Piddy!” and then marched them over to his Momma. It dawned on me then that it is a simple touch like THAT that makes my house a home. My son’s loving gesture of picking me a bouquet of dandelions was one of the “nicest things” in my life.

Later in the day, I was looking at my freshly picked spray that will sit on my nightstand tonight. Caiden was sitting quietly next to me coloring a picture of Lightening McQueen. He would occasionally peer up just to shoot me a smile or tell me what color he was using. I realized in that peaceful moment that a.) He doesn’t care what my house looks like. Home is where his Mom is, and, b.) I can have my “nice things” down the road when my children are all grown up and have moved out. But then, it won’t matter. In fact, it will probably break my heart because in the silence of my empty nest, when the pillows are all in place and the candles flicker and the tiny handprints have faded off of the mirrors, I will surely miss days like these.

Letters from Laurel Land

My recent blog posts have been inundated with sentiment and emotional depth, which, although sincere and interesting, puts a lot of pressure on this wannabe writer. This week, I figured that I would give my readers a sneak peek into what seriously runs through my brain on a daily basis. It certainly isn’t emotionally provoking, nor will it offer any insight into the meaning of life. But it is a reflection of my life. And it definitely is somewhat humorous and blatantly honest.

Being a stay-at-home mom can be quite lonely at times. This is especially true if those that you are home with have a very limited vocabulary and/or mediocre conversational skills. In times of such social seclusion, I often find myself writing little mental Post-It notes to the world that help me focus on the funny, rather than the frustration of it all. They usually end up as entertaining Facebook status updates, but as of late, there seems to be an abundance of them so I decided to create a log of them just to demonstrate the chaos that can ensue over a week’s time living in my home.

Dear Caiden,

I do not launder your clothing in skin-activated acid nor will you die by wearing pants. Believe it or not there is a social standard with regard to wearing such garments. Until you are old enough to Google where the nearest nudist colony is, let’s try not to fight about this.

Love,

Momma

Dear Baby No-Name,

Ouch. Knock it off. I know that it’s cramped in there, but, trust me, in the grand scheme of things I can guarantee you that it has been more uncomfortable for your Ol’ Lady.

Love,

The Woman You Keep Kicking in the Ribs

Dear Charter,

I really shouldn’t have to reboot my entire cable system every time I want to watch something On Demand. Your services suck and if I didn’t rely on the television right now to keep my kid entertained while I wallow in uber pregnant-dom, they would all be cancelled.

No Love,

Laurel

Dear Hips,

I miss you.

Love,

Laurel

Dear Mother Nature,

Any chance you could take a break from dumping rain on us just long enough so that I can run out to purchase supplies for my ark?

Sincerely,

Sick of the Storms

Dear Dan,

Your mistress is on the phone again. She answers to the name “Overtime”. No, no. Don’t feel bad. I, too, fall victim to her alluring nature. Just don’t be pissed when you see the Target bill.

Love,

Laurel

Dear Baby No-Name,

Seeing that you are still currently specifically unidentified, I wanted to let you know that, as of this week (one that was spent preparing for your arrival), the title “Captain Hand-Me-Down” may appear on your birth certificate.

Love,

Mommy

Dear Caiden,

Today I had a fleeting moment of pride and accomplishment reveling in the fact that “Mount Washmore” (the giant pile of laundry downstairs) was now “No More”. Then, while I was busy folding said laundry in the basement, you were busy re-potting a spider plant in my bed. Thanks.

Love,

Momma

Dear Heart Rate Monitor,

It is really annoying when you pick up the heart rate of the super fit guy sprinting on the treadmill next to me while at the gym because it messes up my own workout and stats. Don’t get me wrong, though. I am totally going to claim the “calories burned” that you are calculating using his rapid heartbeat.

Sincerely,

The 9-Month Pregnant Waddling Walker

Dear Full-Night’s Rest,

Where you at?

Love,

Preggers

Dear Self,

If you continue to write imaginary notes to everyone, it may be time to consider therapy.

Love,

Self

Dear Caiden,

This afternoon we went for a walk around the neighborhood. As usual, during the last stretch I let you get out of the wagon and run home all by your “big boy self”. Watching you so free and happy made me smile ear-to-ear. Literally. I may not use the exact words or say them aloud, but I thank God for you each and every day.

Love,

Momma

[Okay. So maybe there is an occasional bit of sentiment to my daily existence. But if you live in this house and want to survive, you gotta know how to laugh.]

“Pinkles” Put It All Into Perspective

Last night I had the most wonderful dream.

My water had broken. I received a shot of Pitocin. Labor was underway with the help of one of my favorite midwives and the “bonus” was that the lady who had delivered in the room before me left behind an Internet-accessible laptop so I was able to alert all of Facebook friends that our little guy was on his way.

Then reality set in when I woke up at 4:02AM to take my usual “pinkle” (these are the “My-God, it-feels-like-I-have-to-pee-like-a-racehorse-but-only-tinkle” moments courtesy of the 6-pound fetus on my bladder. “Pinkles” can occur anywhere from every 15 minutes to every 2-hours for a pregnant woman. TMI? Sorry.). Needless to say, it was an incredible disappointment.

Now that I am in the midst of my 36^th week of pregnancy, the honeymoon phase of gestation has quickly dissipated and I am SO READY have this baby. The “pinkles” disrupt any form of activity whether it be sleep, housework, grocery shopping, playtime with Caiden—HOLD ON-- yep, and now, blogging. Finding a comfortable position to sit, stand, or sleep is next to impossible. Recently, I have been getting ridiculous rocket-me-out-of-a-sound-sleep-and-make-ya-wanna-cry leg cramps at night. My hips go numb if I am sedentary for more that 30 minutes at a time forcing me to walk like an 87-year-old woman every time I get up. I make stupid, slovenly “ugh!” sounds every time I have to shift positions in bed. I can barely breathe and actually call myself “Fatty McGee” when climbing a flight of stairs because I start to pant. Eating is done solely for prenatal nourishment rather than to satisfy hunger. (Seriously, eating a doughnut should never be considered a chore. So depressing…) I can see my toes, but touching them has become a distant memory. And to top it all off, a symptom that no What to Expect book can prepare any mother for is the amount of guilt she will experience in subsequent pregnancies when she can’t be the momma she wants to be for her existing children.

After my multiple “pinkles” throughout the course of each night, I end up lying in bed wide-awake for at least a good 30 minutes. This leads me to stare absent-mindedly at the clock and think about all sorts of things. It usually starts out with, “Hmmm… what should we have for dinner tomorrow?” Then it morphs into things like making mental grocery lists, new blog topics, and, most recently, solving other people’s problems. Last night after my wonderful fantasy, however, I was struck by the disappointing reality that I was still uber preggo and a month away from where my lil’ one really needs to be. My “post-pinkle pondering” lead me to become conscious of something far more important.

At the age of 20, during my junior year of college, my weight began to fluctuate like a roller coaster, I had severe heart palpitations, bad skin, my abdomen was constantly aching, and I no longer had any “monthly visit” from a particular “Aunt”. I went through a battery of medical tests and was poked, prodded, and pricked for a good month or so. Finally, after many doctors’ visits, blood samples, an ultrasound, and even a radioactive iodine uptake test, results indicated that I had a thyroid disorder and polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS).

The thyroid diagnosis was easy to accept. It was common. I had heard of the thyroid gland. I could “fix” everything easily by popping a pill daily. Over time, it could actually go away. PCOS, on the other hand, was a different story. I had never heard of it and had so many questions. When I heard the answers, they made me feel freakish and thrust me into a state of devastation for quite some time. Although all women actually produce some testosterone, women who suffer from this disorder produce an abnormal amount of the male hormone. This imbalance of endocrinology “tricks” the reproductive system and while the ovaries are trying to do their job, an excess of painful cysts begin to form on them. PCOS is treatable, but not curable. What was most overwhelming to me, however, was that at that age of 20, my doctor told me that down the road, conception, if at all possible, would be very difficult.

That is yet another reason why Caiden was such an unexpected “surprise”—and blessing--for Dan and I. My doctor and midwife called him my little “miracle baby”. After he was born, I was told that my situation was not very common and if we were to want to try for another baby later on, we would need to prepare ourselves for a long haul, a lot of “trying”, and to brace ourselves for some disappointment because it might not happen so easily again. And so we did. We knew that after the wedding it was time for us to start thinking about a new addition. Caiden was at a good age. We were “legal” now. I “got” motherhood (not down pat, but a good grip at least). We decided that after the New Year we would start trying. It took us two weeks.

Two weeks. That’s it. No long haul. No disappointment. Just another “miracle baby”. It literally brings tears to my eyes as I write this because for the past few weeks all I can seem to focus on is how much “suffering” I am enduring during this homestretch of pregnancy; complaining about stuff that will disappear as soon as my sweet little boy is ready to make his entry into the world. And it was a form of this “suffering” that gave me grace and a good ol’ “snap out of it” metaphorical slap in the face. It was a “pinkle”, the inability to sleep, some serious recollection of the distance I have come through the gift of my family, and a HUGE epiphany in the form of absolute gratitude for me to realize that I am SO FREAKING LUCKY have frequent urination, cramping, swelling, and heartburn.

Take your time, Buddy. You are so worth the wait.

Manley Metamorphosis

Caiden decked out in his Tux a Year Ago at Our Wedding Ceremony

There are plenty of reasons why having a child out of wedlock is not encouraged. There is the religious component. There is the money factor. There is also the not so obvious reason that it is nearly impossible to get anything done with wedding preparations and/or post-production thank you note writing with a little one underfoot. One good thing about having a child, however, is that when you are a parent, you know how much things can change in a year’s time as well as how fast that time flies by.

Dan and I just celebrated our one-year anniversary. Although it usually feels like we lead a very mundane existence in the grand scheme of things, it is already amazing to see how much has changed over the course of one year. A weeklong, childfree honeymoon getaway to St. Lucia last January gave us time to just be adults, husband and wife, and not “Caiden’s Parents”. We were able to talk about grownup stuff, sleep in, and relax on the beach without having to worry about someone running off into the sea or eating sand by the shovelful. We were able to sit in silence watching the sunset and eat a full, hot meal without any interruptions or cutting up someone else’s food into itty-bitty pieces. It was wonderful and helped to rekindle a part of our relationship that is sometimes so easily put on the backburner when, normally, our number one priority is keeping our child happy, healthy, and safe. As a result of that getaway, we also added a new member to our family… Over the course of the past year, our home has weathered the wrath of crazy blizzards, debris castoff by tornadoes, and, most recently, serious rainfall courtesy of a hurricane turned tropical storm. It has also withstood the wrath of what an active 2-year-old can procure. Since last August, we’ve added a patio, ripped out some hedges, redecorated two bedrooms, paid off a car, and shared the company of each other as family laughing, playing, and dreaming a whole lot in between. Reflecting upon the past 365 days, I suppose that “change” doesn’t necessarily have to be in your face or blatantly life-altering all the time. Like with your own child, it takes looking back at pictures and remembering all the things that you have done over the course of a certain period of time to realize the growth that has really taken place right before your very eyes.

Seeing that Dan and I are not ones to be slaves to tradition, our first anniversary was spent as a couple, but putting our own spin on things. We lined up a babysitter and went out to a lovely dinner. When we came home, however, most people would assume that we shared a slice of stale wedding cake extracted from the depths of our freezer. Not so much. We knew a year ago that that tradition was not for us. We like cake too much. Knowing this, I carried out a plan that was devised long ago by ordering a new cake from the bakery that made our wedding cake—a miniature version of our “nuptial num-nums” to partake in. We sliced the cake using our engraved knife and server set and shared the delish dessert over chilled milk served in our wedding flutes because, let’s face it, what other occasion will these things be used? (I will say that, originally, those flutes were to be filled--numerous times at that--with a really good champagne that was given to us on our wedding day. Unfortunately, our little “St. Lucian souvenir” made us hold off on that.)

After dessert, I gave Dan his gift. Since the first year anniversary is considered the “Paper Anniversary”, I kept it simple. He got a card. Within the card, however, I wrote him new wedding vows. Once again, the concept of change and growth played a big role in all of this. Although the words I spoke to him a year ago still remain strong and true, events that have occurred over the course of these past 12-months only made me want to promise him more and acknowledge everything that I may take for granted on a daily basis. It was during this writing exercise and time of yearly reflection that I realized many things will remain static and solid over the course of our marriage, but metamorphosis is certainly inevitable. One thing that shall always remain constant, however, is how much I love and appreciate this wonderful man in my life. Knowing that this change is always on the horizon, I cannot wait to see how fast this next year will fly by and what it will bring to our ever-growing family. It is a blessing to experience these everyday acts of “mundane miracles” and creation of memories with my best friend as we continue along this path of life we vowed to share a year ago.

I'm Happy

Seriously? It’s been a YEAR since I last posted?!?! The urge to sit down and write has never left me, but when it came down to actually undertaking the task—well, most days it just seemed overwhelming. I have other friends who blog consistently and I truly envy their dedication and abilities to type in between time spent at their full-time jobs and nursing their newborns. For me, I am such a perfectionist, writing truly becomes debilitating at times. I have received such positive feedback time and time again for things that I have posted either on this website or my social network of choice (Holla at ya, Facebook!), that when an idea comes to me to write about, I feel like I just can’t “blurb” it all out and put it out to "Press". I need to go back about 80 times to edit and rework it before finally publishing and, by then, the point seems moot. Throughout the past year, however, I have received so many compliments and cries of support with regard to this site that it only took the 28461354643rd person this afternoon at a birthday party to get these literary gears turning again (Holla at ya, Ericka M!). So, thank you everyone for all of your kind words of the past. I am a bit rusty. But you gotta start somewhere, right?

First off, I feel the need to do a “year in review”, after reading all of my former entries. I will keep it simple though. My life wasn't too exciting to begin with.... 1.) My 1 ½ -year-old is now a 2 ½ -year-old. Active and verbal and no longer a toddler, but a crazy-keep-me-on-my-toes little boy. Nonetheless, he is certainly the light of my life. 2.) Dan & I were officially hitched a year ago and will be celebrating our first anniversary a week from tomorrow. 3.) St. Lucia was a blast and resulted in a souvenir that will be living with us for at least the next 18 years. Baby Boy #2 is set to make his debut into the world about 6-weeks from now. (Holla at ya, Baby No-Name!) 4.) My masters degree was officially earned in December of 2010, yet remains unframed on top of my printer. Other than those things, life continues to be uneventful in the Manley-household. Unless you count the addition of a new bedroom set and changing up the landscaping of our backyard. Yea... that's what I thought.

So this is what has been on my mind lately and I am just going to put it out there risking the judgements from others that I am a bad, heartless mother: Having another kid is terrifying to me. It was one of those things that was “great in theory”, but I am now wrestling with how I am actually going to execute it. I know, I know, mothers have been doing it for eons and I know that I will be able to summon all of the same adoration for this second lil’ guy and I know that our ability to adapt to a family of four will be a challenge and a blessing all at the same time, but, again, it’s not a matter of “can & will”—it’s HOW. How am I going to balance my firstborn’s and my newborn’s schedules? How am I going to keep up with running this household efficiently? How am I going to love this baby as much as my first? How can I be everything to these children and a good wife? How am I going to maintain my own sanity in the process? Dan and I shared a conversation that basically went like this the other night:

D: “So, what are your feelings about this little guy coming soon?” (Insert a pat to my gargantuan midsection.)

L: “Oh, I have lots of feelings.” (Insert a gargantuan, girly rant about a variety of emotions ranging from excitement to nervousness, insecurities, and all of my supporting reasons as to why I am feeling those things. This takes a good 10-15 minutes.) “How about you? What are your feelings about this little guy coming soon?”

D: “I’m happy.” (Insert a gargantuan, deadpan stare from me here.)

Seriously?!?!? “I’m happy”?!?! That’s it?!?! No further explanation? No other thoughts beyond that? I wish it could be that simple for me, but perhaps that why Dan and I are good together. Because I can completely overanalyze everything and he can just take what’s in front of him and accept it for what it is. The whole age-old system of checks-and-balances: marital-style. While I entertain the “what-ifs” and “how-cans” of our life together, my husband has this way of completely trusting me with raising our children and believes, whole-heartedly, that I can do it well. His confidence in me is what keeps me going and helps me to realize that there will certainly be bumps in the road, but no matter what, I really will do anything and everything in my capacity to nurture our family and bring out the best in them. Lord knows that they truly bring out the best in me. And then, all in all when I think about it, it doesn’t even matter HOW I am going to be able to handle our growing family. What matters is that Dan is happy. And Caiden is happy. And, you know what? I, too, am happy. So very, very happy. And blessed.

If It Weren’t for Calendars and Color-Coding, I Don’t Know What I’d Do

It has been quite awhile since I last wrote. I keep joking with people that “you know that I have been crazy busy if I haven’t even updated my Facebook status”. Such has been the case recently. Life is quite an undertaking unto itself when you are constantly chasing after your 15-month old, pulling non-edible items out of his mouth, and forever engaging his insatiable curiosities of the world around him. And the days of even attempting to type with one-hand are long gone. Caiden LOVES the computer, so as soon as he sees a keyboard, those little hands are instantly banging on the keys (Thanks, Grandpa. You’ve created this monster!). But toddler-rearing aside, my life is full of “extra-curricular undertakings”.

I am currently taking my FINAL graduate class. Once this is completed, my course load for Framingham State will be complete and I will only have to prepare a portfolio of work to be submitted to a review board. That will, essentially, serve as my comprehensive exam and then I will officially have my Masters degree in Special Education: Moderate Needs (Grades 5-12). If the stars all align, graduation will soon be around the corner! This course, in the meantime, is pretty intense though. Since it is a summer session, it has the majority of the work that is normally assigned during a regular semester crunched into a 6-week time frame. It is also accompanied by a 30-hour practicum. I have found myself writing papers into the wee small hours of the morning, waking up with Caiden 4 hours later, taking care of him as a normal day, and then writing more during his naptimes. This is getting increasingly difficult as he has (ever so conveniently, might I add) decided to change his own schedule and take only one nap a day instead of two. Dan has been very supportive throughout all of this though and helps whenever and wherever he can. I have found myself having to leave the house though some days and do my work at the college library or the public library because when I am at home, the boys (unintentionally) distract me. The mom in me has a tendency to want to intervene if I hear the lil’ guy crying or I find myself yelling downstairs, “Do you guys need anything?” , “What are you guys doing?”, “There are snacks in the cupboard!”. If Dan decides that he is going to take Caid to go visit a family member or to the park to give me some quiet time to work, I find myself longing to spend that quality family time together and either miss out on it or completely abandon my assignment all-together in order to not miss it. It’s definitely tough, but not nearly as tough as trying to plan a wedding with a toddler underfoot... Which leads me to my next undertaking.

As of this moment, our wedding day is officially 70 days away. Although, we seem to be in pretty good shape, it seems as though every time we cross something off of our to-do list, another 154,853,472 appear as a result of it. Case in point: a few weeks ago we went to the wedding venue to finalize the menu and details such as the linen choices and room setup. Going into the meeting a felt so excited because I knew that as soon as we left, I would be able to “X” off that appointment and be able to have our RSVP cards printed. Whoopee! Turns out: No. Not whoopee! “Whoopee” turned into “Now that you have finalized the menu, you need to get us an alphabetized guest list with each entrée denoted next to it. We will also need a copy of your wedding party affiliations in the event that the DJ does not make the appropriate introductions. Don’t forget that when you create the spreadsheet of guest seating, you must include no more than 10 per people per table and no less that 8 or you will be charged an extra fee so that we may staff the event appropriately. Etc. Etc. Etc.” Now, don’t get me wrong. This all makes perfect sense and I knew that tasks like this were on the horizon. But I would have much rather preferred to just make an “X” and shout, “Whoopee!”

Then there was the incredibly daunting task of “Wedding Invitations”. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I am a practical gal who will try her best to save money where she can so it can be used on something that can benefit “the greater cause”. For me, wedding invitations were one of the least important things to spend a lot of money on when compared to getting a venue that served great food or choosing a couple of extra fun things that our guests will be (hopefully) talking about after that experience. Listen people, I know that I, for one, will toss out your invitation once your big day has come and gone—but if you have a kick ass DJ that had me “Cha-Cha Sliding” and “Cupid Shuffling” the entire night, THAT will be what I remember about your wedding! So I ended up purchasing DIY wedding invitation kits. PRO: the most expensive part of each invitation was probably the postage. CON: I had to do it myself. Once we created the templates, I was able to bring everything over to my local Staples store and have them printed. They even took care of printing the return labels. True to their motto, I can honestly say: “Staples. Now that was easy.” When I got everything home, though, the stress began to sink in. My basement was turned into an assembly station every night after 9pm because that is the “Caiden Play Zone” every other hour of our day. I was in charge of doing all of the handwritten addresses on the outside of the envelopes because Dan’s writing would have had it make it look like we hired a third-grader to do it (his words, not mine. Self-deprecating humor is a must in our household.). So 100 handwritten addresses were completed. “X”. Then came the assembly of the invitations. Put postage stamps here and there. “X”. Add an embellishment to each invitation here. “X”. Add in the RSVP cards, directions to the venue, guest information cards, and bridal registry cards. “X, X, X, and X”. It took me over a week to finish everything when all was said and done with regard to this process, and, despite my complaining, I am glad that I did take this route because it really was economically wise. However, that said, I am glad that I will never have to do it again. And, as a side note, I came to the realization after this particular experience that tasks such as this are always far more fun when you are doing it for someone other than yourself.

In other “wedding news”, I have an appointment with the florist this afternoon, my bridesmaids’ gifts are all ready to go, the cake has been ordered, the flower girls have their dresses, and tickets for our Jack & Jill celebration on July 23^rd are on sale. I am also happy to report that my first dress fitting resulted in the seamstress having to take it in a few sizes. “Whoopee!”

Mother’s Day Musings

Caiden in 2009

Caiden in 2010

How so much can change in a year...

I am now hours away from celebrating my second Mother’s Day and wanted to take a few moments to relish in the unexpected beauties brought into my life courtesy of a little boy. I think that when most women first learn that they are pregnant, they inundate themselves with text from What to Expect books and magazine articles, and (gasp!) advice-galore (solicited and unsolicited) from others in order to prepare them for the journey that lay before them. I was not an exception to this methodology of early maternity. As with everything in life, I just took a deep breath and leapt in, both feet, swandive-style. I was on mailing lists, networked with other young moms, and researched the ins & outs of everything “baby”. The information from these resources was not be cast aside—most was, generally, right on target. But as cliché as it sounds, NOTHING could truly prepare me for the challenges and blessings that accompany the realities of motherhood.

The first year of being a mother was, yes, exciting at times, but, for the most part—generally OVERWHELMING. I dove in head first, no doubt, but rose to the surface after the arrival of Caiden and quickly realized that I was desperately treading water. And this wasn’t just the first few weeks of motherhood that I felt like, “Wait a second… What was God thinking putting ME in charge of another human being? I can barely remember to clean the lint trap and lose my car keys on an hourly-basis!” The books and advice that I had previously studied never alluded to how hard it would be to accomplish the smallest of daily tasks (i.e.: a load of laundry, bathing, getting out of the house on time with everything you actually need on you). They never warned me that my kid might have reflux issues or hate to be in a room with more than four people in it. They were TOTALLY not realistic with the length of time it would require to actually lose the baby-weight. (Oh, and those workouts that suggested incorporating baby—Rrrrrright!) They didn’t prepare me for the stress that I would feel when my child was being compared to the children of other new parents. (“No. My son doesn’t use sign language.” “Yes. He is formula-fed.” “Yes, that outfit is from Baby GAP, but I bought those clothes second-hand.”)

During the first year, I felt as though I was drowning. But amidst the breaths that I gained from the small, yet triumphant, accomplishments of my baby boy, I finally realized that the only things that were truly crippling me in the waters of parenthood were my own insecurities. It wasn’t until this epiphany—my little brainstorm buoy—that I was able to actually able to cut myself a little slack and say, “Wait a minute. I have a blissful, healthy child in my arms. I gotta be doing something right. Crap! Where are my keys, though?!?!?”

It has been established that it took me a year to figure out that lesson. It definitely wasn’t easy and, by no means, do I swim the seas of Mommy-dom with ease all the time. Every now and then a giant wave will rock my world to keep me in check. It’s a good thing, though. There is a fine line between confidence and arrogance and an even finer line between arrogance and ignorance…

This past year of being a mother has still been challenging. At times, it may actually be more challenging than the first. Lord knows, that I have been saying all along that, “the more a kid can do, the more trouble they can get into.” True to my maternal-wisdom, Caiden learns more and more every day and keeps me on my toes. During “Year Two”, instead of being concerned that he has had enough “tummy time”, I am busy chasing him up & down the stairs and all around the house. Instead of worrying about whether or not Caiden has spit up his entire bottle, I am trying to sneak in an adequate amount of vegetables into his daily meals without him noticing. Instead of freaking out that I am 6-loads behind on the laundry, I am more concerned with keeping my boy from climbing into the washer. God, it’s fun though. And no book could have told me how fun it would actually be.