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Dear Jack,
Today you are two. That is 720 days of waking me up, pulling my hair, asking for more milk, blowing raspberries to taunt me, laughing at everything and nothing, crying over everything and nothing, screaming at everything and everything, surprising me, pissing me off and pissing on me, giving me ambition, inspiration, hope. You grow up quickly little sir. Two years ago I held you in my arms and thought "what a tiny little world". That world is expanding. That world is quick now, running, keeping me on my toes, keeping my eyes open. That world is more expressive than I can capture in any picture, write down in any sentence.
They say "wait for the terrible two's!" But today you woke up sweet as can be. You even allowed me to cuddle you for a couple minutes as you played with my hair. This is not a common occurrence (and perhaps I have DJ Lance to thank for captivating you for long enough to let me enjoy it). You didn't whine or scream at anything trivial. Maybe this is the calm before the storm. But they say a lot of things.
You are more than a lot of things. You are Jack. And I couldn't imagine any other world I'd rather be around.

We love you,
Mom

Right now you seem to really love this song. I think it's very appropriate. So here you go my raspberry blower, my moon watcher, song singer, panda kisser.



Also, Happy Birthday to my little brother Mitchell, who two years ago turned 14 and all he got was a lousy nephew ;). I couldn't think of anybody better to share a birthday with Jack. You are the best brother and uncle anybody could ask for!

I Heart My Mother-In-Law

Sunday we headed on over to the in-law's for a dinner and cake. My mother-in-law wanted us to open one of Jack's birthday presents early-








It was a kick in the nostalgia pants as I had a little set like this when I was Jack's age (only mine were plastic, I believe). I couldn't be more tickled with this little dinner set and am looking forward to keeping them as a little heirloom for future kids (?) or grandkids (???).

Sugar and Spice and Please, Don't Do This To Me Hormones!!!

No sooner then after writing about Jack's upcoming 2nd birthday did I start getting those pangs. I think many women will know what I'm talking about when I say "post-toddler pangs". Those lingering thoughts about having another baby once you realize that the first is no longer infantile.

Exhibit One- I had a dream a couple nights back about being pregnant again. I was a lot smaller this time around, and apparently through powers of osmosis I knew what I was having despite not having a sonograph. It was another boy, smaller and with black hair. It was Super Bowl Sunday and everyone in the waiting room was eating chips and dip and cheering while I waited for stronger contractions.

When I woke up I started my period. This leads me to believe this wanting, these dreams, are merely my hormones saying "you know, you COULD make a baby again."

Exhibit Two- During a recent trip to Target I walked by the children's clothing section and saw a pink tutu, upon which I looked at Greg and said "I want a little girl." This leads me to believe I'm going batshit crazy.

I DO NOT want another child. At least not right now. I tell myself and others that it's just not going to happen. That I'm soooooooooooooooooooo not ready for a second, especially when I wasn't even remotely ready for the first and that it's a miracle that I even have any maternal instincts.

But somewhere, whether it's in my ovaries or my heart...





Jack and Stella? Jack and Adele? Jack and Alice? Gahhhh...my uterus needs a swift kick in the face.

Jack: A Retrospective

In two short weeks he will be two. I have been shell shocked since the day he was born. Constant changes abound with children, life. Good, bad, mundane. All marked indelibly in our minds. Scarred on my torso, in my skin. Stains in the carpet, baby shampoo in our shower. Tiny versions of our world, living, breathing only braver. My mind keeps trying to play tricks on me with this son of mine. In trying to cradle him I am shocked back into reality with the weight of his will. I look back at pictures that seem so recent and turn to my left only to see a tiny face maturing. Folding up too small shirts to give away feels like a small death. Finding broken chrysalis'.
"It wasn't too long ago".

...It wasn't too long ago.







"Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new"
From "Child" by Sylvia Plath

Stuff and stuff

I've been trying to get some ducks in a row. Trying to finish a couple essays while also trying to write more and get back to some old poetry roots. Trying to get my health on a better track (ordering two, yes two, burrito bowls from Chipotle last night was probably not conducive to such changes..). And trying to post here more often. While I don't have too much to say (sometimes I have to wait until it gets unstuck from the inside of my head, which is the case) I do have some pretty cool stuff I found on the internet during the week. So here you go!


Apartment Therapy has been driving the inner nesting freak in me bonkers! A couple favorites-


I love coral for a paint color!
I want this rug for Jack's room so bad!


Some bathroom envy-



I'm a big believer in soap dishes. Soap build up on my sink has no place in my life.


Some wallpaper I've been sighing over-




AND...SEAHORSIES!




AND...some music for your pretty ears-






Until then...

Vodka after bedtime...

I've been a pretty social person these last couple months. I think it started with all the insane visiting during the holidays and shuffling back and forth from tables of food, arms of relatives, toasts, resolutions. I suppose it left me with an excess of momentum, which I never previously experienced as a lifelong hermit. Up until December, eventful nights for me were junk food, 30 Rock and maybe a whooppie sesh with the husband. That was until I inadvertently made the resolution to take back my social life. I figured I owed it to myself after oh, 3 or so years of social ineptitude/ambivalence.
Of course, being a mother I'm oft plagued with the 'ol maternal guilt. Am I hurting him by going out once a week or so? Does he miss me? Am I being selfish? I usually leave after tucking Jack in bed, after reading him "Goodnight Moon" for the umpteenth time, safe, sleeping under the watch of his father. I don't want him to know I'm not going to be here to squash any monsters that arise in dreams.
After mulling it over, guilt tripping myself, talking about it with Greg and friends and in-law's and the neighbors cat, I think I've let it go. I think that I've finally allowed myself to have more feelings outside of our safe, cozy, familial nook.
I go out because sometimes I like to feel the bass, the kick drum, the energy of a friend's band vibrating through the room. I go out to laugh at things people say, in real life, rather than the internet. I go out to lose my equilibrium for a few hours, find it again and nurse it back to health, tonight I'm my own baby. I go out for autonomy. I go out to see faces I haven't seen in days, months, years. But more than that, I go out to come back in. To take off foot crippling heels and put on pajama's and to feel a sense of relief instead of the contempt of monotony. To look at sleeping faces and feel like I'm home. To feel like maybe next weekend 30 Rock, junk food and whooppie sesh's are exactly what the doctor ordered.

I think every mom, woman, deserves that. Guilt-free, judgment free. Have your vodka, your cake. May your "walk of shame" be to the crib and the coffee maker.

The park:1, Jack:0

Only in motherhood can you take pictures of sleeping people and not be considered a "weirdo". This is my nightly ritual. A stroke of the hair, replacing of the blanket and, at times, a flash of the camera.

Goodnight Jack.