I just cleaned out Finny Bo Binny's closet so I can pull the Tatiman's old summer clothes out of storage and move them into Finny Bo's room. Finny is a slow-grower, so this is really the first time I've done a mass-exodus of the closet, and I found myself tearing up as I packed away some of my favorite outfits.
Things are so different this time around. The Tatiman grew and changed so quickly, I just had to grab on and enjoy the ride. There wasn't a whole lot of time for reflection before we were on to the next of everything—the next clothing size, the next milestone, the next adventure. But my sweet Finny Bo Binny is moving at is own, much more relaxed, pace. He hasn't grown into a new clothing size in over 5 months, he doesn't have any teeth yet, and he still wants me to hold him 99% of the time. I think marching to the beat of Finny's drum has kept me in denial. Denial that my baby is growing up, and before I know it, he will be a running, jumping, chattering (occasionally defiant) toddler.
Finny will be ONE in just over two weeks. When the Tatiman turned one, I was just weeks away from discovering that our little family of three was on its way to becoming a family of four.
It is different this time around because I don't know if Finny Bo Binny Binny Boo Boo will be my last baby. With the Tatiman, I was so sure I was done having kids, that I just enjoyed every second. But this time, I really feel a longing for another child. I don't know when or if our lives will ever be ready for a third little person—and as I packed the clothes away this time it hit me hard that this may be the last time I see these outfits that I picked out with such excitement during the Tatiman's first years. So, while I still watch in awe as my babies are growing up—this first birthday will come with a little bittersweetness along with the cake and ice cream.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Boring is as Boring Does.
It has come to my attention that there is a website devoted to mocking parents that post facebook statuses about life with their children. The idea is that people should tattle on their friends who “used to be fun” but now have babies, by sending in copies of the offensive facebook statuses. Really? I mean REALLY?
If these contributors lives are so exciting, I wonder how they can find the time in their wild and crazy daily schedules to contribute to a website that's sole purpose is to make fun of proud parents? Here's a thought: if you can't comprehend that a child changes your life in the most amazing ways, just ignore the people who can. It's really that simple.
Is my life a barrel of monkeys at every given second? Nope. Was it ever? Nope. But, if anything, having children has brought more excitement into my life. Sure, I can't spend every Thurs-Sat night at a bar with the same six people talking about the same six other people while I pace my drinking to get enough of a buzz, but avoid a hangover. That was fun for a few years. Then I graduated from college.
There is nothing boring about my life these days. Different? Absolutely. Boring? Never. Sometimes I wish it was! Having a child changes everything. And the most exciting part is that it keeps changing. My boys prevent me from becoming stagnant. They grow and change and develop new interests faster than the tides change.
As for me, my autonomous self, I still have many of the same interests I had before becoming a mom. I'm always finding different ways to incorporate them into my life. But having my boys (husband included) has also broadened my interests. I've met people I never would have met without spending a little extra time at the playground. I've been challenged in ways no career could challenge me.
Yep, I'm guilty of posting way too many tidbits about our daily life on facebook. It is one way I can stay connected to my friends and family. I'm sure I've said a few things that seem like I'm a little obsessed with my kids. I make no apologies because, well, I am. I think they are the coolest things ever.
While I'm logged in, I oohhh and ahhhh at pictures of friends' cats, because I know they find their antics simply charming. And I would never go as far as to suggest that posting repeated status updates about your daily commute, or your gourmet dinner menus, makes you boring. Live and let live, people. Live and let live.
If these contributors lives are so exciting, I wonder how they can find the time in their wild and crazy daily schedules to contribute to a website that's sole purpose is to make fun of proud parents? Here's a thought: if you can't comprehend that a child changes your life in the most amazing ways, just ignore the people who can. It's really that simple.
Is my life a barrel of monkeys at every given second? Nope. Was it ever? Nope. But, if anything, having children has brought more excitement into my life. Sure, I can't spend every Thurs-Sat night at a bar with the same six people talking about the same six other people while I pace my drinking to get enough of a buzz, but avoid a hangover. That was fun for a few years. Then I graduated from college.
There is nothing boring about my life these days. Different? Absolutely. Boring? Never. Sometimes I wish it was! Having a child changes everything. And the most exciting part is that it keeps changing. My boys prevent me from becoming stagnant. They grow and change and develop new interests faster than the tides change.
As for me, my autonomous self, I still have many of the same interests I had before becoming a mom. I'm always finding different ways to incorporate them into my life. But having my boys (husband included) has also broadened my interests. I've met people I never would have met without spending a little extra time at the playground. I've been challenged in ways no career could challenge me.
Yep, I'm guilty of posting way too many tidbits about our daily life on facebook. It is one way I can stay connected to my friends and family. I'm sure I've said a few things that seem like I'm a little obsessed with my kids. I make no apologies because, well, I am. I think they are the coolest things ever.
While I'm logged in, I oohhh and ahhhh at pictures of friends' cats, because I know they find their antics simply charming. And I would never go as far as to suggest that posting repeated status updates about your daily commute, or your gourmet dinner menus, makes you boring. Live and let live, people. Live and let live.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Cherish.
Tonight, I got to do something I haven't done in a long time—rocked my Finny Bo Binny Binny Boo Boo until he fell asleep. I soaked up every sweet, warm, snuggly breath of it.
Finny LOVES his sleep (I never thought I would utter that statement about this little guy!). He plays hard, and then sleeps even harder to recharge his batteries. I used to nurse him, then snuggle and sing him to sleep. Now, he wants nothing to do with me at bedtime. He is very serious about his routine: Pjs, a quick kiss, and then PUTMEINBED. He will practically jump out of my arms into his crib if I don't move fast enough. There are no bedtime stories. No sweet snuggles. No extra kisses on his chubby little hands. He is usually face down, buried into his blankie, and snoring before I even close his bedroom door.
But not tonight. Tonight, we did our routine, and he started sobbing when I walked out of the room. I listened for a few minutes, and he didn't stop crying, so I decided to go in to check on him. The Finny Bo looked up at me with his big blue eyes and just sighed...so I picked him up, and we snuggled in a rocking chair until his full weight was resting on my chest, and his long soft breaths were in tune with mine. Pure Bliss. I would have held him all night if I could have. I know these moments are fleeting, and I know that in no time, my sweet baby boy is going to be a quirky little toddler...and on and on and on.
But I will hold on to tonight, and the smell of his sweaty little head, and his pudgy little fingers, and the sound of his balmy little breaths forever.
Finny LOVES his sleep (I never thought I would utter that statement about this little guy!). He plays hard, and then sleeps even harder to recharge his batteries. I used to nurse him, then snuggle and sing him to sleep. Now, he wants nothing to do with me at bedtime. He is very serious about his routine: Pjs, a quick kiss, and then PUTMEINBED. He will practically jump out of my arms into his crib if I don't move fast enough. There are no bedtime stories. No sweet snuggles. No extra kisses on his chubby little hands. He is usually face down, buried into his blankie, and snoring before I even close his bedroom door.
But not tonight. Tonight, we did our routine, and he started sobbing when I walked out of the room. I listened for a few minutes, and he didn't stop crying, so I decided to go in to check on him. The Finny Bo looked up at me with his big blue eyes and just sighed...so I picked him up, and we snuggled in a rocking chair until his full weight was resting on my chest, and his long soft breaths were in tune with mine. Pure Bliss. I would have held him all night if I could have. I know these moments are fleeting, and I know that in no time, my sweet baby boy is going to be a quirky little toddler...and on and on and on.
But I will hold on to tonight, and the smell of his sweaty little head, and his pudgy little fingers, and the sound of his balmy little breaths forever.
This is where I draw the line.
The Tatiman has a Star Wars obsession. He sits for hours every day pouring over the six Star Wars books we checked out of the library. He can pick Star Wars books out of of his daddy's book shelves. He hasn't seen the movies (but for a few bits and pieces), yet he just knows, deep inside his being, that he is a Jedi in training. Well, he was a young Jedi until this past weekend...he announced that he wants to be Darth Maul when he grows up.
I found this development quite shocking, especially since the Tatiman lives in a world of rainbows and unicorns. He doesn't like bad guys. In fact, he finds the mere hint of a bad guy to be terrifying. Since he only knows about Mr. Maul from looking at pictures in books, he doesn't have any clue that the red and black face staring at him is that of a bad guy. Today he asked if we could “do a project to make a red and black Darth Maul face and a light saber with two red blades.” So, we did. I was sure that the sight of himself with a scary red and black mask would end his Darth Maul obsession. I was wrong.
But here is where I draw the line...along with declaring himself a young Darth Maul, the Tatiman would like me to respond to “Jango”...or when he is really trying to butter me up “Jango Mommy.” I refuse. I can only indulge him so far, and Jango is just a few small steps over the line for this mommy. I hope he never brings this up in therapy.
I found this development quite shocking, especially since the Tatiman lives in a world of rainbows and unicorns. He doesn't like bad guys. In fact, he finds the mere hint of a bad guy to be terrifying. Since he only knows about Mr. Maul from looking at pictures in books, he doesn't have any clue that the red and black face staring at him is that of a bad guy. Today he asked if we could “do a project to make a red and black Darth Maul face and a light saber with two red blades.” So, we did. I was sure that the sight of himself with a scary red and black mask would end his Darth Maul obsession. I was wrong.
But here is where I draw the line...along with declaring himself a young Darth Maul, the Tatiman would like me to respond to “Jango”...or when he is really trying to butter me up “Jango Mommy.” I refuse. I can only indulge him so far, and Jango is just a few small steps over the line for this mommy. I hope he never brings this up in therapy.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Clothing Wars
Today, the Tatiman wore a brown shirt with a pug on it. This was a momentous occasion. “Why?” You ask. Well, because we're coming off a bender where the Tatiman wore his R2D2 shirt for 6 days straight. In the spirit of the upcoming Passover holiday, I'll go ahead and clarify. By “6 days straight” I mean the night times, too.
To be fair. Tati's grandmother was able to pry the shirt off of him once during the
6-day standoff. I'm told he sat shirtless, in protest and solidarity, waiting 45 minutes for the ding of he dryer.
This is one of those places where I have to walk the fine line between letting the Tatiman choose his uniform (after all, one shirt doesn't really count as a 'wardrobe'), and teaching lessons in hygiene and socially acceptable clothing traditions. And, I suppose, I'll just plan our weeks so we don't visit the same place twice.
To be fair. Tati's grandmother was able to pry the shirt off of him once during the
6-day standoff. I'm told he sat shirtless, in protest and solidarity, waiting 45 minutes for the ding of he dryer.
This is one of those places where I have to walk the fine line between letting the Tatiman choose his uniform (after all, one shirt doesn't really count as a 'wardrobe'), and teaching lessons in hygiene and socially acceptable clothing traditions. And, I suppose, I'll just plan our weeks so we don't visit the same place twice.
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