Ambergontrail – Trying to get through life without dying of dysentery

This Friday is our final preschool tour. After that (presumably immediately after), I will call to enroll our daughter in preschool starting this Fall. Piper is two years and four months old, and I can tell her time here in the office (even just the two days a week) are limited. She just needs so much more than she can get here in this open space layout. And while a small part of me is looking forward to having more days to myself during the work week, a large, large part of me is mourning the loss of my Mama/Piper time.

Granted, I know that I will be with her on weekends and evenings, and I do get to kiss her goodbye in the morning, but so much of my parenting life has been spending 24 hours a day with our little munchkin. And while she’s been spending a majority of her time at home rather than at work with me, I still treasure those days when we can sit on the floor and color, or sit at the window looking out at all the trucks passing by(“Big Truck!!” she shouts).

While having a toddler can be trying, and they can be so willful and stubborn, I truly can’t get enough of her. I wish my job in life was to just be with her, all the time. I would be so incredibly happy if I could live that way, always at hand, always feeling her sticky hand in mine as we go to get the mail. If they made a bjorn for seven year olds, you’d better believe she’d be in one as we headed off to elementary school. All the better to sniff and kiss her silky head, you know.

I often get a lot of flack for the immense rose-colored glasses that I wear around my daughter. I recognize that it may seem a bit delusional that a person can be that invested in a toddler, with their tantrums and games of “who will break first” (Hint, it’s usually the parent). Especially when measured against other mothers of toddlers, I look like I’m drinking some kind of poison kool-aid. Heck, I know I’m probably a little bit of a nutty squirrel when it comes to Piper. Then again,  I have a great relationship with my parents. Despite the overall grumpiness of the household, there was so much laughter in our home, and it’s the same with the home I made when I grew up. We laugh all the time, we’re a silly bunch.

I feel like I never get enough time with Piper, never get to be with her during those critical moments of toddlerhood. I’m sure I’m just making it out to be a little more dramatic than it is because I realize our time as a little daily duo is starting to end, but thinking of dropping her off at school, waving goodbye as my little one walks off to meet her friends (Friends she MAKES, not friends I make her be friends with!!). It’s crazy to think about it, because these years will NEVER EVER happen again with her. It’s not like she’s a teenager who is giving me dirty looks as I take away her cellphone. No, this is the time when she learns about the Itsy Bitsy Spider, and makes a funny attempt of the finger movements. It’s Piper saying “good morning” to her friends in the crib, and to Mom-mom (me) and Daddy, Grammy and Wuh-man. I don’t care if you’re not a kid person, if you hear a high pitched little voice say, “Good morning, Muno! Good Morning, Grammy! Sweet dreams!” while you were still sleeping, well, any heart will melt.

I think it’s because right now, there are just so many moments where I wish I could press pause and just stay there in that moment. Yesterday, Piper took Muno and declared it “Nap time”. She put him on her pillowpet, and sang, “Nighty-Night, Nighty-night, nighty-night”, and then laid beside him and covered herself with her blanket. I sang some made up words to that song, something like, “Nighty-night, say goodnight, Mama loves you, sweet angel…. I am with you, forever, I will always be here” and she started to cry. I thought, “Man, I know my voice isn’t all that great, but jeez.” Then she said, “More.” I said, “More singing?” “More singing, Mom-mom.” So I sang a little bit more of that made up song, and she remained there on the pillow, tears falling, asking for more, more, more.

This is my life. This is why my glasses are always rosy. Because our great moments like the one above make me proud, make me cry because I know it’ll end far too soon, definitely sooner than I want. All I’ll have left to remember of her toddlerhood will be memories like that one. I am so glad to say their light and love outshines the dark of the bad days.

And since I know I haven’t posted pics in awhile, here are a few for you. She is such a big girl now.

A rainy day plus a new raincoat and new rain boots makes one VERY happy girl. It totally made it worth standing out there in the pouring rain with flip flops and a non-waterproof jacket.

Piper still uses her “Cheese” face.

Piper also got into some lipstick I don’t use. She was having a grand old time with it.

Piper has begun a love for home improvement.

And we have found Piper looks great in orange.

And finally, this is the face that is just heaven.

For a long time before we started TTC again, I was obsessed with reading everything about pregnancy and babies. Now that I’ve started again, I can’t read anything else. Everything is a reminder of the crazy anxiety trying to conceive gives me.

After doing the two week wait, I had forgotten just how incredibly horrible it is. How you’re torn between that crazy mix of “If I stay positive I’ll GET a positive” and “I don’t want to get my hopes up because I don’t want to crash too hard when my period comes”. Before, when trying to conceive, I had friends I spoke to all the time about it. Now those friends have had their babies and aren’t trying for another one anytime soon, so they can’t relate (nor are their available because they have kids, can’t blame them!!). Now, I sit at my desk and look ahead at the calendar, count on my fingers when I’ll likely be ovulating, and silently worry myself silly.

I may be sarcastic, I may be bossy sometimes and tend to have a bit of an attitude at other times, but mostly, I am emotionally weak. It’s all bravado, my friends. While outside I’m acting as if I am thrilled for the next TTC journey, it’s false. I’m NOT excited. I’m hugely excited to get pregnant, hugely excited to have a newborn, but in the end, I’m sad because it’s a process. Due to things I won’t share here (I have to have SOME privacy, right?), TTC isn’t about a sex marathon until my period comes. It’s not the every day vs. every other day, that many couples TTC try. No, for us it’s about scheduling and plotting and planning, and in some cases, trying everything possible to get in the mood. I know what many of you are thinking, “You’re taking the fun out of trying to conceive, no wonder you’re so miserable. No wonder it took you that year last time, your husband has it rough with you.” Since I said I won’t delve into the issues, just know that it’s just not possible to just “Enjoy it” to just, “Go ahead and have a whole lot of sex”. It’s not a possibility. And not because I don’t want it to be. It’s not that I’m ruining the intimacy in our relationship by having to plan these attempts, trust me. So please just assume there are hidden issues that you don’t know about and be okay with it. That’s all I’ll say about it.

With Piper, we literally got lucky. It wasn’t one of those things where we tried and tried and tried that week and she was conceived. She was magic. She was going to be born no matter what. So part of me is hoping for that this go around, because I can tell you without ANY doubt that should it take 12 cycles or more of trying to conceive again then I mentally can’t take it. I will not be able to handle it. Because any fertility treatments/procedures are out of pocket for us, it makes it impossible for us to get pregnant with help. So it’s all on us. And if it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t happen. I’m not going to think that way, though, because there is something to be said for prayers. If it happened magically last time, it can happen again. I just need to stop remembering the pain from back then. It’s really hard, especially when I have some dead brain space while waiting for some work to come my way, and my head tends to drift into the “What if…” territory.

If only I could be Snooki. Jesus, did I just say that?

You know how an animal who has been abused never really forgets? Even when they are in a home full of love and caring people who feed him well it’s still hard for them to fully forget. Apparently the same goes when you had a little trouble trying to conceive before, even if it ended with a healthy and happy baby being born.

I know of women who have had far FAR worse experiences than I have when it comes to baby making. I have pretty regular cycles, and it’s pretty easy to determine when ovulation occurs so I’m INCREDIBLY lucky with that, I know. But it doesn’t keep the fears at bay.

With this cycle of trying, I went from 0 to 100 FAST. Not one day after ovulation passed before I started eating pineapple core to aid implantation. On 2dpo, I began temping again. Waiting those two weeks without any inkling of what was going on was torture for me. Literally, my insides were thrown into a centrifuge as I felt like I needed MORE. More information, more things to aid implantation, more “baby dust” wishes from my friends. I can’t do this for another year. I simply can’t.

I’m at 9dpo and so far have received nothing but negative tests. My temperature has gone up, up up, then DOWN. Spiked up in a big way, then plummeted down again. My nerves are in my throat every morning as I wait to see what that thermometer has in store for me, what it’s going to tell me about the next nine months. As I read the numbers that had gone down, I lay there awake, unable to go back to sleep for 40 more minutes, bathed in a prickly sweat, wondering if I’m going to have to do this for another 12 cycles again.

Somehow I had hoped, maybe having November babies is lucky for us. Maybe that’s our lucky month! Especially since this month’s decision to TTC was reached so effortlessly and without fear. I had decided I’d just let things go as nature intended. I lied.

Sorry for the overshare, but minutes after sex I got up to pee, because I freaked out that Piper and the new baby (if one was made) would share a birthday month, even a birthday WEEK. I felt bad for Piper. It was so like my guilt when I got pregnant with Piper, I felt sad for WOOFIE! As it is, her birthday is the day before his. See?? November is a lucky month!!

Now I wonder, if I hadn’t gotten up, if I had put my butt up on that pillow like I did three years ago, what would I be feeling right now? Would I still be feeling these phantom cramps? Would I still be squeezing my boobs obsessively testing to see how sensitive they are (answer: not at all)?

One of the first clues to my pregnancy last time was the way a dress fit when I was getting ready for a silent auction. I was due to test the next morning, after having a negative test the Friday before. I pulled my rehearsal dinner dress over my head (I LOVED this dress, Nordstrom, baby!) and tugged it down. It was really short. I mean, it was a short dress, but it was REALLY short. Like, hey, I’m a go-go dancer short. Only in the front. I couldn’t figure out what happened, it hadn’t been cleaned or dried, it was just… cropped. So I took it off and hunted for a new dress to wear. I realized later that my boobs had gotten bigger and it kept the dress from laying normally.

Now I find myself checking every cramp, every ache, every sharp pain and checking it against the twoweekwait.com site’s list of early pregnancy signs. And whaddya know, it’s also pretty much the exact same symptoms as not being pregnant. Awesome sauce.

Here I am, drowning in paranoia, in fear, and worried that it’s going to take another 12 cycles this time. Paul doesn’t understand why I’m so anxious about this. I guess it’s easy for him, because men don’t really feel that burning want for a baby like a lot of women feel, do they? I mean, there are a lot of men who want babies and want them badly, but this feeling inside is painful. I’ve wanted another baby for a really long time, but I understood I had to wait until I got my license. Now that the license has been received, I want to go forward with trying to conceive. I recently told a friend, that my need for a baby is so bad right now. It’s like being hungry, and everywhere someone is holding a plate of food so close you can smell it, but you can’t have it.

I am so so lucky to have Piper, but all these comments we’ve been getting lately about her no longer being a baby aren’t helping my craving for another little one. Still, I’ll pull our little girl into my lap and hug her and squeeze her until she says “Down”. Then I’ll have to let her go.

I am so not ready to let go.

Now that the major stress in my life has been removed (getting my license), some things have been popping into my mind. Namely baby #2, especially since the major roadblock to trying to conceive was about my license. And I’ve said it before, it was a totally valid request of Paul’s, and one I had promised would be done before we got married. Five years ago. Oops. Then I promised I’d get it done before I got pregnant. Um… when we started trying four years ago. Yeah. So getting my license has been long, long overdue and I am super glad I held to my part of this bargain (finally, five years later). I can’t even imagine swinging it with a newborn, a toddler and only one licensed adult. It’s madness! And I’m 32, it’s far too old to have to ask my Dad to pick my pregnant ass up at work.

So once that freedom has hit me, that old yearning for a baby. Part of me is scared because how the hell am I going to manage two? I’m tired with ONE. One who sleeps through the night and can tell me what she wants! I’m also a little scared because I know it’ll be our last baby (barring a lottery jackpot), and the only thing keeping me from getting immersed in sadness was the knowledge that we’d be trying to conceive again soon. What happens when the next kiddo is out of diapers? Will that burning need come back? God, I hope not.

I’ve been obsessed with babies again, but I’m always obsessed with them so it’s not that different. I’ve been spending more time on the baby boards, and thinking logistically about life with two kids. I’m still not temping, but I am still using OPKs, and it’s been kind of trying NOT to conceive until that driving test was passed. Here I am now, a licensed driver.

And here I am now, pulling the goalie. Wish me luck.

We had a three day weekend here, and it was nice having a whole day with Paul at home. We ran some errands (with me DRIVING!) and all that… but every few minutes I’d think, “UGH, I have my behind the wheel test on Tuesday” and then I’d totally get lost in the misery that was my nerves.

Monday night I was so anxious, I asked all my friends to please, please send me some luck that I’d pass my test, my mom went to church to light a candle for me, and my mother in law also prayed for me. I took a Tylenol PM to knock myself out and woke up rested with a very upset stomach the morning of my test.  As I laid there in bed next to Paul (who would be meeting me at the DMV for my appointment, I was heading out an hour before the 9am appointment with my instructor to get a rundown of where they usually take applicants), I nervously asked him if he thought I’d pass. “You are past the level of new driver, you can pass this, I know you can, YOU know you can.”

Honestly, it wasn’t even that I was unsure of my driving abilities. I had parked and reversed enough in practice that I was confident that it would no longer be the automatic fail that I had thought it would be. No, now my fears were multiplied as I thought of all the stupid things I could do that would equal a critical error (like driving through a stop sign or driving up on a curb), and I even thought about all the various things I could do that would be a tick off here, a tick off there, all adding up to a fail- simply because I was nervous.

As I waited in the drive test line with my instructor (not the DMV grading instructor), he let me know about the various DMV testers that passed through after finishing up the tests. “That one is nice to you, but he’ll fail you for little things, so you’re lured into a false sense of security” and “That one looks like a bitch, but she lets things slide and sometimes will even text or be on the phone during your test (Which is true, my boss’ son had this very instructor who DID text the whole time)” and finally, “Wow, I haven’t seen HER around for awhile, she’s okay”. Luckily, I missed the guy who was brutal and got the last woman.

My test began, and I was SO incredibly nervous. Dude, it does NOT help to wait in line with the other lemmings who want to get their license too, as you watch people who failed come back dejectedly. I waited for like, a half an hour in that line! By the time I pulled out of the DMV, my hands were so sweaty that the wheel had a hard time sliding back to my hands when I turned.

As we started our tour of the neighborhood, I merged into a lane too slowly (to her, I thought it was fine) and she said, “Well, are you going to move over? You need to think ahead more!” I apologized, and my stomach plummeted. Luckily this wasn’t a critical error and I survived long enough to drive down past my elementary school where I was criticized for something I can’t remember, possibly merging fast enough. After that it was only, “Left here then a right. Park. Reverse until I say to stop (aced it).” Then we cruised around down by my late grandma’s house and up a side street where I grew up (it was the side street that took us from my Grandma’s house to my cousin’s house so I knew it better than my CURRENT neighborhood), and up my cousin’s street. I felt an odd sense of calm, like Grandma was showing me she was there and helping me- crazy, right? Then I made a left and right and she told me to go back to the DMV and pull up along the curb next to the drive test lane.

As I turned off the car, she started talking about the various things I did wrong. “Your turns were too wide, and you need to scan ahead more”, then she said, “You missed 8…” and I thought it was all over, I thought you could only miss 7. Before I could say anything she continued, “You passed. Follow me to the back door of the DMV and I’ll get this taken care of.” I nearly died.

I got out of the car and looked up at the front of the DMV where Paul and my driving instructor were waiting. Paul held his hands up in a “WELL?!” pose and I gave him a thumbs up. Paul and I instructor whooped and high fived. I was elated, shaking and just in disbelief. I WAS A LICENSED DRIVER!!

After I was given my interim license for use until my real one comes in the mail, I walked over to Paul and my instructor and he hugged me as I wrote out the check for the final “lesson” (Which helped IMMENSELY because he took me through all the routes where the DMV usually goes with tips on how to pass and what not to do). Spending 400 dollars on driving lessons was the best money I have ever spent.  We stood there chatting as my instructor and my husband both went over the checklist and what I did wrong, then we heard a huge crash. All three of us turned to find where the noise came from and say what appeared to be an accident in the drive test lane! A teenage boy rear ended the teenage girl in front of him in line during the routine moving up in line. Only thing was- they weren’t supposed to be moving!

As everyone got out of the cars, the kid’s mom began yelling at him emphatically and he looked pissed. Why? It was HIS fault that he started his car when no other cars were close to moving! My instructor told me it was likely both weren’t going to take their tests that day as it was now an accident on the Highway Patrol’s ground (their jurisdiction is the DMV as well as the freeways). BUMMER!

So while I got eight wrong, at least I didn’t rear end the car in front of me! I feel so bad for the girl who got hit, I’m sure it won’t help her nerves any.

Anyway, yes, I am a licensed driver now. I was nervous, but I worked hard to practice when I could, and my fear is mostly unwarranted now. In fact, my fear has mostly been replaced by pride, because I am now a full-fledged adult. I have freedom. I have the ability to take my daughter to the doctor when she needs to. I have… a license.
And now I’m going to have a fat ass because I’m going to be driving for treats ALL THE TIME.

I don’t delete emails. I don’t know why I don’t, in most cases it’s laziness, but in others it’s just pure… sentimentality.  I have all emails from my long distance relationships (Literally three all in a row, ranging from San Diego to Afghanistan to San Francisco), most of them not saved in particular folders, most are just kind of in the in-box. I won’t even tell you how many emails are in my in-boxes, already read and just kind of sitting there.

I rarely read these emails, and sometimes when I think about it, and go back more than ten years for these things, I think about what has changed since these emails were sent. How my personality, my very being has changed. In the early years of my dating life I was needy, easy to please, and meek. I was cheated on, treated poorly, and the last thing in the minds of the men (used loosely) I dated. I’m kind of ashamed of how I was then. I quite honestly don’t recognize myself in those emails, with the overly sexual innuendos that I foolishly thought would attract them, keep them as mine. I used my sexuality as a lure, as a way to bring them in and make sure they wanted me.

I just wanted to be loved, but instead I put forth this persona of a sexual being who was insatiable, and it was wrong. So wrong. I wanted to be the girl they brought home to their parents, not the girl they snuck into the house long after everyone had gone to sleep. It’s sad to think that I put up with that for years. YEARS!

Along with memories both shameful and proud, I keep emails in my in-box. I keep a few pictures, and cards from old boyfriends. I keep things from people that don’t mean anything to me now other than small twinges of shame and sadness for what I was then, and how they made me that way. I’m both cursed and blessed with an amazing memory for the past, a memory for details that fill me up when I’m lying in bed at night unable to sleep. I take myself back to when I was 19, how clumsy I was at affection. I think back to my friendship with my former best friend, and how the relationship we had would go so terribly wrong only a few years later.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like had I chosen one path over the other, would we still be friends? Especially at this time when our lives are so similar, yet we move along every day, neither one of us thinking about the other- so different from ten years ago when we were on the phone together or cooking up some crazy scheme. Perhaps our friendship then was just a stepping stone to where we are now. Perhaps it was the way to was supposed to be, needing to be apart to find what we would really become. She’s one of the only people who knew me when I dated Paul for the first time, and she never approved of how I treated him then. So maybe… for the sake of the present time, this is why we’re never going to be friends again.

Due to my unfailing memory for the past, it’s hard for me to let go of things, of people. I tend to hoard things, both physical and mental/emotional. I save old clothes and pictures, and I have a broken mug in our cupboard because it was a gift I gave my dad when I went to sleep-away camp for a week. Of course, one of the things that was most important to me was a gift from Paul for our very first (as in EVER) Christmas, an amber necklace. I wore it long after Paul and I broke up, it became my trademark in a way. It broke after Paul and I reunited and I was too worried to wear it in our wedding and now… now it’s gone. I don’t know where it went and I worry constantly, but I don’t want to put words to this worry, hoping it was just misplaced when we moved.

I keep things to remember. I keep them to forget. I keep them to show Piper someday, because she should know the story of her Mama. While some things are private, most of them are things I’m proud to show her, proud to tell her.

I keep things because some day I know I will forget, and I can’t let that happen.

It’s no surprise that I come from a “broken” home. I grew up amongst fighting, drinking and overall unease. I spent most of my time during high school fighting the urge to be gone as much as possible, while also managing to feel the need that I HAD to be home all the time so any fighting could be intercepted by me, the family scapegoat.

It took a long time to realize that wasn’t how marriage was supposed to be, and it’s also taken me a long time to figure out how to fight the “right” way. For so long I thought fighting was a sign of the end, and I often started them for a lack of a better way to communicate. I had few examples of what love was, and when I encountered them I would study them like an item in a museum- like they were behind glass and if I REALLY wanted to know what made it tick I couldn’t take my eyes off of it.

Even with these examples in front of me, there was always one persisting question in my mind: “Where does it go wrong?”. I’m sure most people don’t have two children with people they despise, you know? So I knew at one point my parents had to have been happy, even if there was never a marriage anniversary to celebrate, there was a time when they loved each other. It made me question everything about marriage.

I knew being married wouldn’t make a difficult relationship easier, but I knew it would make it harder to leave. Instead of one person just moving out and bam, relationship over, there would be legal fees, dissolution of a partnership. In my mind, I thought that would make someone work harder- even for fear of losing a crapload of money. Growing up with my parents the way they were, I lived in constant fear. Fear that someday one of them just wouldn’t come home. In addition I lived in fear that they would sit us down and say, “It’s not working, it is over.” I didn’t know what I wanted from them, other than happy parents. When a question of “Happy parents alone or miserable parents together?” was posed to me by a friend, I honestly had no idea what to say. No one wants their parents to be miserable, but no one wants to split their lives between two families. No one wants to be torn between parents, forced to choose going with the parent you’re closer to (who will not take good care of you) or the one who you resent for various reasons who will make sure you have everything you need- even if it means sacrificing for themselves. I constantly battled with this, and it stayed with me until the time I got engaged.

Since I had so little to base a happy marriage on, I was afraid for our future. Paul was the best man, and had always been. Even through those five years between our previous relationship’s demise and our renewed relationship, I held other men up to him. I knew he’d take care of me, and he’d love me in the way I had always imagined “True Love” encompassed. Of course, I always worried that there would be a time when I’d stop loving him the same way. Or he’d realize I’m not really all that loveable, and not all that tidy, and he’d find someone who deserved him.

During our time trying to conceive, I was convinced I was being punished for not appreciating him before. That perhaps someone didn’t think I was worthy of creating a child with Paul, because I had my chance and lost it all those years before. For some reason, I always think that there is some lingering THING just around the corner waiting to take everything away from me. When Paul is around, I feel complete. I feel warmed and it’s like slipping a flannel nightgown over your head when it’s freezing cold.

Even though I know marriage takes work, and we work hard at ours, I wonder if something is missing here. It’s not because I’m unhappy, or because we’re unfulfilled. No, it’s because we’re TOO happy. So many people talk about how hard marriage is, how hard the first year is, how hard the first year after having a baby is, and I’m kind of afraid because we just don’t… have that difficulty. There are times when he frustrates me and I frustrate him, and there are times when we might argue a little more, but as we crawl into bed, I curl into him and he wraps his arms around me and I know it’s okay.

I’m not trying to boast here, “My marriage is kickass and awesome”. I just honestly don’t know if something is wrong. Should we be fighting more? Am I just SO paranoid of fighting that I let things go too easily, to avoid any strife in the house? I don’t think I am, to be frank. I recognize our faults, and I try to avoid repeating mistakes I had seen as a child, but with every year that passes I wonder, “Is this when my parents’ relationship started to fray?”

The thing is, I don’t KNOW when their relationship got ugly. I remember some good times as a family, when there was laughing and silliness. But mostly, I remember the bad. I remember them being separate, and not that united front parents are supposed to present to their children. And even more, I remember the overwhelming sadness and misery that surrounded us. So as I look at our marriage, at how Paul and I are every day, I think, maybe… just maybe… we are getting it right. Of course, I’m hesitant to even think that, because I’m all about the jinx.

All I know is that when Piper gets unhappy because we’re kissing each other too much and not kissing on her (again) instead, that we are at least doing something for our marriage and family. Piper will not be witness to parents who give each other the cold shoulder, that don’t love each other. I know that as a wife and mother, that’s the best I can do.

I have had my final driving lesson. I have driven into a gas station on my first lesson, not less than ten minutes after getting in the car for the first time. I have driven on the Pacific Coast Highway not once, but twice. TWICE! Over the six hours behind the wheel I drove down to El Segundo and back through the LAX tunnel – which was insane. I drove through Beverly Hills at rush hour, and through the Palisades at 9am. I even drove the windy Topanga Canyon road, and my instructor didn’t have to take the wheel once. I was taught how to pull up to a curb and back up. I only hit the curb once. Well, it may have been driving up on the curb. I need to work on that.

Especially since I have scheduled my behind the wheel test. Tuesday the 21st of February, I will be taking the test to see whether or not I have practiced enough, and am comfortable enough to pass.

Honestly, I feel like I’m definitely proficient enough to drive on a basic city tour. I think I can do that. I can turn well enough (I do  have some problems turning directly into the lane and knowing how far into the lane I am so I don’t drift into the cars parked on the right of me), and I’m confident in my ability to change lanes and stop at a stop sign/intersection at a timely manner. I am also confident that I do really well when encountering bumps/humps (is CA the only state that has “humps”? It kills me when I see those letters) and dips.

Yet I am scared of failing. I’m scared that if I don’t pass the first time, that while I know it’s not the end of the world, that I w0n’t pass it ever. Which I know is stupid, but when I’m around tests I just… panic. It’s “testophobia”- fear of taking tests. Seriously, even when I was pregnant and I’d pee in that cup I’d freak out that I was going to fail (I never did). When I took the permit test I was terrified. And I failed. Then I took it again immediately and passed. I know I need to work on my parking and my turning in order to stay in my lane, and I definitely need to work on backing up straight.

What doesn’t help is Piper’s contribution to Mommy getting behind the wheel. Oh yeah, did I mention that? I drove twice with her in the car. And each time, when I got behind that wheel, my little girl cried. Sobbed. Let us know how  unhappy she was with this situation: “I’m crying, Momom”. “I’m SAD.” As if it wasn’t stressful enough to be driving with my little girl in there with me! No, now it was with a little girl who was just crying the WHOLE TIME. Seriously, the whole time!!

While we’re going to take the car out some more since I have time before the test, Paul said he thinks I’m ready. I wonder if he thinks I’m ready compared to the already licensed drivers out here who have already forgotten the rules, forgotten what an actual stop is. Then I look around and think, “Some of these drivers have likely gotten BETTER as they’ve been driving, what must they have been like when they were just starting out?” I get confident, but then my confidence comes crashing down around me because I just can’t be confident about it. I’m so NERVOUS. My stomach is anxious, constantly queasy about this big new step before me. I need to relax, and coffee isn’t helping.

Driving is the hugest hurdle between Paul and I having a second child. There will be no pregnancy until I can get my license and drive us back and forth from appointments and stuff. And despite how badly I want a second child, I’m ten thousand percent behind him because it’s a reasonable request. Not even reasonable, it’s something that should have been done a LONG, LONG time ago.  I want to be able to drive SO much. I want to be able to pick up friends from the airport, and to quickly drive to the mall if Piper and I are bored (unlike the trip we took on Sunday which was a walk to the mall because all of a sudden Piper’s bff Muno the stuffed doll was missing and needed a new one), meet up with friends for playdates, and visit my in-laws and family without needing to count on Paul. Poor Paul. Throughout the past 8 years of our relationship he has been the sole driver. Responsible for giving me rides everywhere, then it became Piper and I. So much stress for a man who has enough stress in his life.

I’m afraid that I’ll let him down if I fail, and I told him that. He said he’s just so happy I’m finally taking that step towards independence, that even if I fail, what then? Who cares! Take it again! Unburdening Paul of the load he has carried alone is reason enough for me to get my butt in gear and to focus. I can do this. I HAVE to do this, for my family. For freedom. For the plain fact that I did something that terrified me. Over time I hope to become someone Piper can learn from, and I hope this step takes me on my way to bigger and better steps. Finally I can surprise Paul for his birthday and take him somewhere. When I finally get my license, I will be free to do as I choose! I can run to the store! Run to get cupcakes! (Paul promised I could drive to Sprinkles to celebrate getting my license when it happens)

I’m torn between posting the morning of my appointment (or the day before) asking for everyone’s good luck test-passing dust, their good wishes and crossed fingers or not saying anything so I don’t need to tell people if I fail. I honestly don’t know. I am SURE the power of “dust” and wishes for a successful test can help, even if it’s to boost me  up, but I’m scared of disappointing everyone if I fail.

I can do this.

So Cal has been hit by a Winter heatwave (which means it’s about mid to high 70s during the day here), which is awesome for getting out and doing stuff, but sucks when you’re having to work. To keep Piper entertained over the weekend I decided to let her get some vitamin D, so we headed out to the local park. Which is up a tall ass hill. So, like an idiot, I took our crappy-on-rocky-terrain Maclaren Quest instead of our Baby Jogger Performance with the sweet ass rubber tires up that hill. In flip flops. In 78 degrees. I know, it’s not really warm, right? But it’s in the blazing sun, my skin is allergic to it! I tossed on my Mickey baseball hat from Disneyland, put Piper in a pair of shorts and slathered both of us in sunblock and headed up that tall ass hill.

It took about ten minutes to get up the hill, then I had to walk us over the freeway overpass with incredibly shaky legs (Seriously, pushing an umbrella stroller up a hill with sidewalks that have been torn asunder by insane tree roots is like some whacked out obstacle course) and across to the park.

It was totally worth it, though. Piper was going up and down the slides by herself, (including the loopty loop ones!!), swinging, playing with chalk, running wild like a little girl should.

Excuse the horrible hat, it was a spur of the moment purchase in Santa Barbara a few months earlier (peanut head), and it was the only one we had that still fit. Later that day we bought a new one, which you’ll see later in this post!

She loves this play structure. It has steering wheels, a huge abacus, some musical things and a lot of little seats for tiny tushes to sit on.

She even started to climb up the weird ladder type thing they have down by the big kid slides (the ones that curl and are longer)! How did this happen??

I was really happy we had bought a few pairs of shorts in 2T during the sales before winter hit, because we would have been so unprepared for these hot days that have been hitting us!  And seriously, how cute are those shorts??

Piper sat in the baby swing for awhile going, “Wheeeeee! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” while her swing neighbors were like, “Hey, me, too! WHEEEEEEEEEEE!” It was so cute, just a pair of toddlers (strangers and one toddler whose mother I had met in Whole Foods sans baby) yelling, “WHEEEEEEEE!” People around us were chuckling at these kids, and a few parents came up to me to tell me that her mannerisms and joyful smile was quite uplifting to them, and that you can’t NOT smile and laugh when you’re around her. Since I feel that way pretty much all the time with her, I kind of assumed that was the Mom in me, completely enamored with my daughter, so it was good to know I’m not alone in those thoughts. It was also good to know I’m not some psycho crazy obsessed with how awesome my kid is- and WHY DON’T YOU SEE IT TOO, STRANGERS??

Sorry for the blurriness, it’s almost literally impossible to get a clear photo of a swinging child.

After squatting down to chalk up the sidewalk, we put the hat away and went for one last slide ride.

Paul then came to pick us up for lunch between games. After lunch we headed out with him to watch him coach (one of the upsides to him working on weekends is that we can kind of see him do it, and cheer him on), with Piper and I going through her vintage Sesame Street flashcards (numbers, letters, colors, they are AWESOME!) as she cheered him on. So cute to see her yell “Go Daddy!’ and clap every time a basket was made. Even for the other team.

After that we headed to the mall to get her a new hat from Gymboree, and sat down for some dinner there. Kid will eat anything on a stick.

The next day was another one without Paul. He left at about 9am, and returned home at 7:30p, just in time to put Piper to bed. It wasn’t until about 1pm, and Piper had finished her nap when I looked at the weather and saw it was 80 degrees outside! Our place is tile floored, so it stays cool/cold in there ALL THE TIME and I had no idea. Since I wanted her and Woofie to get some fresh air, we walked outside and took a stroll in the sun, wearing her new hat. It’s the cutest thing, when we tell Woofie we’re going outside, Piper grabs his leash and pats her leg saying, “Oh Woo-Man! C’Mon, Wooh!”

After that we brought Woofie back and Piper and I sat down for some chalk coloring outside in the shade.

The new hat, and shorts!

Covered in white chalk dust, Piper kept shouting, “BOO! BOOO!” so I would scream in fright. This kid is hilarious.

Piper got tired of this and requested we go inside and get in bed. Being willing to snuggle with my girl anytime she asks because I know it will only last a little bit longer, I said, “Of course, let’s go.”

Man, this kid is boss.

If you’re a mother- a working mother, stay at home mother, mother to be, mother to dream… you’ve seen the post (article? Hm) about not having to  “Carpe Diem” being a mother.  I’d link to it here, but to be honest, I am SO tired of hearing about it.

I don’t know what it is exactly that ruffles my feathers about it. Perhaps it’s because it makes me feel like some kind of oddball freak for not griping and bitching more about how hard it all is. I mean, while on one hand, I’m glad there was this post for the mothers who have a hard time with their kids so they can feel like they’re NORMAL. Like it’s OKAY to kind of count the minutes until bedtime. Having a child is tiring, having a baby is exhausting. Being the one your child is solely reliant on is stressful to the nth degree. We all know this, right?

But then… that post makes me feel ashamed for saying the things the woman hears “Enjoy EVERY minute, it goes by so fast.” or the “This is the best time of your life, isn’t it?”. I get angry as well, though. Why the hell should I censor myself because of how I choose to view parenthood? There are so many posts by parents saying, “No one ever says it’ll be this hard, I’m here to tell you how hard it is”, “This is the REAL truth about parenting”. There are the posts saying all Mommy bloggers put forth this facade of utter happiness and bliss when it comes to child-rearing. The part that digs into my brain is “facade”. It’s true, there are these bloggers where you KNOW there are deeper issues going on in their lives, and they are trying to show that everything is hunky-dory, “no problems here!!”,  however, there are also bloggers like Me, like Kimberly Michelle and Ms. Zhukeeper who acknowledge that parenthood can be rough, but with a little support, a positive outlook and well, the tendency to kind of LIKE your life, you can enjoy everything about it- the good with the bad (holy run on sentence!).

What bothers me the most is that I feel guilty for not complaining about my life as a parent! What the hell! It seems there are SO many posts telling parents it’s okay to be miserable, it’s okay to hate this part of your life (at that moment), which is great, it’s nice for the parents who are hating every aspect of baby raising to  feel not alone. With that in mind, where are the posts telling parents like me that it’s OKAY to be happy? That it’s perfectly normal to want your mornings of snuggles and laughter to last forever, that it’s just fine to be sad when it’s bedtime for your child because time just goes by SO fast? When older women tell me to enjoy it, because it speeds by, I put my hand to my heart, nod my head quickly, and say, “OH, I know. I know so well.” Because you know what? It DOES. While each day with an active toddler can seem to take 50% longer than it does without children, by the end of the day you look back, and think, “Wow, how is she two already?”

The other day I had a load of Piper’s laundry on the bed getting ready to fold it all. As I was folding one of the Carter’s plain white onesies (to go under her clothes), I reached into the pile and grabbed what I thought was the same thing- another white onesie. Well, it was. Only instead of being 24 months, it was 6-9 month. Piper wore this thing TWO YEARS AGO! I held it up, tears welling, and said aloud, “This wasn’t even the smallest she wore!” I laid it atop the 24 month onesie and was in shock. At some point, Piper was small.

So when people tell me, “Enjoy this time!” I say, “I do. Every single minute of every single day.” I know the time will come where Piper won’t willingly give kisses, and won’t come running yelling, “MAMA!!!” when I come home. Just like Piper no longer snuggles into the crook of my arm, smelling softly of milk, of lavender, with her knees curled to her tummy, with her bottom sticking out in the air.

Don’t think Piper doesn’t pitch fits (because she can drop to the floor squalling like nothing you’ve ever seen), don’t think Pipes doesn’t smack or try to bite, because she does. She frequently says, “I’m MAD”, with her little hands bunched into fists. Piper is a mellow kid most of the time, you know? But when she’s riled up, man, she’ll kick your ass. Instead of being angry that I have to deal with it (sometimes with my work piled up waiting for me to get to it, too, which is like stress x10), I just look into her little face, see that sweet girl who I know so well, and know that it’s going to pass.

Kind of like babyhood, toddlerhood, childhood, parenthood. It will all pass. With every horrible stage that goes, a wonderful one goes as well. The sleepless nights are gone, but so are the cozy and warm snuggles we’d share early in the morning, just some Mama and Baby bonding over a little bit of nursing. I know that the fussy/slappy/bitey twos will pass, and along with it the wonder of experiencing everything brand new (like rain, Disneyland, petting a pig). With everything bad comes new wonderful things. And when those bad things go to make room for new miseries, those wonderful things make way for new wonders like riding a bicycle and potty training.

For me, I choose to Carpe Diem. I choose to “Seize the Day”, I choose to see everything in my life with rosy colored glasses. For me, I choose to let Piper know that everything she has brought to my life (including our poor scrawled on LCD tv)- to OUR life, rather- is a blessing. It’s magic.

Moms like me: It’s okay to Carpe Diem. It’s okay to not feel ashamed for reveling in everything your life brings to you. It’s okay for your marriage to be even better than it was when you had no children- don’t feel ashamed for being proud of your life, of your family. For those moms who want to know it’s okay to hate your life now and then, it’s okay, too. Just know that EVEN THOUGH PEOPLE SAY IT ALL THE TIME: there will be a time when you look back at these miserable days of not sleeping, of children who don’t eat or listen and choose to act out instead, and you WILL miss it. Sure you might not miss it all, but you will miss a large part of it. And this is coming from a mom who had daily sobbing breakdowns at 6 months (Which I DID blog about back then, I hide nothing) thinking she wouldn’t be able to do it. Well, I made it. I’m here. And you know what? I still love my life. I still love my kid. I will still Carpe Diem. Because nothing can be so bad that I can’t get a hug and a kiss from my girl that will make it all better.