Never Too Old

I have always been a bit of a Mama's Girl. I adore my mother, and never went through "that phase" as a teenager. When I went away to college, I realized what she had worked so hard for in the 18 years that were my life. When my daughter was born 3 months ago, I realized what being her had meant, and why she was so good to me each day of my life. I'll never be able to fully say what she means to me in a paragraph. I can't buy her a gift from the gift shop that sums it up. I guess my thanks to her will reflect in each day I have with the lil' dude. It'll be a generational show of love and gratitude.

Last week, I had minor surgery on my heel, which rendered me on crutches and in a lot of pain and on high doses of powerful drugs for the immediate days post-surgery. Being the Dad has a full-time job and we have the little dude to think of, I asked my mom to come stay for three or so days to help out. She had to take the days off in the middle of the week as vacation . . . days I assume she'd rather spend with my dad on a road trip, at the cabin, or drinking wine on the deck. But she took them for me.

Between bouts of me needing help getting into a bathtub naked, puking in a Tupperware bowl in my living room, chasing the dog back home from the neighbor's, folding laundry, buying groceries, wiping snot off the little dude's face, I realized that a Mom's work is never done. Here I am in my late '20s, with a house, husband, and baby of my own and here's MY mom doing My work. With a smile on her face. Loving every minute spent with her granddaughter, (who also decided to catch a cold and spike a temp while I was glued to the recliner), cheerfully commenting on daytime TV, and maintaining my three ringing phones. Making my favorite comfort food, making from-scratch lemon muffins, and bringing me raspberry chapstick from the drugstore when she went to pickup my 5th prescription in as many days.

I know when I was in Mrs. Ojay's 2nd grade class, my poster that hung in the hallway said I wanted to be a Secretary when I grew up. No, that is not true anymore. What I want to be when I grow up is My Mom.

Wordless Wednesday: Early Edition

This post is in anticipation of tomorrow, as I will be unavailable for blogging purposes.
Here is the lil' dude on Easter with her great-grandmother who didn't even care she had on skull legwarmers. That is Love.

Who in Their Write Mind?

If I had to register today for the three things I constantly am in need of for the lil' dude it would be A) Diapers B) Formula, and C) Thank You cards. And, if I could taxi in another item to that list, it would be US Postage Stamps.
I wish I were exaggerating when I say I've written nearly 130 thank-you cards since the lil' dude arrived on the scene. Now, I have always been a fan of a nice, handwritten note expressing my gratitude for anything. From my girlfriends spending a weekend with me, for the neighbor watching the dog, for my husband doing all the laundry in one Sunday and not shrinking any of my new cotton shirts. I like to write. But, the thank-yous for all the baby stuff . . . when will it end? 130 thank you's worth of postage is $53.30 . . . which is 5 cans of formula . . . two giant boxes of Pampers Swaddlers . . . exactly 14 days' worth of latte money at Starbucks . . .
It was fun for the Dad and I to choose a picture and layout and clever saying on the custom thank you's we had made the week after the lil' dude was born. We ordered 60 of them, thinking we'd even have one leftover for her scrapbook. Ha! I think last week I sent a thank you card on my work letterhead because I was desperate and over three weeks behind in getting it out. I even went the 4-year-old route after a baby shower and bought a pack of "template" thank you's that looked like this:
"Dear _______,
Thank you for the _________. I really like it because _____________.
And, I can't wait until ____________.
You're the __________! Thanks! Love, _____________."
But, writing "Dear Friend, thank you for the Pink Stuff. I really like it because It's Pink and Something I Don't Have to Purchase. And, I can't wait until Lil' Dude Can Fill These Out Herself. You're the Sweetest! Thanks! Love, Lil' Dude's Tired Mama" over and over wasn't any better.
We celebrated Easter yesterday, of course. Lil' dude hauled in 5 Easter baskets, plus three other presents. Love love the people in our lives who spoil her because they love her. I really do. But, do I have to sent out thank you's for the Easter gifts? I am out of stamps, thank you cards . . . clever banter for the cards . . . patience . . .
And no, to answer your question, I never asked the Dad to help with the thank you's. It would make things worse, actually.
"Who is Lori and what does that say behind her name? 'Single onesie put into the Crisis Teen Pregnancy Center pile'? How do I thank her for THAT?"

What to Expect When You're Expecting Didn't Let Me Know

Lil' dude is three-and-a-half months old. We're getting pretty good with the everyday routines by now. The Dad wakes her each morning to feed her, I get her ready in her miniature duds, and he takes her to daycare. At night I bathe her, read stories, rock, and tuck her in while her noise machine spits out bumbling-brook sounds. Neither the Dad nor I have any questions about these routines. When we take walks with the dog, he holds the leash while I navigate the stroller through the March slush or strap her onto my chest in her carrier. I know which stores her carseat snaps into the carts best, and which stores are better to use the stroller in. But, there is still something I can honestly say, "I don't know" to. I am wondering if anyone will tell me so I don't have to be embarrassed to ask.
What is society's stance on leaving a baby in a car while adults runs into someplace very quickly?
I mean, do you have to unstrap the snoozing infant from the warm confines of her comfy carseat wonderland, while waking her with the jostling, to bring her into the cold, wet, very windy atmosphere outside the car while you return one disk to Redbox, or drop of the bundt cake you baked for a funeral at your church? I, of course, being the rookie mama I am, still do just that. Unstrap, jostle, awaken, and drag into the cold while I do these 10-second errands because I am unsure an alarm will sound if I were to leave the lil' dude in the back of the vehicle, alerting the Authorities to my heinous crime.
For example: last weekend. I took the lil' dude to the grocery store with me while the Dad stayed home to take the Christmas lights off the house (yes, we are Those People). I knew which grocery store's carts snap her carseat into place best, of course. She snoozed pretty much the whole 30-minute ordeal. I must soothe her to sleep when I talk out loud to myself while shopping. Anyways, upon checkout, my cell phone rings. It's the Dad. I thought he was calling from the backyard to say he was laying in a mangled heap after falling off the roof. Instead, he asks if I could go to the liquor store to look for the New Beer he's been wanting to try. I tell him sure. So, I wheeled the lil' dude, still attached to the cart, and all my paid-for groceries through the store, through the deli, through the attached convenience store, to the outside, down the narrow sidewalk, and into the liquor store. Babies in liquor stores is a separate topic for another post. No New Beer. So, I retrace my steps, and get out to the car, and load the baby up. On the way home, I think of the two other liquor stores along my route, so stop at the first one, wrangle the lil' dude out. In we go, and out we come sans New Beer. At the third liquor store, I stay in my car after I park, and look in the backseat at the babe, dozing again and think, "Can I leave her, with the car running, lock the doors and run in for 45 seconds?" It's broad daylight, I am at a liquor store in my tiny town. I think I know better. Out comes the little dude, and in we go. Nope. No New Beer here, either. We go home.
So the next time I traipse all over 2 counties looking for elusive things, like, New Beer, is the lil' dude supposed to accompany me each time?

It's That Time of Year

I tried buying plain white tights for the lil' dude today on my lunch break . . . tights? For a small baby girl-type person? Forget it. Forget it! each salesperson told me, while scowling. It is Easter season, ma'am.
And so?
I'm new at this Mama thing, but I assumed tights would be available to me at any number of stores, including my favorite go-to, Target. Not a chance. So, any of you Mamas out there who have to check "Tights for Easter dress" off your to-do list between Good Friday and Easter morning, start searching the Internet right now. Oh, poor lil' dude. You are going to have the cutest green and turquoise dress on . . . with your miniature skull and crossbones leg warmers come Sunday morning. Your great-grandmother is going to love that.

Wordless Wednesday: Vintage Cherries

I stole the idea for Wordless Wednesday from another baby blog I read. The idea is to post a picture where no caption is necessary; where no words can say it better than the photo itself.