Why My Son's 2nd Birthday Has Me Up All Night

It's 3:26am and I just finished hand placing every balloon exactly where it needs to be. I didn't begin with the intention of staging EVERY balloon, it just sort of happened.

I also did the dishes, de-greased the stove for the first time --DJM (don't judge me) we've only lived in this house for like 2 months-- and of course, wrapped presents in all Mickey colors.

Mickey is his favorite and he's turning 2. Overdoing it is impossible.  

I should've gotten more balloons...

De-greasing the stove came after I rearranged his toys. Animals needed to be with the animals, carstrucksandtrains in the general "vehicle" section, balls with the balls -- it needed to be done.

What else can I do to avoid going to sleep(?), which would be me admitting that my son is actually TWO YEARS OLD... and clearly I can't do that.

24 months ago, at this time, I was actually 4 hours away from going into labor... which means technically, it won't be his exact birth time until 11:01 tonight, so maybe I don't have to officially accept that he's growing up until then.

This is a happy day! We're going to Disneyland for goodness sakes! DISNEYLAND! The land of magic and sparkles and magic and SPARKLES! We have the best kid on planet earth! What is there to be sad about? Wait, I'm not really SAD. There has to be some other emotion that feels oddly similar to sadness, that instead is a weird version of happy-loving-nostalgia.

Is there an emotion called: MY SON IS GROWING UP SO FAST AND IT'S KIND OF FREAKING ME OUT?

It's just perplexing. Time just passed so... fast! It's like minutes were only 1/2 minutes or something.

We're gonna have the best day ever celebrating our little man. I mean, I just hand placed every balloon just for his breakfast display -- it's already epic. And no matter how little sleep I get, tomorrow (today, whatever) will be perfect. It's HIS day.

But just for a moment longer, I'm letting myself be in this space... where I recapture every second of the past 2 years and soak up the perfection that it was. Where I look at my hands and can literally feel the first touch of his hair.

The first time he said "Maaaaaaa!"

The first time we shared an inside joke.

The first time he held my face and said "I love you Mommy" (slowly and passionately, like the soap operas) -- only our kid could deliver his first Iloveyou like THAT.

The first time he started loving dirt... climbing... rocks... BOY STUFF. And then flowers... birdies... self-induced laughter... LIFE STUFF.

The first time he prayed.
Mickey made an appearance in his third or fouth prayer... still waiting for Mommy and Daddy...

There's a lot bundled up in the first 2.

Sidenote -- is it just me or is the Youtube "yule log" more emotion-inducing than an actual real life fire?

Alright Mom.
Self.
Superwoman.
Get it together. 

As soon as this beautiful big boy wakes up, it's GO TIME. And it's already perfect because he's here.

Happy Birthday Buddy. Mommy and Daddy love you more than we'll ever know how to say. Let's goto Disneyland...

Mommy Confession #1

I went skydiving once. And I remember standing on the edge of the plane looking down at the desert a gazillion miles below me, thinking I am the most foolish human being on planet earth. I don't remember another time that I felt quite as incompetent. In those excruciating seconds, I was trying to make sense of how my former self had convinced my current self to entrust my life to whats-his-face strapped to my back in tandem.

I don't even remember his name, I remember thinking. It was a strange moment.

Second to foolish, I felt scared terrified. It just didn't seem right! Why why WHYYYYYYYY did I do this to myself?!!!!!! Ugh, to be 20-something again... no thanks.

ANYWAY. I jumped, landed safely, and it clearly all worked out.

I bring this up because I want you (whomever you are) to know that what I'm about to talk about right now is even more terrifying than that crazy day, teetering on the edge of that stupid plane.

My son is going to be TWO in 9 days and in addition to going to Disneyland with matching Mickey outfits, we're going to also transition him to his own big-boy bed.

NOT FROM HIS CRIB.
CONFESSION TIME: HE SLEEPS SMACK DAB IN THE MIDDLE OF HUBBY AND ME!
SECRET'S OUT.

And you know what sucks? I actually love that he sleeps in our bed! He's so cuuuuuuuuute and funny and CUUUUUUUUTE! And I know exactly where he is and how he's sleeping and when he wakes up and... everything else I'd need to know in the rare event that something happened. Not sure what the something would be, but just in case it was something I should worry about, I'm right there! I'm even pretty sure my husband likes him sleeping with us too. I mean, obviously, the baby sandwich sleeping has it's down side....... BUT, I've seen hubby roll over and kiss his mini-me all cuddled up to his side, and ohmygosh, how could anyone resist such adorableness?

With all that being said, it needs to be done. Because 2 turns into 3 and then 4, 5... and no married couple needs a 10 year old scooting them off the bed. It's never going to be easy, but the older he gets, it seems to be more and more daunting. Plus, we're preggo with baby #2 and I can't even imagine what a circus that would be -- all in one room?! One BED?! There's just no way.

Did I mention our son isn't just any soon-to-be 2 year old??? I mean, I know every Mom thinks her kid is super unique, but my kid is like SUPER UNIQUE. When he's sleeping, he reaches his hand over to me (or hubs) and grabs my shirt, just to make sure I'm there. He grips it like he's saying I own you Mom (in the most loving way possible of course because he's the sweetest), and if I'm not by his side, he wakes up! It doesn't matter what phase of sleep he's in! He knows! He's a Jedi Master.

Note: Up to this point, the natural tendency for some (thankfully not all) Moms is to make a dozen judgements about me and my parenting. 
Remind me to write a blog on how we need to seriously respect each other as Mom's in all our diversity... 
But the truth is, we all have failures and successes and more than half the time, we know where we went wrong and are fully aware that we're doing damage control. No duh we should've had stronger willpower 18ish months ago! The options were endless. But like Beyonce says: you made your bed, now lay in it. 

The struggle is real.

Let's talk strategy. First of all, we're getting Mickey Mouse bedding. In fact, the whole gang'll be there: Minnie, Daisy, Donald, Pluto, Goofy... his room will be his happy place. Next trick: a furry rug. He LOVES a furry rug. A furry rug to him is like a hot cup of coffee to me. BLISS.
Any parent who can google knows that a bedtime routine is key. We've got it down. We just need to start this routine in HIS room, in HIS bed (which by the way, he currently thinks is a trampoline).
And we've gotta be determined. Still deciding if Hubby should do this transition solo because I'm not sure the mama bear in me can handle the protest this little man will unleash.
The most important part of our strategy is PRAYER. It works. And I need a healthy dose of divine intervention to survive this milestone.

I think the hardest thing to swallow right now is that it's really happening: he's growing up. I remember the feel of his little booty in my hands the second the doctor put him on my chest. He was perfect. With a head full of hair. This little baby unlocked the softest parts of my heart and is the closest I've ever gotten to understanding God's love. How is it possible that he's become this hilarious, talkative, charming TODDLER? ...with a wingspan so wide, he literally can push me off our California King.

Someone once told me that in parenthood, "the days are long, but the years are short." Maybe the truest statement ever. Or top-ten anyway.

So, cheers to our rockstar little boy and his rockstar new room and his rockstar parents and the rockstar blog I will write once we've successfully transitioned him into his rockstar Mickey Mouse bed. Because this journey is simply the BEST and I'm savoring every single second. Admittedly, we built a pretty bad habit in having him in our bed all this time, but I can brag that I've gotten more cuddles and kisses then I can count... and with that type of pay-off, it's hard to have any regrets.

Life is good.

A Mother's Guide to Self-Inventory

Good Morning Mom!

Today is the day I suckitup and stop waiting for the "perfect" time (that'll never come) to start WRITING. I've been telling myself to write 10 blogs in 10 days to forcefully purge whatever I'm feeling (it's a mystery sometimes until I start writing... I mean, who has time to feel? I'm a Mom). So ya, as I was saying... time to suck. it. up. and start writing already!

A girlfriend of mine recently posted something on Facebook about how she wanted to move somewhere else because of x, y & z... to which I replied "the grass is greener where you water it".
This was yesterday and I'm still thinking about it today. Because in all my Yoda-ness, I neglected to do self-inventory before dishing out such pearls of wisdom.

Don't you hate when you realize you're not taking your own advice? It's like a crazy pit of whatever in your stomach that just won't go away until you do something about it.

ANYWAY. So about my grass... it's patchy. And patchy grass isn't cute. But (semi-excuse:) as a Mother, juggling a gazillion things on any given day, my proverbial grass is bound to get a little dry from time to time.

And why-oh-why when things get crazy (which is all the time) is the first place you/I/we stop watering is: our marriage?! I know I'm not alone on this because I've heard it a million times from my girlfriends. And to my credit, it's not that I've forgotten the guy... I mean, I'm not the worst wife ever geez. BUT... when's the last time I made my husband a card? (When we were dating!) When is the last time I woke up early to make him breakfast? (Hmmm... probably too long ago if I'm starting my answer with hmmmm.) When is the last time I put on a smiling face regardless of how exhausted and overwhelmed I feel, just so he could have a happy wife around the house? (Okay, enough already!)

Just saying. I need to water my grass.

The patch to the left of my husband is: ME. My patch is perhaps even more dry and desolate than his.
Let's discuss my eyebrows and toe nails. HOT MESS. It's not even right! Who am I and who kidnapped my vanity? Would it kill me to take a couple hours per week to get myself together? I mean, I'm sure others don't view me as a complete freak-show (I've asked, and I think my friends would tell me the truth......... right?), however, according to my own maintenance standards, I'm slackin. No wonder why my confidence is... patchy. My eyebrows look like this!

You get my point.

Whether it's my marriage, my self, my writing, my household, my job, my dreams, my WHATEVER... the only way something will grow is if it's nurtured. Time to break out the watering hose! Thank goodness for a new day to get this balancing act right.