For years I joked around that Jeb and Achilles were our practice kids. I had no idea how right I was. This is an obligatory opening paragraph with a nut at the beginning to compensate for the quick preview blog reader apps give. I’ve noticed most of these list posts need to have an opening paragraph, but I never read them, because I’m only interested in the list (which is below). I’m curious if this is universal or not. So, if you read this paragraph, answer me this question in the comments: If cows could talk, would you still eat them? Now read below for the actual point of this blog post.
Friday, October 17, 2014
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Hey, remember that old blast-from-the-past graphic? It’s been a while.
Today I officially kick off Project Recovery.
The last year has been quite the rollercoaster for my body. About this time last year we were in the gym daily. I had decent cardiovascular health (you know, “considering”). I was able to do a full unassisted pullup (and 3x5 assisted). I even wore actual “workout clothes” in public.
Then I got pregnant, and my body was occupied, in every sense of the word, with another human person’s well-being. Didn’t go to the gym. Didn’t skip a chance for cake. Don’t regret a single thing.
Monday, September 29, 2014
When we left El Paso/Ft. Bliss, my parents came down to help us move. We did a full DITY, which deserves its own post (and which it will receive). Anyway, part of the process was taking our leave time and going from El Paso to Sierra Vista and back up to OKC to introduce Baby G to family, by way of the Grand Canyon.
1700 miles. Not counting the return trip. With a three-month-old.
We were crazy.
Friday, September 26, 2014
I read an op-ed the other day about distracted parenting, all of which was good, but the money quote for me was: "Parents today are probably the most informed and involved generation in history. And, yet, in the company of their children, they often act as though they'd rather be someplace else." You could also say, “Sometime else.”
I think it’s normal, to think of a certain period as “the best time.” For a lot of people it seems to be school age. My mom apparently loved toddlers. I don’t hear many people say it’s the first year.
Baby G has been sicky recently. Nothing huge, a runny/stuffy nose mostly. The other night, she was having trouble sleeping well, even on her stomach, due to the congestion. So I picked her up and let her fall asleep upright, while I sat up, so her head could drain and she could breathe easily. It was 3:30 in the morning.
In that moment, I had to make a decision. I could either grumble to myself that I wasn’t going to get any sleep that night, or I could be thankful that my baby was still small enough for me to hold, and still young enough to want to be held. And even here to be held at all.
I don’t say this judgingly, because I’m sure I’ll do my fair share of complaining over the years. Believe me, I won’t be at all nostalgic about changing diapers or picking a baby’s nose. But that doesn’t mean I’m in a hurry to rush this time. After all the time I waited to have a baby, I want to enjoy as much of her “babyness” as possible.
It’s already slipping away too quickly. I don’t want to look back years from now and realize I wished the days away getting there. Or, as my friend Jacqueline said, "Watching your kids grow up is emotional enough without adding the regret of knowing you put other things first."
I can’t wait until Baby G can get from room to room on her own…and I love that she loves being held by me and SoldierMan.
I can’t wait until Baby G can say “Momma”….and I love listening to her sleep-singing.
I can’t wait until Baby G wants her nails painted like mine…and I love laying with her under her play yard.
I can’t wait until Baby G sleeps through the night in her own room…and I love bed-sharing with her while she’s too little to kick ;)
It’s her life too, and I don’t want to miss a second more than I absolutely have to.