TW – Rape, Sexual assault
Wee One is a toddler. So truly a toddler, and it’s only going to get more toddler-y as she goes. I’m more afraid of this phase than any other, I think. I’m afraid I’ll lose my patience or my way, that we’ll lose our bond or connection, and that we will start a lifetime of not liking each other. I wanted to keep positive details about toddler in my mind. To this end, I googled, “in praise of toddlers,” and sadly, didn’t find much.
So I’m writing something.
I have long known this meme and thought it was amusing, but lately, while watching Wee One, I’ve wanted there to be another one.
My mother was a cleaning lady, cleaning other people’s homes. Our own home was never so clean – her boyfriends never picked up after themselves. Our own home was filthy, and I couldn’t stand to be there. My own home is spotless, not a blemish to be seen.
Given the amount of drool, finger chewing, and tongue-running-over-gums I’m seeing, I can only surmise the Wee One is working on a new tooth. She didn’t really want to be put down yesterday, and I spent a lot of time wearing her and holding her close, during which time I could engage in a little mental exercise:
Anecdotal blogs and articles list ways to know you’re a parent or a mother, and they’re usually ironic and sometimes a little poignant. I don’t know if this will be, but I have my own list with many things I hadn’t considered before.
My daughter is seven weeks old now, and I am trying to figure out my changed life as a stay-at-home-mom with a baby, someone I never thought I’d be. At the same time, I’m desperately treasuring her little mannerisms, cataloguing them in my mind to always have them, even when she grows.
Hey baby –
Today is the beginning of week 34 for us. If you came at this point, you would be as okay as a full-term baby, and that’s nice to know.
I think I’ve talked before about the horrible Doom’s Day advice I’ve gotten since I learned about the Wee One coming, advice that fit comfortably into my jacked ideas of motherhood.
But then there’s this. After I started feeling her and I began to get excited about her, I started hoping that maybe it would be more like this.
When I was pregnant, everyone was all about “warning” me about what was coming next. I walked around much of those ten (let’s face it, pregnancy is ten, not nine, months) absolutely terrified. The warnings flew at me from every angle — in the checkout line at Target, on the street, slipping my shoes on and walking out of the yoga studio. Warnings, warnings everywhere about what was to come — from the excruciating, mind-numbing pain of childbirth to the shell of my former self I was about to become once I had her. There were times I felt like a prisoner on death row, trying to force myself to enjoy some tiny luxury despite my size and discomfort, because if you asked around, apparently my petty joys would be ending pretty soon!
“Enjoy your husband now — you’ll be so consumed by the baby you won’t spend any time alone together…
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