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I turned 30 on New Year’s Eve. There’s a lot of hype surrounding this birthday. The Big 3-0 comes around and people feel pressure to have completed something: careers, families, etc. I may not have done everything I had hoped to accomplish by my 30th birthday, but I’ve come pretty close.
Those two right there? That’s the best thing I’ve done in my 30 years. Hands down.
The last few weeks have been an endless celebration — first the holidays and concluding with an amazing surprise birthday party. Together with family and friends, Michael threw me a party I will never forget. And believe it or not, I was 100% surprised. I had NO clue!
I say goodbye to my 20s with mixed emotions. It was a good decade, filled with some of the biggest events of a lifetime. Jobs, marriage, children, homes, loss, love. It all happened in my 20s. I look forward to what this next chapter has in store, though. I promise this 30-something blogger will have some good stories to tell.
(30 in age; kid at heart. )
Dear Owen,
Today you are two. TWO YEARS OLD! Let me be all cliche for a moment here and say, wow. How did THAT happen? People aren’t kidding when they say time flies; it really does.
You have truly blossomed these past few months and your personality is out in full force. You talk a mile a minute about everything and everyone with a vocabulary that continually blows me away. Sometimes we can’t even keep up with all you have to say! Your elephant-like memory is pretty awesome, and you surprise me daily when you tell me full recaps of our day, or remind me of something we did weeks — even months — ago. You are an avid reader, devouring every book you can get your hands on. Sometimes it pains me to tell you no, I won’t be reading another book after we’ve read 10, because I know you love it so. You love ALL THINGS TRUCKS, and get so excited when you see a backhoe or a tractor or some other random construction equipment. You know each one so well that you correct me if I call it the wrong name. Such a boy, you are!
You are cheeky and funny and coy and shy and a flirt all wrapped into one delicious blond package. You sing at the top of your lungs and dance to any music that happens to be on — whether that’s in the house or over the speakers in the grocery store. You are affectionate and loving and while somehow you woke up one morning with most traces of your babyhood erased, you still have those chubby cheeks and thighs right along with you big boy looks.
You are cautious when it comes to trying new physical things, and want to be held in new places or situations. Maybe it has to do with being the first born of two first borns (both who I suppose are cautious people by nature), but I really hope you get over your fear of putting your toes in the ocean. We do live in Rhode Island, after all.
You’ve transitioned so well into your new room and bed (minus some very early mornings) and occasionally use the potty. We’re not rushing toilet training, but it’s exciting when you do it, none the less.
You are your father’s mini, telling me multiple times a day you’re doing something “just like Daddy!” Your whole body lights up when he comes in the door and my heart bursts to hear you say “Love you, Daddy!” You cover us both in hugs and kisses and snuggles and our days are made. You bring light, joy and color to our world, little boy. Sometimes we will be watching you, and Daddy and I will catch each other’s eye and just grin at each other liked crazed maniacs — so amazed that we created you and how amazingly awesome you are.
Any day now you will become a big brother. You ask me daily if baby brother is coming today and the reality is that yes, he will be here very soon. I hope the adjustment of having a baby in the house isn’t too hard for you. We are going to do our best to make it go smoothly for you. I can’t wait to see you interact with a sibling. I think it’s one of the best gifts we can give you and I hope you remember that one day when he’s stealing your toys and tackling you on the rug.
I want you to know something, Owen. I have loved every second of being just your mommy. This isn’t an insult to your brother, rather the fact that you made us parents and the past two years have been the best two years of my entire life. I couldn’t have asked for a better first born. When I look at you, sometimes it actually hurts how much I love you. How one of your smiles or giggles can actually make my heart ache with joy.
You will always be my first baby, and that holds a very special place in my heart. I can’t wait to continue to watch you grow, you amazing little goober.
I love you through and through.
Love,
Mommy
- My baby turns two years old tomorrow. I’m kind of blown away by this. I can’t believe I will be posting the first quarterly letter of his second year wishing him the happiest of birthdays, because it’s hard to believe that just two years ago today I went into labor with him. Be prepared for some sap tomorrow.
- Last year we did the big first birthday party, but this year will be low-key with just a family dinner with the in-laws, cake and presents. We will probably do a second cake when the baby comes and my family is in town too. Owen is getting his first bike and helmet — both red (his choice!) — which will, I’m sure, provide hours of entertainment for him, and heart palpitations for his mother.
- In preparation, I’ve pinned about half a dozen cake recipes, so I just have to decide which one to make today. Yum!
- I’m 37 weeks pregnant now, officially full term and ready for this kid to come out. I’m not uncomfortable, I’m just impatient. I really want to meet him! The only two days I’d like to avoid is tomorrow (it would be nice for the kids to have their own birthdays, even if they are close together), and the fourth of July. Being a holiday baby myself (New Years Eve), I know how annoying sharing your birthday with the entire country can be when you’re a kid. Other than that, he can come. I have a feeling he’s not going to make an appearance until at LEAST the 39th week, but I’m willing him out all the same.
I’ve had three real contractions the past few days that were uncomfortable and familiar enough for me pause and think, “now???”, but obviously, they didn’t mean anything. Saturday I was in the mood to clean…and clean, and clean, and clean. Somewhere around 9:30 p.m. while steam mopping my kitchen and planning on tackling the bathrooms next, it hit me that this was exactly what happened the night I went into labor with Owen. I had two schools of thought: one…baby time!, followed by two…wishful thinking slash nesting to the extreme. Guess it was number two.
Not out, still in.
My appointment on Friday confirmed dilation has started — like, barely — but all that means is hey, guess what? You’re going to have a baby at some point. Duh. I know, I know. Babies come when they want to come. I was just hoping that him being my second would mean he’d come out a little sooner, that’s all.
- I think the solution to any sleep issues Owen encounters is to write about them on the internet, because after I do that they tend to resolve themselves a bit. After realizing that the sound of shutting the door was what was upsetting him and causing him to climb out of bed, I started leaving the door open a bit until about 20 minutes after he falls asleep. Success! No more opening the door. He just sleeps.
The main issue is that with the freedom to get out of bed comes the new routine of him waking so freaking early (see last post), and no. That needs to stop. I ordered a special toddler alarm clock that looks like a little alien and rather than making noise, lights up when it’s time to start your day. We’re on day two of using it and while it hasn’t been an overnight success, I can already see progress and he’s definitely excited about using it. I will do a full review of it in a week or so in case any of you are also bleary-eyed and so NOT bushy-tailed while your toddler drives trucks over your face at 5 a.m. and are looking for a solution.
- Owen is trying to climb into the baby swing so I should probably go stop that. Behold my (very near) future.
I’m finding it hard to believe that the last days of 2011 are already upon us. The years certainly tend to go by faster as I get older, but this one flew by at lightening speed. It was a good one, this year. And looking back I feel fortunate to find so little negative, so little sadness. This year was actually totally defined by joy.
Owen grew day-by-day and before our eyes went from a squawking newborn to a beautiful, intelligent, funny boy. We celebrated his first birthday in the backyard of the house we brought him home to, surrounded by family and friends and so much love. He took his first steps, spoke his first sentence (“oh, my Dada!”) and started to (sort of) count to ten. He is our everything, this kid.
The most stressful part of the year was selling our old house and buying another. There was a period of time where it was looking pretty likely that we would have no official place to live and would possibly end up in my mother-in-law’s basement until the housing issue was resolved. Luckily for all of us, that didn’t happen, and in a span of 24 hours we moved out of one house, closed on two, and moved into our new house. It was a whirlwind of emotions and boxes, but in the end, we found ourselves on the end of quiet cul-de-sac in what could very well be our Forever House. We’ve spent far too much money at Lowe’s, and even more hours dreaming about our future here. From the first night it felt like home, and I think that makes it just perfect.
We spent the summer taking Owen out on the boat, celebrating the weddings of people we love and digging our toes in the sand. Autumn included our first night away from him, where we went to New Hampshire to celebrate our third wedding anniversary, his first Halloween where he was the MOST adorable lion I have ever seen, and trips to pick out pumpkins.
Autumn also brought the news that another baby is coming into our lives, and if that isn’t the icing on the 2011 cake, I don’t know what is.
We ended the year with a cozy Christmas with family in our new home, stockings crowding the mantel I always dreamed about and more presents than we deserved.
Tomorrow is my twenty-ninth birthday and the last day of the year. I really can’t say anything bad about 28 (other than the fact that it’s inching me that much closer to 30), and can only hope that 29 can hold a candle to how great this year was. I plan on stuffing my face with cupcakes and trying my very best to stay up till midnight. But no promises.
Happy New Year, everyone. See you in 2012!
Christmas Gah
Mind if I brain dump all over you guys? No? Ok, good. You guys, how is Christmas on Sunday? As in, THIS Sunday? I’m hosting this year which means I need to cook dinner for seven people and if my holiday party was any indication, I’m going to make too much food, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but I don’t want to eat baked ham for two weeks. Also, I only just sent out my Christmas cards today! For the record, I ended up designing my own and printing them out as 4×6 photos at CVS. Sure, they’re not your standard fancy card, but it took many, MANY attempts to get one good picture of Owen smiling so by god, I will send that face to 60 people, Christmas in six days or not.
Child Gah
That face, which is turning 18-months old next week. As in, a year and a half. Say what? That face has also recently started to argue with me, which I thought wasn’t supposed to happen until much later when the subject matter would be something like staying out past curfew or, you know, not wanting to eat his vegetables. Instead, he informs me multiple times a day that the toy rhino is not in fact a rhino, but actually a hippo. He conveys this by shaking his head “no” and shouting “IP-PO!” at me until I concede that FINE. I suppose it KIND OF LOOKS LIKE A HIPPO, but it has horns and also? It’s a rhino. I went to college and everything, kiddo. The same goes for a green brontosaurus on a pair of pajamas that is actually an alligator. Duh, Mama.
And because Owen is a rule follower, he must have sneakily been reading up on sleep regressions and heard that there’s one around 18 months. So guess who hit the nail on the head with that again, right on schedule? It hasn’t been awful. Not like four months (omg), or nine months (omiiiiggggoood), but now he’s taken to waking just once in the middle of the night and crying just long enough for me to wake up — and stay awake — for at least an hour. I don’t like 3 a.m. Never have.
Occasionally, he’s not settled himself, and in those cases I am too lazy tired to stand in his room forever, so I’ve been scooping him up and tucking him in next to me in bed. He settles right in and it’s very sweet and reminiscent of his newborn days. After a little bit I bring him back to his crib, but I can’t say I’ve minded the snuggles all that much.
But still, go away, regression. Mama likes her solid sleep.
I’m Old Gah
In two weeks I turn 29. As in, the last year of my 20s. As in, one year away from 30 (which ok, isn’t THAT scary, but I’m still kind of clinging to the “I’m in my 20s!!!!” thing.) Michael’s been there, done that, when it comes to turning 30, so he’s not all that sympathetic about me only turning 29. My birthday is New Year’s Eve and while I feel like I should get a sitter and toast my last 20th year in style, I can’t imagine what we would do and how it would be any better than cupcakes and bubbly drinks at home with my family. Oh god, I really am getting old. Just kidding! I mean…let’s party! On a rooftop! In December! Without a sweater because woo hoo! We are young and crazy!
(Jeez no, it’s cold. Someone go make me a cup of tea.)
I Am Apparently Five Gah
I was grocery shopping yesterday and inexplicably needed chocolate milk. Like, right that very minute. Which is dumb because I never drink chocolate milk and actually, I was going to go to Starbucks for a chai as soon as I was done. But that chocolate milk was right there on the shelf and I WANTED IT. So I bought it.
And drank the whole thing in the car, despite Owen’s pleas from the back to give him whatever was in that bottle. I gave him water instead, because he is the child and I am the adult and I don’t share my chocolate milk.
GAH.
Dear Owen,
You are ONE! I’m not quite sure where this year went, but in the blink of an eye you went from a wrinkly, mushy infant to a laughing, moving, curious, intelligent, fabulous toddler. You won’t remember it, but to celebrate your first year on earth, we had a big party in the backyard with family and friends. It had been raining for days, but on the morning of your party the sun came out and it tuned out to be a beautiful, fun day. You had your first taste of cake, and while you liked it, you didn’t smash it into your face as I expected, rather picked up pieces deliberately and ate them one by one. You’re so funny!
You amaze me every day. Watching you learn new things is such a joy and I am surprised constantly when you show me the things you can do. Everything from cruising around the house (how DID you get over there?) to trying to put socks on your feet. You know that socks go on your feet! Who taught you that? You are such a sponge, absorbing the world around you.
You’re not a walking on your own yet, but I know that’s coming soon. You’re still babbling away a mile a minute (“that! that! that!” to every single thing), and your vocabulary grows by leaps and bounds every day. Of course, I think Dada and I are the only ones who know what most of your words mean, but we understand you for the most part. My favorite is when we ask, “Where’s your bum?” and you smack your bottom while saying “Diaper!” Cracks me up every time.
You are still nursing, but we are slowly working away from it in the daytime. You have started doing what I call drive-by nursing, and I’m not a fan. Basically, you toddle up to me, pull down my shirt and practically dive inside while yelling “Nuh! Nuh! Nuh!” If I’m not wearing a bra, you latch yourself on to me before I even know what’s what. We are introducing you to cow’s milk this week, and I’m hoping you will take to it and be interested in that during the day instead. We will see! I am thrilled we made it one full year of breastfeeding, though. It was a personal goal of mine and I’m glad we reached it together.
You LOVE to eat. Everything I put in front of you is fair game, except for pears and occasionally kiwis if they’re not ripe enough. Other than that, you’ll eat it all! You’ve had a little chicken, but no other meat yet. Your favorite food is bananas and you would eat it all day long if I let you. “Nana!!!” You also love cheese, zucchini and blueberries.
You adore Dada and practically do cartwheels when he comes home from work. You also call your own reflection “Dada”, which amuses me greatly. Other things you enjoy are reading, dancing to all types of music, Elmo, stacking your new wooden blocks, crawling everywhere at top speed, the dog, jumping on your mattress, going for walks in the stroller, taking a bath, brushing your hair, and standing in the window pointing at cars going by while shouting “Doh!” (window).
You have seven teeth making up the most adorable full-face smile and a laugh that is contagious. Your skin is deliciously soft and your hair is still very blond. From my estimates, you weigh about 25 pounds. Your weight has slowed down, but you continue to get longer and longer. I’m pretty sure you are going to end up being a bean stalk just like Dada.
You are such a love. You come up to us going “mmmmm”, then lean in to share big, wet kisses. You snuggle and nuzzle and love to be held.
Now, Owen, you’re not always a peach. You’re in a major whiny stage that I really hope you grow out of soon, and you like to shout “NO!” while chucking whatever is in your hand across the room. Blocks, your cup, a spoon covered in food. You have also started doing what we call the Wet Noodle, going limp and falling backwards when you don’t want to do something. Let’s move on from that, shall we? You also like to come in our bed first thing in the morning and climb all over us like a monkey, while kicking Dada and punching me in the face. You are a wiggle worm!
All in all, it’s been a really fantastic year. You made us parents, kiddo, and for that we are eternally grateful. We love you, through and through, and cannot wait to see what year two brings.
Love,
Mama
Owen and I just returned from a walk, in which we went to a local bakery to order him a birthday cake.
I am both relieved, and riddled with guilt about this.
How many of you just laughed? Rolled your eyes? I KNOW. But the guilt is real.
We’re having a fairly big party for his first birthday. Between family, friends and their children, at peak party time there will be about 35 people here. I know, he’s not going to remember it. Not one bit. I mean, he’s probably going to go take a nap before the party is even over.
But it’s really more about us than him. It’s a big milestone — our first baby turning one. And it’s a milestone for our family, too — first-time grandparents and aunties celebrating the new life that has brought them joy this year. The friends who are attending either have children around the same age who we turned to over the year for commiseration, advice, or just a laugh, or long-time friends who have watched us go from college sweethearts all the way to parents.
It’s a celebration, and we intend to celebrate hard. (We also intend to just have family parties for him in the future until maybe his 5th birthday or so.)
But back to the guilt. This is my first time throwing a big party like this and I want it to be nice. If the weather holds out (please, oh please), it will be held in our big backyard – burgers and hotdogs on the grill, a table full of salads, pastas and goodies, and kids running around playing wiffle ball and the like. (If it rains, I somehow have to squeeze 35 people into my very small home. The thought is giving me heart palpitations.) I had originally wanted to go all out with a total dog theme, but in the end decided that the party doesn’t need to look like it could be featured in a magazine, it just has to be a good time.
Once I let go of the idea that things had to be “perfect”, I relaxed and started to enjoy it more. I have some great friends who have offered to bring some dishes, so I won’t have to cook as much as I originally thought. The invitation is dog-themed and adorable, there will be dog bone cookies to go home with guests and the cake will be modeled in design after the invite.
(Personal info removed, but you get the idea. Notice the dog is Kodiak? My friend Megan listened to me ramble my idea and then created the pdf for me. She is fabulous — and for hire if you’re interested!)
The cake. The source of my guilt.
It’s a tradition on my family that a baby’s first birthday cake is a carrot cake, homemade with love by their momma. My mom made my cake, she made my sister’s cake. I planned all along to follow in her footsteps and do the same.
Except that….I don’t really like carrot cake. And more importantly, carrots tend to give Owen diaper rash and I can’t think of a worse birthday present than an itchy, sore bum. Happy birthday, kiddo. This is how much I love you.
I started looking around for another “wholesome food” baby cake, but let’s be honest, he’s hardly going to eat any of it, so other than a few bites, the whole cake will be eaten by others. So I caved.
I walked into the bakery and ordered a delicious homemade-but-not-by-me cake which will match the invitation and can be picked up ready to go on the morning of the party.
A huge sense of a relief, a huge sense of failure as a mother.
I know it’s ridiculous, I do. But a small part of me feels like I dropped the ball on this one. Even though I’m telling myself I’ve basically made every last bit of food that’s gone into his mouth over the past year and really, I can pass the baton on this one and cut myself some slack.
Right?
RIGHT?
I’ll make him a cake next year, when he can appreciate it. When I’ll only be baking for a handful of people, rather than a caravan.
I have a feeling the Mommy Guilt will only get worse over the years. I mean, if this isn’t a First World Problem, I don’t know what is. I can’t even imagine what it’s going to feel like when the guilt creeps in over actual important issues.
But for now, I’m just going to have my guilt and eat it too.
I bet it’s delicious.
Somebody is six years old today…
“It’s me, guys! Kodiak! Remember me? I’ve been totally neglected lately on the blog since that kid came around, but today is MY day! I’m SIX!”
It’s true, he has been neglected. As much as we swore it would never happen, that he would always be our first, our Fur Baby. But as it turns out, Mr. O requires a lot of attention and Kodiak had to adjust. He still loved, of course. Oh my, is he loved. But he had to move into second place. And while he did so reluctantly, and often shoves himself into your face demanding, “Attention! Now!”, he actually has taken this big brother thing in stride.
The truth is, he’s a wonderful big brother. He gives kisses (“not in the face!”), and is first to get to Owen if his cries resemble anything other than your standard waaaah’s. He’s cautious if Owen is playing on the floor, and even tries to share his toys. And he’s super excited now that there is a high chair to lie under and potential sweet potato or pea mash to catch.
It’s been nearly five years since we adopted a loud and playful one-year old Newfoundland. Over time he has become more that just a dog to us; he is family. He may not get the 24/7 attention he once basked in, but you can bet that when Owen goes to bed, it’s Kodiak time, and he is reminded just how much we adore him.
I love this dog. This dog who may be six, but has the heart and attitude of a puppy. This dog who has a personality like I’ve never seen before in a an animal and will tell you exactly what he wants and when. “Dinner. Now, guys. Time to eat.”
Happy birthday, Kods Man. Here’s to many more!
Tomorrow is my 28th birthday. It’s not such a landmark number. It’s not 10 (Double digits!), 16 (Drivers license!), 18 (Vote! Buy cigarettes! [Not that I did, but I could have]), 21 (Can legally drink!), or the “dreaded” Big 3-0. No, it’s just 28.
My 28th birthday is just going to be the cherry on top of what was a pretty awesome year.
I spent half 0f 2010 pregnant, preparing for parenthood and for the little life we were going to bring into the world. I was thrown beautiful showers by people I love. I celebrated my husband’s 30th birthday and two years of marriage with my best friend.
Owen’s birth in June topped anything I could have ever imagined. At 1:05 p.m. on June 26th I became a mother. A mommy. Owen’s mama. That moment redefined my entire life because suddenly, someone’s life depended on me. It gave me purpose like I had never felt before.
June through December has brought joy, tears, frustration, laughter, wonderment, exhaustion, fun and happiness. I have learned patience, acceptance, hell, I learned to feed someone from my boobs. That’s a pretty big deal. I watched fireworks in the car with my husband while my 8-day old son slept in the backseat. I changed a lot of poopy diapers. I got peed on a few times. More than a few times.
I had my first cocktail in over a year.
I was a bridesmaid in one of my best friend’s weddings. I lost 40 pounds of pregnancy weight and then some.
I shared holidays with people I love and watched my squishy little newborn turn into a real live boy who is so.much.fun. I also learned I could survive and function on very little sleep. Very little.
The events of the past year have shaped my life permanently, and I say goodbye to 2010 and my 27th year with a smile.
Happy New Year, everyone!
Hi guys, it’s me, Kodiak. And guess what? I’m five years old today!
I’m a big boy.
Remember last year, when my mom made me wear that stupid pink tiara? I was mad at her. I’m a boy, not a girl. I don’t wear pink.
Or sparkles.
But today! Today I’m five and today I got to wear a Big Boy crown made just for me. (I don’t know it, but mom says it covers my bald spot too. But don’t worry, guys, I already have some hair growing back.)
Happy birthday to me, Internets. If you want to celebrate with me, eat some beef.
I love beef.
Love,
Kodiak
