In addition to giving birth to me, I have to thank my mom for taking this picture.

MJ has learned about the playground. There will be a lot less of that now, since our morning was met with boatloads of snow. But she doesn't get that yet, and when the word "park" is spoken will run to the door, banging furiously, as though she's swearing at me in baby sign language. I tell you, you haven't even heard cursing until you've seen baby sign language cursing. That sh!znat is scary.

But I digress. She loves crawling through the tunnel, but, unfortunately, some poorly paid playground architect decided to put no rails on the far side of the playground tunnel. So that poor (30-year-old) moms would have to climb through them to keep their evil knievel offspring from jumping to their death.  We look happy about it, but our knees are sadly bruised.  Playground architects should really be paid better.

Baby mama becomes old lady mama

30.  Sounds.  Old.  My mom put it in perspective by pointing out that having a 30-year-old makes you feel older than being a 30-year-old.  I distinctly remember when I was 8 and my drama teacher turned 30.  She was traumatized, and therefore I have always thought of it as a traumatic milestone.  I dreaded it.  I'm kind of a birthday primadonna.  I still want the whole classroom to sing me happy birthday, and it turns out no one really does that when you turn 30.

But, in spite of the fact that adults don't get as gleeful about birthdays as little kids, I still had a great 30th.  I am so blessed.  I frequently become fixated on unimportant crap, but when I stop to ponder it all, I remember how blessed I am.  I have a beautiful daughter.  A supportive husband that always makes me laugh.  A job I look forward to 90% of the time.  We are healthy.  We can pay our bills and have enough left to not feel stressed about money.  We get to travel.  And buy good beer and fancy cheese.  I have friends that will drop everything to come celebrate with me.  Our family supports us in every way.  And I get to write all of my sentences as "we" sentences.  And I get to, don't have to.

I'm not sure what I thought 30 would look like, I never really got that far in my imaginings.  I thought I'd be classy by now, but being as I marked the event with a pub-crawl, that is clearly not true.  I hoped I'd have met my soulmate by now, and I have.  I hadn't really imagined the kid part, or family part, or happy part.  But I have that, too.   And did I mention I get to buy fancy cheese? 

Belated halloween wishes

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It's shocking how behind my pictures get when I misplace the camera for a few days (or weeks?) Even more shocking? It turns out there is no greater joy on earth than dressing up babies in costumes. Better, even, than dressing up dogs in costumes.

Indecision.

Clearly I don't know what I want.  All week I fantasized about being a stay at home mom, sparked, in part, by a conversation with my advisor about my lack of PhD progress.  This is not new, I knew this, but I like to forget it.  DH called me out when he saw my internet history, in which I had googled "how do you decide to become a stay at home mom."

But then, a weekend of hubs working and solo parenting makes me long to go back to work.  I love this little girl, but she is just so exhausting.  Within her first hour of being awake she had:
- Torn all the clean clothes from the laundry basket and scattered them around the house.
- Dumped a jar of oats on the floor.
- Dumped a bag of dry beans on the floor.
- Had a (oh-so-heart-wrenching) temper tantrum when I insisted her oatmeal cool down before she could eat it.
- Climbed on top of the end table.
- Fallen off the couch.

This in addition to the run-of-the-mill tear-her-books-off-the-shelf, throw-half-her-food-on-the-floor and take-everything-out-of-the-cupboards daily routine.

By noon I was ready for her to go to sleep for the night.

How do stay at home mom's do it?  I know they say to set one goal a day, and that's what I do.  But if I don't get her out of the house we both go nuts.  Though getting her out of the house is just as exhausting since she won't sit in grocery carts or high chairs. I supposed I need to become a more patient person.  And stop trying to accomplish anything, because the moment I sat down and played with her my stress (mostly) went away.

Fancy pants

It is a lamentable fact that adults wearing patterned pants almost always look foolish. There are exceptions, clearly, but it is almost certain that you don't fall into that category. However, babies wearing patterned pants is another thing entirely. We are letting MJ get her fill of fancy pants while it is still socially acceptable. Maybe this way she won't feel compelled to wear this:

Teach them young.

For those of you who aren't up on your rock identification skillz, this is pumice. MJ played with this pumice for about 30 minutes, which is longer than she played with my cell phone (a tough act to follow).  

So, although her interpration of the principle of faunal succession may be a bit off, as evidenced above, her geological understanding is still deeper than many of my students.

Before the clean

Though they couldn't do anything about the yellow-that-is-our-bathroom, at least MJ now gets to sit in a clean sink.

Sanity, oh how I've missed you

I was in kind of a bad place a few weeks back. There was one morning where I said to DH "I feel like I'm going crazy and nobody cares." I did not mean this in a haha sort of way. Not to demean those who are actually going crazy; I've had a front row seat for that performance before, and I knew I was in a different place.  But at the same time, I was going crazy inside.  DH was working all the time.  MJ was adjusting her napping routine (no thanks to daycare, who has mandated one nap a day) and was cranky every time I saw her.  I felt like everything was falling on my shoulders.  I didn't just feel this way, I knew that it was true.

But then my mom came to visit.  We had an initial rough patch.  Then I came down with some sort of 6 day stomach flu, complete with the worst pain I've had since labor, and it was such a relief to have her here.  To be the one being mothered rather than doing the mothering.  We worked through our differences and really had a wonderful visit.  She stayed for 3 weeks, a long time to have any house guest, but I was still sad to see her go.

We have started to get back into our old routine.  The first day after my mom's departure we both came thudding back to reality, remembering what it's like to come home and never be able to relax.  But some things have changed.  DH is picking up fewer shifts, meaning I am not doing as much solo parenting.  We have started to pay someone to come clean for us, and they are absolutely superb.  It's expensive, but the amount of sanity and peace it brings me has so far been worth every penny.  And I signed up for an art class, the first thing I've done just-for-me since MJ was born.  Yes, I've had beers with friends and had some me-time afternoons.  But this feels different, and I'm psyched about it.  I'll post pics when I have something to show.

I've talked to a few women whose blogs petered out after their little one's first birthday.  I will try my darnedest not to let that happen here.  But feel free to call me out if you haven't heard from me in a while....

But she is awfully cute.

Just a reminder to myself that, tantrums and all, she is the cutest human ever to see the inside of my uterus.  Or the outside of it, for that matter.

Early onset terrible twos

Our first verifiable temper tantrum. We've had two others, while at home, with no witnesses. But yesterday, while searching for a toybox at Ikea, I dared take MJ's baby kong away. While I thank the Cheerio gods for inventing such a portable snack, and the baby kong gods for inventing a way to let her snack whilst at Ikea, she was still managing to get Cheerios in every particle board crack possible. So I took it away, and she started flailing on the ground. This elicited snickers from passersby at first, and it was funny to see such a determined little human. But it just escalated. Oy.

I am not ready for this. I know that temper tantrums come hand in hand with toddlerhood, but I thought that was the 2-year-old variety of toddlerhood. This time grandma was present to verify that the flailing, inconsolable child I call mine was indeed having a temper tantrum. I spent some time googling last night. The danger-age is 1-4, so we're officially in tantrum territory.

So yep, the Moms is in town. I'm lucky she puts up with me, even though she kind of drives me nuts. I can tell I kind of drive her nuts, too. This is my own future. Right now, when MJ drives me nuts, I can blame it on the age, the maturity level, etc. But in the end, even when we're both full grown adults, we will still drive each other nuts. Kind of nuts, if we're lucky, and full-blown-never-speak-except-for-holidays if we're not so lucky. Like my daughter, I am something of a drama queen, imagining the worst just because my child has a temper tantrum. Are we in for a prolonged toddlerhood, or are we just getting it out of the way early?

Get this girl a runway.

Combined with her Queen's wave, MJ is definitely practicing for a red carpet event.  I think she's going to skip the princess phase altogether.  She's currently trying to establish the one-shoe-look as the trend of the season.  

The working mom blog that never talks about work

I advertise this as a working mom blog.  Because I work.  And I'm a mom.  But really, I rarely talk about W*RK.  Largely because I don't want to Dooce myself.  And I'm not very good at being honest whilst being funny whilst not saying things I shouldn't.  Perhaps you remmeber this post?  Yep, got in trouble from the hubs for that one.  I tend to reveal more than I should.

Anyway, I recently flirted with the idea of stopping the PhD and teaching community college.  I met a great lady and blogger who happened to be looking for someone to teach as well, it all seemed so perfect.  But it turns out teaching is hard.  I knew that, to be fair.  But I realized it's just not for me.  Every day I got to come back to the lab and not teach was glorious.

What really happened is that an awesome job opportunity came about right as I was starting back to work after maternity leave.  And going back to work was REALLY hard.  The first couple months in particular.  But going to a job I didn't like was even harder, even if I knew it was a stellar opportunity.  It reminded me why I chose the path I did.  Why I started back to graduate school.  Why I chose to study geology and climate.  Why I love the freedom that graduate school and academia allows, even if the pay isn't all that great.

It gets easier.  The first few months back, all I did was miss MJ.  But at some point, I realized I had my self back.  I didn't even realize I had missed her, I had been so focused on my child. So to anyone in the midst of going back, the best thing I can tell you is that it gets easier.  If you like your job, in particular.  I realize I am lucky in this, to have a job I love and not need to find a better paying job.

But I have this great thing right now.  I have work/life balance.  It seems almost impossible to find, and I'm told it's even harder with a second child, but I have it.  And I don't think I could have found it without work, because, much as I love my child and love spending time with her, my life would not have been balanced.  It would have been happy, but it would have been unbalanced.  So maybe, more than seeking what makes you happy, it's important to seek balance.  And balance will give you happiness.

Presents? I don't need no stinking presents.

MJ had a bit of difficulty with the concept of opening presents. Sitting on them was about as far as she got.  Her birthday was a blast, particularly by the time we go to the opening presents phase.  Everyone had eaten, everyone was satiated, I could finally relax and enjoy some MJ time.

On a side note, this is the face that DH and I have started to make when we're provoking each other, doing something we know we're not supposed to do.  Someday she'll be embarrassed by this, but we'll continue to explain that she started it.

MILFdom and gender bending friendships

I'm fairly certain I got hit on at Starbucks today.

On Sunday, whilst preparing for MJ's party (the details of which I still owe you), I put my hand directly on a yellowjacket.  I haven't done great at not cursing in front of MJ, but that was a whole new territory of "not great".  Before my ring finger swelled up, I decided I should take my wedding ring off. 

So I'm going ringless for a few days.  Mr. Guy at Starbucks appeared old enough to have done the ring-finger-check.  It's nice to know I still got it.  Though Mr. Guy doesn't know that there used to be a lot more of "it", and his lack of suave suggests he was just going after the weakest gazelle on the savanna, it's still nice.  Before getting married I told DH that one of my goals in life was to be a MILF.  I never specified whose definition of MILF that would be.   

On an only-slightly-related note, I've lately been pondering the subject of friendship between men and women.  I remember (or, possibly, misremember) a conversation between my stepmom and I when I was a teenager and swore that some boy was "just a friend".  She told me that it's impossible for men and women to be just friends.  At the time I thought she was totally wrong, but after many (like, 5) dates-that-I-didn't-realize-were-dates-until-some-guy-tried-to-kiss-me in college, I started to wonder if she's right.  Not in the they-can-never-be-friends sense, but in the they-can-never-be-CLOSE-friends sense.  The kind of friend you have deep conversations with, tell secrets to, etc. 

Furthermore, the desire to have guys as "just friends" is seemingly far stronger from women than men.  Nearly every woman I know claims that "most of her friends are guys", which is mathematically impossible.  Granted, most the women I know are somehow related to Geology, so for this group it may be true.  But it extends beyond that.  In contrast, I have never met a straight man who claims that "most of his friends are women".  Men seem to understand the "impossibility".

So what do you think?  Is it impossible?  Do you even care to have close friends of the opposite sex?

One year

On the eve of the anniversary of your birth, you are asleep. Even after two 2-hour naps, you were ready to fall asleep by 6. We stretched it to 7. This means it could be a rough night, so I better write this before I get too grumpy with you.

Little girl, I love you whole hog. I'm sorry that I sometimes get grumpy with you. I try to remind myself ::over:: and ::over:: and ::over:: again how short each little moment is. We are currently with dad at a conference. The most family friendly conference I've ever seen, which is pretty great. Today you got to splash in the waterpark and play at the arcade and run through a huge field. But I see all these moms-of-tweens jealously eyeing you, missing their own babies baby-days. This year has flown by, and I know it will only continue to go faster.

Last year at this time I didn't quite know when you'd arrive, but I knew it'd be soon. Each day seemed like an eternity. Now each day is an instant.

What are you doing at 1 year?

You walk like a wild woman. Everyone quizzically looks at you and says "Wow, she's awfully young to be walking" and I say "No, she's almost a year, she's just a peanut". And you are a peanut. You've been consistently at the 15th percentile, and I wouldn't be surprised if you've even dropped a little. I think that the massive quantities of food we feed you go into fueling your constant motion, and that you never sit still enough for body fat to accumulate.

You started in the older infant room this past week. They said you walked right in like you'd been there for a year, and apparently are no longer enamoured with Baby-Boy-S now that there are older boys to flirt with. They say you're very good and very smart. Of course I love to hear these things, and as every mom is convinced of their own, I'm sure you're the cutest-and-the-smartest-and-the-best ad nauseam. I am far more traumatized by you already moving to the next grade than you are.

You are actually more cuddly than you used to be. Now that you've found some measure of independence and can get where you want to go, you have decided it's okay to come back and snuggle with Mom. This is one of my favorite developments. You will sometimes nap with your head on my shoulder, as you did today, and it is the most heart warming moment of my week.

You are not much for being read to, though I endeavour to change this. You are far too interested in turning the pages yourself or walking off with the book to sit still enough for me to read to you.

You torment Vito, though not too badly. You love to dance. You have recently discovered the TV. You like to feed Vito his dog food. You like to wear my purse around your neck like a St. Bernard brandy barrel. You love all fruit, particularly melon and blueberries. You hate hummus. You love to flirt with strangers, and will make little, insistent sounds until they pay attention to you. You say "mama" and "dada" and "hi", and you sign "milk", "food" and "more". You are a pretty good though highly erratic sleeper. You love to climb up everything, including your dresser.

You may be the mosttraumatic but are certainly thebest thing that has ever happened to your dad and I. Happy birthday munchkin.

A photo that captures how I feel.

I love taking photos. I'm not a photographer, I just like to capture a moment to help my poor memory hold on to it. But the downside is that I rarely end up in the photos. It's a small price to pay to have my own vision the one of record. But sometimes, DH picks up the camera. And sometimes the results are beautiful.  And I don't even recognize myself.  Or my daughter, sitting calmly, staring off into the distance.  And yet it captures a brief instant in time that I desperately try to hold on to, because they're rare moments.  This was a gift that I don't even think you knew you were giving me.

I love upstate New York.  I love my daughter.  I can't believe she's almost 1. 

We went to the fair yesterday, and I constantly thought about last year at this time.  On the dawn of giving birth.  Not even being able to conceptualize what my life would be like afterward.  How painful walking even a block was.  The impatience.  The fear.  Life is good right now.  It's nice to have my body back.  And my mind, even if my life is permanently altered.   Life 1 year later is glorious.  I never thought of myself as a motherly person, but, if you're lucky, your own child will make you motherly.  And that's all you really need.

I'm ready to admit I have a toddler.

We are back from an exhausting, whirlwind trip to hubs' homeland of upstate New York. It was gloriously beautiful. Rolling hills. Greenness all around. It made me homesick for a place I'm not even from, though I did live there for 4 years.

And MJ got to practice turning 1. DH's aunts confirmed that, although she is a little bundle of quantum energy, hubs was even more extreme. I didn't think it was possible. But she was all cuteness, all the time. We woke up at 3:15 this morning to come back to the Minn, and are all at work today. So after 5 hours of traveling with a squirming, restless little girl, I am ready admit. She's a toddler.

Gender neutral is complicated.*

God love my husband, but it turns out I'm better at dressing a little girl than he is.  This is not a slight in the least, I'd be uncomfortable if this statement weren't true.  But I giggle a little inside (or outside) when I pick MJ up from daycare and she is wearing a dress that he put on backwards. 

As a consequence, she frequently looks like a boy when Dad dresses her.  This is not his fault, this is a consequence of the fact that if a baby isn't wearing pink then said baby must be a boy.  I think this is true until teen years, at which time girls wear things much too short for them so it's clear they're a girl.  This presents a much larger problem, which I thankfully won't have to worry about for at least a few years.

On this particular day, MJ looked like this:

Which is utterly adorable.  But Tim at the ice cream shop understandably thought that she was a he.  And I didn't correct him, because when you correct someone's mistaken gender assignment of a baby they get all flustered and embarrassed.  So I've gotten in the habit of just smiling and nodding, because I don't personally care if they think MJ is a boy.  She doesn't seem to care either as she licks sand out of the crack in the sidewalk. 

But what I thought was going to be a 10 second conversation turned into a 10 minute conversation as the line snaked through the ice cream shop on the 98 degree day.  And Tim was a very nice old man, rather fun to talk to.  He didn't notice at first as hubs used female pronouns to refer to our daughter, he continued to think "boy".  And then he asked what his name was, and we were too far in, so I just said "MJ" (never before realizing how convenient it is that she has both a she- and a he-name.)  So  hubs started using male pronouns realizing there was no way out.  But then Tim introduced MJ to a cute little baby girl, saying that when they're older they can date.  And then I think hubs realized the absurdity of the whole situation (not that he hadn't before, I'm sure), no longer cared about humoring my plan and reverted to female pronouns.  And started using her given, very she-name. 

At this point, Tim looked confused.  And his pity for our daughter was clear, thinking that she was the product of two overly liberal parents who don't even know (or care) about the gender of their child.  Or maybe we're just raising Pop.  The role of gender in a child so young is intriguing to me.  It seems like there shouldn't be, but our daycare staff claim that often a strong attachment forms between a baby boy and a baby girl that will carry on through toddlerhood, but that they've never seen one form between babies of the same gender.  Which leads me to wonder, if you had a daycare completely filled with the children of gay and lesbian couples, would the same statement be true?  At this young age, how much is instinct and how much is conditioning? Though probably the most shocking thing to me about raising this child has been how little say we get in her personality.  I was always more of a "blank slate" proponent, but after raising MJ I can no longer follow this train of thought. 

I currently dress you in a lot of pink, little girl, trying to get my fill before you are able to assert your opinion.  But know that you are free to choose whatever orientation you want when the time comes, even if it means confusing old men like Tim.

*And another instance when matching outfits are adorable.

My photography skillz are going to have to get better

She moves fast now.  She is not the stationary little target she was a few months ago.  I get one shot, maybe two, and they are usually blurry.  Meaning I've got to learn what I'm doing, rather than just taking 50 pictures in the hopes that one will turn out okay.

This is my little toddler.  On a recent trip to Babies-R-Us I realized they have nothing for us anymore.  In one year's time, we have bought an entire store worth of merchandise.  I used to feel overwhelmed by that place, terrified by the targeted commercialism of parenthood.  Not only am I no longer scared of it, I own it all.  Not everything, obviously, but probably one or more of every category.  Sheesh.  We have a small storage room in the basement which is now FULL of baby stuff.  Because someday we'll have another.  And it could be a girl.  So I need ALL off this.  But I digress.  Because see those cute little pink shoes above?  Baby shoes are just about the cutest item in the world.  Parenthood commercialism, I lurv it.

11 months.

Here's you at 11 months. 

Happy.

Precocious.

Those have been constants in your life.

Thankfully, this month you learned a little bit of the fear, thanks to a few minor injuries in your early early attempts at walking.  This slowed you down a bit, caused you to think about what you were doing instead of just charging full speed ahead. Despite my earlier pronouncement, only now are you really becoming a walker.  And you're so proud of yourself, all grins and laughs at your new found skill.

In the last couple weeks language has begun to dawn on you.  You've been saying mama for quite a while, but now you seem to understand that it applies to me.  Granted, you say it for just about everything else in the world, but it seems to be reserved for things you like so I'm okay with it.  You are also learning "Dada", "No", and "Duck" (though that last one might just be a variant of "Dada").

And you have a boyfriend.  Baby boy S.  Whom you kiss, and hold hands with, and share your toys with.  I find this disturbing.  But crazy cute.  You love your beach ball.  You love when we crawl on the ground with you.  And you love life. 

The other day I was standing in line at Ikea, and you were a hot mess. Your Dad took you to the car while I paid. A teenage girl standing in line behind me asked her Dad "Do you remember when I was that small?" and he smiled and said yes. Then she asked if she was a difficult baby and he laughed a knowing laugh, but didn't answer. It's hard to picture you as that teenage girl, but I know it will happen. And you will ask me that same question, and I will miss all your hot-mess-baby-moments.