Question. Another girl, hey?

Answer. Yes, believe it or not the chances were 50/50 this time around too!

Question. Are you going to try again for a boy?

Answer. First of all, let’s take them one at a time, ok? Second, I remind you of the 50/50 thing. Third, girls are lovely and I’ve never been sure of the whole “one of each” thing. Fourth, how does one “try” for a boy or girl? Wait, don’t tell me. I have a feeling that involves some pretty graphic details. You know what, let me just call you when we are “trying” and you can give me advice then. Right at that moment. While we are “trying.” And fifth! You’re making me use too many quotation marks.

Question. Was Jacob disappointed this baby wasn’t a boy?

Answer. No. I’m disappointed that you are asking me such a stupid question though.

Question. Are you naming this one something totally weird too?

Answer. Yes, what’s your name? We’ll use that.

Question. Is Poppy really ready to be a big sister?

Answer. She rubs my belly and says “baby.” But she doesn’t really like anyone touching her things and she demands my attention 24/7, so uh, yeah. I think we’re in for a bit of an adjustment period.

Question. Three girls in the house! Poor Jacob is really in for it, huh?

Answer. You obviously don’t have a good grip on our family dynamics. Betcha can’t guess who cries more during movies? And don’t worry about Jacob too much. He’ll sync up his monthly cycle with the rest of us in no time.

People have said really nice things too, but I honestly can’t believe the amount of “boy” comments. I’m sure mothers of only girls or only boys out there can relate to my pain. It’s just completely weird how forward people can get on the subject. Alas, boys and girls are wonderful and we need them all. But please, stop with the comments! My children are unique and whole human beings with a variety of complex interests and personality traits. I’d rather you get to know their personalities then to comment on gender generalities and how crazy it will be for Jacob and all these girls. And the pink everywhere! And the hormones! And the dating! And the crying! And the AHHHH! GIRLS!

I just so happen to like them.

Another honest post from me. Are you shocked? Sunday night has rolled around again and I’m feeling a bit in the dumps. The mothering dumps. And why not share with the Internets because he always has a tissue and hot cup of tea to offer me.

My days and my weeks are becoming like one long run-on sentence of chasing and wiping and changing and reading-to and lifting and redirecting and feeding and cleaning-up and drying tears and helping and holding and quieting and cooking and washing and feeling exhausted.

I want to change my attitude, but it’s difficult when every week feels like the same thing over and over. I don’t get to leave my job at 5pm everyday. I don’t get a weekend that starts on Friday and ends on Sunday. I don’t get to turn the dial down, ever. Monday morning rolls around and I’m never ready. Sometimes I cry. Even a change of scenery doesn’t bring refreshment because I’m always, always MOM. What am I doing wrong? How can I change my approach? How can I change my heart? I feel touched-out, worn-thin, and run-down. And I feel guilty. What I do is important, and loving my daughters and my husband is a noble job indeed. Just sometimes, it’s hard and it’s hard to keep focus and it’s hard to be tired and to want a break so very badly. Even for a day.

Know what I mean?

And they stay in their jammies until noon sometimes…

And they refuse to eat anything except chocolate cake and bananas…

And they get sick and cranky and want to watch THE ELMO MOVIE a hundred times…

And they get mad at you for saying “No”…

And they are so, so, so, so the best people on the planet.

I made a music mix for Poppy when I was pregnant with her, and she still listens to it nearly every day. I think it’s never too early for good music, and I love telling my kids that they have special songs picked out just for them. Songs all about their unique personalities and my love for them. Because who doesn’t need to feel like David Bowie is singing only for her every once and a while?

Happy Father’s Day!

The other day, I was remembering back to a post I published with the manifesto The Idle Parent by Tom Hodgkinson. And holy crapadoodle. This thing is amazing. And even more super amazing now that I’m living it out with this independent kid-child-girl.

And just as I was re-reading this manifesto, I stumbled across Lenore Skenazy’s blog Free Range Kids. And again, I say holy crapadan. I’m so happy people like this exist in the world. People who remember how they grew up and don’t feel afraid to say “Hey you SuperMom, let your kid be a kid for one second!”

Parenting is hard work, especially the constant I-Am-Responsible-For-This-Human-Being-At-All-Times nagging feeling. If I take Poppy out in public, there is a tremendous stress I feel to be constantly parenting her. Making sure she isn’t causing a disturbance or breaking some unwritten rule of society. Is she picking that kid’s NOSE? Making sure she is on her most perfect behavior so the woman at the deli will be happy with us and offer Poppy a piece of turkey to get us through the rest of the shopping trip. Or the stress to always be presenting a kid who is well-mannered, adorable, and likable. Ugh, likable. I hate that word. But it’s true, I feel this kind of pressure as a parent. And this pressure fights against my desire to treat Poppy with respect and to let her be who she is – a spunky, funny, inquisitive little toddler. That is so important to me too. It’s hard to balance my two Mom Suits.

Good manners, yes. Respect for others, absolutely. But cookie-cutter kids with no kid left in them? No way. Not for us.

I don’t know where I’m going with this post. Guess I just got a little crazy because I’ve recently added caffeine back into my diet. And so here I am on the Internets rambling about parenting.

Peace.

My heartbeat flying in the world.

A sun and a moon,

You two are my Pearls.

A toddler underfoot and

A baby in the nest.

Two tiny charms,

A lace around my neck.

Mama loves you more than words,

I love to hold you close.

I love your hands, your feet, your smile,

You are the joy of my heart.

Doesn’t she look so grown up? It kills me how awesome having a toddler is. Poppy has a great sense of humor, a strong will, and a sweet smile. It’s like raising a small human. A human with defined emotions and ideas and quirks. She quacks like a duck and meows like a cat. She rubs my belly and says “Baby!” She kisses her daddy good-bye in the morning. She likes a boy and says his name all time. She loves to read. She chases bubbles. I mean, really people, does it get better?

I am privileged to be a part of her life. It has nothing to do with the role of mother. It’s a completely different feeling than I ever thought I would have towards my children. This small person didn’t come into my life to make anything of me. I find less and less of myself these days. I watch her grow and become the woman she will be everyday. I stand here to help, hold, guide, scold, praise, and let go.

In the meanwhile, I really need her to stop getting into the toilet paper.

It started when I spent all of last week looking at pictures of her first few days in the world. I stared for long, long periods of time at her tiny hands, her dark squinty eyes, her wrinkled skin, and her jerkish movements on video. By the time Sunday rolled around, I felt a total sense of release, like a weight lifting from my heart. Again, I’m not kidding. I cried a few tears alone that morning, but then things started to change. Even the way I look at Poppy today is different. She’s full on into toddlerhood and I am finally okay with that. Did you hear me? I AM OKAY WITH THAT.

Even during the tough times and sleepless nights, I think I did a pretty fine job of staying present in every moment this past year. I don’t regret ANY decision, not even the bad ones. I can close this chapter on our lives and say that it was a very well-spent year. It was rich and full and crazy and rewarding and difficult and joyous and long and short, and well, you get the idea.

We are on to toddlerhood and so far, I like it alright. Poppy did lick the toilet seat today, but hey.

Poppy Anne.

You mean the world to me and Daddy.

This year has been the best year of our lives.

You are our Rose.

Our Pearl.

The spin on our world.

Even the stars make their wishes on your eyes.

The way you grow so fast reminds me to stop everyday and be grateful.

When you learn something new, I am proud. When you fall and get hurt, I am sad. When you feel silly and giggle, I smile. When you are, I am too.

Happy First Birthday, Poppy!