My husband, Greg, and I got married in our early twenties. I guess we both figured that we would have a family eventually; however, there was a part of me that thought I could put it off forever. Nope. November of 2005, after almost 12 years of marriage and 34 years on earth, Greg started tapping his watch. He said “Let’s get on with this family thing. I have a bet with a guy at work that you are pregnant before the end of the year.” Oh well, let’s make sure we don’t lose $20. We didn’t. True to my mother’s genes—I was pregnant within two weeks.
Pregnancy was pretty easy after the first twelve weeks. I got a personal trainer after I ate a huge bag of cheese puffs in 36 hours and there was no end in sight to that craving. Even though I was a big girl to begin with, I still wanted my clothes to fit after Michael arrived. I put on between 20 and 25 pounds and lost 30 the first week Mikey was born. Wow, was I feeling smug,( aside from the frantic postpartum that oozed tears from my eyes day and night with the fear of not knowing how to keep this new little one alive). With a little pharmaceutical help, we all survived.
Michael was overall an easy baby. He never, and I mean NEVER, spit up. He slept through the night at 9 weeks. Never got sick until he was 18 months old. One inexperienced parent visit to the emergency room for vomiting three times, and one for a split he got on his chin when he fell and hit the end of my bed. The second visit they sent me across the street to get butterfly bandages from the pharmacy and then home. So does that one really count?
Where the ease ended was in his personality—bright , beautiful and born to entertain! The boy couldn’t and still can’t play alone and is always moving. I loved it for the first two years—we were best buddies!
I wanted to see the growth but still keep him little and delicious. I remember once being at a girls’ night out at one of my friend’s homes, and they were all raving about how great it was to be away from their husbands and kids. All the ladies laughingly vented their frustrations with lots of eye rolling and their wineglasses outstretched to be refilled. Again, in my mind I am shocked at how unhappy these women seemed with their children. I just LOVED being with my little boy who was going to be two in a couple of weeks. Every day was a new adventure for he and I—what’s to hate about that. Within weeks, if I could have been transported back to ladies night—I would have been the biggest proponent of strangling children. It appears that babies grow in to little people by the age of two and think that they can make their own decisions. They also seem to make choices their mom’s wouldn’t make for them. Imagine my surprise at this show of independence! How DARE he?!!!!
All of a sudden Michael would be defiant and loud, and he seemed to finally understand that he could choose not to do what I said. So pretty much by the time he was two he was smarter than me.
Here we are almost five years later, and I have a wonderful boy! He is still not very independent, and the endless stream of chatter can be trying sometimes. I have to remind myself that someday I will long to hear that little inquisitive voice again. He has an astonishing sense-of –humor that makes me think he’s 30. Between this and his vocabulary, I sometimes forget he is a child, and that he doesn’t always understand consequences. I caught him throwing rocks over the fence into the neighbor’s back yard—or rather, they caught him. He apparently broke a piece of garden art that was painted on a ceramic tile, and they thought it was a window. That was pretty embarrassing, especially since we really like these neighbors (we have had some awful ones.) Mikey lost a lot of privileges, and hell hath no fury like a stay at home mom that might be forced to spend money on something like an ER visit or broken window! The wonderful thing about that kid, is that he gets it! He is very logical, and if he is given “we” don’t do certain things, he usually won’t do it. And it seems to come from a place of choice rather than just because we told him not to. For this I am soooooo grateful. Generally, he gets into trouble by moving faster than he can think. He just needs to slow down and focus. And herein lies the endless control struggle between us. God love him—and me too!