Mushy Thoughts On Fear and Motherhood

Sometimes I think my heart may just explode. Like seriously thump right out of my chest from the intense waves of emotion that pulse through my soul when I look at this boy. I mean-- look at him.

Before I became a mother, I just couldn't see it. Couldn't picture it in my mind, or imagine what it would feel like. Sure, friends with kids always told me that there was "no feeling like it," and it would feel "different when it is your own." But I still didn't expect this. I didn't expect to be sitting at my laptop, in tears, not knowing what to do with all of these feelings.

We had a perfectly lovely morning. The truly best kind-- just him and me, marching around in our swimming pool with not a care in the world. He was in the best mood, and when we came back to our apartment, he ate all his lunch, and then went down for a nap without so much as a whimper of protest.

So why am I crying? Because it is all just so good. And that terrifies me. I'm a rookie mom, for sure, and at this point, we haven't dealt with much more pain and heartbreak than a busted lip and the ending of the pacifier era (which my dreamboat of a son hardly noticed). But I know it is coming.

The other day, Bo and Marty were playing on our bed, like they do almost every night. Bo lifts him up high over head and drops him down on a huge mound of pillows, strategically arranged to satisfy the highest of safety standards (mine). That kiddo is a real thrill seeker, I tell ya.

In response to being dropped from heights that must seem extreme to an almost-2-year-old, my son gets up and "pushes" his daddy off the bed. Bo may insert a bit of dramatic flair to this part of the routine. Round and round they go, dropping and pushing, dropping and pushing. It never seems to get old for either of them.

But that particular day, the timing was off by just a hair. Marty lunged to "push" his daddy off the edge of the bed before his daddy was in position to be pushed. The result was my baby boy pretty much catapulting himself over the side of the bed, and disappearing with a thud. I saw it happen. Before it happened, even. I knew, but couldn't stop it. As I watched him fly headfirst over the bed, not able to see the landing, I thought to myself, "he's paralyzed...his neck is broken..."

I ran over to him and looked down at his sweet, blue/red/green face, eyes and mouth open wide, but unable to make a sound. I scooped him up and blew in his face (because someone had once told me that this act makes them breathe. Wives tale? Whatever.), at which point he finally inhaled deeply and started screaming. He was fine. Scared, but fine.

I was able to hold it together long enough to make sure he was okay, but then I lost it. Tears flooded my eyes, and I felt sick. My mind refused to be still... it raced forward in time, without my permission, and imagined a day with a similar scenario, but a different outcome. Someday, it will be worse. Someday, he is going to feel real pain, and there will be nothing I can do to stop it.

These thoughts are not healthy, I know. Being afraid doesn't prevent the things you fear from happening. All it really does is prevent you from truly opening yourself up, as wide as you can go, and soaking up every last drop of these care-free moments life blesses us with. Oh how I pray that God will calm my mind, and allow me to trust in Him fully, not borrowing trouble, or letting fear steal one single second of joy from me and my boy...

But today, I find myself on the brink once again. Loving this little man-cub so hard that my mind spins to the things I can't control, but frighten me, nonetheless. Will my son get sick? Hurt? Heartbroken? Will he hate me one day? Will he have a proper length childhood, sustained by this gorgeous innocence I see in him today, even in a world where Miley Cyrus and her tongue are front page news? Will he ever really know his value, and how much he is loved?

I don't know the answers, but I do know Someone who does. And I know that God will be consistent and strong and gentle and wise, even when I am a blubbering mess worried about things "above my pay grade." Lord, take him, he's yours. You know what you are doing, and that is the only thing that gives me peace.

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous hand." Isaiah 41:10

One Rainy Day {according to my iPhone}

It was a Puddle-jumping, Car-climbing, Rainy-driving, Loud-singing, School-going, ASTYM-ing, Teeth-cleaning, Package-mailing, Modge-podging, Graham-crackering, Long-napping, Feet-resting, Bath-playing, Pj-wearing, Train-pulling, Tongue-sticking, Mess-cleaning, Blog-reading kind of a day.

Chips For Dinner

Have I mentioned that we live in a mall? It is one of those trendy "Shop, Dine, Live" concepts. And since I personally love to do all three of those things, it only took about 2 seconds for me to fall in love, sign a lease, and move right in.

On weekends, you can usually find the three of us strolling through the mall, visiting our little splash pad (Yes, I said "our." Marty seriously thinks this whole retail & entertainment wonderland belongs to him), and most definitely making our way down to Barnes and Noble to visit [what he thinks are] his trains.

Last weekend, after some wandering and a quick hello to the trains, my husband declared that he had a craving for sushi and nothing else would do. As luck would have it, there is a sushi place mere seconds from B&N, so off we went.

Marty had not eaten sushi before that night, but due to his adoration of all foods white, I was optimistic. With eyebrows raised, and my best "this is going to taste soooooo good" smile, I placed two California rolls on his little plate. Next, I began the standard first time food performance, telling him how num-num-nummy the "rice" was, taking an over-exaggerated bite of my roll, chewing and mmm-ing dramatically (eyebrows still up, by the way). The success rate of this routine hovers somewhere around 4%, but we mamas all keep trying, don't we?

After I swallowed my huge bite, Marty reached out toward the community sushi plate, and attempted to load his plate with a few more rolls before he had even taken one bite. Had my dramatics finally paid off? I'll admit it, I got my hopes up. Hopes that we would actually pull it off: introducing him to this foreign food, one that his mama and daddy happen to love, and having him gobble it up with a smile. For a split second, I dreamed of us leaving the restaurant with a full-bellied baby, all happy and ready for a long night's sleep. I imagined all of the other patrons looking on during the meal, impressed by our well-behaved toddler, eating his sushi like a big boy and letting his parents have an interesting conversation.

Silly Mommy.

This kiddo here had no intention of actually eating the rolls. He just thought they might be something fun to destroy. So after both of his pieces were ripped to shreds, and he realized that his little belly was still empty, the tantrum began. Bo and I started shoveling our dinners, shoulders slumped, heads hung in shame. Peeking out the corners of our eyes to see if people were staring and thinking, "...that poor starving toddler... and those parents who thought it was a good idea to bring a baby to a sushi joint..."

Ugh.

But wait! The waiter! He had the brilliant idea to bring Marty some chips to snack on. I didn't even know sushi places had chips. But they do! And so our night is saved by that saint of a waiter. And the emergency iPad mini stashed in my purse. God bless good waiters and iPad minis.

I probably should have limited the number of chips he ate that night, because they totally spoiled his dinner. He wouldn't eat a thing when we got home. But, whatever. My man and I got to finish our sushi in peace, aaaaaaaaand we even got to have some of that conversation I had hoped for. I can't remember if it was interesting, though. *Mom problems*

Late Summer Buzz

Some folks will call me crazy for paying twenty bucks to get my toddler's hair cut. But lots of others are standing right there in line with me, during this back to school frenzy. (Next year, I'll try not to let Mart-meister get so shaggy as to require a cut in August.) Snip-its is packed this week. Today I saw a girl of probably 6 or 7 getting quite the works: hair washed and cut and curled and glittered, plus a manicure and pedicure, etc., etc. I guess maybe I actually get off cheap, having a boy.

I love going to the kiddo salon because I honestly don't possess the skills, tools, or patience involved in cutting Marty's hair myself. Our local place has friendly stylists who have perfected the art of distraction. Belt the child in, snip-snip, buzz-buzz, here's another cookie, and we're done. Not a teardrop in sight, which is totally tip-worthy in my book.

In typical almost-two-year-old fashion, Marty wouldn't stand still long enough to get a good "after" photo of the front. We basically just buzzed the sides and back, leaving the top long so that we could sweep it over. The style was inspired by this little cutie.

Submissive Chalk

Marty finally found some chalk that knows how to fall in line. 

And if you ever find yourself short one caboose? Colored bubbles will do in a pinch.

Boys and Blood

Poor little busted lip boy. He fell at pre-school today. His teacher is new at the school this year, and I think Marty was the first to bleed on her watch. Poor Ms. April, she just kept apologizing and telling me how it happened and explaining how carefully she tended the wound. My heart went out to her. The sweet lady felt so bad. She must not realize that around here, a day isn't complete until a body part is scraped, bruised, or perhaps a little bloody. My short tenure as a "boy mom" has convinced me that boys are just meant to get banged up. Rough and tumble and fearless and wild... how quickly they find ways to get hurt. But once the kisses are dispensed and the tears dry up, they are just as quickly on to their next adventure (natural consequences forgotten), in pursuit of more ways to test limits. And keep mama on the verge of a heart attack.

WEEK PEEK

Church with these two handsome men, and then a super healthy and nutritious lunch. Marty got to try his first McDonald's Happy Meal because he has the best daddy in the world who insisted. And also because we are American, and what respectable American almost-2-year-old has never had a McDonald's Happy Meal?

Marty loves a splash pad, so it is especially convenient that we have one in our backyard. Perks to living in a mall, I suppose. I took him out to run off all that post-nap energy, and he was just so full of life and personality that I couldn't stop taking photos. And the sunglasses. Oh my, he rocked those things throughout the whole splash pad affair. The ladies were impressed, I assure you...

H&M FINALLY opened their online shop, and the Internet was buzzing all about it. So of course I had to hop on the bandwagon and order a few things for my little stud-muffin. My friend is convinced Marty is going to strangle himself with that scarf. In the name of fashion...!!!

We are dreaming of Santa Barbara this week after chatting on the phone with my sweet friend who lives there. I met Ava while living in China, and I miss her like crazy. We are planning another trip out to Cali in the next couple of months. Santa Barbara is to die for, and I seriously cannot wait to see my friend. And the beach...

After more than 6 months of wearing my hair in some variation of a bun or ponytail, this mama got a new look. You know your hair is bad when a) your closest friend asks you how long your hair is these days, and b) your other friend calls and books you a salon appointment followed by text messages with the date, time, and driving directions. Bad hair. Good friends. (p.s.- I have never in my life worn my hair wavy or had it colored this light. My husband is still in shock. Ha!)

Bo was in California all week on business, so Friday night we all three went out for dinner and then had ice cream in the Pearland Town Center pavilion. There was a band playing, so Marty danced around (well, more like spun around and around and around) and we just enjoyed a simple, summer evening with nothing else to do but be together. Being together is the best.

"The accidental therablog" -or- "Perhaps the deepest thoughts you're ever gonna get out of me"

Just couldn't choose a title for this one... 

It took Bo and I eight years of marriage to talk ourselves into getting pregnant. We had relocated 11 times in those eight years, and we were not entirely sure that a child would respond well to our transient lifestyle. Many conversations were had, many scenarios were discussed, many pros-and-cons lists were made. Did I mention that we were smack in the middle of our three-and-a-half year stint in CHINA during all this?? Oh, the timing...

We ultimately decided to give it a go, figuring that no time would ever be the "perfect" time, and heck, I wasn't getting any younger. I got preggers so quick we couldn't have changed our minds if we had wanted to. And man-oh-man am I glad. Marty was born in Beijing, China on 9.10.11 and I wouldn't change a single detail about how things went down. (I want to write a post about his birth sometime soon).

My Chinese pregnancy test. Couldn't read a word of the instructions. Thank goodness pee sticks are fairly universal.

When I look back on my thought process before I had Marty, I realize how completely wrong I was about so many things. The main one being that having a baby would add more chaos and stress to a lifestyle that has both of those things in spades. But God gave us exactly the kid we needed, as He is known to do. Marty has, in fact, brought so much calm into our crazy life that I can't imagine how we survived without him to mellow us out.

Having him around caused me to slow down and simplify my routine, which resulted in me having less on my plate and fewer things to worry about. Becoming a mom has also made me less self-centered, translating into less time worrying about whether this or that is impressive to those around me,  be it the clothes I'm wearing, my relationship with my husband (how it appears to others anyway), or how many events I get invited to. Since Marty's birth, all I want every day is to impress this tiny little man, which makes me think about what qualities a child actually finds impressive. Does a 2-year-old care if I'm 6 months past the point of needing a haircut or pedicure? No. He looks to me for kindness, consistency, patience, and love.

>>Side note: I'm embarrassed to say that those qualities weren't necessarily tops on my priority list pre-Marty. My mind was once filled with so much anxiety, fed by a desire to be accepted and admired by my peers. Maybe it is just part of being young. I don't know. Does everyone wrestle with this at some point? I want to think that it is a typical part of personal growth (to make myself feel better?), but then again, I want to hope that not many others waste valuable years looking inward when there is so much to see out there.  When I think about how much time I spent worrying about what others thought of me, or if enough people liked me... well, it's just shameful, really. I'm not sure how nearly all of that evaporated with the arrival of my child, but it did somehow. And for whatever reason God saw fit to change my perspective, I'll accept that gift with gratitude.<<

Anyway, back on track... Isn't that brilliant?! Becoming a mother was like a chance to start over as a totally different person. A better, more authentic one this time. Someone who strives to display the characteristics I want to see develop in my child. Qualities that I'd want him to seek in a wife someday. In about 40 years.

It comes fairly easy in these early days, when your hero status is correlated to the number of blocks you can stack (and I can stack high!).  Nice that I get to eeeeeeaaaaasssssseee into this whole transformation thing. Whew! But everyday, I am aware of (and thankful for) those two little eyes that stay locked on me. Those little eyes that are making me want to do better, be better, every single day. I must admit, however, that if I let my mind settle for too long on the fact that I am raising a man... well I start to hyperventilate a little bit. Lord help me.

Mart-man has totally perfected the fist-bump and peek-a-boo. We are still working on closed mouth kisses, though...

Does anyone else feel that blogging is like really cheap therapy? Yeah me, too.

Moving on... Overnight, my baby has morphed into this toddler and is on his way to turning into a full fledged boy. I can hardly even type that without my heart tightening just a smidge. He is just so BIG. Independent like nobody's business. And his buddha belly is shrinking by the minute (which is downright sad).

So naturally, as more and more of the baby disappears, more and more people start asking about the next baby... sheesh. I guess we don't have another 9 years to mull this over (as a matter of fact, I always said I didn't want to get pregnant after I turned 35. That happens in like...5 months. Yikes.), so the conversations are starting once again. Pros and cons of just keeping it like it is. It seems pretty perfect at the moment, but that is what I thought when we had no kids. Decisions, decisions. Tick-tock, tick-tock.

Chalk Train

A few days ago, Marty woke up from his nap especially itchy to go outside. Granted, he wants to go outside pretty much always... but this particular day, he was literally at the front door pounding those chubby little fists with all the spunk he could muster. He is still a man of few (actual) words, but I got the message.

Most days, I'd be totally on board for an afternoon outing. But that morning, at the pool with friends, the sun had zapped just about every drop of energy out of my body. It is also currently hovering around a million degrees here in Houston. Sooooooo hot and humid and sticky, and frankly I just didn't want to leave the a/c. As a compromise, I opened the back door that leads out to our teeny tiny 3rd floor balcony/patio, gave Martypants some chalk, and let him loose. He got to enjoy some fresh air (and make a mess), and I got to sit in the doorway, half-in-half-out, running up our utility bill. (But staying cool, by golly.)

Marty is an interesting little man. He isn't really talking yet, but he is an observer of the world. I swear, sometimes I can actually see his mind working, his wheels turning. After only 3 weeks at his new preschool, his teacher is already predicting that he will be an engineer someday. He loves to stack, and build, and organize, wanting everything to be orderly, in its proper place. And try as I might to show him what you are supposed to do with sidewalk chalk, he had his own agenda. Silly mommy.

It was really very cute (but I suppose all moms think that). First, he tried to balance each chalk piece on its round little end in an effort to line them all up. But those pesky chalks just kept falling down. He'd get one or two to stand up, and then they would all come crashing down.

My boy is no quitter, though. When at first you don't succeed...? Build a chalk train instead!

Rainy Saturday

Rain, rain, go away, come again another day. Because this guy is bored and wants to go outside.

Mama tries to distract him with crayons and a biiiiiiiiiig sheet of paper.

That lasts for about 5 minutes, so I pull out the big guns. 

Stickers can always be relied upon for a good 10 minutes of fun.

Maybe even 15 if Daddy joins the game.

And Mama, of course.

After breakfast/crayon/sticker/ipad time, he still has cabin fever, so we decide to brave the rain and let this kiddo loose at Barnes and Noble (his very own personal theme park, as far as he knows).

At which time he runs straight to the beautiful "Thomas the Train" activity table, carefully selects a lucky bunch of trains, and promptly moves them (one-by-one) to the big, empty stage. 

Surely trains appreciate a change of scenery on a rainy day, too.

Graham Crackers

When you are almost 2, they fix just about everything...