The Burp-bay Man

April 1997--I was finishing my junior year of college, and I had met this guy who invited me to his 21st birthday bash.  A first date followed a few days later, and the rest--as they say--is history.  Fifteen years later, our birthday celebrations have changed quite a bit.  The "Burp-bay Man," as Stinkus called him, celebrated his big night at. . .  t-ball practice.  But I don't think he minded--too much.

As with many things, I view birthdays differently now that I'm a mom.  The girls' birthdays hold such special memories for me, like realizing that the shirt R wore when Stinkus was born was the same shirt he had donned three years before for Sassy's arrival.  We now refer to it as the Baby Birthin' Shirt.  I loved hearing two different doctors both remark on each girl's head full of dark hair and long eyelashes.  I appreciated going through labor with Sassy and then REALLY appreciated when I didn't have to with Stinkus.  :)

When you're a kid, you don't give much thought to anyone else on your birthday.  It's your birthday.  Yet as a mom, you realize the role of the people who made it the day of your birth.  So today, I'm extremely grateful to R's parents.  Thirty six years ago they had no way of knowing that their gift from God would end up being our gift from God too.  So Happy Burp-bay, Daddy!  We love you!                          

Letter to Me

One of my favorite songs is “Letter to Me” by Brad Paisley. I love the idea of writing a letter to your younger self with all the knowledge and wisdom you've accumulated through the years. I recently read a similar article in a magazine where famous women wrote letters to themselves. Regardless of two college degrees, I'd have to say that the majority of my education has come from this little thing called motherhood. What would I say if I could go back and give myself advice? So here it is: A Letter to my Pre-Mom Self.

Dear M:

1. You will not be the perfect mom. But the good news is: no one else is either. Don't compare yourself to the mom who makes her own laundry soap or the mom who never pays for toothpaste because she is the Coupon Queen or the mom who makes a six course meal every night while her children babble happily at her feet. Chances are, you're doing something that they're not. Your kids get ONE mom—You. In their eyes, you're the best and that's all that matters. Stop worrying about what every other mother does and give yourself credit for what you do. Like using your time to write a blog instead of cooking a six course meal. :)

2. Wear a bikini and strut your stuff as much as possible. You're not too fat to wear one. You look hot. As crazy as this sounds, you will someday miss the way that you look RIGHT NOW. The day will come when you might be thinner, but your stomach is forever “ruined” with saggy, puckery skin that does NOT go away. And while most days, it's all worth it, there will be days when you'll miss being able to wear a two piece that doesn't have to be long enough to cover up all the evidence of motherhood.

3. Marry R. You can't possibly know in your early 20s, but he's such a good dad. He has all the patience that you lack and a calm sensibility that you'll lean on more than once. Not to mention he makes a really good Daddy playground.

4. You know that color that you hate? Someday you'll have a room in your house that color and two little girls who adore it. And you won't believe it now, but someday, you'll love pink too.

5. Your children will get sick and it will be ok. There will that horrible “What if” paranoia that haunts you every time someone runs a fever, and you'll think you're going crazy. You're not. Well. . . maybe a little. But it's a combination of painful memories and a powerful, crazy desperation for these little people to be ok. Don't call the pediatrician's office. Give it 72 hours and you'll find that they're right. Virus. Again.

6. You will miss little things that you now take for granted. Like taking a nap after work while Oprah's on. Or sitting on the couch and eating chips without having to share with any little beggars who are suddenly at your side. You'll miss being able to get yourself ready in the mornings. And you'll get good at doing your mascara in the car (only at stoplights of course.) You'll miss listening to the radio in the car. Or having QUIET in the car. Someday, as sad as it may seem, going to Walmart alone will be a luxury that actually makes you giddy.

7. Get ready to worry. You will probably do this more than some mothers (Try not to compare—See #1) but you will suddenly think thoughts that previously had no place in your life. 61 degrees tomorrow. . . is that 61 and cloudy or with the sun? Short sleeves or long sleeves? What if they get cold at recess? Will they be too warm? Field trip to a play. . . Will the bus driver have to take the interstate? During morning rush hour? What if the bus wrecks? And why don't buses have seat belts? Try to remember that worrying isn't good for anyone. Especially you. Or dear R who has to listen to you worry. :) Have I mentioned that you should marry him?

8. Enjoy your time with R. Especially Friday night dates and Saturday mornings where you can sleep as long as YOU WANT.

9. I've probably convinced you to never have children. . . Motherhood is a trade-off, and while it may not always seem like it, you always come out ahead. Despite everything you lose, you gain SO much more. You have the cutest alarm clocks ever who wake you every morning with a smile and a snuggle. You'll wonder what used to make you laugh in your pre-mom life. You get to experience memories again through your babies' eyes. You won't miss music in the car because the two voices belting out Taylor Swift in the backseat beat any song on the radio. You will know love like no other and thank God every day that He gave you Sassy and Stinkus.

10. So bottomline, enjoy these days. Strut around in that bikini, eat some more chips on the couch, and leisurely walk through the aisles of Walmart. These days are indeed numbered. But know that better ones are right around the corner.

Big Deals

I've recently discovered yet one more thing about motherhood that none of the parenting books warn you about: It's really painful to see yourself (especially all those things you hate) in your children. Of course, there are the physical things. I bet that the girls will someday fight their "not-quite-curly-not-quite-straight-pain-in-the-neck" hair. Pretty sure that they're both sporting my cankles. (I apologize, ladies. It truly is unfair that your daddy has the best legs in the house.) And then there's a tiny little vein on the back of Sassy's leg that I'm already picturing in thirty years and worrying about. Because that's what I do. I worry. I always have. Did she poop enough today? Too much? What if she can't burp? What if it's not just a temperature? And worse is seeing THAT in Sassy. I hate seeing her follow in my footsteps when I know what an uphill climb it is.

On Sunday, we spent the afternoon outside. The girls found a caterpillar that they named Sludge--Ted for short. We captured Ted in our little screened-in bug box, and added some rocks, leaves, and sticks. We then discovered that the bug box had a few holes. Scotch tape to the rescue. All was well. Or so I thought. Sassy immediately began worrying that the tape wouldn't stick and what if it fell off and Ted got out, or what if Ted got stuck TO it and couldn't move, and on, and on, and on. . . When she finally took a breath, I told her to chill out. "You're sounding too much like your mother." :) "But, Mom," she said, and with great, dramatic emphasis (I kid you not): "Precious things are BIG deals."

THAT'S why I worry. It's not fun, or something I enjoy. Contrary to what my husband believes, I don't seek out things to worry about. Motherhood may have left my hair crazier, my cankles bigger and my vein uglier, but it also opened a terrifying vulnerability within me. It's hard NOT to worry about these two little people. They're big deals. And while I want to protect them and shield them from everything, I can't. And I shouldn't. At the end of the day, I've gotta open that little bug box door and let them go. They have to face whatever life gives them. I guess there's one advantage to cankles--I've given them sturdy legs to stand on.