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Ridiculous-ness

Matt and I work very hard to make sure that Noah is growing up in a body-positive environment.  We don’t talk negatively about our bodies, his body, or any other people’s bodies in hopes that he won’t develop any body image issues as he begins to develop.  Or at least give him a strong foundation to build strong self-esteem.

Along with positive self-talk, we also have a “no shame” rule about nudity in our house.  We don’t wander around naked but, we also don’t go out of our way to hide ourselves or cover up when getting out of the shower.  We’ve had all of the talks about privacy, private parts, and about how rules are different in our home than they are in public.  You know, all the standard stuff.

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However, as body positive as we are, I was not quite prepared for the conversation Noah and I had this morning.

He woke up extra early so we stuck him in our bed so he could watch cartoons while Matt and I got ready for work.  I had just gotten out of the shower and was walking around our bedroom getting dressed.  [Reminder- I am 7 months pregnant and my body has changed quite a bit over the past few months.]

It went a little something like this-

Noah: “Mommy!!  Look at your boobs!!!”

I give him a rather dumb-struck look and I say: “Yes. What about my boobs?”

Noah: “They are just RIDICULOUS!!”

I am now staring at Noah with a little bit of disbelief and a little bit of confusion trying to figure out exactly where this is coming from when, Matt, from the bathroom yells: “Yeah buddy!  They are ridiculous!” in a rather macho tone.

At this point, Noah gives me a sheepish grin so I know he knows what he said was inappropriate yet incredibly funny.  I have to now deal with my incredibly immature husband and try not to laugh so as to not encourage such behavior.

And, if I do say so myself, my boobs are rather fabulous.  Thank you.

Parenting Win

The other day, as a treat, I took Noah to Dairy Queen for some ice cream.  He always chooses vanilla ice cream in a cone.  I always get a hot fudge sundae.  We are predictable like that.

The Dairy Queen is within walking distance so, to get out of the house and get a little exercise, we walked to get our frozen treats.  Getting a 4 year old to walk any further than 12 steps when it isn’t his idea is quite a chore but, I persevered.  And, even though he complained the entire time we walked there, he was happy licking his ice cream cone the entire walk back.

When we walked into the house, my sundae was already almost gone but his ice cream cone was still just barely licked and was dripping down his chubby little hands and wrists.

Naturally, all of this dripping ice cream was rather interesting to our dog, Poplar, who immediately began following Noah around waiting to clean up any drips (she’s a great cleaner that way).

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Well, all of the following and licking made Noah a little flustered and, before I knew it, he was screaming to me from the living room that Poplar was eating his ice cream.

I walk out to find Noah standing with an empty cone, pile of vanilla ice cream splattered on the floor, and our black lab, Poplar, helping herself to the splatter.  So, I do what any good mother would do.

I got a bowl and a spoon, scooped up the remaining ice cream, checked for any random hairs or dirt, and handed it right back to Noah.  He immediately stopped crying and all was right with the world.

Parenting win.

Celebrating Small Successes

I’ve written several posts over the past few weeks that I haven’t published because I have been trying to make an announcement.  Most of them were too corny, too negative, or too blah to be worthy of my news.  So, in my brutally honest fashion…

I’m pregnant.

We are over-the-moon excited about our new family and can’t wait to meet Noah’s new little brother or sister.  However, this news has thrown some curve balls my way.

For starters, right at the 6 week mark, the nausea and vomiting started.  Everyone said that it would pass.  Everyone said that it’s just part of the first trimester.  Well, everyone was wrong and I hate them.

I have thrown up every day, multiple times a day, for the past 11 weeks.  And just when I thought I had it all figured out (which is code for “I was living on saltine crackers, rice, and Gatorade”), my body would decide that saltine crackers and rice made me vomit.

Let’s just say that I have been really fun to live with and work with.

Now, after rearranging my diet and eating schedule about 6 different times, I am finally on a 3 day streak with no vomiting.  I’m gonna count this as a win.

Then, as if the universe was not satisfied with my attempts to thwart its plan to make me miserable, last week, I came down with the noro virus.  I’m not sure if you’ve ever had the noro virus but, please take my advice, avoid it at all costs!  Screw you, universe!

However, I managed to beat the noro virus without having to go to the hospital, without getting too dehydrated, and without sending myself into premature labor.  I’m gonna count this as a win also.

So now, at 17 weeks pregnant, I’ve got a decent-sized belly, I am absolutely in love with maternity pants, Matt and I are selling our house because we need more room, and Noah is beyond excited to be a big brother.

New baby due late this summer… Success!

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The Pumpkin Patch

I have a thing with milestones. I allow myself to get all jacked up around Noah’s “firsts.”  Like every other parent, I celebrated and documented the first steps, the first words, and the first tooth.  But, because (as I mentioned before) I have a thing with milestones and to be honest, because I am probably a little bit crazy, I tend to take it to the next level.

This being said, last week, Noah’s preschool class went on a field trip to a local pumpkin patch. I paid the $9 admission.  And we signed the permission slip. It was then that I noticed a weird feeling in my throat and a tiny hint of a lip quiver like I was about to cry.

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As a counselor, I constantly remind my clients to listen to their bodies and take note when something triggers a somatic response. I do my best to practice what I preach and I could tell this might be one of those moments that I would need to do some serious self-assessment.

The field trip was on a Tuesday. The Thursday before, I started asking about logisitics (trying to appear calm and inquisitive and not crazy and stalker-like). I fixated on the fact that Noah didn’t have a class t-shirt.

For the summer field trips that they went on (this was before Noah moved up to the preschool class), all of the kids wore matching neon green t-shirts.  This made sense to me, seemed safe, great policy.  Well, Noah didn’t have a shirt.  Obviously this means that the field trip shouldn’t happen, no one is prepared for my kid, the world is over (cue the dramatic music).

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After asking several times (again, trying not to seem crazy), everyone determined that the matching t-shirts would not be worn because the kids would have their jackets on the whole time.  Fine.

The night before the field trip, I took a minute to reassess how I was feeling about tomorrow’s adventure.  My determination: I was not okay.  That night, I think I did about 4 loads of laundry, cleaned every surface of the house, and organized 3 or 4 different rooms.

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I posted on Facebook that I was having a “helicopter mom moment” about all of my anxiety about Noah’s first field trip (I also may have included the hashtags #iwillnotgetonthebuswithhim and #iwillnotcallhisteacher).  The comments poured in and included the following encouraging and supportive thoughts:

  • “He will be fine. And cared for.”
  • “He’ll be great! Our son has gone on several field trips with their class and the kids always have a good time. It’ll be OK!”
  • “He will be safe.”
  • “I promise you, he will be fine! Trust me! I’ve done a few of these field trips. He is going to show mama that he’s a big boy.”

While all of the support and encouragement is so appreciated and I am blessed to know that so many people care about me and my kid, none of this helped.  Sorry.

The reason none of this helped was because I knew all of these things.  My anxiety had absolutely nothing to do with worries about his safety or whether or not he would have fun.  My kid will have fun no matter what.  He gets excited about everything and soaks up life like a sponge.  Plus, I love Noah’s preschool and his teacher.  I have no concerns about his safety or his care.

The problem is me.

It is no secret that I am a control freak. I have rules for days. I make lists, I color code, and I know that if I need something done correctly, I do it myself.

The problem is me.

Noah’s first field trip was a formal notice that I am not in control.  I had to recognize and accept that someone other than me is going to put him on a bus and take him to have an experience that I have absolutely nothing to do with.  I will not be there to take pictures.  I will not be there to tell him to be careful.  And I will not be a part of this memory for him.

The only thing I can control is me.

So, I controlled the things that I could control.

I talked to him about listening to his teachers and following directions.  I dressed him in a brightly colored shirt and made sure he had his jacket and hat.  And I took a picture of him to document the morning of his first field trip.  (I also may have checked Facebook close to 37 times that day to see when his school posted pictures from the trip, but that doesn’t count as crazy.)

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He had a blast.  He came home that day exploding with excitement and he was beyond eager to tell me all about the pumpkin patch.  I took a minute to reassess my emotions.

I was not sad that I was not there.  I was not anxious that I was not in control.  I was happy.

Lego Obsessed

I have a confession to make.  I am obsessed (and possibly slightly addicted) to Legos.  I know.  I’m a grown woman, responsible for the care of another human being.  And the other night, I spent more than an hour searching Amazon for that perfect set of Legos to satisfy the addiction.  I ended up buying the “Lego Elves Nadia’s Epic Adventure Ship.”  Why is this perfect?  It is a nice balance between a complicated adventure building activity, feminist liberation, and an awesome ship that Noah loves to play with so I can pass it off as a toy for him.  Parenting Win!wpid-wp-1443730339754.jpg

I am blaming this entire thing on my mother (Yeah, mom.  You heard me.)  As a kid, I was not allowed to have Legos.  I think her reasoning (or so she claims) is that she didn’t trust me not to leave them on the floor and she didn’t want to step on them.  While yes, I probably would have left them all over the floor. That is no excuse.

So, fast forward almost 30 years.  Noah recently turned 4 and our friends gave him a set of Legos for his birthday.  He and I sat down together and built the little construction rig and car.  It even had a working wrecking ball!wpid-wp-1443314677864.jpg

Something lit up inside me.  And, I guess it was cool that Noah enjoyed playing with them too.  I was actually excited to take him to Target to pick out more.  I was a little bummed to discover that, even when you just buy the box of “plain” Legos, they give you instructions on what you can make.

But, obviously, I went ahead and made the prescribed plane or lighthouse, handed it over to Noah so he could play with it, wait for him to eventually break it, and then make something new.  Legos are like a puzzle that you can do over and over but never the same way.  I’m getting excited just thinking about it!wpid-wp-1443314690535.jpg

I do have to deal with Noah wanting to use the exact piece that I need to finish my tower.  Last night, I actually said, “Sorry buddy, but you’re going to have to stop playing with that piece because I need it for the tower I’m building.”  Not my proudest moment.wpid-wp-1443314666658.jpg

I did discover that Lego people are not exactly what I expected them to be.  For all of the sets that I had and the ones that I purchased (and it was quite a few), there were only 3 Lego construction people.  As I began building castles, Noah quickly claimed them as the King (the one with the beard), the Guard (the other one with the beard), and the Queen (the one without the beard).

So, being the addict that I am, I got on Amazon and ordered directly from China, a whole bag of 20 Lego people.  It took forever for them to come and, when they finally arrived, I opened all 20 of these tiny little bags only to find 20 male Lego people.  All kinds of male Lego people, but all men.  We have pirates and soldiers, musketeers and chefs, artists and Robin Hood.  But no females. wpid-wp-1443314697369.jpg

Obviously, my next goal was to find female Lego people.  But I was disappointed to discover that female Lego people are now part of this new “Lego Friends” world where that have giant heads and don’t look at all like the Lego men.  And the Lego Friends sets are hair salons and pool parties.  Seriously??

That’s when I went back to Amazon (thank goodness for Prime) and I found these Elves.  They are a little androgynous and go on awesome adventures.  They still don’t look like Lego men but, to be honest, Lego men are a little creepy anyways. And, I already ordered Lego superheroes from China.  I can’t wait for them to arrive!  I’ll be Wonder Woman!

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