These kind of days always start a little “off.” I don’t always realize it when I’m basking in the fact that it’s 7:45am and Carter is still sleeping, but by now, I should.
He slept till close to 8 this morning and woke up a complete nightmare. It’s been one of those days where you kick yourself for getting smug about this parenting thing. You watch your kid spout out animal noises and point out letters from the alphabet and think, for just a second, that maybe you are figuring this gig out.
I watch him bring me toys when I ask for them, say “peas” and “tank you,” eat all his vegetables at dinner and take three hour naps and I fall into a false sense of security.
Yesterday we spent the day playing with friends in the morning and taking a 3.5 hour nap in the afternoon while I devoured a young adult novel (shaking head…) and completed 3/4ths of a chore before I decided we should use the rest of the day to go for a run outside.
It was an awesome day. A pretty picture demonstrating the life of a stay-at-home (during the day…) mom.
If only every day were so super sweet, right?
Today, I’ve watched my precious little boy:
- throw a book at my face
- smile knowingly, then proceed to do whatever it was I told him he’d get timeout if he did again
- throw his milk across the kitchen
- try to drag the dog across the floor by her leg
- spin in circles until he falls down…repeat, repeat, repeat…
- climb on top of a small box and try to jump off
- attempt to climb over the gate at the bottom of the step
He’s currently down for a nap, thank god, and I’m reflecting on the first half of today and not feeling badly, at all, that lunch consisted of a chocolate dirt cupcake* and I’m taking some time to blog and not so shamefully watch an ABC family show I DVR’d.*I should note that I made these with chocolate cream cheese frosting instead of what the recipe called for, which, in my opinion, made them that much more awesome. They are leftover from J’s 30th birthday celebration, and I figure it’d be a shame to waste them. If you have a free afternoon and love chocolate, I highly recommend making these.
I fully understand that his behavior is just a reflection of his age, but “broken record” was totally missing in the definition of “mother” that I read.
Which makes me wonder what other parts of the definition are conveniently omitted in those stupid pregnancy books…
In almost 18 months, I’ve become way too comfortable around poop and puke, have had my hair pulled out, shirt pulled down, and cheeks pinched more times than I can count.
I’ve gotten all sorts of food on clothes that range from Target cheap to boutique chic and have cried, yes, actually cried, over spilled milk. It was breastmilk, and 7 or so ounces of it, and I was a pumping mom at work trying desperately to maintain my exclusive nursing status. It was heartbreaking.
I’m part stalker, creeping in on my son while he sleeps several times a night. I’m part actress, pretending that reading that Elmo book for the 5th time in an hour is still exciting and singing Old McDonald Had a Farm is my idea of a fun car ride home from play gym.
Those are the mom lessons you have to learn by experience, or by the help of bloggers that like to reveal too much about their parenting trial and errors.
What do you think? What are some parts of the “mom” definition that get left out while painting the pretty picture?