Schizophrenia

It's crazy how all of my life decisions revolve around you.  Don't get me wrong, I was not so naive to think that I could have a child and go back to living my life in the exact same way.  However, I never stopped to think that having a child could dictate my entire career path.  I'm miserable in my current job.  I was offered another more in my chosen field, with lots of opportunity.  I turned it down.  It was half the salary I make now with no benefits.  And I'm really not that upset about it.  I don't want you to read this one day and think that I gave up this great thing because I had to feed my family.  I have no doubt other things will come along.  But what kills me is my only impetus for the decision was you.  I went back and forth on it.  On the one hand, my current job drives me crazy, but it pays well, gives me benefits, and is super flexible.  On the other hand, this other job would make me far happier than I am now and had a much better commute.  Keeping my current job was the "responsible" decision.  But will it discourage you from taking chances?  Is the message I'm sending "It's better to have a big pay check than to be happy"?  And I get that you're 2, and you're probably not quite this philosophical yet (but hey, you're pretty advanced).  But the last thing I want is for this to become a pattern.  Patterns lead to ways of life.  I don't want you to learn the pattern of give up your dreams for money.  But I also don't want you to be so reckless that you wind up with nothing.  The balance in between the two is a fine, fine line and I don't know that I know how to teach you to walk that tight rope.  So as your parent, I'm your safety net... but I still feel like I'm walkingt the wire too.  I'm doing both a once and it's a maddening stunt.

This is the real reason kids make parents crazy.

Well, this and the constant screaming. :)

In the end, we're molding each other, Bug-a-bug...

Awesome stuff you say

While watching Sesame Street:  "Mommy... Elmo is always naked."

On a particularly rushed morning:  "What the hell is the matter??"

Feeling better after a particularly nasty stomach bug:  "I want to eat EVERYTHING!"

Thoughtful potty moment:  "Mommy, girls can ride dinosaurs!"

Holding a new stuffed pig:  Me:  "What's her name?"  You:  "A frog!"

Over Xbox to Jill:  "You got pwned!  BOOM!"  (ok, i fed you the first line, but you totally improvised the 'boom')

I loved you first

You're snuggled on my shoulder, rubbing your binky, and slowly but surely falling asleep.  It's so sad when you are sick.  You are always smiling, laughing, and generally having a good time.  But when you are sick, even if it's just a little pink eye, you're generally just sad.  Of course you're a little grumpy and cranky.  But mostly, you're just sad.  You want to cuddle on the couch.  You cry at anything.  And it's so heartbreaking to see that childhood giddiness slip away from you.  Even if it's just for a little while.

And now you're picking your nose.  You're timing is impeccable.

But you're sleeping.  And normally this is a time of day I cherish.  My few moments of self time or time with your daddy before I, too, succumb to my exhaustion.  But today, despite having spent the day with you, I miss you.  Because you weren't yourself today, maybe?  Because even simple things like pink eye can throw a day into such a whirlwind that neither of us get to be our relaxed, normal selves with each other.  Perhaps it is an overlooked phenomenon of being a working mother:   that our time together seems so limited, that we are both so overjoyed to have one another at the end of the day, that we couldn't help but be our relaxed, giggly selves.  And I suppose that's both a blessing and a curse.

Never in a million years would I have ever guessed that love could be defined with snores, drool, and eye snot.  But as you sleep here on my now goopy shoulder, I cannot imagine a more glorious moment.

I love you forever.

You're going to be okay.

That statement is as much for you as it is for me.  

Amy

We were at your Grandmother's one afternoon, discussing your odd sleep habits.  You would go to sleep relatively fine every evening in your own bed, but around 3am you'd wake up and come running into our room completely freaked out.  Only when discussing this with your Grandma did it dawn on me to ask you what you were scared of (sometimes I do forget that you are a tiny human being capable of speech).

Me:  Lily, does something in your room scare you?
You:  Yes.
Me:  What's scary in your room?
You:  Amy is scary.
Me:  Amy?
You:  Yeah... Amy is scary.  She scares me.
Me: ...
Me:  Do you mean Aunt Amy?
You:  No!  Amy in my room!

Ok.  So here's where crazy mother fears and rationality have an argument.  Rational human being says "oh, she's 2.  what an active imagination!"  Crazy mother fears say "OHMYGOD!  WTF HAPPENED TO MY POOR LITTLE CHILD THAT SHE HAD TO MANIFEST SOME IMAGINARY PERSON???"  The only bright side to having these loud, irrational, crazy mother fears is that I now understand my mother's freak outs when I would come home late and not call.  "YOU COULD'VE BEEN DEAD IN A DITCH!!"  I will likely scream this at you one day.  I'm sure it's little solace that you will also scream it at your child.

Back to the tale... The next day while in your room, I remember to ask you about Amy.  I ask if you can show me where Amy is.  You point up to the wall above your bed where a small dress is hanging.  It's a dress that was once mine when I was about 3 months old.  I had very little to decorate your room when you were a baby, so I hung this cute, old dress up.  I guess in the middle of the night, a body-less dress floating over your head is kind of creepy.  Go figure.

I then had to have a conversation with the dress.

Me:  Amy, did you scare Lily?
Amy:  ....
Me:  Amy, that was not nice.  It is not nice to scare people.  You need to go to time out.
Amy:  .....

I then put the dress in your closet, and figured that would be that.  I was wrong... Later that night at dinner...

You:  Mommy, Amy is in time out.
Me:  Yes.  She is in time out for scaring you.
You:  Yeah... but she's all done time out.
Me:  She's all done?
You:  Yeah.  I want to go upstairs and talk to her.
Me:  Um.... are you sure?
You:  Yeah.  Let's go get Amy!

So we head up stairs, where we get the dress out the closet and again tell her that it's not nice to scare people.  You then give the dress and hug and a kiss and ask Amy to be your friend.  As the dress does not actually speak, I assure you that Amy is in fact your friend now, and would do her best not to scare you any more.  It's been about a month, and you still like to talk to Amy.

This is how you got your first imaginary friend, Amy.

Happiness...

Happiness is coming home from work, kissing your father, and having you bounce behind me saying "Mommy, I want kisses too!!"

This is, in fact, the exact definition of happiness.

2

Can't quite say why I haven't written anything since your birthday.  It's a milestone, after all.  2 years.  2 years in existence.  A bit odd.  I think I barely remember life before you.  Seems like this long ago distance youth.  You are so much more fun than the late night drinking and running around.  You have breathed childhood back into me.  I've been remembering little things I had long forgotten because I see them in you.  It's a lovely thing.

Funny toddler story of the day:  Argilia took you shopping for your birthday today.  Being a practical mother, I had suggested a winter coat.  But of course, Argilia wasn't done there.  So, I then suggested a hat/mitten set to go with the coat.  Of course, I let you pick it out.  You chose a purple knit hat with a monster face on the front and a ridiculous blue and purple tassel on top (need to insert pictures into these things).  You promptly placed it over your head (entirely over your head) sideways and jumped out at random shoppers shouting "peek-a-boo!"  I seriously almost peed myself.  I have no doubt you made at least half a dozen people's day.

I hope you always remain that ridiculous.