Parenthood Initiation

I've been a mom for over two years now.  I thought this day would've come way before now.  I thought I qualified with the ridiculous pain of labor.  Or the countless hours I stayed up all night with you as a newborn.  Maybe the millions of ounces of breast milk I painstakingly pumped the first 14 months.  Or the thousands of diapers I changed.  Or with the many milestone celebrations we've shared over these 2 short years.  Nope.  No ma'am.  Those didn't come close to this.  There was not a single contraction, pumping session, dirty diaper, or other first that would've prepared me for this.  After two years, despite the fact that I was a parent, I'd yet to be initiated into the parenthood club.

 

So... here's how it went down...

 

There we were.  An hour from home.  An hour from our destination.  You were crying in the back seat, miserable and confused.  You'd just thrown up.  For the first time ever.  You were covered in vomit.  I was panicking in the front seat, searching for somewhere to stop.  I wasn't prepared.  We were coming into the edge of town, where the 4 lane road had just turned into a 2 lane.  About a mile from all of the stores in town, but I couldn't leave you covered in pink vomit with bright red chunks for one more mile.  I was sure you'd just thrown up your guts.  Judging by your blood curdling screams, I'm fairly sure you were thinking the same thing.

 

I pulled over.  I prayed.  I had stopped right in front of a vacant building that was apparently the hang out for the unemployed in town.  I got out anyway.  I prayed.  I rushed to the back seat to pick you up, but first I had to wipe away the chunks.  I'll never be bothered again when someone makes fun of my stash of 500 drive thru napkins in the glove box.  I used every last one.  But they weren't enough.  I used every wipe in your diaper bag.  They weren't enough.  I'd cleaned you off as good as I could with what I had, but I needed more.  I prayed again.

 

I looked up and there shining in the sky were two golden arches.  Yes, today they were shining like they'd been sent from the heavens.  I buckled you back up, still covered and screaming, and we rolled into McDonalds.  Tears began to fill my eyes as I grabbed you, still screaming and confused, your diaper bag, and clean outfit.  At this point, I was covered, you were covered, and I knew I was about to bathe you in a McDonalds bathroom.  I prayed again.  As I was carrying you in, this sweet little old man held the door open for us and just smiled. 

 

"Awe, bless you." 

 

And that was all it took.  Down came the tears.  From me this time.  I tried to hide them and just continued to walk with you to the bathroom.

 

The bathroom was immaculate.  Go figure.  I wiped down the counter anyway and proceeded to bathe you, screaming and shaking.  You'd never thrown up before.  Not once.  Not like this.  Spit up doesn't count, and even if it did, you didn't do that much as a baby.  You had no idea what had happened.  You just knew you were miserable, and I wasn't able to fix it instantly.  I prayed again.  I finally got you dry (despite the fact this was a no paper towel/hand drier only McDonalds) and dressed.  I got myself cleaned up, and you climbed up my arm and into my shoulder and held on for dear life.  You needed a mama hug, but I needed a baby hug just as much.  We were ready to be on our way, but I just couldn't put you straight back in that car seat.  I prayed again.

 

I bought you some fries and a sprite.  Yes, you'd just thrown up.  Yes, I knew I was asking for it by feeding you fries.  No, I didn't care.  I knew it would cheer you up, and in that moment that's all I cared about.  I wasn't about to put you back in that seat without something to take your mind off of what had just happened.  I handed you fries and prayed they would stay down.  You were a happy kid. We got back on our way.  The fries stayed down.  I was a happy mama. 

 

That was it.  I was officially a member of the parenthood club.  I'd been hit with a mess.  By myself.  In the middle of nowhere.  It was a moment of unnecessary panic, but it ended ok.  There will be more, but those will be ok too.  I'm prepared now.  We're prepared now.  Whatever happens, we'll just pray and get through.  Until then, we'll pray we never see anything worse than vomit in the middle of nowhere.  Even though we probably will.  But we'll get through that too.

Words to Remember

Hello, sentiment.  It was nice of you to pop over today.  

 

This post is simply for me.  To remember. 

Because I want to.  And because I'm scared I'll forget.

I don't journal. 

I never remember to write in the baby book. 

This is as good as it gets.

 

So, here are some Ellie memories.

Somewhere we can find them. 

And not forget.

Ellie's Words

Pacifier:   Went from Poppy to Boppy
Almonds: Almies (her favorite snack- thanks SaSa)
Gloves:    Glubbs
Butt:        Hiney
Cream:    Cleam (as in 'hiney cleam' aka Vaseline)
Love:       Lub
Uh-huh:   Uh-huh (pronounced correctly- just used frequently and preciously...
                makes it hard to teach manners... just don't want to forget how cute
                it is/was)
Roly Poly: Pahdilly-Puddy  (by far our favorite word ever)

Marshmellow:  Caterpillar (no idea where this came from... When you correct her it becomes Marsh pilow) 

A Letter to Ellie

 

You had a tough week this week.  I picked you up from school yesterday and immediately you told on yourself.   You'd hit.   You'd bitten.   You'd gotten time out.  I was disappointed.  I felt bad for your 'victims'. I felt bad for your teachers.   I felt bad for you.    I told you, 'We don't bite.  We don't hit.'  And made sure you apologized. But I knew it was just a rough today.  Tomorrow would be better.

 

I made a deal with you this morning as I dropped you off at school.   If you wouldn't bite and wouldn't hit once all day, I'd bring you fruit snacks right after school.   I hugged your neck and asked if you understood.  

 

'Yes ma'am. Understand.' 

 

You sat down at your table, looked around, then you reached across the table to take a toy from a bigger kid on the other side.   He yanked it back.  He was twice your size.  The only way you could've gotten the toy from him was with a hit or a bite.   You looked back at me and immediately gave up on the toy.  You sat sadly, toylessly in your seat as I walked out the door.

 

I wanted so badly to just ask the little boy to share with you or to give you a different toy.   But that wasn't my place.   You needed to learn on your own.  You can't hit.   You can't bite.  It's not ok to be mean. You have to learn other means of getting what you want. And you have to learn for yourself.  Even if it means being sad.  So, I walked out the door.  Leaving you in your chair.  Sad.  Toyless. Mornings like today aren't my favorite.

 

I went to work (luckily from home today) and cried.   Most of the day actually.   When I dropped you off this morning almost all of your other classmates were in the room.  As I sat you down at your table I realized that you are the smallest in your class.   My teeny, tiny baby has grown into a teeny, tiny toddler, and it's not the easy being the littlest kid in class.  After looking around, I understood immediately why you'd fought so much yesterday.  But that still doesn't make being mean ok. 

 

When I left you this morning, I wanted nothing more than to protect you from the great big kids.  I wanted to sit by your side all day long to make those kids share willingly, so you wouldn't feel the need to hit or bite.  I wanted to sit down and teach your whole class how to share and how to communicate better.  But I couldn't.  It wouldn't have been best for you.  The best I could do was leave you to figure out how to work with them on your own.   You have to figure out on your own how to get what you want kindly, despite the disadvantage of being tiny. Yes, even though you're only just 2.  So, I had to leave.  I had to let you be.  I had to let you grow.  I have to let you learn.   Even though sometimes I don't want to.   Even though sometimes it's hard.   For you.   And for me.  So, I'll try.  There will be more tears.  From both of us.  But I'll try.

 

I picked you up from school today.  As soon as you saw me you ran towards me.   You were ready to knock every other kid out of the way to get to me (I hope that never stops), but you didn't.  You ran as politely as any toddler I've ever seen.

 

'Scuse me, peas. 'SCUSE ME!  My Mama!  My Mama, peas.' 

Albeit a little impatient, but ridiculously polite for a 2 year old. 

And hilariously precious. 

 

When you finally got through the madness (the 3 loud bigger kids and the fence gate standing between us), you jumped into my arms and grabbed onto me so, so tight.  I asked if you'd had a better day than yesterday.   You just buried your head into my shoulder and held on.   I knew that meant it wasn't great.  Your teacher proceeded to tell me that you had cried almost all day.  You didn't hit.  You didn't bite.  But you cried.  Almost all day. 

 

Me too, kid.  

Me.Too.  

 

We walked hand in hand to the car.   You were ready for the promised no-hit 'nacks.   I told you how proud I was that you didn't hit.   How proud I was that you didn't bite.   I knew I couldn't express my amazement of you in words that you'd understand right now,  but I just kept telling you over and over how awesome you are.  How much character you'd shown today.  At only a few more than 800 days old.  You are one impressive kid.  You needed to hear that.  You needed to know that. 

 

I hope you always remember that.

 

Today, instead of hitting or biting, you chose to cry.  You were willing to do the right thing, even though it made you sad.   Even though it broke your tiny, two year old heart in the process.   You knew the reward for doing right was greater than the instant satisfaction doing wrong would've been.  Even if the reward was just some measly old fruit snacks.  You knew it was worth doing right.

 

This morning I wasn't so sure that bribing you not to bite and hit was a good idea.  Turned out ok I guess.  So far.  You're learning.  You're making an effort.  A huge effort for a 2 year old.  You're making sacrifices.  You're doing right.  You're growing.  And learning.  On your own.  Thank you.  Thank you for trying.  Thank you for succeeding. 

 

If you haven't picked up on it yet, I kinda doubt every decision I make when it comes to you.   Luckily, so far, for me, you've been quick with reassurance.  Thank you for that.  I hope that sticks.

 

I hope you continue to do right...

Even if it isn't fun at the time. 

 

I hope you continue to stay on track, waiting for the big reward at the end...

Instead of detouring for some instant satisfaction.  

 

And I hope I can continue to discipline you and teach you right...

 in a way that gets across without breaking your spirit...  

Even if it makes me cry... 

And especially when it makes you cry.

That's the worst.

 

You're such an awesome person.  You're barely two, yet you're already such an inspiration. You're my teeny, tiny, barely two toddler with a ridiculous amount of character and love already.  I'm so amazed by all that you are already.  I'm so thankful too for the reassurance that you give me every day.    

 

I love you, kid. 

I am so, so proud of you.

Always.