Baby Bird

It has come to my attention that certain people might consider me "overprotective" or slightly "paranoid" when it comes to my daughter, who she spends time with and where she spends that time when I'm not around.

Guess what? I don't care.

I'm a fully-realized, fully-empowered, trusting-her-instincts-type of completely-engaged Mom. I trust myself and my relationship with my girl above all else. I certainly don't want to deny her life experiences, access to her family, or opportunities for development because I can't let go, and that's not what this is about.

She is a two year old. When she's five, or ten or fourteen, I'll be readjusting my ideas and decisions, I'm sure of it. But for right now, I'm perfectly comfortable with her cuddled up to me safely under my wing and perfectly comfortable for her to spend time with other folks without me in situations that I think are acceptable. And those decisions are only mine (and her Dad's) to make. I'm as stubborn as they come, and no amount of coaxing, back-talking, manipulation or other "I-know-better-than-you" or "You're-being-ridiculous" techniques are going to sway me. I promise. Just so you know.

When she was teeny-tiny and just barely walking, I didn't let her go out into the yard by herself. When we went to family gatherings, I kept her close to my body in the midst of the chaos. She was small and everyone else was big and busy. Now that she's older and more steady, I'm happy to report that she runs wild alongside the other kids at family events. I keep an eye on her, but I know she is having fun playing, and I trust that she's being looked after. I'm always there for any boo-boos or situations, and she knows that. She needs that time to be herself and be around cousins, and I want her to fly a little more free so she can be a confident, happy person.

The world can label it however they want to, and I fully accept it. I'm in tune with my girl and with my own self and things are going to be just fine. The baby bird will fly on her own soon enough. She'll be a fully-realized and fully-empowered big bird someday, and I'll always stretch my wings around her when she needs it. We're good like that.

The Great Escape

I wish this post was an announcement of some fabulous vacation I have coming up, but it's not. I'm here to tell you that the day has come. She has reached the doorknob in her room and she knows how to use it. It's all over now.

I discovered this about 4 days ago at 5:30am, when I heard a thump, followed by some pitter patters, followed by a door opening and some polite but very firm knocks on my bedroom door. "Oh! She can get out!" I thought, ignorantly, "Now I don't have to get out of bed in the morning. She can come to me."

And that was followed by this thought, "OH NO! She can get out! She can get anywhere! She can get into the bathroom and climb on the toilet. She can reach the lock on the outside door too. Oh. No."

Liberation has a price. Now I'm thinking about all kinds of things she can get into when I may or may not be quick enough to reach her in time.

She was supposed to be napping the other day. J and I were in the kitchen, talking, like we do sometimes when we have the opportunity. After about 20 minutes of peace, we heard some enthusiastic jamming on the xylophone. We chuckled. Oh, so cute. We'll just let her have some time to herself.

A few minutes later we heard the not-so-cute sound of the toilet seat slamming. Our eyebrows went up. We stopped talking. Our backs stiffened. J got there just in time to see her squirting hand soap everywhere.

So this is where we are now. The very exhausting level of 24 hour vigilance we once enjoyed has been kicked up several notches to unbelievably exhausting. She was knocking at my door this morning at 3:30, instead of 5:30, and she's been running ever since. There's no going back. This little horse is out of the gate and racing to the finish line.

I Mean Business

The two-year-old has really cranked it up a notch lately with the drama and meltdowns. It's as expected, but extremely exhausting. There's not too much I can do to defuse the situation sometimes, but I try all the things the books and articles say. I try to soothe her, I try to give her love, I try to hold her, I try to give her some space, and I try to distract. It works ok. It's still very unpleasant.

One thing I've noticed myself doing is something that my bossy inner self has been looking forward to all my life, I think. I am perfecting The Look. You know the one I mean. The silent stare, the one with the eyebrows arched and the mouth in a straight line. This is the look that says, "I'm dead serious. Don't mess with me." It works pretty good on co-workers and the husband, and it will work on her too. Oh yes, it will.

I'm also working on The Tone. This is the tone that no matter that the words are, says, "I'm not taking your shit. Get yourself straight. Now." This one is especially exciting for me. I don't know why.

I've accompanied The Tone with this phrase, and I'm especially proud of it: "I don't care how loud you yell, you're still not (grabbing the scissors, running into the street with no pants on, getting whipped cream for lunch, watching another TV show, etc.)."  This one seems very effective. It's not mean, it's matter of fact. It shows her where the line is, and, as my therapist would say, invites her not to cross it.

Mama is boss, and not simply because she's bossy. Mama wants you to stay alive for a very long time, and since she's kept herself alive for such a damn long time, she considers herself an expert on such matters. Someday you will know this, Little One, and you will be glad Mama has such amazing skills.

I am totally going to need these skills, and many more, when she becomes a teenager. I can feel it.

Wah Wah Wah

Ok, so I have to stop thinking about how much I don't want to go to Atlanta for ten days without my daughter. It's doing me no damn good, and it's making my fearful, anxious, worst-case scenario thinking even worse.

While it is possible that anything could happen and I could be a wreck without her, it is also extremely likely that:

- She will eat and sleep well
- She will have a great time with her daddy, her grandma, her babysitter and her other grandparents
- She will be perfectly healthy
- Everyone will act responsibly and she will be completely safe
- She will probably miss me, and then she'll get right over it
- She will still love me when I get back

This really isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to a mom and her baby. Maybe some time apart will be refreshing. I have to be positive and brave and march into battle. One last time, for the greater good. There's nothing I can really do about it anyway, aside from quitting my job, and that's probably not the smartest idea, now, is it?

Dreamer

Is it genetic to have crazy vivid dreams? I am a pretty wild dreamer. I work out all of my anxiety while I'm sleeping. It's often not very restful, I have to say, but it is always interesting.

Lately A has been waking up telling the strangest stories about adventures that we're sure she's never really had in this life. She woke up one day talking all about what Dora and Diego were doing, and another day telling us all about Curious George. It's like she picks up where she leaves off with the bedtime stories.

Sometimes she says things that are kind of disturbing. The other day, she was telling me that Daddy was crying. Yesterday, she woke up crying, telling me that Old Daddy had a blue face and he was looking at her. It kind of freaked me out!

If she is seeing into the future, I'm hoping that rather than a premonition about her Daddy's death, maybe he is going to find his true calling in the Blue Man Group. Those guys have blue faces and they stare pretty good! It could happen, right?

I can tell these are going to be tricky waters to navigate, but being a wild dreamer myself and with all my beliefs about waking and dreaming life, maybe I can help her sort it all out as she gets more aware of things. We'll see, I guess.

Deep Thought of the Day

I'm sitting in a room right now with several bajillionaires. I had a fleeting thought about checking my bank account, and then I had this thought, which I'm kind of stuck on: I bet these suckers have a hell of a lot more than $600 in their checking accounts.

And this led me to another thought: I work damn hard. I support my family and live a pretty average middle class lifestyle. I don't go on elaborate vacations, especially the ones with sand and surf. In fact, I have very little leisure time at all. I don't own any expensive fancy toys or have a nice wardrobe. My kid won't go to private school or get a brand new car on her 16th birthday. Right now I'm trying to figure out how to get enough money to get the 70 ft tall trees in my yard trimmed so they don't fall on my house. So what does all this hard work get me? Survival, I guess.

I'm not going to say that I work as hard as some of the surrounding bajillionaires, and I certainly don't take the risks they do to get to that position. And that's ok. There's a trade off for having a bajillion dollars, for sure. But the thing that gets me is that I'm essentially working for the same thing they are - to make them rich. It's my job to make sure they look good doing their jobs.

I've had a pretty satisfying and steady career in the corporate world, and the corporate world is set up as a hierarchy. It's not set up for the common man to get rich. I get that. But at the end of my day, I can't help but wonder what it's all worth.

And that, is my deep thought of the day.

Fathers

I called my dad on Father's Day. He didn't answer. I left a message. I don't expect a call back, but I am glad I tried.

When I was 6, we were closer.

I am happy to celebrate Father's Day these days with my own Baby Daddy.

 

Some of my favorite feelings in the world are when I get a text at work saying that he is walking her to the library, or taking her to the book store or the park. I get the sweetest images in my mind of big tall J with a proud, beaming smile, holding his little girl's hand or carrying her across the street to keep her safe.

This is how it should be. I hope they are pals forever, even when she's grown and has her own life away from us. It means a lot to a girl, more than she may ever know.