Monday, February 7, 2011

Evacuate the dance floor!

Dear Internetz,

I have a new addiction. It's Dance Central for the Kinect. I just spent 1 hour and 45 minutes DANCING, doing everything I could to score 5 stars on each song, and beat the scores of my husband's Xbox Live friends. This is funny because I'm very uncoordinated, I look ridiculous doing 99% of the moves, but I'm extremely competitive and MUST BEAT EVERYONE'S SCORE! The last time this happened an obsession with Wii Fit was born and 70 pounds were lost. So, I guess I'll see you sometime next year as I will be taking up new residence in front the family room television once again.


Thursday, February 3, 2011

I found an angel in my mailbox today

The hall at my parents complex didn't work out for Owen's first birthday party so we'll have to cram the whole family into our house. I'll admit a few stress-induced tears were shed when I first found out, but the invitations arrived today (finally!) and made up for it:

 I say finally because I was a little late in ordering them anyway and the recent "adverse weather conditions" delayed the shipment even further -- what a mess! By the time I get them addressed and mailed the family will be lucky to have a week's notice, but hey, they're super cute so it's all good!

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

One very loaded statement

A text I sent to Jon midday Monday while I was dealing with extreme sinus pressure unlike any I've experienced before:

How do you manage to make it through the work day like this? I think I'd rather be giving birth...

And for those of you who don't know, since I've yet to finish Owen's birth story (it's coming soon!!) I did not receive an epidural. The sinus was THAT BAD.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Communication breakdown

It's happening more often now and it's usually on nights when Jon is out of town. It seems Owen likes to wait until he has me all to himself to spend a good chunk of the evening yelling at me. It's not a cry--there are no tears involved--it's clenching his fists, opening his mouth wide, and yelling as loud and as long as he can until he turns bright red in the face. I know it's only because he doesn't know how to simply tell me what he wants. I know this because I spend most of this time choking back tears and anger because I can't find a way to tell him yelling at me isn't going to help either of us. We have officially reached a communication barrier. My little boy knows what he wants but he doesn't have the words to tell me what it is.

Evenings like this kill me. Evenings like this serve as an annoying reminder that I don't know what I'm doing. The panic sets in pretty quickly. I start doubting I'll ever know what I'm doing and if I'm actually capable of raising a bright and happy child. Evenings like this make me feel like I'm slowly and miserably failing motherhood.

Then something weird happens. I miraculously snap out of the doubt that is closing around me. I say so what and keep trying to find whatever it is he's looking for. We sit down. We play with blocks. He gives me a high five every time I ask for one. We watch a little Nick Jr. I give him a bath and squirt him with the little bath time fishes. He brushes his teeth while I put on his pajamas. I read him a book and when he's heard enough he touches the page and grunts. We'll finish the book tomorrow night. I set him in his crib and he reaches over to turn on his Baby Einstein fish tank. I tuck him in and kiss him good night. We'll start over again in the morning.

I'm not failing. My child is already bright and happy. It's just that motherhood makes me feel really stupid sometimes, especially when he's yelled/I've listened for hours only to find he wanted some Cheerios, but it's all part of the process. I forget that sometimes. I forget that often. He and I are teaching each other. He's searching for words and gestures to help me understand and I'm paying very close attention. I'm telling him the name of every item I hand him so that one day, in the not so distant future, he won't have to spend another evening yelling at me for lack of a better word.