Two stories for today…
Picking The Kid up last Friday, I was promptly informed that she had bitten two kids at school that day. WHAT?! Again? (Yeah, again. I don’t really remember the scenario for the first one… I just remember that – at the time – I knew Kharma was at work. I didn’t flip when she got nipped, so I hoped this parent returned the favor.) This time, kids were crowding her. In her space, so to speak. Alright maybe she’s teething. Maybe she’s working on the right words for “get off me, man!” Whatever. She bit someone else. SomeoneS.
Today, when dropping her off at school, her morning teacher pulled me aside and said with a smirk “She got bit yesterday.” I almost laughed with relief. We were both thinking it, but not wanting to say it. The Kid deserved it. Didn’t make anyone right. Biting isn’t appropriate (but then neither isn’t making me pay $4 for an inced mocha or making me sit through a meeting when no one is really going to listen to what I say). She got her just desserts. Life goes on.
Second story:
Tonight, she said “Hi, Daddy” to MRA on my cell phone. Need I say more?
A short story from The Kid’s first birthday:
I had a completely cliché moment last night straight out of a book Natalie (college roommate and fellow new mom of a Kate) loaned me – I Don’t Know How She Does It. The Kid’s “teacher” at day care asked if we wanted the kids to celebrate her b-day at school, and if so, feel free to bring in some cake as they really have a good time watching the kids go at it. (The Kid’s “teacher” is cool and so laid back I often wonder if she’s breathing. So to her defense, she wasn’t pushing, just encouraging 
But I digress…
So, I stopped by the store on the way home last night – after picking The Kid up – to get supplies for the weekend with MRA’s mom in town, the Mexican fiesta I’m preparing for the party and something for school. So I found these cute little mini cupcakes (something like this, just not as pretty), both chocolate and “yellow” (what flavor IS yellow, anyway?!?). Thing is, they were packaged in a very practical, but ugly plastic container. So I took them home, unpacked them, placed them prettily on one of her party plates and then covered them with my own packaging. Straight out of the book. And if that weren’t enough, when MRA woke me up b/c HE couldn’t sleep at 3, I then spent the next 45 minutes debating the cupcakes: they’re pretty small, not “fun” enough; there may not be enough to share; I should really get a full cake, etc. (like THIS!) You get the picture. This morning on the way to drop her off, I passed right by the grocery store and flipped it the bird. They’re kids. They’re 1. They’ll be absolutely delighted with my puny, yellow and brown, store-bought cupcakes. They were.
I fessed up to the teachers – store-bought and re-packaged. “Sad sack,” as MRA would say…
Kate is 18 months old this weekend. For all of you former me’s, that’s 1 & 1/2 years. (Quite frankly, I’m surprised my eyes still reside in my head given my copious eye-rolling, pre-Kate, at the “my child is 54 months” responses when I asked how old your kid was. I get it now. However, out of respect to all of you big-fun, still fancy-free no-kid-couples out there, I’ll try to default to the nearest year when asked.)
Ok, back to the 18 months.
Wait, first we need to step back in time. “Pregnancy Brain” is no joke. When pregnant, I thought of little else 80% of the time. (I would regularly try to draw MRA into the obsession, but to no avail. Rock solid, that cat.) Anyway, that left 20% to manage day-to-day activities. Tooth brushing, showering, agonizing over clothes which never really fit my amorphous body, and my job. Once the “momentous event” occurred, however, Pregnancy Brain became Mommy Brain, taking up another 10%, leaving me with a scant 10% to divide between husband and work. It’s not pretty. Some women fly through without a scratch. Me? I would find myself dropping the kid off at day care without bottles and sitting at my desk without a clue as to what I did the day before. Shopping at Baby Gap and leaving Brooks Brothers lonely and alone. I couldn’t get enough of BabiesRUs – the megastore of everything you don’t need, but everything you think you should buy for the “health and safety – and don’t forget proper development of – the kid.
Today, 18 months into this thing called Mommyhood, I think I am recapturing some of that 90% brain matter. Not much. %5 at the most. Ok, 3%. Seems I’ve found dyslexia(?!) instead… Damn.
Ok, so I’m not asthmatic – but it is a great line… and personally descriptive. “Last in the rat race… and still puffing on my inhaler.” Props go to Alecia Yancik: bff since 1975. That was the last year I did anything cool. I was three.
Today, no longer that hip, young hot shot in the office. No longer that cool fun chick you met in the bar last week. I’m officially closer to *gulp* 40 than 30. I work more than I play. I wipe my kid’s boogs without a second thought. I bemoan the joy of a spontaneous happy hour. I love every minute of it. Wouldn’t trade it for George Clooney.
