I'm not sure how I feel about being home. I am happy that I don't have to get up at the crack every morning and leave my house sometimes before my daughter even wakes up, but it's taking me some time to be okay with that. Believe me, not working is way better than working. But for someone who's worked consistently for 14 years, save for 10 weeks around Leah's birth, it's strange that I'm not working.
1-I feel lazy. I guess because I am such a big proponent for working. I see people complaining about not having money or not feeling important, and I'm like, Duh, then get a job. Problem solved. I don't know why I judge value by whether one works or not, but for some reason I feel like I'm lazy or less of a person right now because I'm not working. And not actively looking for work. And have pretty much made up my mind that I won't be working again until November.
2-I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing. Clearly I shouldn't have free time, right? I should pack my days with laundry, dusting, and vacuuming, and then I should pack my afternoons with bike rides, park visits, and playdates, and I should know what I'm making for dinner at 9 a.m. so that the meat can defrost, and I should always be in a good mood because hey, the stress of working is now gone, and, well, is this right? Am I on the right track here? Because if so, then staying home is sorta just as stressful as not staying home. Clearly, I've missed something...huh?
3-I am very concerned about us paying our bills for the next five months. We've never lived without my salary, and I'm pretty much putting our near future in Greg's hands and I am an enormous control freak. So, this is very hard. When I am bringing home the money, I know how much is coming in and when and where it's going to go. And now there's significantly less than that, and I am nervous.
4-If there is not enough money to pay the bills, we are pretty much SOL since there's a very good chance that I couldn't even get a job if I wanted one since I'm 6.5 months pregnant. So, there's that.
Ok, so other than that, I think I like being home. I already feel a lot more laid back and I can already see a difference in my relationship with Leah. I am looking forward to the summer and the time we'll be together.
And I'm feeling a lot more grateful towards Greg. I know not every woman has this opportunity, and I would like to really take advantage of it.
So, for now, I'm using May to get the baby's room ready, declutter my house, and clean every nook and cranny, since Leah's still in school full time.
And as for the rest of the summer? Who knows...
Showing posts with label Things That I Like. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Things That I Like. Show all posts
5/18/12
5/17/12
Is Jesus a Bad Word?
We are very much into bad words these days. As far as Greg and I can tell, the only bad word she is currently sure of is stupid,which she refers to as the "PS Word." We have no clue why. We have thought about it over and over and over, and...we've got nothing. PS Word? What the hell?
But, she loves asking me if words are bad. Just this morning she asked me if totally and buttitude are bad words. The second one baffles me as much as it baffles you, but she claimed that Martha from "Martha Speaks" says buttitude. I told her that both of those words were in fact not bad and then made a mental note to pay more attention to "Martha Speaks."
My favorite memory on the subject of bad words goes back a couple of years when she asked me if Jesus is a bad word. We are not a religious household and I was taken back by the question, but I answered honestly, figuring she had heard of a guy named Jesus and thought, hey, I wonder if that's okay to say. So, I told her, "No, Jesus is not a bad word."
A few minutes later, Ruby walked by and rubbed up against Leah, and I heard,
"JESUS Ruby! Don't do that!"
And I thought, Oh, that's what she meant. Ah, well, oops.
Parenting is obviously not my day job.
But, she loves asking me if words are bad. Just this morning she asked me if totally and buttitude are bad words. The second one baffles me as much as it baffles you, but she claimed that Martha from "Martha Speaks" says buttitude. I told her that both of those words were in fact not bad and then made a mental note to pay more attention to "Martha Speaks."
My favorite memory on the subject of bad words goes back a couple of years when she asked me if Jesus is a bad word. We are not a religious household and I was taken back by the question, but I answered honestly, figuring she had heard of a guy named Jesus and thought, hey, I wonder if that's okay to say. So, I told her, "No, Jesus is not a bad word."
A few minutes later, Ruby walked by and rubbed up against Leah, and I heard,
"JESUS Ruby! Don't do that!"
And I thought, Oh, that's what she meant. Ah, well, oops.
Parenting is obviously not my day job.
12/1/11
The Finish Line
It wasn't easier. But I trained less this year. And I gave myself permission before the race to walk if I needed to. But I guess I never really needed to, because I never stopped to walk.
It was different this time. I wasn't doing something for the first time. I wasn't at the brim of tears for achieving something I worked so hard at. It wasn't as emotional. I didn't have as much riding on it. I was just doing something that I now do each year and am really proud of myself for doing.
I shaved a couple of minutes off of my time from last year, but I am not really concerned with time. When I am running the 5K, I only care about finishing. (Said like a true slow runner.)
And, as always, there is no better feeling than the one that you feel when you see Mile Marker 3. Because that means there is only .1 left. And that .1 is the easiest running you'll ever do. It's the type of running that you can do while holding your daughter's hand and smiling. It's feel-good running, and I wish I could capture that feeling and bottle it and use it in other aspects of my life.
This year has been different than the past few. I can't say it's been great, but it's been better. Life without my mom has always been a journey, I've said that before, but there have been times where I've seen the metaphorical Mile Marker 3. Where it's not only no longer a burden to go on, but a joy. There have been times where I've been living in the .1--me: pessimistic, sarcastic Dana, seeing mile 3, moving faster, grabbing my kid's hand, smiling, smooth moving for the last bit of the race, happy to finally cross the finish line.
10/4/11
Bee-Bay-Doze
Seriously, this is ridiculous. We went to Barbados and got back on September 25th and I am still playing catch up.
First-there will be no pictures of the trip at this time since they are on a camera that broke when Leah dropped it over the weekend and while I am sure there is a way to upload (download?) pics from the camera to the computer without actually using the camera, I do not know how nor do I feel like learning.
Barbados was GREAT! We saw turtles hatching and helped them reach the ocean. We went swimming in the ocean and the pool. We drank lots of beer and rum punch. (Leah especially--the lush.) We explored the island and got lost over and over and over. I highly recommend Barbardos to families.
Now, I know I sing this song all the time, but I have laundry to do.
I’ll be in touch.
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8/8/11
Age of Non-Innocence
Dear Age Three,
You are cordially invited to kiss my ass.
I cannot believe how freaking crazy you are turning out to be; how I want to kiss you with tongue one minute and taser you the next.
You now know my name is not just Mommy; you heard people calling me Dana, and you figured it out. So now YOU call me Dana.
You ask me if I'm kidding you (no), if I'm serious (yes), if I'm for real (yes), and if you can have candy (no).
You don't push my buttons, you rip each and every one out of my body with your cold sharp nails and then you stomp on them, beat them with a stick, set them on fire and then smoke the ashes. My buttons are shot.
You know everything, and it bothers you that I don't always agree. {Editor's note: This one might be my fault. I have a psych degree with a self imposed focus on child psychology. Back in the 90s we were taught to treat the child like a real person, rife with choices. Allowing your child to decide which shirt she was going to wear to pre-school would help her to say no to drugs as a teenager. (?? whatevs) As a result, Leah's grown up thinking she's an equal part in this family--someone who has the same say in all family decisions. Au contraire, Carol Ann, this ismy mine and your father's house and we follow my our rules, and I am we are in charge and I we make the decisions.}
Oh, Age Three, you are a sexy beast. With your funny little conversations and your cute little faces. And your propensity to throw your backpack at me and hit me when the mood strikes. You are wonderful with kids that are younger than you, acting like an old grandmother who plops you on her lap and pinches your cheeks. And you love to hang with the older cool kids, leaning up against the garage smoking and cussing.
You are pushing your boundaries right off the map and I am constantly re-etching the line in the sand. I fight back and I lose. I let you walk over me and I lose. I attempt to stand up to you and we are two chaps from the wild west at a showdown in the Alamo. Oh, and I always lose.
You are a steamroller in a tutu--a Zamboni in lip gloss. I grow four grays each time your teachers tell me you're an angel. Most days I can't wait to get home to see you and most Mondays I skip to work whistling a tune.
Age Three, you drive me to drink. And I am trying to drink you in. I am told that you're the toughest, until she's a tween, which has been likened to age three with hormones.
I was told that parenthood was hard, and it would be the toughest road I've ever traveled. And I arrogantly nodded my head and rolled my eyes and thought there is no way that something that is a half my height and like a sixth of my weight will even be a blip on my life-radar, let alone uproot my life and leave me a confused, befuddled, frustrated shell of my former life.
And yet, here I am. Eating some humble pie. Baffled at just how difficult parenthood is. How the one thing that drives me up the wall and out of my skull is the one thing I'd give my life for without a second thought in a hot flat second.
Up Yours,
Dana
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You are cordially invited to kiss my ass.
I cannot believe how freaking crazy you are turning out to be; how I want to kiss you with tongue one minute and taser you the next.
You now know my name is not just Mommy; you heard people calling me Dana, and you figured it out. So now YOU call me Dana.
You ask me if I'm kidding you (no), if I'm serious (yes), if I'm for real (yes), and if you can have candy (no).
You don't push my buttons, you rip each and every one out of my body with your cold sharp nails and then you stomp on them, beat them with a stick, set them on fire and then smoke the ashes. My buttons are shot.
You know everything, and it bothers you that I don't always agree. {Editor's note: This one might be my fault. I have a psych degree with a self imposed focus on child psychology. Back in the 90s we were taught to treat the child like a real person, rife with choices. Allowing your child to decide which shirt she was going to wear to pre-school would help her to say no to drugs as a teenager. (?? whatevs) As a result, Leah's grown up thinking she's an equal part in this family--someone who has the same say in all family decisions. Au contraire, Carol Ann, this is
Oh, Age Three, you are a sexy beast. With your funny little conversations and your cute little faces. And your propensity to throw your backpack at me and hit me when the mood strikes. You are wonderful with kids that are younger than you, acting like an old grandmother who plops you on her lap and pinches your cheeks. And you love to hang with the older cool kids, leaning up against the garage smoking and cussing.
You are pushing your boundaries right off the map and I am constantly re-etching the line in the sand. I fight back and I lose. I let you walk over me and I lose. I attempt to stand up to you and we are two chaps from the wild west at a showdown in the Alamo. Oh, and I always lose.
You are a steamroller in a tutu--a Zamboni in lip gloss. I grow four grays each time your teachers tell me you're an angel. Most days I can't wait to get home to see you and most Mondays I skip to work whistling a tune.
Age Three, you drive me to drink. And I am trying to drink you in. I am told that you're the toughest, until she's a tween, which has been likened to age three with hormones.
I was told that parenthood was hard, and it would be the toughest road I've ever traveled. And I arrogantly nodded my head and rolled my eyes and thought there is no way that something that is a half my height and like a sixth of my weight will even be a blip on my life-radar, let alone uproot my life and leave me a confused, befuddled, frustrated shell of my former life.
And yet, here I am. Eating some humble pie. Baffled at just how difficult parenthood is. How the one thing that drives me up the wall and out of my skull is the one thing I'd give my life for without a second thought in a hot flat second.
Up Yours,
Dana
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7/8/11
OT: My Shoes
Before I had Leah I wore a size 6.5. I had amassed an enormous amount of shoes and most of them held a special place in my heart. I am not a shoe snob—meaning I don’t care what brand or store they come from—if they are attractive and don’t hurt (much), I’ll wear them. And love them.
Once the aftermath of what I call pregnancy and its related fallouts settled, my feet stopped shrinking at a size 7, which is where they are today. While most of my summer shoes still fit, thanks to the backless varieties, most of the winter boots and loafers had to be replaced.
Three weeks ago I went to my basement where I keep off-season clothes, found the bag of summer shoes, and brought it up to my room. As I opened the bag and peaked inside, I knew immediately that something was very wrong. The smell alone was my clue, but the shoes—covered in a green and black moss-like substance confirmed my biggest fear. The shoes had gotten moldy in the basement and it looked like it might be the end for them.
Not quite sure of what I should do, I quickly closed the bag and shoved it into my closet, as the best way to put something out of your mind is to hide it in the back of your closet. But every time I opened the closet door, despite the fact that I couldn’t see the bag since I had shoved it really far back, I was reminded of the memory of the bag of sad shoes and the idea that something had to be done.
I decided to wash the shoes. Like in the washing machine. And surprisingly only two pairs didn’t make it! Two of my most beloved pairs, but this gave me a reason to replace them. Which I did. At a half off sale at--and I am not embarrassed to admit this--KMART!
So, there’s really no point to this post today, other than to say that shoes are shoes and life goes on, and also as a reminder to my husband that there’s something wrong with the basement and I’d like for him to fix it immediately. And also to solidify the notion that my washing machine is the best appliance in the house. I’ve always believed it, and I think that this story proves it.
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Once the aftermath of what I call pregnancy and its related fallouts settled, my feet stopped shrinking at a size 7, which is where they are today. While most of my summer shoes still fit, thanks to the backless varieties, most of the winter boots and loafers had to be replaced.
Three weeks ago I went to my basement where I keep off-season clothes, found the bag of summer shoes, and brought it up to my room. As I opened the bag and peaked inside, I knew immediately that something was very wrong. The smell alone was my clue, but the shoes—covered in a green and black moss-like substance confirmed my biggest fear. The shoes had gotten moldy in the basement and it looked like it might be the end for them.
Not quite sure of what I should do, I quickly closed the bag and shoved it into my closet, as the best way to put something out of your mind is to hide it in the back of your closet. But every time I opened the closet door, despite the fact that I couldn’t see the bag since I had shoved it really far back, I was reminded of the memory of the bag of sad shoes and the idea that something had to be done.
I decided to wash the shoes. Like in the washing machine. And surprisingly only two pairs didn’t make it! Two of my most beloved pairs, but this gave me a reason to replace them. Which I did. At a half off sale at--and I am not embarrassed to admit this--KMART!
So, there’s really no point to this post today, other than to say that shoes are shoes and life goes on, and also as a reminder to my husband that there’s something wrong with the basement and I’d like for him to fix it immediately. And also to solidify the notion that my washing machine is the best appliance in the house. I’ve always believed it, and I think that this story proves it.
6/21/11
Thoughts
I think of my mom every day and probably will forever. Sometimes it stings and sometimes it doesn’t. I know that they say that if something doesn’t hurt then it no longer means something to you, but I don’t care. I’d rather be able to think of my mom and not have it hurt. I’d rather it just be a thought in my head, along the lines of “buy pull ups” and “dvr Glee.”
Marco, Adriana, and I took my dad out for brunch on Sunday. Afterwards everyone came over to my house to swim. Marco threw everyone in the pool. The family raft was a big hit. Bella fell asleep in the stroller. I made pastina and then ordered pizza. We sat in the shade. Greg kept changing the station. Leah screamed “god bless America” like a mad patriot.
And I didn’t really think of my mom. And it was such a good day.
Yesterday was a good friend’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Gabrielle. Sorry you missed out on your birthday party.
Marco, Adriana, and I took my dad out for brunch on Sunday. Afterwards everyone came over to my house to swim. Marco threw everyone in the pool. The family raft was a big hit. Bella fell asleep in the stroller. I made pastina and then ordered pizza. We sat in the shade. Greg kept changing the station. Leah screamed “god bless America” like a mad patriot.
And I didn’t really think of my mom. And it was such a good day.
Yesterday was a good friend’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Gabrielle. Sorry you missed out on your birthday party.
6/15/11
6/13/11
A Good Weekend
Despite not food shopping and having nothing more than three pickles and some barbecue sauce in my house, and despite not doing even one of the eighty loads of laundry awaiting me in the basement, we had a really good weekend.
I had some much needed girl time and got a lot off my chest. And I got to spend an entire Sunday with only my husband and my daughter and not one single solitary committment other than being together. We haven't had a Sunday with only each other in a very long time, and I really enjoyed it.
Despite the raging hangover after drinking 24 points of wine (!!), I had a really good weekend.
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I had some much needed girl time and got a lot off my chest. And I got to spend an entire Sunday with only my husband and my daughter and not one single solitary committment other than being together. We haven't had a Sunday with only each other in a very long time, and I really enjoyed it.
Despite the raging hangover after drinking 24 points of wine (!!), I had a really good weekend.
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6/6/11
Le Weekend
Hmm, where shall I start?
Gymnasties on Saturday morning.
Followed by marshmallow roasting at night. (Oh, it was just soo much fun not eating these since I had completed my daily points intake for my stupid diet. Er, I mean lifestyle change.)
A little cuddle between Mommy and Baby...
Followed by Matthew's birthday party on Sunday.
Mmmm, cake.
And we rounded out the weekend checking out the swing set at Adriana's new condo complex.
Two feet up!
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5/23/11
A Week of Firsts: L.P.
Leah started school today. A little earlier than first planned, but since Greg's new job has regular 9-5 hours, we needed to put her in full time starting now, rather than in September.
She did really well! No crying, no accidents, and from what her teacher reported, she played well with other children.
Leah reported that Jacob hit a little baby after he got up from nap.
Wish us luck on Day Two!
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5/3/11
Reminiscing
I know that these may not be the most interesting posts out there, but I love looking through my old videos and seeing how much Leah's changed in such a short time.
4/12/11
While I'm At Work
On Mondays and Fridays Leah spends the day at home with Greg. I don't know exactly what they do when I'm not around, but periodically I'll get a pic to let me know that the house is still erected and they are both still breathing.
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4/4/11
3/27/11
Three Whole Years
Four months and seven days after the anniversary of my mother's death, which goes down as the worst day of my life, we celebrate Leah's birth, which goes down as the best day of my life.
In my 34 years of living on this planet, I have a few accomplishments. But NOTHING makes me prouder than when I look at what Greg and I brought into this world on March 26, 2008.
Happy Birthday, Leah. I've said it before, and I'll say it forever, you truly saved my life.
Now, go pick up your shoes and fortheloveofgod stop throwing your crayons.
In my 34 years of living on this planet, I have a few accomplishments. But NOTHING makes me prouder than when I look at what Greg and I brought into this world on March 26, 2008.
Happy Birthday, Leah. I've said it before, and I'll say it forever, you truly saved my life.
Now, go pick up your shoes and fortheloveofgod stop throwing your crayons.
3/23/11
Coming Home
You know when you're with someone that you don't know well, and you make some obscure movie reference and quote a line, and the person you're with then says the next line, and you look at them and realize at that exact moment that you're going to be good friends?
You know when you are parking the car and you accidentally hit the bottom of it on that cement piece at the top of the parking space and there's totally damage and you drive home freaking the hell out because you know your husband is going to be so pissed but then you get home, tell him, and he's like, you didn't cause that damage, I did, when I hit the cement piece on a parking space last week and you are just so relieved?
You know when life has been so tough and you have nightmares about having to go to work each day in what can only be described as a fiery, torturous hell, and the place makes you doubt yourself and your career and every single decision you've ever made and you are scared to look behind corners because of those people, and you try so hard to get out and finally, after 6 months you do, and your new job is so completely opposite of that and the people are nice and the work is fun and you have a new faith in what you do and how you do it and, while at your old job, the only personal item you kept at your desk was a lip gloss that you brought home each and every night but at your new job, on only day 3, you run to Walmart on your lunch break to buy a plant for your window because you want everyone to know you want to be there for a long, long time?
I know I owe you an update on our cruise, but I wanted to tell you all about this first. It's so much more important to me.
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You know when you are parking the car and you accidentally hit the bottom of it on that cement piece at the top of the parking space and there's totally damage and you drive home freaking the hell out because you know your husband is going to be so pissed but then you get home, tell him, and he's like, you didn't cause that damage, I did, when I hit the cement piece on a parking space last week and you are just so relieved?
You know when life has been so tough and you have nightmares about having to go to work each day in what can only be described as a fiery, torturous hell, and the place makes you doubt yourself and your career and every single decision you've ever made and you are scared to look behind corners because of those people, and you try so hard to get out and finally, after 6 months you do, and your new job is so completely opposite of that and the people are nice and the work is fun and you have a new faith in what you do and how you do it and, while at your old job, the only personal item you kept at your desk was a lip gloss that you brought home each and every night but at your new job, on only day 3, you run to Walmart on your lunch break to buy a plant for your window because you want everyone to know you want to be there for a long, long time?
I know I owe you an update on our cruise, but I wanted to tell you all about this first. It's so much more important to me.
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3/16/11
Growing Up Gulino
I can't believe that it's been just about three years since Leah came into our lives. Gone are the days of babyhood. I look at her now and see such a smart beautiful little girl who is independent and inquisitive and precocious.
Everyday is so challenging, but so worth it. Just like life.
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Everyday is so challenging, but so worth it. Just like life.
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2/17/11
LOUD
Lately, we are into making big messes. Taking all of the pillows off the couches, bringing all of the toys out of the play room, going through dressers and removing clothes. She's very proud of these messes.
There's a lot jumping too. Somersaulting, twirling, hurling. All of it.
And, of course, it's always, "Watch this, Mommy." "Watch me jump, Mommy." "Did you see that, Mommy? I can do it again!" (And again, and again, and again.)
There's not a lot of cleaning, or quiet play, or meditation. But there's a lot of fun.
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There's a lot jumping too. Somersaulting, twirling, hurling. All of it.
And, of course, it's always, "Watch this, Mommy." "Watch me jump, Mommy." "Did you see that, Mommy? I can do it again!" (And again, and again, and again.)
There's not a lot of cleaning, or quiet play, or meditation. But there's a lot of fun.
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1/13/11
Dirty Bit
Two nights ago, Leah colored* in the lines.** It wasn't the first time she ever did that; she had colored in the lines a few months ago at Uncle Michael and Aunt Cheryl's house, but that appeared to be a fluke. Two nights ago, she surely and truly colored in the lines. I was so excited for her, as was she, that we took a picture of the coloring and sent it to very close family members. People who would understand just how important and happy we were that she had colored in the lines.
My sister was not very happy with the picture she received of Leah's coloring in the lines...she thought it was inappropriate. Perhaps that's because it took her a long time to learn to color in the lines and she's jealous of Leah. Maybe she doesn't even color in the lines yet. Who knows.
Last night, Leah decided she wanted to color again, and, sure enough, she did it in the lines! This coloring was way more impressive than the first, and we were both surprised by how large a coloring she had been able to do in the lines. I explained that when one colors, you never know what it's going to look like until it's complete.
Leah's grandmother wants to give her a dollar for every time she colors in the lines, but if Leah turns into someone who colors in the lines as often as her father, her grandmother is going to be a poor lady very soon.
As you know, we've been waiting for Leah to color in the lines for a while now and feel that these two occurrences are positive stepping stones to a life filled with in-line colorings. We explained to Leah that Mommy colors in the lines; Daddy colors in the lines; many of her friends color in the lines.
I'm really proud of her for taking the initiative to attempt coloring in the lines and hope that this continues.
Good job, Leah!
* poop
**potty
My sister was not very happy with the picture she received of Leah's coloring in the lines...she thought it was inappropriate. Perhaps that's because it took her a long time to learn to color in the lines and she's jealous of Leah. Maybe she doesn't even color in the lines yet. Who knows.
Last night, Leah decided she wanted to color again, and, sure enough, she did it in the lines! This coloring was way more impressive than the first, and we were both surprised by how large a coloring she had been able to do in the lines. I explained that when one colors, you never know what it's going to look like until it's complete.
Leah's grandmother wants to give her a dollar for every time she colors in the lines, but if Leah turns into someone who colors in the lines as often as her father, her grandmother is going to be a poor lady very soon.
As you know, we've been waiting for Leah to color in the lines for a while now and feel that these two occurrences are positive stepping stones to a life filled with in-line colorings. We explained to Leah that Mommy colors in the lines; Daddy colors in the lines; many of her friends color in the lines.
I'm really proud of her for taking the initiative to attempt coloring in the lines and hope that this continues.
Good job, Leah!
* poop
**potty
1/7/11
Raising Dana
Growing up, one of my favorite things was going down the doll aisle at toy stores. I would inspect and study each and every doll--what she looked like, what she wore, what she came with, what she could do, if she pooped, everything. I would get so excited to visit toy stores because a trip always, always included a stroll down the doll aisle. I would jump from doll to doll, narrating my moves: This one has diapers! I saw this one on TV! Oh, I love this one so much! This one comes with a potty!
And, if we're being honest with each other, I still enjoy perusing the doll aisle. Even before I had Leah, if a store I was visiting contained a doll aisle, I always made sure to take a glance before I left.
I don't know why it surprises me, and delights me to no end, but Leah is obsessed with the doll aisles, too. The first few times she begged to be let out of the cart once we reached the aisle, so that she could get a better look at the merchandise, I thought it was only a fluke. But it's been happening now for a while, and this characteristic, along with a few other select ones, are so similar to things that I did as a child and it just amazes me each and every time I see them.
Dis one has a ba ba! Dis one has siddy hair! I wike dis one! Dis one is cwying for a ma ma!
I am so grateful that I had a daughter first. I know you're not supposed to say that, but I don't care. I am. I feel like it was a blessing in disguise. Having a daughter so soon after losing my mother taught me to not take for granted one single tiny minute in this life with her. I will never be accused of not teaching her enough, or speaking to her enough, or giving her enough, because I know how important it is to create the mother/daughter bond, because I know what it's like to lose it.
I am in a position where I can give her things--whether material or experience-based--and I do that as much as I can. I don't care if other people thing she's spoiled, or that I should share the wealth with a second child, or if I am doing her a disservice. Because I know what a daughter remembers about her mom when she's no longer around. I know what a daughter is grateful and thankful for from her mother. I know what a daughter cherishes and holds close to her heart about her mom when her mom has passed.
It's things like sharing the experience of walking the doll aisle.
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And, if we're being honest with each other, I still enjoy perusing the doll aisle. Even before I had Leah, if a store I was visiting contained a doll aisle, I always made sure to take a glance before I left.
I don't know why it surprises me, and delights me to no end, but Leah is obsessed with the doll aisles, too. The first few times she begged to be let out of the cart once we reached the aisle, so that she could get a better look at the merchandise, I thought it was only a fluke. But it's been happening now for a while, and this characteristic, along with a few other select ones, are so similar to things that I did as a child and it just amazes me each and every time I see them.
Dis one has a ba ba! Dis one has siddy hair! I wike dis one! Dis one is cwying for a ma ma!
I am so grateful that I had a daughter first. I know you're not supposed to say that, but I don't care. I am. I feel like it was a blessing in disguise. Having a daughter so soon after losing my mother taught me to not take for granted one single tiny minute in this life with her. I will never be accused of not teaching her enough, or speaking to her enough, or giving her enough, because I know how important it is to create the mother/daughter bond, because I know what it's like to lose it.
I am in a position where I can give her things--whether material or experience-based--and I do that as much as I can. I don't care if other people thing she's spoiled, or that I should share the wealth with a second child, or if I am doing her a disservice. Because I know what a daughter remembers about her mom when she's no longer around. I know what a daughter is grateful and thankful for from her mother. I know what a daughter cherishes and holds close to her heart about her mom when her mom has passed.
It's things like sharing the experience of walking the doll aisle.
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