Just as he is and will be

That's an $8 balloon. A giant Elmo head balloon. I have an unreasonable fear of balloons, but only the latex ones, so this one, although it made me slightly nervous, came home with us today after our visit to Sesame Street Live.

Little Bird and I sat on the front row for the show. I figured he would either love it, or it would scare the wonkers out of him. He loved it. The only part he didn't like was not being able to get up and dance. He made do kicking and dancing in my lap though, and we had a wonderful time. He even loved it when the characters came off the stage into the audience. The Count got a high five, and I thought Elmo might have to shake Bird loose from the bear hug he gave him.

There is nothing like watching your child enjoy himself and have a good time.

The family sitting next to us was doing the same thing. They had brought their son, and they were having a blast watching him enjoy himself. He was probably in his 20's, and he was in a wheelchair with multiple disabilities. When we sat down next to him, he greeted us with some verbalization and reached out for Bird. His father pulled him back and apologized. I told him it was just fine; that we appreciated the warm welcome.

When his mother came and sat down, she had practically cleared out the souvenir stand. She was grinning from ear to ear and showing her son all the things she had found, not the least of which was a spinny thing that lit up. Bird liked that too.

As much as Bird wanted to dance, the young man sitting next to us wanted to dance even more. He shook his wheelchair each time the music started. His parents had to hold it steady even with the brakes engaged. He was having a fabulous time.

I thought about all the activities and places to go that I try to find for Bird. The playgrounds, parks, children's museums, the pool, shows, whatever. I want to have these experiences with my child and watch him enjoy them. I know that there will soon be a time when he has outgrown these things.

But the family sitting next to us, they are stuck right there. Sesame Street Live has been and will continue to be awesome. There have been and will continue to be diapers to change. There has been and will continue to be a very limited amount of communication.

And I started to cry, but not because it was so incredibly sad, but because I thought that mother was so incredibly amazing. So what if it was the 10th year in a row she sat through Sesame Street Live? She loved every character who came to greet her son. She loved every clap and kick he gave to the music. There was pure joy in her face as she watched her son enjoy himself.

As different as our sons were, I felt like I understood this woman - this mother. If Bird did nothing but get bigger, if there were no more developmental changes, I wouldn't love him any less. I would take him to see Elmo year after year. I would change diapers for the rest of my life. I would still love being his mother.

The flip side is, of course, that barring unseen events, Bird will continue to develop. I have a few more years to enjoy Elmo with my son, and then he will be on to whatever comes after Elmo. He'll be off to little league, elementary school, and everything after. Maybe that makes it easy for me to say that I would still love being his mother, but I say it sincerely.

I sincerely believe that we love our children just as they are, just where they are, and just how they will end up. Mothers love their children. It is just what we were meant to do.

Brain sucker

I still pee on sticks. Can't help it. Just have to make sure those lines aren't fading. They aren't. It's not that I don't feel good about this or have hope. I do. I just need to see those lines popping up faster and faster. It's beautiful.

Yesterday, no - Wednesday, Little Bird and I went to the Farmer's Market. We tasted every strawberry there was to taste and bought four quarts of our second favorite. Our first favorites were being sold by a man who got mad at me when I asked if the fruit had been sprayed or just the flower. Too bad. They were good berries, but I'm totally willing to go with second best if they weren't loaded down with pesticides and fungicides.

We also bought sweet onions that look like the onion weeds in our yard on steroids. We found our favorite Mediterranean squash, zucchini for bread, purple and green asparagus, more herbs to pot, pork chops, and milk. I love the Farmer's Market.

I loaded up the back of the Jeep with all of our spoils and turned to see Bird stuffing an entire strawberry in his mouth, stem, leaves, and all. I tried to extract the leaves from his mouth, unsuccessfully so. In the meantime, I had dropped the keys to the Jeep in the back with the produce. I slammed the hatch closed and wheeled Bird around to the back seat only to find that the Jeep was locked.

Good news: Little Bird and my cell phone were not in the locked car. Bad news: Diaper bag and all of my purchases were, and Bird was wet and hungry.

He began screaming as soon as he swallowed the last strawberry. Kevin works way too far away to come and rescue me from the Farmer's Market, but that didn't stop me from leaving him pathetic voice mails. In the end though, it was wonderful Cyndi who saved me. I called her to ask her to look up numbers of a car thief for me. Instead, she reminded me that USAA would help and gave me their roadside assistance number.

They had someone at my car in about 20 minutes. I love USAA.

Later that day, Little Bird and I went to the park. I was very careful not to lock my keys in the car. In fact, I left the hatch wide open. Completely forgot to close it after I got the sand toys out of the back. Just left the diaper bag, gps, and everything in the Jeep wide open. Luckily, nothing was stolen while Bird and I romped obliviously around the playground.

Really, if you think about it, I suppose I don't need to keep peeing on sticks. This little embryo is already sucking my brain dry.

Climbing

This one is sticking around. I hope for a long time.

HCG is climbing, and I've been told to stop worrying. It's possible the nurse who told me that is not a mother.

Next stop, ultrasound in a few weeks. Until then, I have a few other things to keep me occupied.

As in, Little Bird has decided he knows how to match pitch. Maybe this seals my fate as a complete music geek, but I totally shed tears of pride and happiness. He isn't even 16 months old, and he can sing back three pitches accurately to me.

Be still my heart.

My oldest is singing, and my youngest is hanging in there. I am a lucky mama.

Sticks and lines

Obviously I'm distracted. I wrote this earlier today and accidentally hit "save now" instead of "publish." This is my 627th post on this blog. You would think I knew the difference in the buttons.

Monday morning. There are still two lines.

On Friday afternoon, the nurse told me my progesterone looked "fantastic." This morning, I'm going back in to see if that is still the case.

That's about it.

I'm a little preoccupied.

Can you hear me in there?

Dear little squishy block of cells,

I think you have a fighting chance. Your due date? The same as your brother's. That means that you are still so tiny, without much form yet and with so much uncertainty.

It's strange though. As Little Bird and I hung out in the kitchen today watching the "vroom vrooms" in the backyard pouring concrete, I felt your presence. You were real to me. So I picked up the phone and called the nurse. I laughed off how I had peed on a stick too soon, but that it was definitely positive.

Two lines.

Tomorrow morning I go bright and early. We'll look at drops of blood and ask them to make sure there are things there to keep you stuck right where you are for the next nine months. You have a fighting chance. I will fight for you.

That is a promise. I got them to agree that if I show up first thing, they will rush results so that if needed, I can start meds over the weekend. No chances, Baby. You fight the good fight in there, and I'll fight it out here.

I sure would like to hold you one day. So stick around, okay?

Love,
Mama

I know the risks. I know what might happen. I also know that it doesn't hurt any less when I try not to attach. It's my choice, and I'm choosing to start loving right now.

Ditto junior

At church, we pass a dignified attendance pad in which everyone on the pew writes their name, and we all pretend not to be too interested in it as it comes back down the line. If you are too interested, you are nosy, but if you don't look at all, then you are aloof.

Damn Presbyterians.

I always look. In a church with 4000+ members, I want to know if I'm sitting next to visitors or not so that I can speak to them appropriately. I would hate for someone to visit and not be spoken to at all, even if I'm not currently the most active member. I can still say "hello."

This past Sunday, two men sat down to our right. When the attendance pad came back down the pew, I peeked at it and noticed that the man on the end had entered ditto marks for his name, followed by, "Jr." I laughed out loud, which was incredibly inappropriate, but whatever. It was funny.

It immediately made me think of Little Bird.

As his mama, I have the extraordinarily difficult task of caring for him day to day. I have to make sure that he is learning as much as he can learn, being nourished, resting, developing social skills, and that he stays safe. A mama's job is a hard one and is the most responsibility I have ever borne.

However.

Bird wants to be exactly like his father.

Bird wants to be the ditto marks that follow his daddy around. When Kevin was installing the baby gate at the top of the stairs yesterday, Bird sat mesmerized by him. He picked up a screwdriver and began trying to "help" Kevin put the screws into the wall. He mimicked Kevin using the drill, and he tried his very best to pick up the exact same screws that Kevin picked up.

I think that Kevin has the much more difficult task when it comes to parenting. If he trips and yells, "shit!" then the next word that Bird will learn is, well, you know. It is not unlike the unrelenting paparazzi where if you do that one very uncouth thing? They are going to catch it on film. That is what Kevin's life with Bird is like now.

It is a huge responsibility, and I can tell that it is already weighing heavily on his mind. Kevin wants to be the kind of man that his son can model. He wants to be someone that Bird can learn from and imitate to become a good man.

What he doesn't realize is that I have always known that he was. It is one of the many reasons I fell in love with him in the first place.

If my son can learn to be half the man my husband is? I will be so very proud.

Final Halelujah

There is something I promised a friend several weeks ago. A promise made over the phone as I was parking the Jeep at the mall.

"I want to see that picture with the Easter Bunny!" she said.

"I promise!" I replied as I hung up in order to park within the lines.

I fell through on that promise. On the one hand, you could say that my friend is probably used to that. She has been let down a lot. She is honest and forthright and expects nothing less from others. People haven't been kind to her. Plus, she has essentially thrown herself in front of semi trucks in order to keep peace and to make other people comfortable.

As much as I love that about her, it is hard to watch. My momma has always said that I'm loyal to a fault. The loyal friend in me has spent a lot of time banging my head against the wall when I've been unable to help her. Sometimes all you can do though, is be there. Listen when there is something to hear. Reach and reach back.

Today we are saying goodbye to her blog. I'm not saying goodbye to her. I'll stalk her until she takes legal action. But I know how it feels to feel pushed out of your own space. I know how it feels to shut down. It may be "just a blog," but it was her blog. Her words. Her space.

And it was beautiful.

So, for what it's worth, Girl, here's your photo. You'll love it because it's horrid. It's dark and the rabbit was ridiculously tiny, so they used the dollar store footstool to prop her feet, and just wow. It's bad. Professional photographers. They're everywhere.

I'll miss your space, your words, and your photos.

























P.S. Just in case you want to see the first time I admitted to stalking Girl, here's the post. We've come a long way from me stalking her from afar.

Love and attention

It's been an awesome day. Not only did both of my boys go to church with me this morning, but Kevin even watched Little Bird so that I could take my time getting ready. That meant a date with the flat iron and complete eye makeup. That meant moisturizer, Avon Magix, AND foundation. That meant painted toenails. I felt like an actual woman.

After church, Kevin made brunch, including hollandaise sauce. From. Scratch. He even fashioned a double boiler our of one of my stainless steel bowls and a pan. Aside: I guess I could unpack that box of kitchen stuff now that we aren't moving. Bird was being particularly grumpy today, and had refused his nap, so he joined us for brunch and had an English muffin with peanut butter. After brunch, he went down like a champ.

I came back downstairs to find Kevin sitting on the floor - which I had cleaned yesterday - scrubbing the fronts of our kitchen cabinets. He had already finished the dishes, so why not, right? Sweetheart.

For the rest of Bird's nap, Kevin and I lay on the couch and watched The Business of Being Born, which I think was a good Mother's Day selection. Bird woke up in the middle, but we brought him downstiars and finished it anyway. He loved looking at the babies, and when they would nurse, he would point at the TV and say "nuh-nuh," which is what he says for "nurse."

After that we went to North Hills, which is a fabulous outdoor mall less than a mile from our house, and had some Ben & Jerry's before we hit the Target for some baby forks and some other random stuff.

Following our outing, we came home, Bird rode in his new car and I planted some Hybiscus, some parsley, and tarragon. It's a good day that ends with dirt under Mama's nails and a baby with dirty knees.

There was a card, and a hand soap & lotion set for my kitchen sink - just what I asked for - and as much as I appreciate them both, the day would have been complete with just the company of my boys. Their love and attention is all it takes to make for a fabulous day.

Yard sale happiness

Momma and Susan have delicately pointed out that I'm a slacker blogger these days. Of course, that's not at all what they said, but that's how I'm going to think of it. It will help light a fire under me a little better.

I would love to get back up to a post a day, but I'm not promising anything. It's so much harder now that Little Bird is GOGOGOGOGOGOGO all the time. During nap time, there are so many other things I need to get done, and well, Twitter. I blame Twitter.

Today's news isn't horribly interesting, but looking through my archives, that never stopped me before, so here goes.

We loaded up Little Bird and went down to Glenwood South to an open air crafters market. Why is it that these markets are 90% jewelry these days? And not even very unique jewelry, although most of their names include the word "unique" somehow. Unique boutique. Beaded Uniquely. Unique Creations. If you can't come up with a more clever name than that, I'm thinking you aren't very creative anyway.

The only booth I found interesting was a quilter. I thought that I was totally uninterested in quilting when I started sewing. Then I started saving my fabric remnents. Then I joined a fabric co-op. Now, I'm thinking I had better learn to quilt or my home is going to become overrun with fabric.

On the way home, I spotted a yard sale with a faded Little Tykes car near the driveway. I asked Kevin if we could check it out. Bird loves the trucks with steering wheels at Marbles, so I had been thinking of getting him a car for outdoor play. This little car needs some tlc. It's faded and dirty and the steering wheel is loose, but it was only $5. For another $5, they convinced us to take home a tricycle.

The trike is missing the pushbar, so I looked it up just a minute ago to see if I could order just the pushbar. I can, and it's $18. Turns out the tricycle new is $180. Seriously. I had no idea. We came home with a Kettler trike for $5. I'm not believing it. Probably helped that it was almost noon. Everything out on their tables was priced really high, and I can imagine that several people were interested in the trike, but they were asking too much early in the morning.

Score for us. Bird lurves his new car so very much, and I'm going to order the pushbar this afternoon so we can take walks on his "new" trike.

It's a good day.

Little Bird makes friends

We've been in sunny Florida. Kevin's aunt/godmother lives near Sarasota. Little Bird and I had never met her, so it was high time for us to make a trip.

It didn't look good last week. First I realized that I had booked our flight for PM instead of AM. That put us in Florida a little past midnight with our 15 month old. How fun does that sound? Then I couldn't remember which car rental I had reserved a car with, and we hadn't received an email confirmation. So after many frustrating phone calls last Tuesday, we decided to try and get on standby in the morning and I found we had a reservation with Alamo.

Flying with a 15 month old in lap is an adventure. You really need 2 laps for said 15 month old, so I was glad Kevin and I always had seats together. Also? Still nursing that 15 month old was a lifesaver. That "neh-neh" really kept Little Bird happy on take off and landing.

For the most part though, Little Bird was an excellent traveler. He has this really cool mix of wanting to be with Mama and Daddy, but at the same time, being very curious about the people around him. He will smile at a stranger, play peek-a-boo with them, or keep waving until they just have to smile back. It doesn't matter what they look like or how old they are.

The older hippie sitting across the aisle from us on one leg of the trip became fast friends with Bird. Saying their goodbyes, Bird waved enthusiastically, and Professor Surf told him, "Goodbye little dude. Go doing something great one day."

And considering how my child can draw a smile out of everyone he sees, what I wish I had said to him was, "He already has. He creates joy."

Vocabulary

By no means am I a child development expert. In fact, I only know what I have read from a stack of baby books, and we are past whatever information I garnered from them.

Something that I love to see Little Bird do is take a sign or a word and expand it's meaning to fit a broader communication need. His sign for "more" has morphed into "I want," and that has led to us being able to add the "please" sign to his vocabulary in just a couple of days.

Yesterday, he had his 15 month check up where we ended up waiting quite awhile to see our doctor. Bird was as patient as a toddler can be, and when he had finally had quite enough waiting, he went over to the door and started waving "Bye bye." He turned around and said, "Buh bye," and I knew that he wanted to leave.

It fascinates me to watch him put concepts together and figure out how to communicate. He doesn't really have many words right now, but he tells me a whole lot. It seems to me that the communication is more important than counting the number of words. Any child development people care to weigh in? I would love to hear from you.

What I can tell you

I can't tell you a thing about last night, because I'm a member of the BlogHer ad network. Even though they only send me about $20 every six months, I still like being a part. It's not about the money, it's about belonging to the most amazing group of women bloggers online. They do have their rules though, and one of them is that I'm not supposed to blog about anything that I receive in which the value is over $40.

So I can't talk about last night, but I can talk about today after 11:00 AM, because we totally paid for that ourselves.

We are at the new Great Wolf Lodge in Concord, NC. Their amazing marketing team blitzed the Triangle region a couple of months ago, and I was hooked. Granted, I am a marketing person's wet dream (remember the Cindy Crawford skincare? Totally bought it and love it), but just in general, their marketing is great.

It's so good, that before I had been here or knew I was coming, I recommended it to a friend. She checked out the website and brought her family. Boom. Marketing circle complete.

I tried to book us a trip for when Lovely was tracked out, but Kevin's work . . . blah blah blah. He hasn't had a moment to take off before April 23, so we were stuck at home for track out, but here we are now.

Really though, it's not like me to want to go to the theme park and "join in." I'm a lapsed rock star, remember? I'm not really a "mommy" in so many words, and I'm far too cool to follow the masses to a waterpark.

Insert large amounts of laughter here.

I'm totally buying the whole kit and kaboodle. Why? Because my kids are having a blast. While my husband and I sit up on our dueling laptops, our kids are Passed Out Cold. Lovely and her daddy rode water slides all afternoon while Little Bird and I hung out in the wave pool and kiddie splash area. We would meet up, smile a lot, and get back to business. If Little Bird watched the giant bucket fill up with water and tump over on people once? He watched it a million times. Loved it.

Yeah, it's a little cliche. Yeah, it's a little cheesy. But only if you are too cool for your own good.

Past the cheese and cliche is a really nice place to bring your family. I mean super incredibly nice. Like worth every penny nice. I know this because of the people I met and the attention to detail they have shown. But getting into that part won't happen here; it will happen at Triangle Mamas after I'm home and have a moment to do them justice.

This trip though, this little weekend getaway, has proven once again that I am Mama first. Bring on the family entertainment. I love nothing more than to watch my kids have a great time. There will be time for trips to Sonoma and Napa after they are grown.

Except that typing that last sentence just broke a tiny corner of my heart. . .

Commence the commenting about balance please. Meanwhile, I'll be stopping at Ikea on the way back to Raleigh. And truly, like I Twittered earlier, "Wish you were here."

Small things and smaller me

Yesterday, I was doing some cleaning upstairs after Little Bird's nap. Usually when we work upstairs after a nap, he just plays or runs up and down the hallway, but yesterday, he was watching me. I was unpacking some shelves for pictures, and placing the wrapping on the floor for the trash. Just to see, I asked him if he could throw the trash away. He smiled, picked up the trash and started looking around. I pointed to the trash bag hanging on the door of the closet, and he walked over and proudly put the trash in the bag. Then he came back for more.

It's a small thing, I know. But every time there is two way communication between us, I get so excited. I love that he answers "yes" or "no" questions now, and I love that he can follow simple instructions. I love watching him learn and grow. It's amazing to me.

********

In other news, I've jumped on the bandwagon. Today was the first day of my 30 Day Shred. The shredheads have been inspirational, and I'm ready to say goodbye to the last 10 pounds of baby weight. Which I plan on putting back on soon, but there are swimsuits to wear between now and then.

I'll be blogging my shred, but not here. Until we have "after" pictures to go with my "now" pictures, I'm not sharing with the general population, so it's password protected. But if I know you, or you can tell me who you are, and you would like to follow along with my shredding, just shoot me an email, and I'll send you the password.

In which I refrain from hijacking Abby's comments

Last week, Little Bird and I had a wonderful morning at Marbles in downtown Raleigh. We spent most of our time chasing our toddlers through the area that used to be Playspace with a fire engine, a store, train tables, and all sorts of things for pretend play. Before heading our separate ways, we popped over to Roly Poly and grabbed some lunch with the boys.

What do bloggers talk about at lunch? Why, blogging, of course. Abby asked me if I thought quality or quantity was more important on a blog. She has already written about this, and the comments that the post received prompted me to want to weigh in a little further because I read them and just slapped my forehead and said, "Well, duh."

My plain and simple answer was "quantity." This answer, given while feeding a child with no bib and an overdue need for a nap a peanut butter and jelly wrap, obviously needed a little more explanation.

In context, I was telling Abby that I felt quantity was important. When Abby writes a grocery list, it is good writing, so there is a level of quality that is already assumed. There are so many different styles of bloggers out there, and I thought we were mainly talking about blogs with a certain level of quality already there and not craptacular ones written in the voice of a two year old or holding a giveaway every other day.

In that context, when I think of quality, I think of those posts that stand out on Chicken and Cheese or Motherhood Uncensored that come along and take my breath away. While those writers find the time to post something almost every weekday, some days it is a short post with a picture and a punchline. Or some days it is one paragraph with a recent observation. While I'm not saying the shorter posts aren't quality, I was considering them not to be something that was left in draft for days while the author crafted sentence structure and carefully chose just the right words to insure that their thoughts would leave a lasting impression on their readers.

A subtle difference between craft and creation.

I guess I considered it a given that Abby and I would both be reading blogs with general subject/verb agreement, correct spelling, and posts that frequently envoke a deep thought or a deep feeling. I think we were, but I'm not sure when the question "quality or quantity" is asked to a general population of bloggers that the same thing is assumed.

I know there are bloggers out there who hate the term "mommyblogger." It's just a label though, and you can't control what other people call you. What I think they hate more than the word is the association with such a vast diversity of bloggers. There are mommybloggers who are fantastic writers, and write about life, not just motherhood. There are mommybloggers who blog mainly for family and friends, and it really doesn't matter how thought provoking they are as long as there are plenty of pictures of little LuLu in her Easter dress. There are mommybloggers who blog through their photography or their crafting. There are mommybloggers who don't know who they are and seem to change to fit the current trend every few months. There are mommybloggers who just want a free bottle of shampoo and something to give away to their "readers," who are really just people stopping by to win something.

There is also the problem of quality being subjective. I know good writing, and honestly, that's not always what I'm looking for in a blog. Most of the time, I'm looking for a connection too. Are you a blogger who has a homonym problem? Fine. I can overlook that because something else has made me interested in you and your family. Do you occasionly use your space to pimp out a product? Alright then. Because I already read you and care about your life, I don't mind the diversion.

That being said, I don't read terrible writing or dishonest writing. I don't read blogs whose authors aren't genuine or who have proven to be frighteningly crazy. Political conspriacy posts popping up in a normally well written blog? Might just be enough to convince me to remove that blog from my reader. Giveaways or sponsored posts making up the majority of your content? I'm likely to not stay interested.

But for me, blogging is about connections. And like the friend who always waits for you to call them, some bloggers just don't post enough for me to feel like I'm still invested in their lives. If their blog is the only connection I have with them (no emails, no Twitter, no Facebook), then surely it's understandable that I won't stay invested if they only post once or twice a month. I think Abby's first commenter, who also happens to be her very smart husband, put it in better terms when he suggested that quantity didn't have to refer to the frequency, but rather that regularity in which posting occurs. I can agree with that.

Obviously, this is something I've been thinking about a lot lately and not just over lunch with a friend. I've been thinking about it because using my blog to talk about what Little Bird and I did yesterday? Not why I started it. See, I wasn't even married when I started this blog. I wasn't a mommy. I wasn't a mommyblogger. This has always been a space to talk about my feelings and my life, and now? It's a mommyblog. I haven't been sure what to do about that.

I think I know now though. I keep writing. I keep writing as me, and because the people that read my words have connections with me? Then yes. I should write about what Little Bird and I did yesterday if I want to. Even if it was just snuggle and play. Because there is a base level of quality to my writing simply because I have a good English background and was never without a book in front of my face for the first 18 years of my life. However, I like incomplete sentences and I don't worry too much about ending a sentence with a preposition. But that's not the point. I'm not trying to win any writing awards here. I'm not trying to get a book deal.

I'm sharing and working things out in my words. And sharing requires some amount of "quantity." It's part of a working relationship, and part of my view of blogging.

What about you?

Impostomom

The other day, a plumber stopped by the house to give us a quote for moving our gas line. After he was done looking around, he started to ask me a couple of questions about the logistics of the project. Before he could finish one of them though, he stopped and said,

"I'm sorry, should I be asking the couple that lives here these things?"

He thought I was the nanny.

Heather agreed with me that it's because I'm hawt, although I won't leave the door shut on the possibility that it was because I look stupid young with my hair cut like it is and running around in rock'n'roll themed t-shirts. Whatever.

That is how I feel when we are out and about some days. Like the nanny. I definitely feel like I'm the woman who knows the least about being a mom.

At the playground today, a new mom (new to the playground, not new with a newborn) joined me in the sandbox. Her little girl was a month older than Little Bird, and her son was three I think. Her children were lovely, and she was very pleasant. All that to make sure that what I'm about to say doesn't reflect on her at all. It was totally me.

I was so nervous talking to her because I felt like at any moment she would come to the conclusion that I didn't have a clue about what I was doing. You know, as a mom.

The thing is, I do have a clue. I actually have a lot of confidence that what I'm doing for Bird is good and right. I see him flourishing - signing, talking, problem solving, dancing, singing, figuring out how things work - and I am so proud.

I guess what it boils down to is that I don't feel like I know how to be "a mom," but I'm pretty certain I've got being "Bird's mama" down pat. I can be comfortable knowing that is where my expertise begins and ends. With my Little Bird.

Not permitted

We have permits now for the work about to be done on our house. It took two trips to the office; one to get the paperwork and another to return it. The first trip that Little Bird and I took to the office took a long time because the permits lady was being incredibly helpful. And I don't say that sarcastically. She really was helpful.

The whole time she was meticulously gathering every scrap of paperwork I needed to obtain a permit from the city to even pee in my own yard, I was chasing Bird around the empty waiting room. He was intently interested in the goldfish and the telephone. He refused to be held, and I didn't have the stroller. He also enjoyed the water bottle they had on the floor by the front window - I guess to water their plants.

I kept retrieving him and trying to give him something else to be interested in, but he just kept going back to that damn phone. After every apology I issued to the lady helping me, she would say, "That's alright. He's not hurting anything." Still, I kept him under a tight thumb, because it was a place of business.

Today, I returned with moola and all the paperwork filled in. I also had my Babyhawk in tow. Before we went in the office, I strapped Bird onto my back and handed him his most favorite toy as of Sunday, the wand for the bubbles. He was so much easier to contain while strapped onto my back in his baby straightjacket.

It took forever because of the new lady at the office and because they stop to do whatever else in the middle of what they were already doing. Which is inefficient and annoying. It bugs me when I'm standing right there and yet three phone calls that came in after me get their attention away from what they were doing for me. That's what the hold button is for, people.

After everything was finally completed and we were about to leave, the woman who helped us on the first visit begins to tell me how much cuter my child was today. I honestly thought maybe his hair was brushed or she liked his shirt better or something. I wasn't sure, but then she said,

"Yes Sir, you are much cuter today than you were when you were tearing up my waiting room. I'm glad I don't have to spend all that time cleaning up after you today."

Um, WHAT? Did you seriously just say that to me and my baby? First of all, he didn't tear anything up in the waiting room. I wouldn't allow that. Second of all, I moved the telephone and the water bottle so that he couldn't reach them anymore, and I put them back just like I found them before we left. I even took a once around the room before leaving to make sure that everything was in it's place.

I replied to her, "I'm sure that I put everything back before we left, but I'm sorry that he bothered you."

Then she just said how much cuter he was again.

I guess I really am too sensitive, but she pissed me off. He's a baby for crying out loud. Babies get into things. He's curious and loves to explore. He was just being a baby. And I was just being a mama - balancing letting him be a baby with making sure that we were respectful to their workplace.

There is only one thing I know for sure, and it is that THAT woman? Doesn't have children. And I just deleted the nasty reason why I could have written. I'll keep that to myself.

Have you heard?

Did you know I have become crafty since giving birth? Did you know that I started blogging about it? Did you know that you can pop over and laugh with me through my attempts at sewing?

I have, and you can.

Today you can see some cutie pie t-shirts I whipped up for Little Bird. Come on over!

Reaching In

I don't know how to explain it, this grief that has permeated every thought this week. It's not like I knew her. We are fellow bloggers in the SVMoms group. Twitter friends. Internet acquaintances.

But the grief is real for her and her husband and everyone who did know Maddie. Everyone whose life she touched, and that includes mine.

The thing is, it didn't matter how well we knew her, how long we knew her, or if we knew her in real life or not. Maddie's eyes, her smile, warmed our hearts even as they brightened our screen. Her passing is beyond tragic.

There begins the cycle. I mourn for Maddie, and then I think about the unimaginable pain her parents feel, and I mourn for them. I know that I wouldn't be able to handle it.

Then this morning, the first email I read is one with the news that Shana lost her baby boy, Thalon yesterday. I'm so tempted to close down my computer and not come back for a week because I just can't bear the sadness. My stomach feels like a bowling ball has taken up residence, and my head hurts from holding back the tears.

But I won't shut down. Because whatever I feel, is only a tiny tiny fraction of the agony that Heather and Shana must feel right now and forever more. Being here, leaving comments, donating, praying, and supporting however I can is what I have to offer these two families whose pain is felt across the world by people who have never even met them.

This community - we feel what we feel deeply. We, if I may boldly say, shoulder some of the pain when another of us hurts. Every time I have lost a pregnancy, an unborn baby, the community has come together and woven a blanket of support to warm me. We helped carry Susan through a horrific battle with cancer. We do these things for each other as fellow mothers, writers, Twitters, bloggers, and friends.

So when Heather or Shana need a break from holding up the weight of their grief, I hope they know that there are thousands of hands, reaching in to hold it up for them for as long as they need us to.

Triangle area March for Maddie

Donate to Shana's family

Madeline Alice Spohr

Love and support is needed. Donations can be made to the March of Dimes via the button on Heather's page.

Be sure to stop by Maddie's page and learn more about the little girl who will be so missed.

Edited to add: Their blog is down right now, but you can donate in Maddie's memory directly by this link.

Home team

I have never cheered for a team where I went to school. College, that is. There wasn't a big competitive sports scene at the woman's college where I spent the first part of my higher education, and the second part - well - I was into my own scene, let's just say.

My family are die hard bleeding maroon Mississippi State fans, myself included. Great greats and grands, my father, uncle, brother, everyone - except moi - went up north to Starkpatch to get their higher education. There is even a dorm which bares my maiden name.

Momma and Daddy always had season tickets to the basketball games, and when my dad couldn't go, my mom would often give me the chance to ride up with her and see the game. Or see who I could see, was usually my agenda.

One trip up was a race against the clock to get me back in time for the SubDeb Formal. I think I got home with about 15 minutes to get ready. The pictures show it too. The Bulldogs were playing LSU, and my mom said it was going to be worth the drive to see the game. Not because it was going to be a good game, but because a little dude named Shaquille O'Neal was playing for LSU. Momma said that we shouldn't miss seeing him playing college ball. She was right.

Anyway, my NCAA bracket this year had my Bulldogs going up against the Tarheels for the Championship game. I tend to make my bracket out by who I like best. It usually doesn't go well, for I never ever advance any team from Florida and I definitely never advance UCLA no matter how good they are supposed to be.

Of course the Dawgs were knocked right out in the first round. We knew they would be, but I had to root for them anyway. They were my home team.

Were.

I sit here tonight, rooting for the Tarheels and feeling at home doing so. It's not my alma mater. It's not Kevin's either, but they do ever so graciously employ him. More and more Carolina blue has been making its way into our home. A sweatshirt here, a t-shirt there. We are becoming a Tarheel family through and through.

And it feels good. It feels good to be able to let go a little bit more of the things that keep me from being completely rooted here in North Carolina.

It feels good to be home.