13 months

"Uh oh."

when the cup hits the floor, when she slips her own shoes off, when she takes off her winter hat, when I drop something, leave something behind, spill something.

"Hiya!"

when I meet her at the door to pick her up, when she finds her toy cell phone and 'answers' it, when her dad comes home from work.

"ooohhhh"

when she points at her "artwork", or at my paintings

her hair can hold a bow. it needs a daily brushing through the tiny curls. a shoulder shimmy while she dances, a stomped foot to a heavy bass, a slow spin to the tunes of Carole King, an "ah duh" (all done) at the end of dinner, a wet sticky kiss at bedtime.

shoot. i say. she's growing up.

First Birthday

Lots of firsts this year. This was one to celebrate.

To go from this...


To this...


The three of us celebrated with a trip to the toy store, pizza and cake. Not just any cake... but the kind that begs to be smashed and dug into with the eager hands of a new one year old. When she went head first, I was genuinely proud. I hope she lives her life that way - going in head first.

Sugar and Spice

She is sweet. She is everything nice. She smells like lavender and marshmallows. Tonight, her tiny hands have grabbed my cheek and she’s giving me one of those open-mouthed, wet kisses. Yet this mom doesn’t care. She squirms as I hold her a moment longer and the tender hand against my cheek suddenly grips with all her might. Her tiny nails rip at my flesh, and she giggles with delight. A tiny grunt escapes her lips and a not-so-silent toot emerges from her backside. Lavender and marshmallow is no longer on my mind.

Having a kid seems to bring these polar opposites so frequently. How often I am filled with joy in one moment and the next I am clawing at the front door on a Sunday afternoon, begging for a moment of sanity. Dinner can be a tender family moment for my husband and I, our eyes lingering on one another, marveling at the sweet wonder who coos in her high chair. The next, I have tortellini in my hair and my husband is catching the plate before it goes topside onto the floor.

I work outside the home and sometimes it is a gift of God. Sometimes, it’s the curse of man. The time I get with my daughter is so scarce that I wonder how I can possibly enjoy every moment with her and still assert my “parental authority.” Will her memories of me be the morning rush of coffee spilling down her diaper bag? The evening NPR news and traffic jam? My clapping to keep her awake just a little bit longer?

How can I possible enjoy this season when it seems it is passing by faster than I can say “Hey Diddle Diddle”?

She grabs her dirty diaper, triumphantly holds it in the hair and smiles with those two big front teeth. I take a mental snapshot of her and grab the “toy” away. With defeat she throws her body onto the pillows. I can’t help but giggle at her momentary misery. As if the whole world was taken away from her. Yet a small toy that plays the same out-of-tune song over and over again quickly distracts her. I ask myself — why did I buy that thing?

What a ride.

hello mothership

as the sour milk and peas gurgled up from her stomach for the third time, i couldn't help but gag wince run shake my head. i stared at her and her shirtless father, who was still recovering from round 2. he held her gently over the sink, bewildered that such a small little person could hold so much... stuff. the hand-off came to me, like a slippery watermelon, i slid her little body under the warm shower spray.

indeed, parenting "eureka" moments come at different, unexpected times. this was a eureka moment.

"sick!" i yelled from the bathroom. my husband (whole other blog coming soon) had just finished scalding his hands and the sink, and was quickly slipping out the balcony door to get a breath of fresh air.

i have these "whoa, i'm a parent" moments every now and then. lately, they're more frequent. more in-your-face.

like showing up to work with a Cheerio stuck on my chin.
finding a binky in my pocket.
a small pink butterfly toy in the bottom of my purse.
using wipes as napkins in my car.
adjusting my social life around the bedtime routine of a 10-month-old.

i realize for some of you this may be like, "Yeah girl. Join the club". i guess i'm just saying my "membership" in the mom club sometimes provides unexpected evenings of relaxing movies dates library visits swimming in the pool cleaning up puke.

had any of these moments lately?

oh morning.

she starts her morning blinking her big blue eyes, smiling toward the sunlight that scatters across her quilt. she has such joy to see me. her sweet coos are inviting. she still smells like last night's lavender and chamomile baby soap.

flash forward to 90 minutes later. i glance in the rear view mirror and notice that i forgot mascara again. my eyeliner is already just a faint smudge beneath my tired eyes, and my hair looks like the before pictures on some Oprah makeover rescue. oh god. i scrunch the back in hopes that maybe someone will think i cared.

and she yells. not screams. no crying. it's just a throaty, mid-range yell. the kind that grates on your nerves and feels like someone dragging the edge of a hammer down the side of an old rusty car. the butter knife screeching along mom's china plate. a cat falling slowly down a chalkboard, claws digging in the farther it falls.

"maddie, please," i turn to look at her. she looks... confused. maybe that's the face i have too. my confusion is "what's the point of yelling?" and i can't help but wonder if her face means, "why aren't you understanding me?"

we stare at each other for a moment. i'm pretty sure she gets how much it's irritating me and she silently agrees to give my ears a break. but it's not 30 seconds after i've turned back to look at the now backed up traffic and she starts again.

"aaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGgggggghhhhhhh"

sometimes she even grunts for good measure.

really? i say it outloud, almost asking the world for some explanation.

this is not the morning i imagined at 630 when i hit my snooze button for the umpteenth time. i'm pretty sure the coffee i brought with me is cold because i forgot about it. my makeup is gone. my hair is a frightful mess. and my left contact keeps trying to jump out of my eye, forcing me to wink obsessively every 14 seconds. maddie's early morning charm wore off before she was in her high chair.

the traffic starts up again. her spontaneous, unpredictable "i'm a baby, hear me roar" calls have ceased. she has found her feet.

"i love you sweet girl," i turn and tickle her chubby thigh, soliciting a smile from that almost toothless mouth. i turn the dial up slightly to hear NPR's take on the latest international fiasco and we make the turn towards her playplace for the day.