No Crying Over Silly Things.

As any mother of a two year old, past or present, knows, there is a stage in our child's lives that could be likened to "the Apocalypse". In short, anything that does not go specifically and precisely the way that said two year old wishes and desires will inevitably result in a nuclear meltdown.

Take for example my dearest love Allison. Anatomically, she lives in the body of a four year old - and even as the only person in the house that grew her inside her own uterus for 40 weeks, I sometimes forget that she is just now reaching the two and one half year mark. That being said, she's incredible intelligent, and unmistakeably independent. In other words, she's stubborn as all get-out and making my life three hundred times more difficult than I'd like it. God forbid you attempt to pop onto the internet for a second to check the weather, or your bank account - she'll accuse you of destroying her day by interrupting time on PBSkids.org. And asking her to peel herself away from coloring to eat dinner with you is absolutely, and by all accounts cruel and unusual punishment. She breaks into crocodile tears as big as Texas. She throws herself down on the floor, and the lower lip literally curls out in a semi-permanent frown. At this stage of the game, it's up to one of us to divert her out of this life-altering moment and into something a bit more productive.

Usually it is her father, who has the uncanny ability to speak to her in a calm, even tone, attempting to reason with her. On the off occasion that it's me that has to diffuse the bomb, I'm much less patient. I simply tell her this - "We don't cry over silly things." Then I tell her what's going to happen next. For example, when she's got herself thrown on the floor, I tell her, "HEY - LOOK AT ME. There's no crying over silly things. You will get off the floor and you will come to the table and eat now. Or there will be no crayons and markers after you're done."

I try, the best way that I know how, to make it my mission to raise smart, obedient, respectful little girls who trust in what I say and do and look to me for guidance. The general idea is that this will evolve into a mission to raise strong, beautiful, independent young ladies who have great senses of humor about themselves and life in general. And at the end of the day, I pray that I'm doing all the right things now so that when my daughters are in the midst of their senior years of college, they aren't crying over silly things, kicking their legs and wailing like wounded animals because they've had a bad moment in their long lives.

I remember when I was younger, and it was clear in our family who was the heavy, and was the refuge. Needless to say, history has a funny way of repeating. I knew even before we got pregnant with Allison that it just wasn't in him to be the "bad cop". And I knew that in order to keep our position of authority here in this home, that job was going to have to land squarely on my shoulders. I tease Geoff still about how easily he bends, how quickly those big green-brown eyes and cute little smile just play him like a fiddle. And then I remember that I'm not exactly the one that she's going to come to flirt with. I've told her a thousand times, it's not going to work. One way or the other I've made it clear that I'm not here to bend. I'm here to teach. And I have a strong feeling that when it comes to it, much like I appreciate what I was taught, she'll appreciate it too. And maybe her daughters will not cry over silly things.

What The.... November?

An entire month or more has passed and I'm sitting here on a Friday night, when I should be sleeping, to reflect and review the reality of the situation I call my life as of late. Our dear little girl is now approaching her tenth week of life and I cannot, for the life of me, remember or recall what this life was without her in the summertime. It seems somehow incomplete, those memories without Evelyn. Because, now she's here, and quite certainly not going anywhere. And our hearts are even fuller than they once were. And it all feels good, and right, and finally settled.

It didn't always or instantly feel good, and right, and finally settled. Perhaps that's the real explanation for the blog-less-ness for the last few weeks. Like most women, I've had a bit of a time pulling myself back into a routine, a schedule, a feeling of normalcy, post pregnancy. It's been a lack of sleep, a lack of privacy, a lack of anything that makes a woman feel like a woman, that's contributed to the feeling. All mothers know this feeling, and if they say they don't know what you speak of when you say PPD, they are LYING. Let me summarize with a recent conversation I had with myself while staring in the mirror, during a rare moment of silence and personal reflection:

- What the hell? Since when did my boobs look like THIS? My claim to fame is now little more than a set of deflated bags. And why is my husband SO behind me on the plastic surgery idea? (the answer was consequently staring back at me in the mirror.)
- Holy mother. Could the dark circles under my eyes be ANY more black?
- I need to lose forty pounds in the next ten weeks. Definitely before the New Year. I can totally do that. I just have to walk my ass off every day.
- I'm so tired right now there's no way I'm walking ANYWHERE.
- God, I want chocolate. I wonder what's in Allison's trick or treat bag still.
- If I turn on the hair dryer, will she hear it and wake up? If I dry my hair while I hear her crying her little head off, does that make me a shallow excuse for a mother?
- Oh my God, I miss my family.
- I need a nap.

And then, I'd just look at these babies. And I think to myself.... How lucky am I?