To know my son is to love my son (it gets better)

It took me a long time to get to love my baby boy.  Unlike some moms, I was not engulfed by feelings of love the minute he entered the world.  And not because he tried to kill me (I don’t hold that against him).  Sure I felt something, I think, though in hindsight it is hard to remember.  Any feeling I had was completely overwhelmed by how much he needed me.  Nursing 24/7, colic, a disdain for sleep that he carries with him today – he was a high maintenance baby.  Or maybe I was a high maintenance mom who had just spent my entire pregnancy doing what I wanted when I wanted.

In any event, his dependence on me was crushing.

You might be shaking your head right now, little Miss “I-Have-All-The-Answers” and “it’s-all-so-simple.”  You probably think this was my doing.  That somehow I made him this way.  Maybe.  Maybe not.  But I have seen enough first time moms at this point to realize something was off.  Not everyone had as hard of a time as we did – me and Gavin.

It’s true!

Now that he is 3, I realize he is just a particular person.  He likes things just so.  Without being able to communicate those preferences, I can imagine infant-hood was like prison for him.  These days, he communicates like a champ.  We can talk about things, I can reason with him, and we can generally come to a mutually acceptable agreement on any matter (except why he can’t have Italian Ices for breakfast).

And the fact of the matter is, I adore him.  My heart explodes with unconditional love at some point almost every day.  Making him laugh is like a drug to me.  His hugs warm my heart and soul.  Hearing his enthusiasm while singing invigorates me.  Watching him overcome a fear inspires me.

The beauty of wonder

One of our favorite things to do before bed is watch one of the HBO “Classical Baby” series.  Typically it’s the Art Show or Classical Baby 2.  On a rare but delightful occasion we watch The Poetry Show.  The last poem, narrated by my dear dear stalking target friend Gwyneth Paltrow, brings tears to my eyes each and every time.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

It took us some time, but our bond is air tight.

Love – pure and simple

Even when he drinks all my orange juice:

Let me tell you, this was a treat for me during Father’s Day brunch. An orange juice in NYC can cost more than $5! For a small! Please applaud my restraint here.

So to any new moms out there who might be struggling with this parenting thing I can assure you of three things:

1.  You are NOT alone; and

2.  All the pain you are enduring is SO worth it; because

3.  It gets so much better!

My forever baby love

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Nevermind that noise, it’s just my ovaries whining.

Ladies (and the three men that are obligated to read this by marriage or blood) — listen up!  I am in desperate need of your help.   You see, it’s May!

[you nod in confused agreement].

What’s so special about May?  You mean, you don’t know??

May is THE month I get pregnant.  Every other year.

Let’s recap:

May 2008 – after nearly a year of trying, May was the magic month.  That year I shocked the hell out of surprised my husband on Father’s Day by making him breakfast and breaking the news (no, I’m not sure which shocked him more).

May 2010 – armed with the confusion that it took nearly a year to conceive our first, we decided to let nature take its course when I stopped nursing just a few short weeks before.   And a few short weeks later my 15 month old had the positive pregnancy test in his mouth (I was too shocked to grab it away after it dropped from my stunned hand).

So here we are, May 2012.  The kids are sleeping wonderfully (finally).  Ian and I are going on a Caribbean vacation.  Alone (as in no kids).   And I just held the 7 day old baby of one of my best friends (I loved every second of it).  My uterus is feeling kinda lonely…

Come and play with me, I'm a harmless plush uterus!

WAIT, WAIT.  This is craziness!  We cannot have any more children!  Why? you ask.  Well for starters:

1.  I suffer from hyperemesis gravidarum.  Which might just sound like the worst morning sickness ever, but in reality it involves vomiting that scares small children, hospital stays, IVs, threat of miscarriage and generally complete incapacitation.

2.  We live in NYC and are not in the 1%.  Which means the third child will have to sleep in the sink until it’s old enough to move out.

3.  I love sleep.

4.  I need sleep.

5. I finally get to sleep.

This isn't me, but I am sure I look that adorable when I'm rested

What’s that?  Those aren’t good enough reasons?  The joys of motherhood far outweigh these minor details?

Ok, well here are my top five reasons that we should have another child (ranked in order from the most important to the most shallow):

1.  Boobs.

2.  The first time I delivered I almost died, the second time I delivered was the most life-affirming moment I could imagine and now I’m curious what a third February due date would hold.

3.  No periods for another two years.

4.  Because I’m obsessed with baby names.

5.  We have one kid that is my mini-me and another that is my husband’s clone.  What would the in between mix look like?

As you can see, I’m not fit to be a parent to the two I already have, so we can all agree a third is out.  Right?

[please say RIGHT loud enough for my ovaries to hear you]

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Hello world!

I did a lot of mom blog research and despite what I found I decided to start my own.

Reading hundreds of other blogs made me cry, made me laugh, made me angry and gave me lots of thoughts about toilet-training.  Most importantly it inspired me to chronicle my own adventures, foibles, my ‘oh no’ and ‘aha’ moments, victories and outright missteps as a mom.

My biggest concern lies in the fact that all the blogs I read seem to have certain things in common, that, well, maybe I don’t.

Here are some examples:

1.  Other bloggers: love their kids but find the 24/7 care and feeding of them to be tedious (which is true).

Me:  I love being a mom and wife.  I secretly wish to spend several lifetimes doing nothing but watching my kids play on the playground, preparing cream cheese sandwiches (I said I love being a mom, not that I was good at it), and singing the Sesame Street theme song (without ever even wondering how you actually get to Sesame Street.  Though it is clearly in Brooklyn).

2.  Other bloggers:  hate Gwyneth Paltrow (especially the NYC ones).  Jennifer Garner too (her LA counterpart).  Like highly trained police dogs I think these mom bloggers can smell their 1950s housewife mentality from miles away and are on constant high alert from the mere mention of their names.

Me:   I worship Gwyneth Paltrow.  She can do no wrong in my book.  She loves to cook, she speaks spanish and she practices yoga.  She married a smart and sensitive rock star, she is best friends with Mario Batali and Jay-Z.  She beautifully reads my favorite poem on Classical Baby (All Grown Up…The Poetry Show).  All of this even gets her a pass for dumping Brad Pitt, Shallow Hal and yes, even trying to be a singer.  She’s my mommy inspiration.  Jennifer Garner too.

3.  Other bloggers:  are wildly successful

Me: only my mom will be embarrassed when this blog bombs

Which leads to me to wonder…for the first time on the interweb (though certainly not the last)…am I doing this right?