The Best Part of My Day

As a full time Stay At Home Mom, my days are on a crazy schedule. Add to it the fact that we are moving house, and it is truly chaotic. I have all I can do to stay up till 9pm these days. O goes down at 8pm and, I swear, the bed starts calling my name….”Mary…..Sleeeeep…Sleeeep!” If I decide to live on the edge and stay up till 9:30 or (Oh My God! ) 10 o’clock, I pay for it dearly with a tired crabby attitude the next day. You would think that the best part of my day would be hitting the pillow. But I have to tell you, although it is always welcome, it is not the BEST part of my day.

The BEST part of my day is when I give O his bottle. My husband has dibs on the bedtime feeding for now, so I do either crazy early in the morning when I wake out of my coveted slumber….or before his nap time. I sit in the rocker in his room and he lays across my lap. I stroke his hair. Sometimes his little hand holds my finger. We look deep into each other’s eyes. He lets me know he loves me. And I let him know his love is safe with me and whole heartedly requited. It is fifteen minutes that feel as if time stands still. Where my little baby boy communes with me. Where we connect on a level so instinctual, yet so profound, it knocks my socks off. I don’t care if I get woken up out of a sound sleep. I don’t care if I have a “to do” list that is fifty feet long. I have never known such pure uncomplicated love. And it’s in those 15 minutes (or so) that I savor every part of this incredible gift.

The great thing about this time for me, is that I can’t do anything else while I’m feeding him. Well, I guess I could. I could check my email. I could text on my phone. I could surf Pinterest. I could watch TV. But WHY would I ever do that and MISS this amazing time??? I’d have to be coo coo for cocoa puffs to gip myself out of this slice of heaven. I suppose I CHOOSE to do nothing else whist feeding him. I just can’t imagine any other way. How would I sing him his favorite songs? How would I catch the look in his eyes that lets me know I’m his world (right now)? Nope, I’m gonna take in all this bliss before it’s gone. And let me tell you, it will be gone and before I know it. He is already getting less bottles, which means less sweet time for him and I. I can already see my husband and I duking it out over who gets to give O his bedtime bottle, when that is the last bottle feeding remaining. I’m not sure how that’s gonna go. We will have some major negotiations for sure!

Its funny, I worried so much about not being able to breastfeed my little O. I beat myself up over it and obsessed that I wasn’t going to bond the same way because we wouldn’t have that special closeness. Well, one year into this motherhood thing and I’m a lot wiser for wear. I can tell you with all certainty, my little O couldn’t be any more attached to me. Our bond is true and unbreakable. The time and attention I have given him and the love he has come to know and rely on, is the basis for that bond. I don’t believe it has anything to do with a nipple. Oh, I’m sure there are thousands of women who would disagree. Trust me, if I had been able to breastfeed successfully, I’d still be doing it. Nutrition wise, I believe it to be the best thing for a baby. But I don’t believe my not being able to nurse my son hindered our bond in any way. I wish I would have known that last year. I would have been a lot easier on myself.

These moments…..these “best parts of the day” are the joys we find in the mundane. They are the example of power in simplicity. They are proof that something so small, and so routine can bring such profound happiness. What’s the best part of your day? I would wager to say it’s something simple. Something simply wonderful.

Feeding Time Confessions of an Overwrought SAHM

I really do love lists. To do lists. Grocery lists. You name it LISTS! It’s a type A person’s daydream. Oddly, I have never written a list as a post for my blog. But the other evening I was finishing up feeding little O in his high chair and I found myself picking up the dropped macaroni from his seat and putting them in my mouth. I was eating the discarded droppings from my sons tray. Was this a new low? How had I come to this? Rather than go four feet to the trash bin, I used my mouth as a human garbage can to avoid getting up and throwing it away. I was beyond tired. I was overwrought. It was then I knew I had a list I had to share. The following admissions are not for the squeamish or easily grossed out. You have been warned. Sometimes motherhood is just a dirty job.

10 Feeding Time Confessions Of An Overwrought Stay At Home Mom:

1. I eat the puffs that fall on the floor from O’s highchair. Yup. I do. P.S. Puffs taste like nothing, but they seem like crack to Little O.

2. If I’m not hungry, I sometimes pick up a puff from the floor and put it right back on O’s tray for his consumption. Is that the five second rule? Or is it three seconds? Whatever it is, he doesn’t seem to mind.

3. I eat the food that falls out of O’s mouth. Yes, I use a wet wipe, but occasionally, I use my finger to get that glob of mashed up sweet potatoes and carrot purée off of his face. It occasionally goes in my mouth. Delicioso!

4. I often (more often than not) accompany O’s dinner feeding with a glass of wine for myself. I prefer a nice Cabernet with most puréed delicacies.

5. I have ever worn the shirt I wore to bed the whole next day. If my sleeves have baby food on them, I just roll them up. Classy.

6. If we have potato chips in the house, I will eat them in a mindless trance if O cries because he was just put down for a nap. Its an SCM (snacking coping mechanism.). I try NOT to keep such trigger snacks in the house.

7. I feel guilty between 10-20 times a day for feeling like I’m not doing enough for my LO.

8. I often have pee on my clothes and spit up in my hair. Yes indeedy! I have a friend who says, “you are always so put together!” It’s all smoke and mirrors, folks.

9. I sometimes cry because I am so tired.

10. I often cry because I am so happy.

A Little Help From My Friends

There are hundreds of topics to be written about. Endless opportunities for conversations about the journey of motherhood. Yet my mind doesn’t want to let go of a comment that came after last weeks blog. It was basically tips on how to keep my sanity/self whilst being home raising my child. I believe it was posted with the best of intentions. It was not mean or malicious. It was a comment filled with concern. Dare I say, worry. It was another mother being blatantly honest. But it left me wanting to defend my writing, my actions, my choices. And then I took a breath.

After my initial reaction of wanting to announce to the world that A, “I’m not drinking alcohol during the day with my 11 month old!!!” And B, “Sometimes I add dark humor to my writing to make it more entertaining because I think it’s funny!!” I sat back and realized this woman was not only compassionate, but she was right. A woman I don’t know, who reads my blog, was sending me a huge hug over the internet. She was sending me support. It was everything I say is missing in our modern day Motherhood Madness. And my initial reaction was defense. Silly me.

Now I stand by the notion that every one of our journeys is, indeed, our own. That all our circumstances are individual. That every child is unique and brings different circumstances and challenges to the table. But we must remember, there is a big difference between bashing and constructive criticism. What is the idea? It takes a village? Well, when did that just become a catch phrase and not an actual thing we engage in?

I remember growing up in the 70’s and 80’s. Neighborhood parents would actually parent. And ones who didn’t or who weren’t right there, had no issues with other parents jumping in. It was more of a collective effort. In today’s world if you correct another person’s child, or admonish them for bad behavior, you likely have a disgruntled parent telling you to mind your own business. Yet, a common theme among Moms is the feeling of isolation. But when someone offers help, we get defensive. As if someone thinks we aren’t capable. That we aren’t doing enough. But the truth of the matter is, in many cases, it is our own self criticism that makes us defensive. I know in my case it was.

Shouldn’t we be grateful someone else is watching out for our children? Watching out for our well being, as a mother? It’s complete b.s. when people say “I don’t want to get involved.” Or “It’s not my business.” We are a culture of peeping toms watching everyone’s business on Facebook, YouTube, and every other form of social media. But we do it in the privacy of our home, or on our cel phones. It lets us peer in, and often judge from a distance. But let’s own the fact that we are interested, even (oh my gosh!) involved. How often do you read a post or share a story on Facebook that touches you for real? That makes you feel something? For real? That’s involvement. Scary that today’s “involvement” can be so removed.

Anyway, I just wanted to thank this Mom. For actually caring. For trying to share some tools to help me succeed. After all, I did ask for help! Why was I so surprised someone would actually offer it? I will keep her advice. And be grateful. It was not only helpful to me, but a ray of light in these dark times of the Mommy Wars. There is hope that this era of judgement may someday become a thing of the past. There is hope that the “village” will actually lend you a hand on this journey, and not just Tweet about you from afar.

Until next time, I’m gonna keep on keepin on…and lighten up on myself a bit. Cause I have to be there for O…happy, fit, and rested. A friend gave me that piece of advice. 🙂

Car Seat Cry Baby

I feel ridiculous. It’s silly to even write about. But it’s been the big change that’s been haunting me all week. O has graduated from his infant car seat to his big boy car seat. The car seat that will stay with him until he doesn’t need one anymore. (Boy, THAT day isn’t gonna be pretty for this Mama.) I feel idiotic for telling you, but I cried the day we switched his car seat. I literally shed tears. What the Hell?

Why can’t I be like the Moms who celebrate these milestones with a saucy “thank God!” and move on. It just seems like it’s all going by in a flash. Like he is growing with reckless abandon. And there is nothing I can do to stop it. So I’m emotional. That’s not a stretch for me, as anyone who knows me can attest. But I’m more so now. How will I navigate all the changes and milestones to come?

I recognize that I am not only sad about this recent event, but I am fighting it every step of the way. I found myself saying today, “It’s just so hard now. I hate going out!” Let me tell you since O was about three weeks old, I have taken him out, one place or another, almost every single day. It’s rare that we don’t have some adventure to go on each day. But I have been spoiled. I had a Graco Click and Connect Travel System. I’d get him set in his car seat in the house..carry it out to the car, click him in and we were off. When we got to wherever we were going, I’d take the car seat out and click it into the super easy stroller frame. I had it down to a science. And O liked it. We had our rhythm. Now, I have to carry him out to the car….get him into his seat whilst bent over into the car (not easy)…and when I arrive wherever the hell it is I thought it was a good idea to go to, I have two choices. I either get the very light, but yet ridiculously cumbersome, umbrella stroller (which is a ludicrous name, because when it rains, it will NOT keep baby, or you, dry. In fact, quite the opposite). Or I get my jogger stroller…which weighs 30 lbs. So I hoist one of these contraptions out of the car and then hoist my 27lb baby boy out of the car seat, in a hunched over manner, so as not to hit my head or the baby’s head on the car. I try to remember not to lift with my back. I try to remember to use my abdominal muscles…yeah, right. All while O is not, I repeat, NOT loving this new routine. Then I have to strap him into the stroller, hang the diaper bag on the handles…..and get inside wherever it is I was dumb enough to venture off to in the first place. If there are multiple stops, I’d like to shoot myself. If there is rain involved I think I will just stay home.

Everyone says it will get easier when he can get in and out himself. Well, that’s a long time away, I think. I am blessed with a beautiful boy, but he is a big boy for his age. He became too long for the infant seat over a month ago. I started to feel like some Good Samaritan Mommy was going to report me for having my son in a seat he was clearly outgrowing. And because he is young…I miss seeing him when we are strolling along. And I swear, he doesn’t like it. He might wonder “Where is Mommy?” as he faces forward in this strange new world. Right? Or is it just me, fighting it every step of the way? I could have sworn today that he was feeling scared and alone as he faced forward, rolling along….but he actually had a very wet diaper. A wet diaper that I was out of tune with, because I was so convinced he was unhappy to be facing forward. Because this Mommy was unhappy her baby was facing forward. Unhappy that her baby was gaining independence. That he was, indeed, moving on. I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.

I’m going to brood about this some more, I fear. They say that time goes by quicker as you get older. Have you heard that? I think it’s true. But I think when you are older you cherish the time more. I know that when I was younger I took time for granted. Not the case now. I am SO aware that this time with O is flying by. If one more well meaning, but yet unsoliciated, granny tells me, “It goes by so fast,” I’ll scream….”I KNOW!!! STOP REMINDING ME!!” Like right in her face! And really loud! It also doesn’t help that this all coincides with that time of the month for me. When it rains it pours! Just don’t use the umbrella stroller that day.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight…and I’ll try to get a hold of myself. Remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is certain she is screwing it up. 🙂

Motherhood and Mortality

Not all that long ago, I used to tell my husband, I thought I would die on the young side of old. The notion never ever bothered me. I can actually say I was really ok with it. I have always been a big believer of things happening for a reason. I guess it was just a silly gut feeling I had and I was at peace with it. Then something happened….I had my son.

To say I feel differently now is an understatement. And the reasons are layered and complex. I am sometimes hit with the fear of “Oh my God! What if something happens to me and O is left alone?” Well, it’s already ridiculous, because he would not be alone. He would have my husband. His father. The person on this earth who loves him as fiercely as I do. But every child needs his Mother, right? Or is it the other way around? Now that I have him…now that I have tasted this kind of love…I don’t think I could live without it. I need him as completely as he needs me. Maybe more so.

The completely irrational and borderline crazy mourning of my own inevitable passing I experience at times, is about MY missing out. I don’t want to miss a single second of this brilliant journey. Being an older Mom just emphasizes the fear. I don’t need to be sidled with an untimely death. Just dying in the normal course of life will leave me missing a chunk of O’s journey. If he waits to have children like I did, I’ll be 84 if I am lucky enough to meet my newborn grandchildren. Certainly too old to watch them grow up. It’s depressing really. Geez. Right now my husband is rolling his eyes. He wasn’t thrilled with this week’s topic of choice. He likes it when I write about rainbows and unicorns. Lol.

The other night, I started to get worked up over it all. I completely freaked my husband out. I had just read an article that stated 1 out of 2 women and 1 out of 3 men will get cancer. Most survive, but no one lives forever. I started to feel consumed by a loss that didn’t even happen yet? A loss that, most likely, would not happen for a very long time. And when that time does come, and my number is up, so to speak, I won’t experience the loss, cause I’m the one who will be gone. But I guess that really depends on your beliefs on the afterlife. I’m completely certifiable. See how your thoughts can snowball? It’s complex, right?

After researching some other articles, I realize that I’m not alone in these thoughts. In fact, I’m on the sane side of “cray cray.” I read a post by a women who was encouraging parents to document their lives (video, photos, etc.) for their children to have when they are gone…”before it is too late”….(Geez). It is called intentional memory making. There is even an app for it! I mean, I get it. When my husband’s father passed away, he had heaps of recordings of his father singing. It helped him grieve. And even now, almost four years later, it helps him feel closer to his dad. But his father was a professional singer/songwriter. These memories were made by his father simply living his life doing what he loved. It’s a bit different than intentionally documenting everything. I take my fair share of photos, I do. And it is fun to go back and reminisce, but I don’t know. I don’t want to judge what others want to do. So..what do I do?

Well, I can’t change the fact that I am, indeed, an older mom. I can try to keep myself healthy, but even that is no guarantee. In fact, that’s exactly it…..we have no guarantees of the time we have here. No telling when our time is up. So acceptance seems paramount. Acceptance and gratitude. Gratitude for all we are experiencing in the NOW. I can try not to waste days, but I’m sure there will be a few days, at least, lost to complaining, or stress, or both. I’m only human. But I don’t want to spend moments constantly behind a camera lens…hovering on the outside of our experiences for the sake of documenting them. Nor do I want to feel every moment has the cloud of mourning hanging over it…even if it is hanging somewhere in the back of our mind, it’s still there, stealing from our NOW. Our perfect NOW.

As with everything, balance is key. So I’ll mix my neurosis with some healthy belly laughing and get on with this awesome second act of my life. (Did I mention my life is a play in Three Acts?) I guess when it’s all said and done, I can say I have tasted pure true love. I have experienced real joy. I feel like I know what heaven truly is. And maybe I’ll find an old shoe box and occasionally put some photos in it and write some love letters to the sweetest boy I’ll ever know, my little O.

Until next time, keep on keeping on…and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is certain she is screwing it up!

The Irony of Ignorance

There was a post this past week going around the internet. An offended mother on Facebook re posted it from a “religious” blog. It was a photo of a women’s abdomen with a C-Section scar…and a caption saying something to the effect of, “if you didn’t give birth naturally you can’t really call yourself a real mother. Have some respect for the real women who truly gave birth.” This is, obviously, ridiculous. It said more insane things, but you get the idea. The level of ignorance displayed by this “godly” group is astounding….yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

I am a woman who had an emergency c-section. I wear my scar proudly. It reminds me everyday of the gift I have been given. I have no shame in having had to give birth that way. I remember in one of the many classes I took before giving birth, the nurse kept referring to a c-section as an insult to the mother. I just didn’t see it that way. Without modern medicine, my delivery would have been fraught with complications, trauma to the baby, or God forbid, worse. I wanted my beautiful boy. How he was helped to enter this world, did not matter to me. Why should it to anyone else? It was our private, intimate moment. No one else’s. Why would ANYONE else care?

This leads me to thinking about the troubled times we have ahead in our society. About the kind of world I have brought my beautiful son into. The intolerance and fear of ignorant people seems to be spreading. I can’t even wrap my head around what is going on in Indiana. It’s like we are stepping backwards in time. This intolerance, this lack of understanding, this hatred…is all in the name of religion. I won’t say it’s in the name of God, because God isn’t making these ridiculous, hateful laws. Men are. The God I love and pray to would not hate so, nor would he throw me into the furnace of hell for having a c-section. It’s all the same handful of haters chastising women and persecuting the gays. (If only it was just a handful.) So who are the people supporting this hateful propaganda? What makes these people so fearful?

I can only imagine their hate comes from fear and lack of knowledge. We are afraid of what we don’t understand. Is that true? We are afraid of something or someone different. Maybe when I was 8. So I think it comes down to education. Or rather the lack of it. Education promotes free thinking which, in turn, creates thoughtful evolved people. Lack of education leaves room for someone else to come in and tell you how you should think. And as for the educated suits in Washington…well, in my opinion, power has corrupted their sense of right and wrong. Oye, this is all so political and that was not my intention when I started writing this post. But how are these problems solved if not thought through?

I am just one woman. One scarred, educated, free thinking woman. Everyday I CAN make a difference. Everyday I have the ability to mold the next generation. I may have only one boy, but that’s a start. I can teach him to respect and embrace the differences in people, to love his neighbor and seek the answers for things he doesn’t understand. How do I teach this? By example. By loving the people in my life…by respecting everyone’s life choices whether they are my choices or not. This parenting thing is powerful. More powerful than many may realize. Yes, the internet is a pretty powerful tool for crazy radicals who want to tear a mother down. But the antidote to that is just don’t re post the offensive item. Don’t share it. Don’t comment on it. It’s truly not worth it..and it only promotes the traffic on their silly site, which is probably why they posted it in the first place.

The irony of all this ignorance is that those involved feel they are justified in their hatred because they feel it is their religious right. Well, hate is hate is hate…is hate. No matter how you spin it, you wind up with hate. It’s sad really. I do believe in the end, LOVE will always win. It is a far more powerful emotion than hate. And easier to pass on. One day at a time. One child at a time.

Until next time..keep on keeping on. And try not to let things others post get you down. We are all just doing the very best we can….each and every day. Thanks for reading.

The Flying Crap Shoot

O getting ready for takeoff!

This last week my husband and I did the dreaded…the unthinkable…the “Holy shit! What made us think this was a good idea?” thing…..we took our 9 month old on an airplane. Off to Florida for a reprieve from the cruel New England winter. Let me first say, the whole experience could have been MUCH worse. We could have been the parents who sat three rows behind us, whose child vomited everywhere. Several times. God bless them! Wet Ones don’t put a dent in that stink. Yikes! And considering we were enjoying the beach on the first day of spring while the North East experienced yet another snow day…I’d say it was worth it.

But this endeavor is in no way a challenge for the weak or wimpy. There is no more leisurely magazine reading or a cheeky Bloody Mary in my friendly skies. It’s a freakin P90X workout, even under the best of circumstances. Now that my little O has discovered standing and walking, he only wants to be up. Not easy on an airplane. I have a 25lb 9 month old who is long and solid. That’s some serious weight training on a three hour flight. Luckily my husband and I took turns holding him.

And talk about prepping your gear! I mean you have to have everything you could possibly need for every scenario. (Example: vomit boy three rows back). You’ve got your anti bac wipes to sanitize everything within the perimeter of your little one’s reach. Then you have your regular baby wipes, diapers, bum cream, etc. Now, if you think to, you might want an emergency ziplock with wipes, a diaper, and some sort of disposable pad….cause ever try to carry a diaper bag into an airplane lavatory? Then add you and your baby to that tiny space….yeah, it’s laughable. And then you realize there is no changing table in said tiny lavatory. Most airlines haven’t upgraded their johns to accommodate diaper changes. Really? Get with the times folks! Yet the attendants look at you with horror if you attempt to change your child in your seat. Sorry, my madness makes me lose focus.

Add to your list a change of clothes for baby (Example: vomit boy three rows back) and a change of shirt for Mom and/or Dad (again.. Example: vomit boys parents), toys to keep your little one occupied, pacifiers (with an S, because they will drop them or throw them continually) pacifier wipes, bottles for feeding on take off and landing so your little ones ears don’t get affected by the pressure, room temperature bottled water ( if you’re formula feeding) which you have to search for once you go through security, because everyone sells it cold, burp cloths, baby blanket in case it’s freezing onboard, which it usually is and last but not least your friendly boppy pillow, so your little one can lay on your lap in comfort when they feel like it, which was never in little O’s case. I’m exhausted and I’m only reliving it.

Little O was as good as a 9 month old could be in a confined space for three hours. Heck, he was better behaved than a gaggle of middle aged women who were acting like they were getting a jump start on spring break in Daytona Beach. But it’s tough. You gotta really want to go somewhere to take this on once your child discovers mobility. Now the kicker is that my return trip will be sans the hubbie. Yup, I will be flying back home with O all on my own. Returning a rental car, to boot. I am sure I am certifiable for choosing to put myself in this situation. But when I flew with O at less than 3 months old, it was easy. I didn’t know that it would be, but it was. He ate, he slept, he ate again, we landed. When we booked these flights I didn’t take into account he would be so much bigger and more mobile. Silly Mommy! So I will yet again, roll the dice. Cause that’s what it is…a crap shoot. Will I be the Mom handling her baby’s explosive diaper? Or cleaning up vomit with Wet Ones? Or will I win the kitty and deplane the aircraft unscathed, though undeniably exhausted. Your guess is as good as mine. I’ll let you know. Until next time, pray for me friends, as I will for you if you ever need to travel or just really want to get away with the little one in tow.

Choose Your Husband Well

In honor of Father’s Day and my amazing husband and baby Daddy, I decided to repost this love letter of sorts to my beloved. He is truly awesome. I honestly didn’t know just how wonderful he would be at this parenting thing. He surprises and delights me on a daily basis. From washing bottles to the love and gentle care he gives to both Little O and I every single day….he is Father of the Year in our eyes. Thank you, my love, for choosing to share this wonderful life with us. Xo

It seems like it is just common sense. Choose your husband well. ?? Really, aren’t we ALL trying to do that when we choose a mate? But the criteria for a good husband is different than the criteria for a good father…or is it? Now, I have dated a fair share of men in past. And since I am “older” I have dated a good deal more than perhaps your normal 20 or 30 something year old has. Now, as I know my mother and mother-in-law read this blog, I will try to leave out the tawdry details. But let’s say, for good measure, that I have been around. I was never your one night stand girl at all. I had lasting relationships with several men. The WRONG men. I guess they served their purpose for that time in my life, but still WRONG. And when I say that, they could have certainly been RIGHT for someone. Just not me. I met my now husband over 10 years ago. Now you all know that he is a good deal younger than me. (11 years). So now imagine, 10+ years ago…..he was a boy. Was he marriage material? NO! Of course not. But did he have the makings of a man who would be not only an amazing husband, but a more amazing father? You bet he did. I am just lucky enough that he stuck it out and waited for me to come to my senses.

So what is this criteria I think so important for the ideal mate? Note, I don’t say perfect, because there is no such thing. In fact, faults are part of the charm. So don’t knock them. And realize that YOU, yes YOU, have faults too. It’s part of owning who you are in a real adult relationship. I truly believe the number one thing to look for in a mate is a kind heart. I knew my now husband possessed this rare feature on about day three of meeting him. And it is still at the core of his being. It is inherently who he is. Kind. Sometimes, it is to his chagrin. But he is truly Kind.

The second thing would be Honesty. How many of us can really truly say we are with someone we can absolutely trust with our life? I have NEVER been with another man that I could say that about. In fact, with several, I knew it to be quite the opposite. I mean, I am sure they would have tried to save me from a burning building (you know, to keep up appearances), but they would most likely have shagged two women on the way up and a set of twins on the way down. The thing is, I knew this about these men. Somewhere, somehow, I knew. They were self absorbed, unavailable, unwilling to truly commit to something other than themselves and unaware of what they truly wanted from life. In flux, you could say. Caught in a kind of Peter Pan vortex.

My husband knew exactly what he wanted when I met him. Regardless of the fact that he was too young to make those things happen, he was firm and committed to having the life that he imagined. He wanted to be married. (To me, lucky for me). And he wanted a family. Now again, lucky for me, his want for me in his life, trumped the want for a family…because who knew at the time of our commitment, if I would be able to give him children ?? He sure didn’t. But in all his youth, he understood that WHO you choose as your partner, should you choose to have a partner, makes all the difference to the life you will live. Add a baby to the mix and your choice of partner becomes an even more profound thing.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. People who raise a child on their own are truly amazing. I seriously don’t know HOW they do it. Sharing this journey with my husband is half the fun of it. Someone who understands my fierce unconditional LOVE for this little creature, because HE feels it too. It’s another level of connection we now share. The idea of it is quite awesome! WE created this child! This amazing, beautiful, fantastic child!! And no one thinks that about him like WE do. To us, he is perfect (even though there is no such thing). He is EVERYTHING. He is the best parts of both of us (and even our not so great parts, but hey who’s looking?). He is our celebration of our love for each other! I mean, how do you share all of that with someone who is unavailable? Someone who is afraid of truly being loved? I don’t know. Maybe it’s possible?? I know plenty of women, married to men who are just not “there.” Guys who aren’t at peace being the husband and father. Guys who are always chasing a skirt to somehow elude their mortality….??? As I re read this, I can see the cynicism. But, I am old enough not to bullshit you.

To truly enjoy this journey of being a parent, you MUST have a partner who is with you 110%. Someone who is just as jazzed about it as you. Who is just as tired and fried, but who picks you up after a long day of “fussy baby” antics. The guy who at 4am, says “I’ve got it babe.” They guy who takes the baby out on Saturday mornings to give you some “Me” time. The guy who still looks at you like you are the most beautiful women he’s ever seen….even with spit up on your shirt and no makeup on your face. He’s got your back…and there is no doubt that he will always have it. I’ve never enjoyed that level of “no doubt.” It’s pretty wonderful. I highly recommend it. But then, that’s what this whole post is about. Choose your partner well, friends. Choose him well.

Until next time, keep up the good fight. And remember, behind every great kid, is a mom who is sure she is messing it up. Thanks for reading! xo

From Gucci To Gerber

Tales, Insights & Observations from an Advanced Maternal Age New Mother

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