The Art of Manipulation

I know I have a two year old because the artist of manipulation is now my son. Gone are my days as the Picasso of manipulation. Hello Rembrandt.

For the past three nights, Reece has told me that he's hungry before bed. So, we have a snack about an hour before bed and I top off his milk with a little extra. Well, low and behold, the sleep terrorist who HATES being left to cry it out in his bed at night, has now crafted a plan by which he is getting enough milk that he falls asleep before finishing it while being held by me. Hmmmm...... I see a future of him breathing into the glass of water and having to pee A LOT before finally climbing into bed. Lucky me.

And when it comes to naps, Reece is keen to use the lines that I use when putting him to sleep. Several times now, he has gotten up from his bed while I'm still in his room putting him down, and walked to the door, turned back to me and said "Night night, Mommy. Be right back." and he's left the room and closed the door behind him. If only I could climb into bed for a few hours while he played quietly somewhere.

And while these things are in part both surprising to me and sweet, what's less sweet is that when it comes to something he wants, he's as motivated to get it as an alcoholic whose glass is empty is motivated to get a drink. Yes, it's that bad. He basically would risk his life to achieve his goals.

For example. To reach keys hanging on a hook in our house, Reece stacks the laptop on top of a small table so he has an extra inch and is able to reach the keys. Obsessed with putting keys in doors, he then hides said keys so we can't take them away. Nor, can we lock our doors.

Reece now refers to his highchair as a ladder, for since it's on wheels, he can move the chair to wherever he "needs" it to be, climb into it and while standing reach objects that are high enough to just be within my reach. Well done.

Reece is also a fan of feeling dizzy. A big to do in our house is spinning around until he falls. He always starts off by saying "be careful," but clearly those are empty words to a child who reminds me of the kid in the movie "Parenthood" who walks around with a bucket on his head.

Ah, the stages of development. Can't wait to see what's next.

Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better

If I were to write a letter to myself, pre-baby, the title of this post would be the gist of that letter. In no way am I implying that moms are better than everyone else. What I am saying, though, is that whatever I did before, I can now do it better as a mom.

Now, these are not the sexiest, coolest, most enviable skills. But really, once you convert to "mom jeans" who is worried about cool?

Dishwasher. Markedly improved. I can systematically load and unload in a heartbeat. I can stack it more efficiently and empty it as if I were operating on fast forward. Boom! So proud.

Dishes. When I first started pumping, it took what felt like hours each day to hand wash parts and bottles. Now? Well, I don't want to enter one, but I would crush anyone who challenges me to a breast-pump cleaning contest.

Laundry. I can fold and put away clothes 10x faster than before I became a mom. And two years into sleep deprivation and I have only turned one load pink.

Peeing. Ready for this one? It's a gem. I can now pee comfortably with a two year old on my lap. Jealous?

The shower. I can now take a shower faster than it takes for my son to figure out that I'm in the shower and before he attempts to climb in with me, jammies and all.

Grocery shopping. Don't mess with me in the store. Don't ask me if I need help. Yes, I found what I was looking for or I'm too annoyed to talk to you about what I didn't find becauase now I need to go to another store.

Eating. I don't even think I chew anymore. Wanna dine together? Seriously, I was a fast eater before I became a mom, but the speed at which I now consume food definitely isn't acceptable. I haven't used the prongs in two years. Basically I just scoop food into my mouth and swallow. Not a goal of anyone anywhere.

Makeup. If I can't get it all on while stopped at red lights, then I don't wear it. End of story. Gone are the days of checking in the mirror that everything is blended. I now just slap it on and hope for the best.

Conversations with my husband. We communicate almost exclusively via text. Before our son, we actually spoke during mornings and evenings. Now we can say almost all we need to say in a handful of characters. Go us.

Ambidextrous. By necessity, I can now do most things with both hands. Let's face it, you've got to do what you've got to do.

So fire away! What are your "I can do it better than your pre-baby self" moments?

But Hey, Who's Counting?

Today is my son's second birthday. It both seems impossibly fast and yet incredibly slow that he's turning two today.  The time has flown, mostly in part to me still feeling like I'm in the weeds -- trying to get meal times and nap times and bedtimes right -- trying to get to work as close to on time as possible each day -- and just about always feeling like I'm coming up short in one of the many roles I have.

To all the mothers who have it together. Congratulations. To those who don't, well, maybe it will just make the second child that much easier because things won't come undone. They are already still undone from the first.

On milestones like today, I'm overwhelmed with pen in hand as I sit to write an entry in Reece's baby journal.  Like most parents, I try to capture the milestones, but sometimes find many months between entries. So today, I really need to catch up and record who he is at this time. No small feat to summarize a person who changes on what seems like an hourly basis. Now, that could be the mood swings of the terrible-twos, but based on my moodiness and his father's, it's more likely our son's personality than "just a phase."

So, what to say. What to say.  You have used almost 5000 diapers? Consumed more than 20,000 ounces of milk? Been hospitalized once for a concussion that happened on my watch? (can you sense the mommy guilt? if not...I assure you that it's there). You've been on two planes. You can tell us when you've pooped, even though most of the time you lie or pretend you didn't hear us (well done with the latter). 

It's wild to think that of all the milestones, the past two years are so huge. Not only can he hold up the weight of his own head, but he can walk. There was once a time when he didn't even know there were feet attached to his body. Two years ago, he couldn't see, hold an object or roll over. So yes, two years into life and a lot has changed.  He once couldn't chew food. Now he uses utensils and brushes his teeth.  And perhaps most importantly, he has learned the art of manipulation.  Oh, and his dreams have changed. Once a smiley infant, I'm sure dreaming of boobs, he now dreams of trucks and cars.  Boobs might make a return, but for now, it's trucks and cars.

More than anything - well, not more than my love for Reece - so more than most other things, I'm so incredibly grateful that Reece doesn't know that I'm winging it. He doesn't seem to approach me with any hesitation or doubt in my ability and though he can't yet tell me if I'm getting it right or wrong, he's giving me enough feedback that I know he loves me and he trusts me. I can comfort him just as easily as I can make him laugh. And that right there....I'll take that for two years into this wild journey.