Thought Collection #2

More thoughts! A collection of things I think while going about my mom-ly duties:

My son has decided that he cannot eat anything that has a “wrapper.” Blueberries, grapes, beans, corn, and peas all have wrappers. He will spit them out like Tom Hanks in Big.


I attempted once- ONCE- to remove said wrappers for him. I also tried once to bake something I saw on Pinterest, but I like to think I learn from my mistakes.


I feel like, when you pay off your hospital birthing bills, you should get the title for your kid, like when you pay off your car. Frame that shit.


That moment when your kids are so quiet it causes panic. You must check on them but if they catch you peeking it will break whatever mystical spell has made them silent and they’ll come get all up in your business. But you need to a) see what has them so focused to make sure that it is available at all times from this point forward and b) make sure they’re actually still alive. But oh my god it’s been a full five minutes since someone whined at you and no-one is clinging to your leg so if you wait another three minutes you could probably still resuscitate with minimal brain damage if that’s the situation. And then MOM-GUILT you scurry to the doorway and peeeeeek around with one eye and it was just a new Sesame Street but you’re busted and so is this toy and they need snacks and moooooOOOOOOOOooooom.


One fun thing about having kids is getting to explain the subtleties of language to them. Like why we say we “lick off the spoon” not “suck it off.” Loudly. In public.


Pretty sure the nicknames we’ve had for our kids demonstrate exactly how life has gone with them. First kid: Little Man, Bubbaloo, Sir. Second kid: Chica, Scooter, Destructo, Gozer.


We are at a phase in the big kid’s life where he is learning to deal with frustration in more mature ways than wildly flailing around the house raining destruction on everyone else’s emotions. It’s going pretty well, actually, though when your starting point is sobbing because you took your pants off when you wanted to pee through them, I guess you have nowhere to go but up. Anyway, the other day I saw a break-down coming during teeth-brushing time, and told him I would guess what was wrong since he couldn’t use his words with a toothbrush in his mouth. My guesses:

Is it because the Beatles broke up? Was it Yoko? I bet it was Yoko.

Are you upset because Nick Jr replaced Marina on Fresh Beat Band without saying anything and acted like we wouldn’t notice? How were not going to notice? You’re a kid, not a marmot. We know faces.

Is it because there’s no more Clearly Canadian? It was clearly the most Canadian soda, so I don’t blame you.

Wait, it’s because DiCaprio still doesn’t have an Oscar? Don’t jump on that bandwagon, man. He’s not all that.

I know. I know. It’s because your elbows are so pointy. Curse you elboooooows!

Is it because you have toothpaste in your nose from giggling so much? That would bother me, too. Stop giggling so much! You are SO weird.


A lady’s body changes a lot after kids, mostly in ways that make you feel floppy and broken. Like now, having cramps is suddenly like implanting the garbage mashers from the first Death Star into my abdomen. Replete with thrashing tentacle monsters, metal poles propping up the walls, and a Wookie.


And, just for good measure, an Awkward Baby. Sometimes, you just gotta see how a life-choice tastes before you can commit.

He who hesitates is sometimes licking paper

He who hesitates is sometimes licking paper

But if you do dive in, Awkward Baby applauds you.

Next I’ll buy a summer house in the Hamptons

I did something the other day I’ve been avoiding because I thought it was wasteful and self-indulgent. Something that seemed lazy and irresponsible.  Like if I was an animal, I’d be a diva sloth, or a cat who… is a cat. Dare I say it? I hired a babysitter to come to my house for two hours, while I was home. I didn’t want to do it, a) because we really don’t have the means to hire a fancy au pair to follow me around whilst I tell the decorator what linens to discard for the new season and b) I should be able to handle everything myself. Right? That’s what Pinterest and TV and our guilt-ridden minds tell us; the parent at home should be able to care for the home and the kids, and be fabulous at it. What else do we have to do with ourselves, right? That’s my end of the deal in this arrangement we have- one partner spends time out of the house working, the other stays here and works. It’s not rocket science, Joe. But, dude. It gets hard. Certainly not welding beams on a skyscraper hard, or Friday crossword in pen hard, but anything you do twenty-four hours a day seven days a week can, you know, wear on you.

And it’s been wearing on me. And we had a playdate that afternoon with a good friend and our living room looked like a flop house. And our usual helper (read: Grandma) needed a little break, too. And I am TIRED. A three year old in constant monologue mode and a three month old who only sort of sleeps through the night? It, you know, wears on you.

So I hired a babysitter. She played with the big kid while I cleaned and nursed and got dressed. And it was the most fabulous thing I have done in ages. My house looked nice. I nursed without guilt for shooing away the big kid. I got dressed without having to stop every thirty seconds to find a superhero figure or pop in a pacifier or pull the toothbrush out of the toilet. I had a productive morning, and I didn’t stress once. And it didn’t wear on me.

So this is to all my home-staying caretakers out there: every once in a while, hire the help. Do not feel guilty. Do not feel weird or self-indulgent or wasteful or useless. I felt better than I ever imagined I could, just from having two hours where I wasn’t in charge of everything at once. Hire the help, do two hours worth of what you’ve been wanting to do the last three months, and tell yourself you are fabulous for it. Trust me, it’s worth it. And so are you.

p.s. She’s coming back next week. It’s gonna rock.