DIZMOMMY > March 2015


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March 31, 2015

Pregnant Chick Envy

Dear Obviously Pregnant Chick(s),

I know you must be getting sick of strangers stopping you to hone in on your baby baking, and I realize you're likely bored with all of the stories that start with, "When I was pregnant..." So was I. But please, cut me some slack and understand that very simply put: I envy you. Specifically: first time moms-to-be. 

You see, there's something electrifying about you and your obvious transformation. While men don't show their expectancy, we totally do, and it's really hard not to acknowledge the most amazing and life growing moment when you see it walk past you, protruding belly and all. That electricity is too familiar. 

Though it's been almost three years, it feels like only yesterday I was freaking out over crib prices and referring to the term "mattress sold separately" as a scam (hormonal pass), and only yesterday it feels like I was the one counting down months until my life would forever change. And you only get one first time...and it passes much quicker than it came, by the way. 

Some moms will do it again, like my own...who got pregnant again, and again, and again, and one more time just for good measure. Then there are moms like me, who have that one time and nothing else. And seeing you...well, it's electrifying.

So I'm sorry if my questions bother you, if my recollections and "when I was pregnant's" annoy your rampant, wild flux of pregnancy hormones (like it did to mine). I'm just happy for you, excited for your experience, and feel a sense of camaraderie with you. So thank you. Thanks for reminding me of what waddling to the car looked like, what sharp baby kicks to my ribcage made me yelp, and how happy I am that I'm not pregnant...even though I miss it when I see you, sometimes. Thank you for letting me share that I was her, too. 

And even though it's probably the number one thing you're the sickest of being told...enjoy it. Because one day you'll miss it.

March 29, 2015

Soul Sessions

Though I wouldn’t consider myself a full-fledged believer of past lives or reincarnation, I haven’t written off the concept either. But I had no idea when I accepted the opportunity to review a book titled Soul Sessions by Carson Gage that I’d be reading a story about one man’s past life regression therapy experiences. Whoa. 

The man I’m talking about is Nick Dalton. He’s a stereotypical successful and well-off man who is unfulfilled despite his material wealth. From the very beginning of the book, it was obvious that Nick is completely out of touch with who he truly is and what he values, and operates from his ego- chasing things that don’t make him feel whole; like fast women and big money. Before Nick has a chance to kill himself, he sees a therapist that challenges his belief system and asks if she can try hypnosis on him in an effort to reveal the cause of his core issues. This is where the past life regression begins for Nick and reveals a multitude of past lives, including one past life as a slave.

This book did what I like books to do: it made me think. You see, the entire purpose of Nick engaging in hypnosis was to uncover any memories that would help him in his present life (which was going to crap). Throughout the hypnosis I wondered: what circumstances are in my current life that I can learn from? And if life is merely (lol) a series of opportunities to learn and grow, what do these challenges that I have mean? These are big time questions from a book that took only hours to read. 

The idea of dying and coming back as someone else has always scared me. You see, I feel very comfortable with my life and worry that I’ll reincarnate into some pretty messed up circumstance. But this book put that fear to bed when one of Nick’s hypnosis sessions led him to realize that souls, “…often choose difficult lives for the purpose of gaining an experience…” to learn and grow. This notion of “choosing” the life we have never occurred to me and was definitely my favorite Nick moment. And though Soul Sessions is fiction, the quest for inner knowing is all too real.

I was selected for this opportunity as a member of Clever Girls and the content and opinions expressed here are all my own.

March 27, 2015

What I've Been Doing Lately

Asking me “What’s new?” is a surefire way to throw my brain into a tizzy. I mean, “new?” Heck if I know! I can hardly remember whether or not I ate lunch yesterday. Perhaps I’m guilty of overthinking what’s worth reporting, but I have to wonder- do you really want to know about my toddler’s recent trip to the doctor, or my dog’s dumpster diving mishap, or the constant flux of laundry that is spilling over the hamper and onto the floor? Doubt it. So either I’m as boring as they come, or I’m too busy working full-time and raising a 2 year old to know which side is up. But in lieu of my typical shrug and “Nothing’s new” response, this is what I’ve been doing lately:
  • Reading Fox in Socks twelve times in a row (by demand, obviously). 
  • Doing my best to maintain composure when a flailing, screaming child won’t follow me into the house. 
  • Planning and waiting for the most opportune moment to swoop in and leave the park sans tantrum. 
  • Trying to prevent Dylan from putting his arm down every trashcan we pass. 
  • Wishing someone had gifted me a kid-leash at my baby shower (so many years ago). 
  • Strategically dropping potty-training hints in hopes of piquing some interest. 
  • Shouting, “He’s mine!” at concerned strangers who spot a seemingly unsupervised toddler running past them. 
  • Struggling to keep up with the aforementioned running toddler, who grows cagier by my closing distance. 
  • Making an effort to shake the toddler speak I’ve picked up from overexposure. 
  • Trying not to worry why my son pretends his stuffed animals are crying. 
  • Hoping the waiter doesn’t notice my son poking him with a fork as he passes our table. 
  • Explaining to family that my 2 year old is saying “trucks,” not “fucks.” 
  • Stopping myself from laughing when Dylan says, “Shut up mommy” in response to correcting his behavior. 
  • Redefining the meaning of life on the D.L to be dishes and laundry. 
  • Regretting ever having taught Dylan the term, “One more and no more.” 
  • Negotiating with a 2 year old. 
  • Wondering what I’m going to make for dinner. 
So when I hit you with the “nothings new” shrug, just know that the alternative response involves dumping out and burying you in all the loose change from my memory bank. And you know what? No news is good news. Your welcome. 

I'm also kissing, hugging, loving on and soaking up every minute of this child's youth that I possibly can.

March 24, 2015

Tantrums…Mom Edition

This shop has been compensated by Collective Bias, Inc. and its advertiser. All opinions are mine alone. #WhenImHungry #CollectiveBias 

March 20, 2015

Easter Marvel - Not Falling Through the Cracks

This shop has been compensated by Collective Bias, Inc. and its advertiser. All opinions are mine alone. #DisneyEaster #CollectiveBias #ad

March 19, 2015

Toddler Logic & Making Men Squirm

“Are you my daddy?” Dylan asked some stranger in the chip aisle of the grocery store. I was horrified. Not for me, but for the sheepishly grinning gentleman Dylan was talking to who had no idea how to respond. “Daddy?” he pressed on. The poor guy skedaddled quicker than a cat in sprinklers. 

So I tried, even though it felt ridiculous to address, “No Dylan, that isn’t your daddy.” The kid already knows that. In fact, my son and his dad are a lot alike. Both go to great lengths to embarrass me, quiz me, and illicit a reaction from me. Which is why my “not your daddy” response was considered a declaration of my readiness to engage in the “Who’s my daddy?” game, and why Dylan began calling out for the man from a growing distance, “DADDY!!!!!! DADDDY!!!!” Okay, now I’m a little embarrassed. 

This one actually is his daddy.
But that’s just the way toddler logic works sometimes. They say one thing, you say a different thing, and then they insist. The first few times Dylan began asking strange men I’ve never seen before if they were his dad, I’d save the unsuspecting fool some awkwardness by nipping it in the bud. I’d laugh a little whilst saying, “Nooo Dylan….that’s not daddy!” But in toddler head, my response was a game- not a conversation and Dylan only grew more certain, pointing and shouting, “Daddy! Daddy!” at the stranger. And after going through this scenario 10 times with 10 different daddies, I decided to get creative…or at least have some fun. 

“Mommy, is that my daddy?” Dylan knowingly questioned while pointing at the man standing directly in front of us at Starbucks. The man tried to pretend he didn’t notice the random toddler referring to him as "dad," but his squeamish shuffling to distance himself from us revealed otherwise. So...I couldn't help it. “Yes Dylan! It’s DADDY!” I boasted. Dylan laughed as the man turned around towards us, looking relieved  as he surveyed his surroundings for the real daddy but nope. We're talking about you sir. “Look! It's daddy!!!” I reaffirmed as I made eye contact with the stranger- he quickly gave me his back. But before I could put a call out to Maury, Dylan pronounced, “Nooooo, that’s not Daddy!” Toddler logic hacked. 

And it’s kind of our thing now. Dylan asks a random man if he’s his daddy, I watch said man squirm uncomfortably with panic and nervousness, and then I proceed to agree with Dylan, "Yeah! It's dad! Hi Daddy!" And let me tell ya, nothing clears out a Starbucks line quicker than pinning a 2 year old on a man you've never met. I mean, I could try harder to shake the toddler logic out of my son’s head, and I would, but it’s too funny. So sorry sir but today my son is calling you daddy. And so am I.

March 11, 2015

Mom, Before She Was One

Though I’ve only been a mom for two years, parenthood has led me to question a lot of things. Like, how did my parents survive 5 daughters? Why don’t toys come assembled? What is the child-induced phenomena responsible for making the days shorter and pass quicker, but more importantly, is there an antidote? 

And as the duties of child rearing unremittingly consume me, the ongoing development of a gazillion new mom-life memories are taking over my memory bank and pushing any pre-parent recollections I had further and further out of recall. It’s as if I can’t remember a life before diapers, car seats, small hands, and a constant flux of exhaustion. But I want to. 

I like to presume that my life has more meaning now than it ever has, that my purpose has expanded much like my awareness of a crying baby, and that my life’s current state of spilt drinks, random Cheerios, and stroller pushing, is way better than its former state of….whatever it was. Still, I have to wonder…. 

What did I do with my money before I had a child? I must’ve been rich. Or at least I should’ve been since I didn’t have to buy shoes, clothes, food, diapers, or daycare expenses. Where’s the wealth at? 

What did I do with my time? I mean, I had so much of it! With no one demanding that I feed them, raise them, or take them to the park, I reckon I must’ve had so much time to blow that I could’ve called it “free” and meant it. 

What does sleeping in feel like? Long ago in a faint and distant memory, I vaguely recall waking up at 9am and considering it “early.” Now, snoozing until 9am is like the Hope Diamond- I can hope all I want but I’m never gonna get it. 

What did we fight about? Nearly every argument my husband and I have boils down to conflicting parenting practices. If we weren’t fighting about who’s spoiling the kid, who changed the last diaper, and how to diffuse a tantrum, what were we fighting about again? 

What did I eat and why did I have cookware? Since I didn’t have to cook for a family every night, why did I even own cookware? And there’s no way I skipped a meal, so what was I eating, anyway? I suspect my stomach is where the bulk of my riches went. 

What stressed me out? Lately I have a reoccurring vision of rushing my 2 year old to the Emergency Room to get a medical professional to evaluate his incessant screaming, body thrashing, and obvious agitation, only for a doctor to scold, “Ma’am, there’s nothing wrong, he’s having a tantrum!” Oh. So uhm, what exactly was considered stress before I was being brutalized by a child with such a colorful disposition? 

And honestly, what did I talk about? Yes, put me down as one of those parents that always have the funniest (or not) story about what my kid did the other night. I shamelessly whip out my iPhone to show off his cute face, and I effortlessly find a connection between whatever the hell you think it is important and my child. Sorry, not at all sorry. 

So if I happen to forget your birthday, our dinner date, or to reply to your text, don’t feel bad. I can’t even remember what I did during the 27 years preceding parenthood! (But feel free to remind me.)

March 3, 2015

Terrible Twos...Still Beats Having a Baby

As I trudge through the thick of terrible twodom, I find myself delving for reasons why my tot’s current state of tantrums, mood swings, and bossiness is way better than the good old days of tummy time and pincer grasp. Because during fits of temperamental madness, like when a staring contest concludes with being head-butted, pulled down, and spit on by a 2 year old, I need all the reminders of sleep deprivation and teething I can get. And I’ve done such a good job figuring out why I prefer being wrestled to the ground by a three foot demon than I do swaddling an angelic newborn that I almost believe: 

When they fall down, it’s not so bad anymore. Infants are so much more fragile and they don’t catch falls like experienced toddlers do. Just the other day Dylan fell down cement steps, bled from his nose, and cried…because the cookie he was holding broke in half. Phew! 

We understand each other…kind of. I’m not saying that the kid listens to me or follows even half of my instructions, but he very specifically tells me what he wants and can even answer questions like, “Are you hungry?” It’s nice not having to guess everything all the time. 

More sleep for everyone!!! Announcing that it’s time for bed is how meltdowns are born. But once the dust settles and all 13,000 bedtime stories have been read, there’s a solid night’s sleep ahead for both toddler and mom. Take THAT cute swaddled babies of the world! 

I’ve grounded the chopper, mostly. Even in controlled environments, hovering over a baby is an inescapable reality. But with a toddler, I can sit down and watch him play at the park from a distance. I’m not saying that he lets me, but in theory, I have options. 

Toddlers contribute. When I finish wiping Dylan’s ass, he throws his own diaper away. He also tosses his plates in the sink, feeds himself, and picks up his toys (if I ask nicely). But babies? They make you do all the work. 

I’m less worried. Between their undeveloped immune systems coupled with limited care options, on top of their helplessness, infants are a recipe for premature graying. But toddlers? They get sick, they get better, then they get sick again. And the cycle? It’s desensitizing. 

Personality. There is a legitimate person in that little toddler body with a personality that’s unfolding daily. My tot pretends to be asleep for backrubs, crawls like a dog for under the chin tickles, dances to any hint of rhythm, and likes to say, “Good job mommy!” when I do something he approves of. Swoon. 

So sure, I might sweat bullets and face public scrutiny as I power-walk home from the park with a screaming, protesting, evil 36 lb flailing toddler under my arm, and I may have to justify a second serving of wine after dinner with “I earned it,” but at least I get a full night’s sleep, a bit of help, some conversation, and a little praise every once in a while. I mean, it could be worse. I could have a baby.