At the Mercy of a 2 year old

At the risk of beating a dead horse, I'm talking about toddler drama.  Again. 

Today was another one for the books.  Elena is two months shy of her second birthday and I think it's safe to say that we are strapped in tight, white knuckle grip and all,  on the roller coaster that is the Terrible Twos.

God help me.  No, seriously.  God, I know you've got greater prayers to answer, but if you could send a little sanity, a lot of patience, and a dose of reassurance that I'm not the worst mom in the world, that'd be great. This conveniently comes at a time when I cannot drink or medicate myself.  Awesome. 

I'll spare you the gory details, because honestly?  I'm exhausted and it would take too damn long to recount the days' events.  In a nutshell, let's just say that every. single. thing. in our daily routine has become a production.  Diaper changes, getting dressed, meals {don't even get me started on meals, that's a post for another day}, going shopping, getting in and out of the car seat, sitting in the stroller, sitting in her highchair, brushing her teeth, which bib she wears.  I'm pretty confident if she were talking in sentences she'd tell me she hates me. 

Perhaps I'm being the slightest bit dramatic.  Not every moment is a struggle.  And of course I know she loves me. She plops herself down nicely on my lap to get her shoes on and she she loves to sit quietly and draw.  She dances and twirls around to the "ewebic" {that would be music}on my phone, and gives me kisses randomly and always when I ask.  She loves to laugh at the dog and walk around with a phone pretending to talk to Daddy.  She says "sahjee" {sorry} with the sweetest little pouty lip when I get her from Time Out and thinks it's hysterical to pretend to tickle herself.  She is all of this, more, and then some. 

It helps to write this after such a long day.  To process it, acknowledge it as normal toddler behavior, and focus on the highlights of our day.  Because in between the blood curdling screams and defiant, sassy "nopes", there are many, many highlights. 

And always, always, I can count on these at the end of even the roughest days.  Snuggles and lovins from my favorite girl. 

Oh hey. You must be the terrible twos.

My child sleeps.  Soundly and like the dead.  And since daylight savings time,  we've had wake-ups at 9:45, and 10:45.  I thought I had a toddler, not a teenager.

Speaking of teenagers, for a hot second today I would have rather been dealing with the "I hate yous" of teenage angst than the tantrums of the terrible twos.   Grass is greener, I know.  I know.

Seriously?  Totally giving me the stink eye. 

It was a day and a half around this house and tonight finds me feeling defeated.  It's not the first time.  And I know, trust me, I know--- it isn't the last.  Whoever tries to make motherhood look all easy and we bake cookies all day and do educational Pinterest rainy day crafts until the cows come home is full of it.  It isn't easy and I have no shame in admitting it.

Do we have days like that?  The cookie baking crafty kind?  Sure.  But no day is perfect and lately all seem to be infused with mass amounts of toddler drama and crazies. 

For the love, I am a child development major.  I haven known about the terrible twos and all the shit that goes with them long before becoming a mother.  No amount of schooling or babysitting could have prepared me for being deep in the trenches with my own child.  Basically as a single mother.  When Paul is home?  What a difference.  She is so much more manageable and pleasant.  Like that doesn't make me feel like a terd.  Like it's all me.  Womp womp.

Don't get me wrong.  Elena is my best friend.  She is funny, loveable, affectionate, engaging, silly, smart...I am obsessed with her and miss her the second she falls asleep.  We have a million wonderful moments in a given day.  Moments where I stand in awe of this amazing creature God has blessed me with.  So many more wonderfully awesome moments than the ones that have me ranting tonight.

Sparkles and unicorns right there, people.  Makes it all worth it. 

But those ugly moments need to be documented, too.  Motherhood isn't all sparkles and unicorns.  It's slaps across the face from your kid in Trader Joe's because she doesn't want you to have your hands on the grocery cart.  It's that sassy "nope" when you ask her to do something routine.  It's that red face of embarrassment you get when your adorable spawn is the only one in gymnastics that wants no part of the parachute and lets everyone within a ten mile radius know it with her screams. All of it and then some.

But you know what?  I'll take it.  Tomorrow is a new day.  I'm hoping for sparkles and unicorns, but will navigate the tantrums and crazies, come as they will.  No doubt. 

On Breastfeeding: A letter to my baby

When I was pregnant with Elena I worried that I wouldn't be able to breastfeed her.  I had always known I'd wanted to breastfeed, and perhaps because getting pregnant was such a struggle, I just assumed everything that came along with pregnancy would be difficult, too.  Breastfeeding included.

In any case, it was a legitimate worry in those months leading up to her birth. I can remember squeezing my nipples in the shower hoping that some breast milk would come squirting out, and panicking slightly when it didn't, no matter how hard I tried.  I prayed, actually prayed to God to allow me to be able to nurse my child.  It was important to me.  

I remember the moment that I pulled Elena onto my body immediately after she was born.  All the fear that had built up inside me about being a new mother washed away.  At that exact moment in time it was as if I was fulfilling the role I was always meant to have.  There was no fear.  No worry.   No "what do I do now?"  Those first moments of meeting her in the flesh are the most precious moments of my life.  Laying her on my bare chest and seeing this sheer miracle of life rooting her little rosebud lips to find my breast, well, it was beauty in it's purest form. All that worry seemed for naught.

I'm eternally grateful to my sister-in-law who photographed Elena's entire birth and captured those first tender moments of us together once she had arrived.  I cherish them.   Having the pictures of my sweet little babe latching on for the first time will always be a treasure.  

I wanted to remember the last time as beautifully and clear as I remembered the first.  On the evening after our last "milkie" I wrote this in my phone.  I'm finally getting around to transcribing it here.

 ***Written on 10.14.12.  A letter to my baby.  My little love. ***

511 days I nursed you.  Just a week shy of your 17 month birthday.  Could we have gone longer?  Yes.  Did we go longer than I thought we'd be able to?  Yes.  Did we keep at is as long as I'd hoped?  Indeed.  I'm proud of us, little girl.  So proud.  

At this point, we were down to just one milkie session a day.  First thing in the morning.  It was the last session to go because it was your favorite.  The one you asked for and cherished.  Me too, little girl.  Me too.  Nothing filled my mama heart more than having you reach for me as soon I walked into your room-sleep still in your eyes and baby's breath filling the room.  Your crazy hair, wild from last night's sleep.  I will miss this.  Our special bond.  Our quiet cuddle time.  It filled me up and made me feel necessary and relevant. 

I had hoped to stop when you were ready.  Are you, my sweet love?  I don't know.  It's not on your time- our stopping- and that hurts Mama's heart.  You cried this morning when I told you there was no more milkie as you pulled at my shirt and feverishly signed please and milk.  That broke my heart, sweet girl.  But, that shattered heart grew two times in size with love and pride when you finally settled to take some milk from a sippy cup.  You are such a big girl and my heart swells every time your independence shines.   

I'm sure our milkie time was more out of comfort than nutrition at this point.  Though I know you still reaped the benefits of whatever mama's milk you got.  My breasts are full and heavy now if that is any indication that my milk was, in some regards, plentiful.  Even this far along, I still felt the "let down" sensation and will miss it.  Waiting for it.  Expecting it.  That rush of endorphins.  The high of knowing I was filling you up with goodness and nurturing your physical being and your emotional little self, too.  

I had always hated my breasts before you, little girl.  They weren't big enough, or sometimes too big depending on what I was wanting to wear.  They weren't as perky as my 20-something boobs and dammit if my areolas weren't the size of silver dollars!  But nursing you?  Man.  That was a game changer in terms of how I felt about my girls.  I am thankful for them.  Proud of them.  In awe of all that they have accomplished and overcome in 17 months of motherhood.  It wasn't always easy and we had our obstacles from latching issues to a nursing strike.

I have never really felt crazy passionate about something.  Until breastfeeding.  Plenty of people-most in fact-though it was less than normal for you to still be nursing.  Don't even get me started on that, BooBoo.  I could get all La Leche League on their assses.  I would feed you anywhere.  Anytime.  In fact, I probably did.  Always using a cover or blanket if we were in public.  Not because I'm against just whipping them out, but because I'm a modest gal of sorts and that is what was comfortable for me.  

One of the craziest places I ever nursed you was when we were driving on one of our 10 hour car rides between NJ and OH.  I unbuckled myself, climbed in the backseat, and hovered over you in the carseat for you to nurse.  Not the safest for Mama, I know.  I would have proudly breast fed you longer.  In fact, I wanted to at least nurse you until your 2nd birthday, but it was time for Mommy and Daddy to start trying to get your a brother or a sister.  And, with IVF there are lots of medicines that wouldn't be safe for you, my love.  So this is what we had to do.  Our approach was slow- eliminating one session every two weeks and I hope that it helps to make this transition easier on you.

I couldn't have made it this far without the love and support of Daddy.  He really surprised me with his support of extended breastfeeding.  He isn't a self-proclaimed hippie type like Mommy.  At all.  But he adored the bond it fostered between us.  You and I.  And he loved that it was the magic panacea for pretty much anything that ailed you.  Mommy and her magic boobies.  I will miss that.  My boobies sure were great problem solvers.  Daddy was known to say- "Give her the boooooob!" He's so silly.  

But now, as you advance into toddlerhood, I'll look forward to all the new ways we can grow together and bond.  You're such a busy bee and are so excited about the world.  Luckily we won't be at a loss for things to do to keep us going.  And when you reach for me and pull at my shirt, clearly in your language of wanting milkie, I will offer you comfort with all the mommy love and kisses and squeezes you need.  I won't let go baby until you tell me to.  

I hope you'll still let me hold you like my baby and rock you.  So I can stroke your hair and trace my fingers over your cheeks and perfect little nose, taking in every square inch of the miracle that is you.  Nursing you became so much more than feeding you.  It filled you up, but I think it filled me up just as much.  Thank you, my sweet love, for all that you are and all that you've allowed me to become as your mother.  Thank you for giving me a confidence and strength I never knew I possessed.  We've got this gig down, girlfriend.  I can't wait for all the wonder and joy that awaits us.  Together.