Archives for June 2010
I can’t tell you how much I am loving my thirties. Yes, the maintenance is ridiculous. Hairs sprout everywhere, some of them are gray. My eyes are getting worse. My knees make funny crunchy noises and one or two joints ache when it’s cold. I have pre-diabetes and one functioning kidney, so I have to exercise my tushy off and birthday cake is a thing of the past.
But I have a beautiful, healthy child, a strong marriage, a house, a garden, a dog and some chickens.
I can’t say I’m at the point where I don’t care what anybody thinks, but I don’t give a damn about negative people most of the time.
Today, I am thirty-four. And I do not want what I haven’t got.
Most Saturdays I bring you a parenting mistake my husband and I have made. Please have a laugh or cry at our expense — we really are good parents, I swear.
I am sorry to report that on Thursday afternoon, Ben, though he has been a good father to this point, pressed the down elevator button before Nora could get to it.
One monstrous act does not make one a monster. One hopes.
This week has left little room for blogging, so I’m pulling out an early post for your enjoyment (or annoyance). I promise not to make a habit of it. This was originally posted February 9, 2010.
5 Ways My Relationship with My Couch has Changed Since Parenthood
One day, about four years ago, while seated on my sofa, dreaming of having a child, I remember thinking: I will not be able to sit on the couch and do nothing anymore. I needn’t explain why this was a gross understatement. Rather, let me illustrate my parental couch postures, in stark contrast to my childless days of sitting still and staring at the fire.
1. Sitting up and feeding a dolly while my daughter pretend grocery shops.
2. Sitting up, cradling a 30 pound child as if she were an infant, and feeding her a from a fake bottle.
3. On all fours, with a toddler on my back as rider.
4. On my back, with my feet on Nora’s hips, my arms supporting her armpits while she makes airplane noises.
5. In the prone position, with my hands reflexively held in front of my face, preventing my daughter’s skull from giving me a fat lip as she carelessly tosses her head around while “cuddling.”