Mommy Must Haves & Mehs

Lol @ "see y'all in 2022." WE JUST BLEW RIGHT PAST THAT. I view my blog posts like Taylor dropping her "Taylor's version" albums - you have no idea when it's going to happen and someone may cry. (Me. I may cry.)

It's hard to find humor when you're full to the brim with bitter. 

Bitter isn't funny. Cynical, sardonic, snarky - all step riiiiight up to the line but remain identifiable and - more importantly - relatable, and therefore acceptable. Bitter crosses the line. You've made things awkward. People start to talk. Words get thrown around - depression, therapy, medication. It's a whole thing. (Although toss me a handful of xanies and a few adderall, and your girl will be juuuuuuuust fine. We'll get to that later.)

Hitting the highlights - I became a SAHM, we moved from our cool but untenable downtown apartment to a cool but untenable downtown adjacent townhouse, the Senior Associate is turning 2, we acquired a Junior Associate, and we're about to move to a decidedly uncool suburban house. I could really use an intern, but like...a real one. Not a "these are funny nicknames for our children and we love a theme" intern. 

My brain is broken. It's the battery from a 2008 MacBook purchased for college that's still running LimeWire and has never been shut down properly, just restarted over and over and over again. Except the old "turn it off, then turn it back on again" isn't working for my brain. At random times, it sounds like it's going to take off, the rainbow beach ball of doom is spinning, and the mouse is responding more and more slowly with each passing day. Lists are all I can do now. My brain is just bullet points and a low buzzing noise. 

MUST HAVES

• Extra t-shirts & burp cloths So so many of these. I am in the throes of my second reflux baby and I. am. damp. Constantly. With my first, I invented the burp cloth bathrobe; now, with Younger Child, I have just given up. I'm pickling in bodily fluid. Doctors are studying me as the first case of Trench Shoulder in medical history. ShamWow is featuring us in their next late night infomercial (Don't worry! We'll be awake! WE'RE ALWAYS AWAKE.). Spit up is my past, present, and future - I know of nothing but spit up. Just when I think we've turned a corner, Younger Child turns his head and sends it back from whence it came - all over me. 
  
  
• "Toys" the likes of which Mr. FAO Schwarz has never seen and would never sell. Ever the connoisseur, my older child loved his pacifier clips - not for their ability to haul a toy in like a lil fishing line, but for the metal clip end that attached to his clothes, duh. We should probably make sure he's up to date on his tetanus shot. You may have thought that your old high school geometry TI-84 would just gather dust until the end of days. Au contraire. Elder Child learned early the importance of closing those parentheses, as well as how to spell BOOBS upside down (advance apologies to his teachers). The nice watch I got Tyler when he became a father? Property of Elder Child. I live in fear of the day he discovers the fine china. Younger Child hasn't quite had the opportunity to develop a taste for toys because Older Child sliiiiiiiiides right in to retrieve the things he hasn't so much as glanced at in at least a year his most prized possessions.

• Grace, with a healthy heap of humility. Or a sense of humor. Or resignation. Whatever you want to call it. Baby will choose dad. (Although Elder Child said "mama" first so I'll be living off the high from that victory for the rest of my life.) You will accidentally flash the nice church man while trying to feed your *very* distracted baby during Mass. Acceptance is the first step. 
  

  

  Pretty much exactly how it went.

  
  
• Speed Do I mean drugs or a quick pace? Honestly, both. It took all of two days for the Senior Associate to go from that weird-stick-bug-rocking-back-and-forth to wind sprints across the wood floor. He's obviously training for something. The Junior Associate is just starting to experiment with rolling and half the time I give him the slightest toe nudge back to flat. YOU'LL ROLL WHEN I SAY YOU CAN ROLL. I can only deal with one mobile-and-not-very-good-at-it child at a time, thankyouverymuch. I'm 2 seconds away from a Jessie Spano-style breakdown and we are here for it.

Live footage of me trying to blockade the kitchen from the invading forces my toddler.

• Nanny For half a second, before Elder Child was born and during my all-too-short maternity leave, I contemplated not getting any childcare, and working before Baby woke up, during his naps, and after he went to bed. And then I laughed and Tyler laughed and Baby laughed. We love to laugh. What we don't love is the holy terror that is Care.com. We really lucked out with the two longer term girls we used, but there have been some...misses (including the one who fell asleep lying down on the couch with my infant on top of her). Godspeed to parents who have to work outside of the home because the only way my paranoia could handle this was by being *constantly* just around the corner. Productivity was at an all-time low.
  

  

  Elder Child @me every day of his life.

  I'm now in my Stay at Home Mom era. (Although I'm keeping my license active, just in case I need to flee in the dead of night/want to work when the kids start school - provided I don't need to homeschool because the secular and non-secular school systems are a dumpster fire AND provided oil and gas hasn't been entirely outlawed by that time.) With the birth of Younger Child, productivity has somehow reached a new all-time low. I spend my days attempting to justify rehiring one of our previous nannies, if only for companionship. I lived vicariously through our favorite nanny, who was also named Mary and was dating a Tyler and had a dog-child named Willy. I'm only 90% sure I didn't hallucinate her, and I would like to know what our little family has been up to in that alternate universe. 
  
  
• Terrifying child development apps & websites to scroll when baby is napping. Sleep when the baby sleeps? Nah, I would rather find out if my child is 2 weeks behind on milestones, or showing signs of autism/delays/cancer, or isn't eating/pooping/talking enough. Honestly, the entire internet is fear porn for a hormonal postpartum mom pre-disposed to anxiety & hopped up on *exactly* as much caffeine is allowed a nursing mother. Saw 10, step aside - The Wonder Weeks is here.

Note: I put no stock in the Wonder Weeks at all. No shade if you use it. I just got tired of being told that all fussiness and clinginess was due to a "leap", and leaps occur every other week. You know what babies often are? Fussy, clingy, etc. No leap necessary. The Senior Associate screamed for 3 straight months. We knew of nothing but fussiness. Maybe new parents need to be told that there is importance and purpose in baby's whines, and that we can help them through it, even if that is a complete lie. But that feels awfully Truman Show-ey to me, and I don't like being manipulated or patronized. I prefer doing it myself.

MEHS

• Toys that are immediately recognizable as toys Misfit or otherwise, Elder Child didn't really care for them until about a year old. And the ones he did seem to enjoy, I wanted to fling off our balcony. 90% of the light up, noise making machines can get wrecked. 
  
  
• A House Who needs a house with space, and a yard, and a safe neighborhood? Overrated. My babies are urban children, learning the ways of the world from their homeless friends. Elder Child will get to kindergarten with more street smarts than your average adult. He may not have ever felt grass (for fear of pee, human or otherwise) and his sound machine is the bass from our neighbor's all-hours EDM music, but he'll have street smarts, damnit. 
  
  
• "A Village" Cue "I had a baby in a pandemic" blahblahblah. But let's not dismiss that just because it's overused - it is true and difficult and changed a lot of things that people took for granted. I also had a baby in a city in which I don't have many friends (because "law school classmates" is just another way of saying "worst people in the world") or family and the friends I do have don't have kids. I also began this journey juggling working with momming, and all the mom playgroups occur on weekdays when I was supposed to be working. My "village" is made up of panicked phone calls to mom, the internet, and the constant blather of adult voices on the news (so I don't go insane, obvi - but now Elder Child knows way too much about Ukraine & Scandoval & Idaho murders & pooping in beds [#justiceforjohnnydepp] and has v strong opinions). And the internet has its flaws - mostly, that it's made up of people and people are stupid. I'll find someone likeminded to follow on Instagram, only to find out that she's a freebirther and I somehow missed that very important piece of insanity.
  
• Work clothes Remember when I was cute and walked to work and wore button downs for any other purpose than easy access for a nursing child? I wore suits sometimes! Now it's but a distant memory. I pull on whatever is somewhat clean, comfy, and relatively water-resistant.
  
  
• A relaxed attitude Never really been a thing for me. Especially since going to law school, into which I entered a fairly uptight rock and left a very anxious diamond. Motherhood has only served to polish that stone. With each child, I've struggled more with PPD/PPA. This time around, for the sake of my husband and children (and until I stop breastfeeding and can partake in the more holistic CBD-type things), I've been utilizing Mommy's Little Helpers. PSA: TAKE THE DAMN PILLS. SERENITY NOW. I still wouldn't call myself relaxed, but at least now no one needs to call CPS on me. 



Feelings that aren't all rage-y.

Godspeed to the children.