I recently had the opportunity to guest blog over at Positively Oaks. To check out my post about 5 things that mom’s just shouldn’t feel guilty for, head over to:
http://www.positivelyoakes.com/blog/2015/07/29/moms-dont-feel-guilty/
Cheers,
The Whine Connoisseur 
They say (whoever they are) that watching your husband be a good father is the most attractive thing he can do. They are not kidding. Not even a little bit.
My son has recently decided that 8am wake ups are simply not early enough, and that 5:30am wake ups would be a little bit more exciting. No matter what time we put him to bed, how long of a nap he had the day prior, or how much energy we allowed him to run off at the park before bed, like an alarm clock… He is up at 5:30 every weekend. The first few times that this happened, I let out a complainy little groan, rolled over, and mentally pleaded with my son to go back to bed. As I did this, my husband (who was easily just as tired as I was) hopped out of bed, grabbed my son, changed his diaper, and brought him into our room to hang out in our bed with us while we tried to fully wake up. My husband did this without me saying a word about it, and I thought to myself ‘oh man that was wonderful. I guess it will be my turn next time’. But then next time came, and again, my husband was the one to jump out of bed without any hesitation or negativity. The following weekend was the same way. And this time all that I could think to myself was ‘this guy that I married is the absolute best’.
My husband has been this way since day one. During my pregnancy he took me to get an Oreo shake each and every time I craved one, spoiled me with gifts, kept me company while I was miserable during bed rest, and he attended every doctors appointment with me. While I was in labor, he rubbed my head and did everything within his power to help (like ask the nurse once every five minutes when the epidural guy would arrive). The day we brought our baby home, you would never know how exhausted he was as he sat there holding our sleeping little Liam, staring at him with overwhelming amounts of pride. During the 5 month long period of multiple middle of the night wake ups, he made sure to help me with at least one wake up a night… Even when he had to be up for work at 7 in the morning. When he comes home from a long day of work and finds out that our son has been testing me all day, he sends me off to go get my nails done or take a bath. When the park is empty and Liam needs a playmate, my husband steps up for the job, chasing him around the park making loud ‘scary’ monster noises while Liam runs away from him squealing with joy. Through the diaper changes, and the endless messes, and the doctor appointments, and the tantrums, and the little baby colds, and learning to walk and talk and eat solid foods, my husband has been there for every single moment of it. Not because i ever once had to ask him to be, but simply because he wanted to be.
My husband is the type of man that every baby deserves as a father, and every women deserves as a husband. He makes mistakes, but does everything in his power to correct those mistakes immediately. Not even a few hours go by in my day in which he is not reminding Liam and I how much he loves us. He works incredibly hard and deals with a ridiculous amount of stress to ensure that Liam and I are taken care of, and he never stops talking about the future that he wants (and I know he will) provide for us. He is really terrible at giving back rubs that last longer than 1.5 minutes and he turns all of the lyrics to my favorite songs into parodies relating to gassy bodily functions. He puts the air in the car on full blast when it’s not even seventy degrees out and he always…and I mean ALWAYS wins the movie picking battle. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because at the end of the day, no matter how many very intentional attempts he makes at annoying me, he certainly keeps things amusing while he takes care of his people… Protects his people… Loves his people. And I am so very proud and blessed that my son and I get to be his people.
Happy Father’s Day to a man so great that I feel the desire to write a million braggy blog posts about him. My baby’s daddy, my best friend, my husband.
Cheers,
T.W.C.
A few days ago I found myself collapsed onto the couch. It wasn’t even 10pm yet, but there I was, completely exhausted as if I had been running a marathon all day. I temporarily had a hypochondriac moment in which I thought that the only logical reason for me to feel this way was because I must be dying, but once the drama subsided, I realized that my exhaustion was completely understandable. From 7am until 8pm every single day I am chasing around a toddler who thinks that crushing his cheddar bunnies into the carpet with his construction truck is the coolest thing ever. I clean up an average of 32 messes a day, cook multiple meals, tame more tantrums than I can count, change a ridiculous amount of stinky diapers (like really, how does a 30 pound kid poop so much?), work out, and so on. Even sitting down to pee for 30 seconds becomes a task as my son pulls up a stool to the sink and begins splashing water across the bathroom. Toddlers are busy, unruly creatures, and keeping up with them is an adventure every moment of every day. An often financially tolling adventure…
This leads me to the kaboom incident. Right off the bat, you know any story that involves a toddler and a bottle of kaboom is never going to end well. Thank sweet baby Jesus no toddlers were harmed in the making of this story. The carpet however, was. The dishes had been building up in our sink for at least 24 hours and the time had come for me to tackle them. My son, being the sneaky little sneak that he is, seized the opportunity to run upstairs into my bedroom. This happens often, and I thought nothing of it, thinking that I would simply go pull him out of my bed once I finished the last couple of dishes. But my bed is not where I found the toddler just a few moments later. Instead I found him hiding behind his teepee with a bottle of kaboom. You see, a few hours prior, my husband had been in the bathroom doing some cleaning, like the awesome husband that he is. Not so awesome is that the kaboom was accidentally left on the counter just high enough that to any normal child it may not have been accessible, but to my long-armed-will-stop-at-nothing-toddler, the kaboom was indeed reachable. I grabbed it away from him, feeling incredibly thankful that he hadn’t decided to stick it in his mouth, and feeling proud that my all knowing mommy senses had told me to go check on him sooner than I’d planned. He couldn’t have had the bottle in his possession for longer than 30 seconds, so I simply did a quick look around, and decided that there was no way he could have even had the opportunity to spray it anywhere. The funny thing about kaboom is that it is clear when it is sprayed… And it most certainly is not clear when it dries. The next day, my husband and I walked into my sons room only to discover that a section of his carpet had been permanently turned purple. So that’s that. The kaboom will forever more be out of reach, and our carpet is purple.
On the subject of carpet, there was also a couple of weeks ago when my son grabbed the bottle of honey that I’d just purchased and decided to paint the carpet with it. The entire week prior, he’d had a cute fascination with the bear shaped bottle. He would walk up to it in the pantry and give its little bear face a smooch on the nose, then run away squealing. So, as I stood two feet away from him watching this adorable little routine, I very wrongly assumed that this time would end the same way. But surprise surprise, he grabbed the bottle and took off running. As he made his escape, he had managed to open the top, and drizzle out honey as he went. It was so ridiculous that it was honestly amusing. Although I’m probably only Saying that because the honey came out of the carpet surprisingly easily.
But the chaos has not been limited to the carpets. There’s also the tragic tale of the death of our new cactus. It was nine in the morning and my son had been ‘on one’ already. Needing some relief, I took him outside with the hopes of resetting him. Not even thirty seconds later, he somehow had managed to knock over a fold up table into a shelf, catapulting our new potted cactus onto the outdoor rug. Sad baby cactus flipped upside down, and in the process of trying to pick it up, a little prickly cactus part got lodged in my finger. Broken pot. Massive quantities of soil everywhere. Laughing toddler. Frustrated and temporarily injured mommy.
Keeping up with our toddler has been interesting to say the least. In the last two weeks, we have dealt with the kaboom incident, the honey incident, the cactus incident, a repulsive first time poop in the bathtub incident, a hands in the toilet incident, several tantrums in the middle of the grocery store incidents, the blackberry smearing all over the outdoor furniture incident, and probably a hundred other incidents that I’ve blocked from my memory in an attempt to keep a small fraction of my sanity. In each of these incidents there have certainly been moments of frustration, but the frustration quickly passes as I am reminded that he is just a little guy trying to learn about the world around him and just do his thang.
That same little boy who was wiping chicken nugget crumbs all over the couch just a few hours ago is the same little boy who sat perfectly quiet and well behaved during his first haircut this evening. That same little boy who thinks that somehow his hands need to end up inside of the toilet every time he practices going potty is the same little boy who is growing up and quickly approaching his second birthday right before my eyes. That same little boy who throws a tantrum every time I tell him not to eat dirt is the same little boy that cuddles into my arms and gives me little kisses every night before bed.
Keeping up with a toddler is exhausting, but it is the most rewarding exhaustion I have ever experienced. So tonight I close my eyes knowing that I will most likely wake up exhausted tomorrow, and I will most likely go to sleep exhausted tomorrow, but it will all be worth it, just the same as it was today.
Cheers,
T.W.C.
Dear pre-mommy me,
A short time from now, you are going to be blessed with the craziest ball of energy you’ve ever seen. He will look just like you and act just like his daddy. He will say no to absolutely everything (even when he means yes). He will throw entire bowls of food on the ground and laugh in your face as you tell him to pick it up. He will cover your white coffee table in dark baby cub paw prints… Five minutes after you’ve cleaned it. He will roll around the dirt in the backyard at least twice a day (and usually try to snack on it as well). He will deny the plate of dinner you set in front of him 5 out of 7 days of the week. He will test your patience. He will make you question yourself and your parenting abilities. But more than any of that, he will make you a better person. He will give you the title of mommy, and you will wear that title with pride.
Because pride is the feeling in your heart when you look into the innocent eyes of the little human being that you created. Pride is the feeling in your heart when your little human shouts an enthusiastic “HI!!” to the sad stranger walking by and manages to make that stranger genuinely smile. Pride is the feeling in your heart when your little human figures out a new word or follows a new direction.
I will not lie, motherhood is just as scary as you’re expecting it to be. You’re faced with decision after decision and you won’t know if you’ve made the right decision until after the choice has been made. You will make mistakes, but there is no mother who hasn’t. You will do your best, and at the end of the day, that is what your son will see.
Rest up, for motherhood is exhausting, and like a guard dog, you will never truly sleep. But for every night of 2am wakes up, there is a morning of sweet snuggles. For every tantrum in the middle of the grocery store, there is a playful dance in the middle of the living room. For every time that you look in the mirror and miss your old body, there is a happy little boy running around as reminder that the changes were worth it. For every doubt you have, there is a sweet little hug as confirmation that maybe you really are doing it right.
During the quest to be a better parent, Google will be your best friend and your worst enemy. So will social media. You will find yourself constantly comparing yourself to other mothers, forgetting that your life does not need to look like anyone else’s. You will struggle to allow your little one to leave the protection of the safety bubble that you’ve created for him (even if it’s just playing on the jungle gym with another toddler). As cliche as it may sound, follow your heart. Follow your mother instincts. They will always point you in the right direction.
Of all the titles you can have in this world, mommy is certainly one of the best. I know that at this time, the only thing scarier than the idea of giving birth is the fear of being a bad parent. But fear not, for epidurals are a gift from the heavens and the happiness that motherhood fills you with will forever outweigh any worries you may have.
I guess all of this can really be summed up with this: motherhood is awesome (even if it doesn’t feel that way in the midst of a restaurant tantrum). Don’t be afraid, be excited. For there is a little boy who is about to REALLY make life interesting.
Cheers,
T.W.C.
“When I have kids, they will never throw fits in public”.
“When I have kids they won’t be picky eaters”.
“When I have kids they will be off the pacifier before they turn one”
“When I have kids I’m going to breast feed for at least 9 months”.
When I have kids… When I have kids… When I have kids. We have all said it or thought it AT LEAST a few times prior to poppin em out. But when they’re actually standing there in front of you screaming and throwing their body all around in public because you gave them a yellow tortilla chip instead of a blue one, anything you thought about “when you have kids” just flies out the window. Because the truth is, sometimes your kid is going to throw a fit in public for absolutely no obvious reason, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Sometimes your kid is going to refuse to eat the healthy freshly cooked breakfast you set in front of him, but will happily eat the sweet potato cereal puffs that have been sitting in his snack container for a week. Sometimes giving your kid their pacifier when it’s the only thing that will get them to sleep is the best option you’ve got, and sometimes your milk production slows down far before you’d planned it to.
Nothing about parenthood is predictable, but that’s the beauty in it. “When I have this kid, I will love him more than anything in the entire world”… I thought to myself often as I watched my son somersault around in my tummy. But it is impossible to understand or predict how overwhelmingly true that is until your little one is snuggled up next to you in bed saying “mama” as he nestles his head into your neck. Every fit, every tantrum, every ‘hand in the toilet for the third time today’ incident is instantly forgotten with one sweet little smile.
Last week while on vacation in Newport, my husband and I took our son to breakfast. The establishment was full of business folk looking for a little peace and quiet before starting their busy work days. And what a surprise… Our son spent the entire 30 minute meal screaming because he didn’t want the strawberries and potatoes that we got him. We both left in somewhat of a bad mood, only to take him back to the hotel room in which he threw another giant fit because he couldn’t play in the bathroom. Right as I hit my limit, my son started crawling around on the floor uttering the sweetest “meow” sounds I’ve ever heard, pretending to be a kitten. And just like that, I’d forgotten about all of the chaos and all of the times that I had ever been ridiculous enough to think “when I have kids, they will never misbehave in a restaurant”.
The next day, my husband had to tend to business in the area, so I decided to have a day date with my son. I found a Barnes and Nobel near the hotel, got my ice coffee, and took him to the kids section of the store. It all was going great for the five whole minutes leading up to the moment in which my son found a toy that he wanted. I told him “no”, to which he responded “BYE!!!” and took off running towards the elevator with said toy. As I went to chase him, the weight of my purse on the back of the stroller caused it to tip backwards, sending my coffee flying and giving my son just enough time to reach the elevator. I jumped into the elevator and swooped him up just before the doors closed. And yet somehow after all of that, we left the store that day with a stuffed animal in hand, despite the many times in which pre baby me thought “my kids will never get rewarded for bad behavior”. But you know what? After the elevator incident, he cuddled up in my lap for a few sweet moments of book reading…found a stuffed animal he liked… imitated the sound that he thought it made….and then nodded his head yes so very enthusiastically when I asked him if he was going to be a good boy. So yes, I bought my baby that souvenir polar bear stuffed animal (that he thinks is a cat). And what do you know… He was a perfect angel baby for the rest of our day date and that stuffed animal has been his favorite possession ever since.
My point in all of this is that in the parenting world, things don’t always go to plan. Even if you are an over the top organized planning freak like me, shit happens (literally… sometimes your kid is going to poop in their diaper just as you’re walking into dinner). Going against all of the “when I have kids…” that pre parent you ever uttered does not make you a bad parent, it makes you a completely normal parent… A completely normal parent who is learning and evolving…A completely normal parent who is doing your best… A completely normal parent who probably deserves a really long bath, an early bed time, and a pat on the back (or a rub on the back if your significant other is feeling generous).
Cheers,
T.W.C.
“Do NOT throw another piece of chicken into my water”, I told my son as I returned to my dinner after rinsing out the chicken that he had thrown into my glass moments earlier. I had spent an hour and a half preparing a lovely feast for my family and after a long day of errands and toddler chasing, all I wanted was to enjoy a warm meal. And yet what do you know… In the split second between setting my water down and picking my fork up… *plop* another piece of grilled chicken sat in my water cup. Normally I might have found this slightly amusing. Maybe even funny. But not at the end of the week I’d just had. You see…my son has hit early onset terrible twos. Dun dun dunnnn.
Funny to think that just a couple of weeks ago, I was writing away about what great behavior my son had been displaying. It was fun while it lasted.
I completely understand why the terrible twos exist. My little man just reached the age in which he is no longer a baby, but still cannot fully express himself the way that he wants to. I’m sure it’s frustrating and for that, I give him as much patience as I can. However that being said… The terrible twos are taking EVERY ounce of patience that I have.
My son’s most recent fits have included riveting displays of drama following me telling him:
-that he could not consume a bottle of hot sauce.
-that I would not put his socks back on after he had pulled them off three times
-not to roll over my toes with his golf club catty
-not to eat lotion
-to stop chewing on DVD cases
-And of course… me telling him it’s nap time.
His fits last for anywhere from one minute to twenty minutes or so, and his favorite place to throw them of course is in the middle of large public settings. The fits include him dramatically throwing himself to the floor, some sort of fake crying/screaming combo, attempts at hitting the adult responsible for ruining his fun, and my personal favorite… Running off towards the laundry room, slamming the door, and pouting in the corner between the washing machine and the wall.
So what is a parent to do? My only answer… The best we can. Just like the ‘waking up every two hours’ phase and the ‘spit up on 6 outfits a day’ phase and the ‘I’m going to suddenly start waking up three times a night despite the fact that I’ve been sleeping through the night for a year now’ phase, this too is just that… a PHASE. He might test my patience and I might still have a bruise on my forehead from the fit fueled head butting that took place last week, but at the end of the day, he is a toddler. He is growing both mentally and physically. He is frustrated. He is testing boundaries and learning what he can and cannot do in this world. It is my job to guide him into understanding right from wrong. It is my job to teach him manners and to teach him to communicate what he wants in the best way that he can. But most of all it is my job to love him. Through every fit, through every tantrum, through every melt down, the best I can do is show him love. Show him understanding. Show him patience. Even if that means collapsing into my bed at 8pm due to the pure exhaustion that all that patience has brought on.
I have to look back at the pre baby me and laugh at the fact that I once told myself that ‘one day when I had children’, the terrible twos would not phase me because I was a two year old pre-school teacher with enough experience to tame any unruly child. HA! The truth is, no amount of experience will prepare you for the day your child throws an Oscar award winning level of fit in the middle of a small restaurant at ten in the morning. No amount of experience will prepare you for the first time your child violently throws a cup at you because you told him he had to finish his lunch before he could play in the backyard. And no amount of experience will prepare you for the feeling in your heart when at the end of a horrendous tantrum, your toddler walks up to you, wraps both little hands around your neck, and gives you a big fat slobbery kiss. Nothing can prepare you for parenting…No amount of experience or reading or advice. Parenting is simply about taking it one day at a time..one tantrum at a time.. One hug at a time..doing whatever feels right, and hoping and praying that you’re doing a good job of it.
Earning my title of Whine Connoisseur one early onset terrible twos tantrum at a time!
Cheers,
T.W.C.
PS: Now accepting all offers to babysit my son 🙂
I haven’t been blogging much lately, and I could go into another story about how busy I’ve been, or I can just tell you that I’m a mother. I’m a busy mother who cleans and cooks and teaches and plays and at the end of the day I just cannot always bring myself to write a blog post about all of the things that are keeping me so busy.
I often find myself feeling guilty for not doing more. Not writing more. Not photographing more. Not working out more. Not seeing my friends more. Not cleaning more. Not…doing…more. But then I look at my energetic little guy frolicking around the house, just happy to be playing with mama amongst his ever growing pile of toys, and I think that maybe I have done enough. My role as a mother is to raise a happy child, and I think it’s safe to say that I am in the process of doing just that. All that other stuff is just icing on top of the big cake of being a stay at home mom. The messes will be there to clean tomorrow, and my blog posts will eventually get written, but my son is one year and 2 months old today, and there will never be another day where he is that age. That tiny. That innocent. These days of cuddles and tickles will soon turn into days of high fives and baseball practice. When that eventually happens, I will do that extra load of laundry and workout every day, and maybe even finally return an old friends phone call. But for now, my baby is just a little guy who wants nothing more than to hang out with his mommy. And so that is what we will do.
A couple of weeks ago, I found myself involved in a conversation during which the person I was speaking to asked “how do you do it? You’re too young to stay at home with a baby all day”. The sassy Italian in me wanted to respond “you’re too old to be out partying all night”, but I refrained. The real answer is that yes, I’m young, but what are most young people doing? Trying to find their purpose in life. Trying to give their life a meaning. I’m just fortunate enough to have already found mine.
I remember when I was little, people would ask what I wanted to be when I grew up, and the answer that first popped into my head was always “a mom”, but instead I replied with an assortment of careers that society deemed respectable. You see, even as a child I was made to feel that simply “being a mom” was not enough. You have to be more. You have to do more.
But I am a maid. I am a cook. I am a personal assistant. I am a caregiver. I am a teacher. I perform the tasks of multiple different careers all in one day, with no “days off”, and yet there are members of society that make me feel as though simply being a mom is not enough? This thought had me temporarily aggravated… Then, my son came waddling into the room holding out his fake telephone and saying “ello?”, and I remembered why I do all of this. Because it makes him happy. It makes my husband happy. It makes me happy.
Being a mom is what I do best. I care too much and I love to organize and cook meals and have full conversations with babbling one year olds. Diapers don’t bug me (unless there’s 4 poops in a row, then we have a problem), watching Disney movies is my favorite pastime, snuggling is my forte, and cleaning up messes makes me feel oddly content.
There is no doubt in my mind that living “the mom life” is exactly what I am supposed to be doing, and when you’re doing what you love, it is always enough.
Cheers,
T.W.C.
The Whine Connoisseur 