Why I Gave My Firstborn's Receiving Blanket to the Dogs

I am the opposite of a hoarder, I opt to toss and deal with it later. This means an essential ingredient is always missing from my pantry, I exhaust myself digging for clothes I thought I still owned, and sometimes, I have to kick myself for discarding the “junk” of yesterday that’s selling for hundreds thousands of dollars on eBay, today. (Damn TY beanie babies!) So when it comes to purging the ever-accumulating baby items that are no longer of use, I don’t wanna make a big, fat, sentimental mistake. Wait, let me clarify: ANOTHER big, fat, sentimental mistake…like the one I may have committed when I donated Dylan’s receiving blanket to my dogs. They like blankets too… 

You see, when the mood to exclude strikes, I just can’t help myself! I become a hyper tossy robot, unconcerned with matters of the heart; it’s just business baby! Everything gets sized up in two categories: use or lose, with “just get rid of it” making frequent appearances when the slightest hesitation begins creepin’. But wait, what am I doing? What am I going to miss? Am I setting myself up for a sad realization that I haven’t any sentimental belongings to whip out and say, “This was the outfit we took you home in!”, or “You used to kiss and feed this stuffed bear.” 

Right now these objects exist in the moments of my day-to-day, but years from now, they’ll be remnants from some of the greatest days of my life. And if I lose the remnants, do I lose the memory? My connection to the past? Is this what storage boxes and attics are for? Losing the connection to my most precious and highly regarded life experiences is a real deal fear of mine. But an even bigger fear of mine is not having memories to connect to at all. And if I’m too occupied with holding on, I’m not letting go. And if I’m not letting go, I’m attached, not connected. 

I’d have seventeen boxes stuffed with Hot Wheels, toy animals, and swaddles that Dylan clung to if I kept all the objects of my memory's affection. But dusty things make me feel trapped by the past and all I really wanna do is cherish it. I’m not attached to that bear, I’m attached to Dylan’s laughter when I made that bear dance, and keeping it isn't going to bring back the laughter or the feeling anymore than the memory itself does. 

So as much as I want the moments of dancing bears to last a lifetime, and as much as I hope the feelings within those moments will be forever accessible by memory- the plastic goods, the stuffed toys, and the receiving blanket won’t be my connections. I’m too sentimental to hold on. If it’s not a drawing, a journal, a card or a picture, it's gone. Unless I come across another Princess Diana beanie baby...because that was basically my retirement plan. 

Do you hold onto any sentimental items? First outfits? First toys?

Transition Issues

Despite the fact Dylan is merely a year old, he makes the best teacher. Most recently he’s taught me that he’s not the only one with transition issues- I have ‘em too! Like when I had to transition into a daycare mom aka my transition into a paranoid freak, that one time Dylan decided he was done breastfeeding and I had to deal with his rejection the transition out of that, or every morning when I transition out of bed. And while I typically have one foot dragging behind, stuck in the past, Dylan will run right past me and shout, “CATCH UP MOM!” So I do. 

Dylan is currently transitioning me out of our his bedtime routine. Six months ago, Dylan’s doctor explained that he could and should give up the bottle. In my oh-so-logical world, bottles are for babies and Dylan is still a baby...right? So instead of giving them up, I cut back! Six months later and Dylan still gets 1 bottle a night despite my husband’s reminders that I must eventually transition out of bottles altogether (all I hear is “eventually”). Those damn bottles are the basis of our bedtime process: Bottle, massage, goodnight. Or well, they were. Dylan’s transitioning me into the next routine whether I like it or not. 

That last part of the bedtime process, the part where I carry Dylan to his room, lay him down, kiss him, then slowly walk out while waving bye, is no more. Lately, he doesn’t let me lye him down. He wants me to hold him for a few minutes, pat his back, and then say goodbye. Extra cuddles? Yes please! But in those final minutes of back-patting and kisses to my shoulder, I can feel the end of the bottle days nearing to make way for a new routine. The ever-growing giant I coddle in my arms demands it. 

It’s not easy for me to let go (obviously) and accept that babyhood is over regardless of the bottles I’ve been serving. It's a real lesson in time taught by the best teacher imaginable. Because when you wanna learn just how quickly and just how precious time really is, kids will put it all in perspective for ya; they just keep growing and growing until there's no kid left.  One day you'll wake up and BOOM. You're the parent of an adult. So excuse me while I sob uncontrollably and try to keep my son a baby with bottles he doesn't need. Clearly I haven't learned how to transition gracefully.

P.S. So there's really NO WAY to keep a baby a baby??? Fiiiiine....

A List of 6 Badass Bloggers - Part III

This is my third installment of Badass Bloggers; if you missed my first and second batches of badassery, check out these little cuties:

Jennifer

Camille

Danielle

Vanessa

Amy

Karen

Allison

Tamara

Becka

Betty

Echo

Jen

Nina

It’s no secret that bloggers love fellow bloggers, and sometimes I get lucky and stumble upon a blog that blows my mind, speaks to me, or simply makes me happy. In honor of these dreamboats I have decided to periodically share a list of bloggers that stand out. If you have a favorite blog that you'd like to share with me, please do so in the comments and maybe they’ll be featured on my next list!

Tawnya – All of Life’s Little Adventures   Tawnya is beautiful inside and out. No really, she posted a “no makeup selfie” and it’s ridiculously gorgeous. She’s a nurse, a photographer, a mom, and a wife who shares photos that will make you want to step your game up, and writes provocative posts that will get you thinking…like this one.

Julia – The Every Day Momma  Julia is fun, fun, fun! I’ve mentioned this before but it’s worth mentioning twice, girlfriend up and moved across the country with her bf and son (Myles) to live in my home state, California, because she loves me it was her lifelong dream! She’s creative, sweet, and is up for any activity regardless of the mess which basically makes her my hero and a fantastic mother to a boy.

Rachel – Craving Some Creativity   Rachel is one of the most creative people I’ve stumbled upon. Her talents are versatile, ranging from the perfect table setting to remodeling/redesigning an entire house. But wait, there’s more! She’s so thoughtful! Sweet! Supportive! You will love her just like me!

Maurissa – Maurissa Sees Beauty   Meet my makeup hero! Maurissa’s reviews are spot-on, she has no problem telling you a product sucks, she taught me the difference between makeup brushes (don’t judge me), and she has eyebrows that dreams are made of. One day, she’s going to give me a make-under so I can look like a goddess too.

Clarissa – Munchkins & Moms  Clarissa is too clever. I told her she should work for Milton Bradley because she’s a master game creator. Resourceful, creative, AND!!! All of her self-made activities are also promote learning! Clarissa is a gem.

Amber – Airing My Dirty Laundry    If you’re sarcastic and/or appreciate sarcasm, Amber is your girl. She is as authentic as it gets and says the things you wanted to say but didn’t think of. She’s birthed two gorgeous kids and a book that you can find here.

I've Turned My Son Into a Couch Potato

I have a love/hate relationship with television. Vegging out to trashy reality shows is totally part of my bedtime routine. Yet, I resent wasting precious time dumbing down to said trash. So when Dylan was born, so was the T.V. ban….that is, Dylan’s T.V. ban. Parenting practically requires the presence of double standards! Right? The purpose of the ban was to encourage Dylan to engage in any activity other than sitting around; there’s plenty of time for that later on in life (said the mom with a measly 1 hour 15 minutes of “free time” per day). 

The ban has been great! Up until recently, Dylan’s only T.V. exposure had been the occasional background noise at my mom’s house. Wait, did you catch that? Up until recently. You see, a couple of weeks ago my husband suggested we get Dylan some movies. He must’ve caught me in a great mood because within days our DVD collection included “Surfs Up” and “Open Season.” You know, kid movies. “Surfs Up” fell flat and I was thrilled by Dylan’s anti-climactic reaction to his first film experience. Yay! Obviously my ban was super effective and I had successfully trained his brain to reject couch potato tendencies. DAMN I’M GOOD! 

Yeah right. All it took was two minutes of “Open Season” to transform Dylan into a movie-feigning FREAK. Suddenly Dylan can’t pass the living room without pointing to the T.V. and requesting, “Movie? Movie? Movie? Pleeeeease?” And if I cave (which I often do), he begins cheering me on like a pep squad. The kid will do anything in exchange for movie time! He’ll kiss, bring the remote, throw away trash, he’ll even let me make dinner without tugging on my leg and crying! It’s hard to resist such adorable manipulation because getting things done without being bogged down by a needy toddler is what dreams are made of. But look at me now, I’ve created a film consuming monster that begs me to restart the dvd as soon as it ends. 

So what’s a girl to do? Express her concerns to her husband of course! His response? “When I said we should get Dylan ‘movies,’ I meant educational ones.” Oh yeah…duh. I think I’ll just take Dylan to the park from now on because I clearly have no business in show business.

Breathing Like My Life Depends on it

It’s a beautiful day. I decide to take Dylan to the park so he can burn off some energy. We run, we play, we laugh, and I try to get a video of his ridiculously amazing soccer skills as he kicks the ball. An hour passes and it’s time to head home for dinner. I ask Dylan if he’s hungry, if he wants some yum-yum, to which he nods. “Okay let’s go home and eat!” He bolts away and yells, “NO!” I tell him to say bye and thank you to the park, we’ll see ‘em later. I approach him and he drops to the ground in protest. I pick him up, he begins flinging his body, swinging his arms, and screams, “NO!” I tell him to relax, I understand he’s upset but there’s no hitting, no hitting. Dylan grabs a fist full of my hair and jerks it, I walk to the stroller with his back to my chest as to prevent any cheap shots to my face. He thrashes in the stroller and has a brief meltdown. 

I take a deep breath and try not to get caught up in the drama of being slapped around, I take another deep breath and ignore Dylan’s screams. I take another deep breath and try not to take it personal. I take another deep breath and try not to look at the people looking at me because I can read faces all too well and I don’t want to know what they’re thinking. “It’s none of my business.” I tell myself. Deep breath. 

We get home and I wash Dylan’s hands. I fix him a dinner plate, sit him in his high chair and begin giving him food. “Spoon, spoon,” Dylan requests. 

“Dylan wants a spoon?” He nods. 

“What do you say?” 

“Pweeeeese.” 

“Okay mom’s going to get a spoon.” 

I retrieve a spoon. Dinner time is a five minute success before he begins to get bored. He throws the spoon on the floor. “No throwing Dylan.” I give him the spoon which he uses for another minute before chucking it. “Mommy said no throwing. No more spoon.” Another meltdown ensues. I look at the clock, I’m officially on the bedtime countdown. 

By the time Dylan is down for the night, I’m exhausted. I’ve been hit dozens of times, my face has been grabbed, my hair pulled, and I’ve been challenged by a defiant 1 year old more than I care to admit. Honestly, I feel powerless. I don’t want to be the parent who has no control over their child and I wonder if I’m on my way. This is my nightmare. Advice jumbles in my head like loose change: “Hit him back,” “give him a time out,” “remain calm,” “explain,” “be consistent.” I want to cash out all the two-cents and buy myself a massage. I proceed to google: “one year old hitting discipline” and read article after article on the “hitting stage” of development…all of which end with, “Learning not to hit takes time for any 1-year-old to master. Meanwhile, cultivate some patience, a thick skin, and your sense of humor.” 

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry so I proceed to do both. I take a deep breath and channel my inner calm. I laugh at myself…just look at me. I’ve become a deep breathing sensation. I may have little to no control when the tantrums strike my face but check out my five-count huffy puffy ways! So I take another deep breath because hey, that's all I can do, apparently.