Big, Sweet Baby

Lie down with me,
sweet baby.
Come nurse
right by my side.

Mama,
I'd rather
headstand,
flip flop,
crawl around,
dive bomb,
somersault,
sit up,
do the splits,
and stand up
while I nurse.

I know, but
it's time to sleep.
So, lie down with me,
my big, sweet baby.
Come nurse
right by my side.
I'll stroke you gently
and shush you softly.
As you sleep
right by my side.

Stuck

Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to be totally and completely stuck? To be competely reliant on someone else? How scary is it to trust that someone else will meet your needs?

I do whatever I can to make sure that I can meet my own needs. I try not to be reliant on anyone. That's part of why not working has been so difficult for me to handle (more on that later).

Yesterday I had a glimpse of what it feels like to be needy and trust that someone will come through. It was just a small thing, but left me feeling completely vulnerable. I was getting ready to leave for my midterm exam when I realized that I didn't have my wild thing's carseat. Our only carseat. Allen was at work 30+ miles away. I dialed him several times and began to break down.

I had no idea what to do. I don't really know our neighbors and don't have anyone close enough to rescue me. Feeling that alone and vulnerable was very scary.

Magically, he saw my call and called me back. I was nearly in tears when I answered and told him he had the seat. He left work immediately, but I continued to fret that he wouldn't make it in time and I would be out of luck. (My teacher has a hard line no no make-ups policy, unless you're dead and can prove it.) I spoke to the neighbor with a little guy. Then I got us ready and waited.

Allen came through at exactly the right minute. The neighbor remembered that she had an infant carseat tucked away in the garage. She brought it over. I was saved, though I know it seems silly. You would think that the situation would make me more likely to trust in others' ability to help out. On the contrary, I want to make sure that it never happens again. Lol. It makes me fear the moment I truly need something and am alone.

Vulnerabilities are scary.

Baby Belly Laughs

By the time my cowboy was this old, he had a great belly laugh. He would really get going, especially with my dad. He would blow raspberries on my cowboy's belly. He loved it. I wish I had that laugh recorded.

My wild thing, on the other hand, does not have a belly laugh, or even a fully developed duodenum. He is super happy and laughs. He's just not good at it yet.

The other night we were playing with a napkin. (Paper = <3) I was waving it in the air and saying, "Wheeeee." He was having a great time and started laughing at me. Next thing we know he's throwing up, avocado running down his chin, while laughing. We kept dabbing and it kept running out of his laughing mouth. Less than 10 seconds later he got the hiccups. Since he was tiny, the hiccups have been his nemesis and laughter brings them on something fierce. Laugh. Hiccup. Drool. Repeat. Good times.

Side Note: The best part was when my hubs tried to do the same thing with the napkin. My wild thing just stared at him like he was crazy. No laugh. No hiccups. Nothing. Then he turned to me to keep playing. Kids, I tell you. No rhyme or reason why it's funny for mommy and not daddy.

Happy times with my boys are a beautiful part of life.

More Ways of Remembering

Since I talked about remembering my cowboy, I've been thinking about things that I do. I don't do much. I know other families who do things for the hospitals who helped them, raise cancer awareness through head shaving and speaking to the government, and those who see the memory of their child spread across states. I'm a little jealous of their zest for the cause and the memory of their child. I've just never been that person. My remembrance and emotional turmoil has always been more private. It doesn't make either of us wrong; just different. Recently, I've begun participating in a few events each year to remember my cowboy and support the cause. I feel weird about asking people to help, donate, participate. Like I'm imposing on their lives by asking by talking about cancer. Maybe it's just me.

I do want to do things to spread the word, to support families currently struggling with their own children, and to support research so that it occurs less in the future. I just don't know how to do it the best/right way.

One of the things that we've started doing (we're at our third year) is build a team in memory of my cowboy. It would be great to have a lot of people involved and supporting us. I don't know if I waited to long to be putting myself and our story out there. Maybe people have forgotten or moved on. I haven't. It's still with me everyday. He's still with me everyday.

P.S. If you happen to read this and want to know more about the event we do. Wink, wink. Here's some links.

PCRF Reaching for the Cure

Booster

Ways of Remebering

I haven't been to the cemetery in months. I think about it. Am I too busy? Am I not interested? Do I no longer care?

NO.

I'm busy, but not that busy.
I'm interested.
I care.
How could I not?!?!

The thing is, I think of my cowboy everyday and in most things I do. I am always comparing him to my wild thing and wondering how alike/different they are. I smile when my wild thing does something I remember my cowboy doing. Being my cowboy's mommy is the only mommy I know how to be. Now that I have my wild thing, I'm constantly adjusting the mommy I was to the mommy of both of my boys.

My wild thing is so much more adventurous than my cowboy was. He's fearless when it comes to so many things. He climbs the stairs and loves the horses and chickens. I remember when my cowboy was around horses when he was little. He held tight to my dad or I, a little fearful of the big animals. The first time I showed my wild thing the horses, their big horsey heads came up and sniffed him. He just sat there, fascinated.

Holidays come and go and people always ask me if I visited my cowboy. I guess, I'm getting to the point where I don't feel the need to visit him when I'm always thinking of him. I used to feel very guilty about that, but he's just becoming a part of me in a different way.

The Bread-winner

When my husband and I have conversations about money or things we want to do, I always chime in with, "I'm sorry." He continually reminds me that we made this decision together. But I feel a sense of responsibility for the situation we are in. After all, when we met we both felt very differently about working women.

He wanted a strong, independent woman. I was a strong, independent woman. I was going to stay that way. End of conversation.

Then we got married and were pregnant with my wild thing. As it got closer to his "birth" day, I got more trepidatious about returning to work and he grew more interested in being able to provide for his family. When I took another job with the school district, he was actually disappointed that I would be working. I was frustrated. Wasn't I needed? Why shouldn't I provide for my family?

After all of these years you would think that the man's desire to provide for his family, be the bread-winner, and have the wife home caring for the children would be in the past. This is, after all, the twenty-first century and we no longer hit women on the head and drag them back to the cave. We don't even have shows like "Leave it to Beaver" on the air. The shows on television are more about dysfunctional families than anything else.

You would think that things would have changed. I'm no feminist, but I feel like I should be expected to hold my own in the world. So, why is that not how it works? I don't know how to function being the needy one in the relationship. I need him to provide for us: food, shelter, clothes...you name it.

Right now, I guess, I'm needed in another way. My wild thing needs me to be the best parent I can be. My husband needs me to be the best wife I can be. I thought that part of that was money, but right now it's not. I don't understand it. I'm slightly uncomfortable with it. In the future, things will change. What role I play in my little family will change. We will see what the future holds for us all.

If you ask me how I'm doing, I will say I'm doing just fine.

I will lie and say, "it's not on my mind."

I don't know what it is, specifically. There are always options. Always things that drag me down. Always things we say to placate others, so they don't see the truth.

Yes, we're fine.
Christmas was great.
Life is good.

In many cases, for me anyways, there's nothing that can be identified as wrong,  but nothing feels right either. When I don't have things to do our don't stay busy, depression settles in. I can feel it happening. Am I alone in this? I don't know if this is something that happens to other people. It's the holidays and we're supposed to be happy. So, what if I'm not? Just pretend? Don't cry in front of people? Ugh!
I sound like a huge whiner and don't mean to be. The reality of life is that people aren't always happy or joyful or even thankful when we're supposed to be. Sometimes we just exist. Sometimes we just make it through.