Month 13: The other day

I lost my keys ‘the other day.’ I keep waiting on them to show up and haven’t really launched a proper search.

I realized yesterday ‘the other day’ was actually about 6, make that 7 months ago.

And, this is coming from a girl who breaks her schedule into minutes of the day.

I know 19 is the number of minutes it takes to put clothes AND shoes on John Michael, get him out the door with at least one trip up the stairs for when I forget something. 

I know 7 is the absolute fewest number of minutes I can make it from my house to work.

I know 14 seconds is the perfect amount of time to microwave John Michael's tiny little chopped veggies without having to let them cool.

Sometimes, evil disrupts my mental time clock, like yesterday, when I realized the clothes I already put on for work [at the precise time allotted] really needed to be steamed. That's when I end up doing things like spraying the clothes...already on my body...with wrinkle releaser. (Also, what is ironing?)

But today, was one of those lovely parenting days where I was painfully aware of the minutes on the clock. John Michael can't decide if he's ready to drop one of his two daily naps. So today was a 'trial and error' day, much like EVERY day of parenting. It consisted of a lot of crying, pouting, screaming, (John Michael, too) futile attempts to change his mood, and me second guessing what the hell I was doing with my life. To top it off, he nearly choked on a mandarin orange. (I NEED him to stop shoveling in food without chewing like he's Joey Chestnut)

But, then, that tiny human who's just started to figure out how to walk forgot about his grouchy mood for 5 minutes before bed--long enough to walk around with his lion walker, and remind me how adorable he is. And, how fast the time goes. And, all of that crap that keeps parents procreating.

And, then I started to get sad thinking about this day, because I know he's only in this stage for such a short time, and today wasn't going in the memory bank of beautiful moments.

Then, I started thinking about one of my favorite subjects....mom guilt. So, let's get this straight...I was sad because John Michael was sad and this is one less day of the handful of days on my ever-ticking clock of short childhood memories.

And, you know why I felt that way? Because everyone at every stage is reminding me HOW FAST IT GOES. If one more person tells me, 'Enjoy it. It goes SO fast.' I'm going to need a Zoloft prescription. I'M ALREADY PAINFULLY AWARE OF HOW FAST IT GOES. I'm already nostalgic about moments that happened four minutes ago. Hell, I'm sad about moments that are ABOUT to happen. Any waking moment I'm NOT focusing on 'being more present,' I can be found swiping left through my iPhone photo album of perfect baby memories faster than a college student on Tinder.

It's like the last day of a long vacation...you're having the greatest time, but you can't even properly enjoy it because you know it's going to be over.

Wait, but you're in the Bahamas? On a beach? Why are you sad again? Because eventually the Bahamas will be a memory?

Parents, grandparents, future parents, past parents, friends of parents, can we all start giving parents with small children a break? We know it's going fast. We know we will miss (most) of these days and (most) of these stages. But, stressing out about how to BEST soak in every moment and worrying we may not be FULLY aware of how short it is, isn't slowing the clock.

Instead of going to that 'small talk' place of 'it goes soooo fast,' might I suggest 'Nassau sure is beautiful this time of year'

And, yeah, I know. When I'm old and gray, I'll look back on this blog, and probably say...those keys still haven't turned up. I just lost them the other day...

Month 6: Pillow talk

I just wanted some used Pottery Barn pillows. That's all.

We're moving to a new house next week. I cannot wait to have more space and move into our dream house, but I am also painfully aware of moving amnesia. You totally forget exactly how much CRAP there is to do when you move. Add in a six month old, and just wheel me to the insane asylum.  

A couple of days ago, a lady posted some beautiful outdoor pillows for sale on a yard sale Facebook group. 

Even though those are nowhere to be found on my list of 47394 things I truly NEED to buy for the new house, I couldn't let them go. We have this great outdoor space at the new house with an outdoor fireplace on the back porch. I needed those pillows. 

I arranged to meet the lady's husband to grab the pillows during the perfect window Friday around nap time and meal time and getting ready for work and the algorithm all parents to small children seem to understand but everyone else forgets. 

I had arranged for the perfect amount of time to stop by the ATM so I could get the right amount of cash and meet him by 11:45. 

I pull up to the ATM and the armed money guards are blocking my way. I ask how long they will be. 20 minutes. (This is pre-shower. I look homeless and sleep deprived, so they said this clutching their holsters...step away crazy lady...) 

Okay, whatever. I'll run by a fast food restaurant to break the $100 bill I have. (Someone bought some furniture from me and paid in $100's, I'm not a bookie.) 

First stop, Burger King. The line is 12 deep. John Michael usually whines if the car is still that long. 

Nope. I have 16 minutes until I need to meet Pottery Barn man. 

Taco Bell is across the street. Cheesy Gordita Crunch it is. 

Wait in drive-thru line. Give them my $100, which at that moment, I realize seems sketchy. They get a manager to see if they can make change. I tell the poor kid working the window, it's not fake, I'm just trying to buy some Pottery Barn pillows, which in hindsight, since I looked homeless and was paying for a single taco with a $100 bill, wasn't my best story. 

"I'm sorry ma'am, we can't take this." 

Okay, yes, that does seem like a wise business practice. At least I have my taco. 

I text Pottery Barn man to let him know I'll be late. He needs to be at a meeting by noon. Well, that's reasonable. I have 8 minutes to get cash and meet him before noon, or else, I have to figure out another meeting time and do this whole song and dance again....

But again, the pillows. 

I go to a second ATM, at this point, willing to pay the extra fee. It's out of order. At this point, I am PAINFULLY aware I should have just gone inside somewhere, looking homeless, lugging the baby in and out of the car, to get change. 

I text him again to let him know I'm hurrying to find change. 

I go BACK to the original bank, because surely the guards are gone by then. Nope. 

John Michael is starting to whine, and I can't reach any of his toys, so I wad up my empty Taco Bell bag and hand it to him. Mom of the year? Innovator of the year? I don't know which, but it HAS to be one. 

I'm at the bank contemplating going inside, and Pottery Barn man says he has change.

Sweet. Lord. Why. Didn't. I. Text. Him. To. Ask. That. Half. An. Hour. Ago. 

Meet him two minutes after 12. Get the pillows. They were worth it. 

Soooo, yeah. That's sort of my best analogy for how motherhood is going. SO worth it, but utter chaos along the way. 

And, here's something I've learned. All of us are looking at everyone else wondering how everyone has it so together and figured out? Meanwhile, we're all running around giving our kids paper bags to play with. 

So, to all the moms out there---whose dishwashers look like this...

getting through each day on coffee, wine, and the occasional satisfaction of a Pottery Barn pillow victory...

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!!

Week 11: The working parent club

One of the biggest challenges in the news business is breaking down complicated mumbo jumbo into as few words as possible. I try to take stories about nuclear plants or the tax code and break them down to a 5th grade reading level. Why? So everyone can comprehend what I'm saying while they're cooking Hamburger Helper in the kitchen on a Tuesday. But, trying to sum up the first 11 weeks of a newborn's life---trying to break down that transition from 'just Laura' into 'John Michael's mom' is nearly impossible to put into words. It changes everything. 

If you have kids, you're probably nodding. I nod so much now. Every time I read something about parenthood on Facebook. Or see a Pampers commercial. Or give a knowing glance to a mom with a screaming baby in Costco. It's like the world's biggest club I didn't even know existed until I became a member. Our secret handshake is 'the nod.'

But, I'll be honest, I'm nervous about the club I'm joining tomorrow. I know every working parent goes through this transition, but I'm just surprised how worried I am about going back to a job I love. 

(I'm also nervous that my job requires washing my hair....which means I need to carve out time to shower.)

First of all, maternity leave. What a roller coaster. It reads like the opening of a Charles Dickens novel. "It was the best of times...it was the worst of times." I mean, the highest of highs with that wiggly newborn. Watching him figure out how to use his gummy smile to completely disarm me. 

 

Figuring out how to stick his bottom lip out to completely disarm me...

Watching his world expand and come into view. 

Couch snuggles. OH, the couch snuggles. 

There are a lot of highs. But, when people refer to maternity leave as 'vacation,' they've clearly never been on maternity leave. It's quite the opposite. "What can I do right this moment to make you stop crying?" Sometimes, the answer is, well, nothing. Blowouts no longer mean anything to do with tires. And, I now sleep with my hair in a ponytail. Why? Because I'm so tired every night, in the event that I do get a solid chunk of REM sleep, I crash so hard that I drool enough to soak my hair. Mom life is a lot of things, but 'glam' is not one of them. 

I've always wanted kids, but I've always wanted a career I love, too. But, how do you have it all without drowning in Mommy guilt or losing your identity? How do you keep both sides of the scales balanced? How do you keep mascara off your face? 

Sorry, but those are (mostly) rhetorical questions. If I had the magic answer, I would be wealthy off my book deal and inspirational seminars. 

I think the thing I failed to calculate into my life plan when I was playing with career Barbie is exactly how much I would love this face. 

I mean, theoretically, I knew I would love my kids. Duh. But, I just didn't get what it would feel like trusting someone else to take care of them a few hours a day. I didn't fully 'get' that I would love him so much, even when he figures out how to simultaneously poo, pee, and spit-up at the same time. And, once again, my parent club is nodding. 

It's like a huge part of my heart is outside of my body now, living in another little person. 

My working mommy friends did give me some good advice I thought I'd share:

-When at work, be at work. When at home, be at home.

-In no time, it will be 'old hat' and your new normal. 

-The busier you are at work, the quicker the time flies until you're back home. So just turn that worry and longing into more productivity. Everybody wins. 

-Quality of time over quantity. Working and parenting is hard, but it makes the moments you're together that much sweeter. 

I really do love my job. And, I know one day, John Michael will love having a mom who loves her job. 

So, like a lot of you, I'm just going to try to do the best I can. I'm going to try to give myself grace. I'm going to try to make choices about balance by asking myself, "How will you feel about this decision when you're 60?" (Of course, I'm answering from the deck of my yacht, surrounded by my well adjusted, adult children, who have no signs of abandonment issues. We're reminiscing about their perfect childhood over a glass of Cabernet. From my vineyard....)

Tomorrow, I'm going to shower, find something that fits, dodge spit-up until I can get out of the house, put on waterproof mascara, try to remember how to talk to adults, give myself a healthy dose of grace, listen to my husband when he tells me I'm a good mom, and get back behind my favorite news desk.