Hissy Fit

My daughter throws Oscar-winning hissy fits.  It's a new thing, actually.  Not sure where it came from, but rarely a day goes by without my sweet, beautiful daughter throwing herself on the floor and moaning "MAMA!" at the top of her lungs.

The other day, I was feeding Carson's new-found addiction to popsicles.  It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and my husband was doing some projects outside (see previous post), so I decided to let Carson have a popsicle, and I grabbed one for myself.  I gave Carson hers, and as I started to unwrap mine, her other little hand reaches towards my popsicle and she starts her usual "Uh! Uh! Uh!" which is baby-code for "GIVE ME THAT."
In my sweet, soft, patient voice I responded, "You've got your own popsicle, Carson.  See?"  (as I point to her freshly unwrapped frozen treat).
 "Uh! Uh! Uh!"
At little more sternly, "No ma'am Carson, here is yours."
(Carson's face is starting to get red) "UH! UH! UH!"
"Carson, NO!"

Knees hit the floor, arms flair out and hit the ground as if she's praying to Buddha.  Full on tears and desperate moans of "MAMA!  MAMA!"  Wide open mouth and droopy eyes.  One of the most dramatic  performances I've ever seen.

Now, the test of true parenting is whether you give in and give the other popsicle, or ignore the come-apart.  Luckily, sarcasm is a second language to me, and I have a heart of stone, so what do I do?  Try not to laugh hysterically as I leave the room.  Mama -1 Carson-0.  Yet, I've got to keep my game face on, for I know that was only one battle in the ongoing war.

The Great Divide

I need to preface this post by mentioning that my husband is a completely awesome, wonderful, helpful dad, and I wouldn't have survived those first, terribly hard months of a new baby without him.  Ok.  Disclaimer has been posted.  Oh - and high five to all you single parents out there - I seriously have no idea how you do it.  At all.

I am amazed by the status quo "jobs" that fall to the mother and the father after a baby is born.  I mean, I'm not completely naive to the fact that many of the child rearing responsibilities (nursing, cuddling, nurturing) fall upon the mother, but it's not 19 freakin' 50!  I mean it's 2010!  So much is just "expected" of the mom.  I remember my husband saying, "But you're the mom!"  Huh?  Oh wait, let me adjust my pearls while I get the vacuum.

For example, I always (and I do mean ALWAYS) got up with Carson in the middle of the night when she woke up.  My theory behind this was that Bill was working, and I wasn't, so he needed the sleep more than  I did.  Yet, when I went back to work after 6 months, I was STILL the one getting up with Carson!  Also, if Bill wants to spend the day fishing, hunting, or hanging out, it's a simple, "Court, I'm going to fish with _______ and _______."  Now, if I want to just take a shower, or pee, I have to ask Bill to watch Carson!  Or, if I have a PTA meeting, or faculty meeting, I have to "pre-schedule" my husband to watch Carson.

Lately I've also noticed that Bill doesn't want Carson around when he's doing some of his projects or chores around the house (i.e. cleaning the garage, mowing the lawn, wiring something, cleaning dead ducks, fish, birds, etc.  You know, the usual...) which is completely understandable.  Yet, why is it I have a 24 pound ball and chain stuck to my leg screaming "Mama!" as I'm trying to mop?  Or who closes the dishwasher door every time I open it (after grabbing the sharpest steak knife out first, of course!), or pulls wet clothes out of the dryer as I put them in, and who pulls an entire roll of toilet paper off the roll as you try to blow-dry your hair!

I swear I'm not bitter!  I will end this post by once again emphasizing the point that I have a wonderful, supportive husband, and I am very lucky.  I have friends whose husbands don't lift a finger when it comes to child-rearing.  I guess I was just shocked at the amount of particular "responsibilities" fall under the job of Mama.  Just one more thing about motherhood that I've found surprising, and I'm sure it's not the last!

Multitasking

When I became a mom, I also inherited the "multitasking" gene.  I think it sneaks in there as you wait for your milk to come in.  I have an uncanny ability to make the most of my time.  It all started with the microwave steam bags.  When I was in super-crazy-mom-mode, a.k.a. "The first born, newborn stage," I would steam clean and  every single baby item that even thought about coming into contact with an non-sanitized surface.  I would place the items in the steam bag with water and place them in the microwave for 3 minutes.  You wouldn't believe what I could accomplish in those 3 magical minutes.  I would sweep, wipe the counters, make more bottles, fill the dog's water bowl, take out the trash, and loaded/unloaded the dishwasher, all while bouncing a fussy baby on my hip.  Then, I carefully picked the bag from the microwave, slammed the door shut with my elbow, and masterfully poured the hot water out of the bag while keeping the scalding hot stem away from by baby's face.  Talent, I know.

I also noticed how the gene kicked in while I was driving.  Safe?  Not so much.  Efficient?  You betcha.  I have plugged in a bottle warmer, dug for a bottle from the diaper bag, strapped it in the warmer, plugged it in the outlet, while changing the radio station and checking my blind spot.  Ok, for all you "ten and twoers" I never took BOTH hands off the wheel, and I always make sure I'm completely stopped before I go digging for a passy around the floor boards.  But, don't think I haven't completely unbuckled at a red light, climbed into the back seat, and recovered that little piece of plastic and latex GOLD to plug my screaming kid!  Hey, with the multitasking gene, you can do anything.

Can you even remember your life before her?

Um....YEAH!  This is another "stock" question that new mothers get asked.  I guess I should answer with "No!  I just can't even imagine how I got through a day without her!"  But, alas, I seem to just blurt out, "Yes!  I slept more, I drank more, and I took more vacations!"  Of course I remember my life without my kid!  Now, don't get me wrong, I can't imagine my life WITHOUT her now that she's HERE, but yes, I clearly remember my life before.  In fact, it took many months of mourning to let it go!  I still grieve every now and then... especially on weekends when my sweet baby girl wakes up at 5:45 A.M. on Saturday.  By the way, when do these kids start to realize we sleep in on weekends?

I heart Publix

I would like to share with you some of the reasons I heart Publix.

• The minute I walk through the door, I go straight to the alcohol wipes by the door and scrub my cart down before my kid starts sucking and chewing on the metal bars - how convenient! 
• The "Kids Cookie Club" is behind the counter, and a baker has to actually get a little tissue and grab the cookie of your choice.  This eliminates the booger-eating, snotty-nosed, germ-infested kids that usually put their grubby little fingers all over the cookies - covering them in swine flu!  (Ok - a little dramatic, but you get the picture).
• It is SO CLEAN!  One time, I was feeding my kid blueberries from the container to buy me a little more shopping time, when she accidentally dropped a couple in the frozen foods aisle.  I swear, before I could even bend over to pick them up, some Publix employee swat team member swooped out of the freezer case and picked them up!  before I could even say "Thanks?!" that green-vested hero was back in the shadows.  I swear those employees are following mothers around with those ear buds just waiting for a clean up on aisle 9.
• Everyone is so friendly.  Usually, I'm not in the mood to speak to my check out lady or man, or bagger, but those Publix employees suck you right in!  I don't care what kind of day I'm having, I'm donating a dollar to the March of Dimes, Autism Awareness, Breast Cancer Research or MS by the time I'm finished speaking with them! They also seem genuinely interested in what you're buying!  Ok, maybe they aren't, but they sure make me feel that way!  "Hmm...I bet that Velveeta shells n'cheese is going to be delicious!"  (Insert proud face) "Why, yes!  Yes it is!"  Man I'm a good mother and wife!

Publix - you will continue to have my business.  Oh, and thanks for not making me feel bad when I forget to bring my re-useable bags - you know I mean well, and once every couple of months ain't bad!

Yup - She's a mom!

I have to admit - before I became a mother (ok, I start like a million posts with this sentence) I would look at other "moms" (that's what they were to me before - in quotes) and be a little shocked by their appearance.  I would think Didn't she have time to wipe the puke off her shoulder before she left the house?  Or, Running a comb through that rat's nest wouldn't kill her!  Ok - that last one was just mean, but you get the gist.  Well, the answer is HELL NO!  That poor woman didn't have a spare second to feed herself much less clean the puke/breakfast/snot off her shoulder!  She was probably running out the door when her kid decided to sneeze all over her after wiping remnants of breakfast down her black top -- That's another thing I learned quickly - don't wear black!  Although genius for the post-baby body, not so genius for the outpour of baby fluids --  I can't even count the number of days I showed up to work with mystery funk on my clothing.

 For example, I could tell my co-workers were politely scanning the sweater dress I was wearing last week and wondering what the huge, black streaks were at the bottom.  I even caught one of my friends doing this, and I quickly said, "I bet you're wondering what those huge, black streaks are!"  She responded with, "Well, you're a mother..."  Actually, I couldn't blame this one on my sweet daughter.  I was getting my car washed on my lunch break (I can't do it with my daughter in the car, and that's a whole other post!) when I obediently went to the giant, self-vacuum station to begin sucking up the various animal crackers, crumbs, grass, and dog hair from my car.  As I was transferring from the front seat to the back, the industrial vacuum decided to attack my sweater dress.  That's right - it just started sucking up my dress inch by inch!  So here I am, trying to free my dress from the jaws of suction, as more and more of my legs and thighs are revealing themselves to the innocent bystanders trying to vacuum their cars.  Needless to say, the industrial vacuum of terror left its mark on my Gap dress that day.

I have a whole new outlook on disheveled mothers.  And next time you begin to judge, try to remember just getting out the door with a living, breathing kid, much less fed and dressed is a victory - trust me.

Shoe Fetish

My daughter, at the tender age of 14 months, has a serious shoe fetish.  It all started when her Papa took her to the mall to get new shoes.  She got to pick them out, try them on, and wear them out of the store.  Ever since she toddled out of Stride Rite, she was hooked.  We knew we had a problem when I went to take her shoes off so she could get in the bath.  She had a complete come apart.  After I talked her off the ledge, and she took a bath, she demanded the shoes be returned to her feet immediately!  Footed pajamas?  Who cares!  Those little size 5 white shoes went right over those built-in footies!  It was as if all was right in the world after those shoes were securely tied to her feet.  My husband actually had to sneak into her room later that night and remove the shoes.  Don't think she didn't notice when she woke up!

It didn't stop with the white Stride Rites, either.  Enter size 4 John Deere "Johnny Poppers" pink cowboy boots. My brother got these for her for Christmas, but they were too big at the time.  Once Carson re-discovered them, they became her new shoe muse.  Then came the penguin house shoes that jingle when she walks, and the yellow sandals that ALSO go over the footed pajamas.  She even tried to confiscate shoes from another little girl when we were over at a friend's house.  Screw the college fund - we've got shoes to pay for.