Thursday, December 19, 2013

Mommy Go Work

First published on January 2, 2009.

"Mommy, go work."

Jake said these words gently, with a firm hand on my knee as if to steady me for the blow of his very first (but, oh, I know, definitely not his last) leave-me-alone-already.

We were in his new classroom, on his first day at the "big kids" preschool across the street from his former pre-preschool.  I had been in the room with him for something over an hour, slowly but surely coaxing him away from my lap, suggesting he interact with the other kids, gently edging my way toward the door.  Proving, in other words, what a great mom I am to anyone who might be watching.  Which was, approximately, no one.

Except Jake.  Who, after a while, felt he had to coax me out of his hair with a gentle "Mommy, go work," that assured me he was, indeed, okay without me.

Why I Was Crying in the Target Parking Lot, and Why I Probably Will Again

First published on December 18, 2008.

I thought I was doing really well on Tuesday.  Last of the holiday packages mailed?  Check.  Requisite single container for the lunches Jake will take with him when he moves up to the big kids' preschool after the holidays finally located and purchased?  Check.  Checks deposited?  Check, checks.

I was aware that in order to add a Target run to my list of accomplishments and still get to yoga class on time I'd have to hew closely to my shopping list.  A slightly daunting prospect, perhaps, as my usual response upon entering a Target is to turn glassy eyed, start breathing through my mouth, and then head straight to diapers because that is the one thing I can remember I need amidst the expanse of stuff arrayed before me.  

But I had my list.  I had my yoga class to make.  I had the one-two punch of a rapidly growing belly and Christmas week in a house full of good food and people eager to nourish the next family member to make yoga class an imperative.

A Pink Polka Dot Boot Postscript

First published on December 10, 2008.

Today is the first day Jake has declined to wear his pink polka dot boots.  It is, of course, pouring rain.

Not to worry, though.  He insisted on wearing his Trick or Treat shirt as compensation.

Monday, December 16, 2013

Can a Sense of Self Come with Pink Polka Dot Boots?

First published on December 9, 2008.

Jake has been wearing his beloved pink polka dot boots pretty much non-stop for over a week now.

We have engaged in successful negotiations about removing them for bed time and bath time (for which he even removed his swim diaper the other night, suggesting he is finally over the traumatic poop-in-the-tub incident).  But otherwise, on they go—over his footie pajamas, to the alpaca farm where we bought our Christmas tree, pretty much with anything or to anywhere that allows a boy to proudly display his most prized possession.

Do I Really Have Any More Control Than a Two-Year-Old?

First published on November 24, 2008.

Some people do not believe in the Terrible Two's.

In a sense, I don't believe in them either.  By which I mean that I don't believe Jake has been rendered "terrible" by his newfound ability to flip from laughing, sunny child-of-mine to vibrating board of angry baby body in the blink of an eye—or the unfortunate utterance of some word he does not wish to hear.

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Giving and Receiving Toddler Style—In the Bathtub

First published on November 21, 2008.

Jake took a bath last night for the first time in a week.

This fact is notable for three reasons.  First, he is generally quite fond of the tub, so a one-week boycott is a serious thing indeed.  Second, the fact that I was able to ease him back into the tub wearing a swim diaper adorned with Winnie the Pooh suggested that he might one day overcome the Poop in the Bathtub debacle I inflicted on him, oh, last time he voluntarily took a bath.  Third, of course, is that he has taught me a big lesson about giving and receiving.

Just Let It All In

First published on November 19, 2008.

I experienced a whole new way of thinking at the end of yoga class yesterday.

I'd spent the past several days mulling over how I wanted to approach writing about continuing toddler-inspired sleep interruptions; guilty, crying morning-afters; plummeting four-season temperatures; and that frustrating in-between period where the choice between too-big maternity clothes and too-small normal person clothes reawakens all my body image issues, only now in a surround-sound, super-sized version.

The possibilities for enlightening lessons were plentiful.  If nothing else, I reasoned, my struggles with winter, approaching-two-years-old, and pregnancy would be fodder for many a YogaMamaMe essay.  I could offer endless pearls of wisdom about surrender and letting go of the myth of control and listening to your heart instead of your head.

And then, as Baby Lamar and I settled into savasana for our final relaxation, my teacher invited us to not only let it go, but to let it in.