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My baby is not a baby anymore. I know that, and one of these days I will actually accept it. Possibly she will have children of her own at that point, but I’m sure that one day I will be willing to admit that she is really, truly not a baby anymore.

Eh, who am I kidding? She will always be my baby. Even though she is TWO YEARS OLD NOW. Seriously, wasn’t I still pregnant - like, yesterday?

She had her two-year checkup this morning, and she is growing fabulously (finally!). She has made it all the way to the 49th percentile in weight at just over 26 pounds; she’s on the tall side at just over 35 inches, and she still has a big old melon for a head (the better to hold her stupendous brain). She’s smart, she’s happy, she’s adorable (everyone says so! it’s not just me being a doting mama!) and she is far and away the best thing that ever happened to me.

I always said the one thing I really wanted was to be a mother. Now all I really want is to find a way to become the mother that my daughter deserves.

The word “uninspired” does not even begin to cover my mental state today. My desk is a disaster looking for a cause, my daughter FINALLY napped today after two solid days of refusing to even consider it, and I am fresh out of ideas.

Here, have a picture instead:

Cousins

I think that the Monday after Thanksgiving is the worst Monday of the year. When January 2nd is a Monday, that might be worse, but it would be a close battle. Almost everyone has a four-day weekend for Thanksgiving (whether officially or just because the day after Thanksgiving is a wasted day even for those who are in the office). Once you clean up the big meal, you turn around and realize that the holiday season is rushing at you like a freight train. Unless your shopping is done, your presents wrapped, and your cards already sent (in which case I probably hate you) you feel behind right out of the gate, no matter how unrealistic that is.

For me, now that I’m a (never manages to) stay at home Mom, the end of a long weekend has the added bonus of a day full of “where DADDY?!” “MORE DADDY!” all. day. long. We usually have swimming lessons on Monday mornings, but stayed home today because of Abby’s congested cough. I’m trying to get her back on her regular routine; she is fighting me with everything she has. I want her to nap so that I can get some peace and quiet and actually get some work done; she wants to play and PARTAY instead of napping and “HEY MA! WHERE DADDY?!” boy, she wishes her Daddy were home to play with her.

Me too, baby, me too. Is it Friday yet?

Monday morning is swimming class in our “Fall Insanity Overbooked Schedule” world. Class was originally scheduled for 10am, which was pretty much the perfect time. For whatever reason, they moved the class to 9am, which means that we actually have to get up and get motivated in the morning instead of lollygagging around like we usually do. It’s worth it, though, since Abby loves swimming so much it is crazy. As soon as we walk through the doors from the locker room to the swimming pool, she starts in with “big! baffff! BIG BAFF!” and does not shut up until I let her get into the water. She will stay in the water until her lips are blue, her teeth are chattering and she is shivering like she’s in an Arctic winter and will still scream when I make her get out.

I thought I was going to hate this class after the first session. We’ve been doing swim lessons for a good while, and ever since the new Rec Center opened we’ve had the same instructor for each session. Abby loves Mr. Kevin, and he knows her really well at this point, which means that she gets a lot of individual attention from him. The classes have a pretty broad span of ages - from around a year old to almost three - which can be…interesting. Abby is all about jumping in the pool and doesn’t bat an eye about going under water, while other kids are really clinging to their moms (or dads) (or nannies, I guess). Kevin has been great about just letting us sort of do our thing and giving us direction to keep her interested. This session we have a new instructor, who seemed a bit put off when I kept doing things the way we’ve been doing them instead of following along with her instructions. I have the feeling that she thought I was “one of those Moms” who thinks her kid is a prodigy and is too good for the rest of the class, even after I said (nicely, I swear!) that we’ve been taking classes with Kevin for a long time and this is what he suggested we do.

Well, this week she kept talking about what a great swimmer Abby is, and mentioned that Kevin said she’s a regular fish. So I guess the swim instructor watercooler network was put to work between the first class and this one and she learned that I’m not really one of “those Moms” put here just to be a pain in the ass to unsuspecting swim teachers.

Even though my kid is clearly a prodigy and is definitely too good for the rest of ‘em.

We had Abby’s birthday party today, even though her birthday isn’t until the week after Thanksgiving. The thought of trying to plan a birthday party in the crazy-hectic holiday weeks just felt insane, so we picked the last pre-Thanksgiving weekend day for the party. (It seems like Thanksgiving is relatively early this year, which makes it further from her birthday than it could be.) It worked out well, at any rate - we had a good crowd of Abby’s friends (okay, my friends and their kids) and most of our family (those who haven’t been busy leaving the country). Abby had a good time, everyone else seemed to have a good time, and it’s over now.

Lesson learned from this year’s party: when the pizza place tells you that a large pizza serves 4-6 people they are apparently talking about huge, insanely hungry people. I think we brought home three entire pizzas even making other people take some home. I think each pizza actually served closer to ten people, even if you factor in the toddlerness of a large portion of our group.

I still find myself surprised when I have an actual conversation with my daughter. I ask her a question and she…answers. By doing something other than repeating what I said, or just saying “yeah” or “no”. (And about 80% of the time now she says “yes” instead of “yeah” anyway.) What’s really fun is that sometimes I have no idea at all where the answers came from.

She has a stuffed lion (among her many, many stuffed animals) that she was carrying around this afternoon. Because I was too stupid to already know (apparently) I asked her what her lion’s name is. She gave me “the look” (duh, mother, you silly woman): “Larry. Lion. RAWR.”

Larry??!! Seriously, where has she even HEARD the name Larry? But she stuck to it all day. The lion’s name is Larry and he says RAWR, but sometimes “mrow”.

My parents were here today for an all-too-brief visit before they take off to Australia for a few months. My brother’s kids had been with them for the weekend, so my parents brought the kids here and arranged for my sister-in-law to come here to reclaim them. That meant that for about five hours, there were four children under the age of six terrorising wreaking havoc

playing in my oh-so-small house. It was simultaneously awesome and sort of horrifying.

One thing that I really love is watching Abby with my older nephew. He’ll turn six in a couple of weeks - the day before Abby turns two - and the two of them just adore each other. He takes care of her wherever they go, and she follows him around like he has all of the answers in the universe. I think that she’s still young enough - and they see each other just rarely enough - that she’s not annoying in the way that his sister and brother are. And since Abby is usually around kids her own age, having a big kid who’s willing to play with her (and not just around her) is fascinating to her. Don’t get me wrong - Abby loves all of her cousins, and all three of them love her, but there’s something between the two of them, oldest and youngest, that I just love. I know that there will come a time when they all think that cousins are just irritating and silly, but I really hope that they stay close as they grow up and end up as friends once they’re adults.

For those who are currently fighting with infertility, the thought of a single week to be “aware” of it is laughable. It consumes every single waking moment of your life - the hours spent in doctors’ offices, the time spent taking inventory of your medications, the endless worry about insurance and how little it covers and trying to figure out how you’ll ever be able to pay for the treatments you need just to try to become a parent. The futile Google searches that you hope will just tell you what you want to know: when will you…WILL you…ever get what seems to come so easily to so many others. The hours you spend crying because the money you’d so carefully saved up for retirement and your unborn childrens’ college funds is all but gone, and nothing to show for it but bruises on your body and on your heart.

Even when you’ve gone through this journey and come out the other side, the reality is that the strain is still there. The knowledge that we are compromising our daughter’s college fund in an attempt to give her a brother or sister is not easy to sit with. We believe that it’s the right thing to do, but the need to make these choices hurts. Watching our daughter hug her cousin, or a friend’s baby, and hearing her ask for a baby of her own hurts.

It’s definitely different the second time around. Some of the questions are different. Some of the feelings are different. I’m a mother now, and no one can take that away from me. If all I ever have is Abby, then I have gotten my miracle and am so grateful for that.

But especially now that I really know what it’s like to have a child, I know that what I want the most is more of what I finally have.

I spent this evening, toddler in tow, at the new offices of my old employer. They moved into new office space over the summer after outgrowing the old “new” office space after I left. Well, it was pretty well outgrown before I left, but they completely packed them in once I was gone.

It was interesting to see the new offices and catch up with old coworkers and clients. The new office has the same vibe that the old one did in a lot of ways, but it’s a little bit more polished and “grown up” in some respects. I worked with these people for over six years (a long time in this industry) and still do some freelance work for the company, so there’s some feeling of never having left when talking to most of them. The fact that I’d never set eyes on almost a half-dozen of the newer employees, though, reminded me that time has marched on indeed. (Just in case I hadn’t noticed that my tiny baby is actually getting to be a little girl now.) It was fun to introduce Abby as “the reason I don’t work here anymore” - and to get the consistent reply of “And who can blame you? She is SO CUTE!”

I’ll freely admit that there are times that I think going back to work full-time would be easier than the juggling act that I’m doing now. The ability to actual focus on one thing for more than the length of a nap and having guilt-free time to read up on new things and stretch the creative muscles a bit would be nice, but as much as I might like my old coworkers, I do usually have a lot more fun spending my days with Abby than I did with them.

As I’ve mentioned before, Abby’s second birthday is coming up, and we are having a party. Last year we had cupcakes at playgroup and a “party” that involved our immediate families and closest friends. This year, we’re having an actual party. For the kids. With invitations and decorations and all the related “stuff” that implies.

Now, I am not entirely insane - we are NOT having it at our (oh so small) house. Knowing that having the party here is actually where my personal journey (further into) insanity began. Where do you have a party for a dozen or so TWO year olds? The ever-popular Chuck is just too much for my feeble mind to handle, and most of the other “kid-oriented party places” are still too old for this crowd. They’re not exactly going to sit nicely and do crafts or something, after all. The new community center has a gorgeous pool with a nice party room attached, but asking everyone (parents included, at this age, obviously) to plan on swimming at the end of November didn’t seem like it would go over so well. I really wanted to have it at a park somewhere, but again - the end of the middle of November? The stress of watching the weather reports would have killed me dead.

In the end, we decided to have it at My Gym (the not-Gymboree where we take classes). It’s not as cheap as I’d like (I am a bit of a cheapskate at heart), but they’re all set up to handle everything, including entertaining a dozen toddlers and a few older kids. All I have to do is show up with cake and balloons. And paper supplies. And drinks. And order pizza. And gift bags? Or something? I don’t know - the whole thing is actually stressing me out. Do I need a theme? (Last year was easy - a quick Google for “1st birthday party girl” gave me plenty to work with, and party supplies for already-doting grandparents and aunts and cousins don’t exactly get much critical scrutiny.) Can I just get some random pink plates and napkins and call it a day?

All of this decision-making is driving me slightly batty, and for the first time, I am beginning to understand where the birthday crazies begin and how hard it can be to resist them. I mean, there was a (very, very brief) period of time that renting a petting zoo to come to our back yard almost seemed reasonable. (Almost. But not really. But FUN! Baby animals! Miniature horses! Many hundreds of dollars!) She is only turning TWO, for the love of Pete - I can just imagine how much harder this will get when she has actual opinions of her own on the subject, not to mention the ability to be swayed by peer pressure. I am pretty sure that the smartest move would be to relocate to a very, very remote village somewhere before she gets much older.