I don’t like confrontation.   I may talk big, but for the most part I just avoid any sort of awkwardness.   That’s part of the reason for this blog…so that I can vent about the little things other parents do that bothers me.   And if you happen to be the parent this week who has annoyed me and you read my blog, well bring it on because what you’re doing is selfish.   As for those of you whom I have not caught behaving this way, well take note that you’ve been warned and you need to repent.   Ok, a little dramatic there.    So, what’s bothering me you ask.

Yesterday I took Davey to a completely new event at the downtown library.   All in all, it was a huge success and we will be attending this class every Monday and Thursday morning.   It’s a musical class that’s tailored to children 18 months and older.   Seeing as how Davey is a little advanced (everywhere except his speech as I’ve noted before), I thought I would take him.   I’m eager to get him into as much interaction as possible and give him more than I ever had.   It’s my job, but it’s a job I love.

Well, the class is not designed to serve as a daycare.   It’s designed as something you should be doing with your child.    The class was a bit larger than what we’re used to, but Davey immediately jumped right in.   I sat towards the middle with him as we sang and he danced.   I helped do the finger plays with him and encouraged him to interact by clapping his hands and touching his head.

At one point, I glanced over to my right and noticed a few parents lined up with their backs against the walls while their little ones were in the middle.   EVERY one of them had a cell phone out and was either texting or emailing.   I was shocked and appalled that these parents felt that it’s more important to be texting as opposed to helping your child learn and grow.

I looked over to my left to see if the same thing was going on.   Before I go any further, I want it to be noted that EVERY parent wasn’t doing this.   There were those of us in the middle of the floor with our children and playing with them except for the mom to my left.   I watched with a deep sense of sadness as she was Faceboooking while her child was desperately trying to get her attention.   My heart broke!   I’m sure she’s not a bad mother, but come on!   Facebook?????   Is it really necessary to do that when your child needs you?    I suppose I should have said that to her, but again I don’t like confrontation.

I’m sure that are a lot of moms who work out of the home and find ways to squeeze everything in.   They’re multi-taskers and may have to legitimately answer a quick email concerning work while at places like this.   Hey, I’m guilty of texting my doctor once while we were at story time at the library.   Story time was over and Davey was playing with the other kids, so I thought it would be the perfect time to respond.

I guess what I’m asking of all you moms out there is to just put down your phones and be WITH your children.   Don’t just physically be in the same room with them, but really be with them in their adventures and endeavors, especially if they’re asking you to.   At some point, they’re going to grow up and not want you to be a part of their lives.   Won’t you feel bad to know that you missed out when you had the chance?

I’m dying here!   I’m literally dying!   No, wait.   I meant to use the word “figuratively” when saying that I’m dying.

I’ve written about this before.   I’ve talked to a lot of moms about this.   I’ve consulted a lot of websites and magazines about this.   I’ve followed blogs, tweeted with fellow mothers throughout the world, and they’re all telling me the same darn thing…it will happen when it happens.   Unfortunately, that’s becoming unacceptable for me and I need help.   I’m afraid I may be putting too much pressure on myself, which is putting too much pressure on my son, which in turn is putting a lot of pressure on our relationship.

Davey just turned 16 months old last week and I consider him to be advanced for his age in just about every arena except for his speech.   He started walking at nine months, started identifying animals by 11 months, and right now he’s doing puzzles that a three year old can do.   He’s a smart kid and there’s no doubt about that, but I have a fear about the fact that he’s not saying anything other than “mama”, “dada”, and “Dixie”.

A few months back he said the word “duck”, then he said the word “color”, and most recently he said the word “car”, but those moments were fleeting.   It’s like he spent a week saying each word and now when you try to prompt him to say the words again, he looks at you like you’re speaking a foreign language.

His hearing his phenomenal, so I’m not worried about that.   He comprehends everything.   He knows what a heart is, can pick out a giraffe, can point to his colors and even bring you his maracas, but he refuses to say the words.  We can even play the game “I Spy” and he’s able to pick out everything I spy. He shakes his head “no” at me, though, when I ask him to say any of these words.   Lately, I’ve started having nightmares about the fact that he’s not saying a lot of words.

I’ve started dreaming that other moms are talking about us behind our backs, that they’re making fun of Davey’s development and maybe my perceived lack of devotion.   Other days I’m having a sense of anxiety that causes stomach aches.   It’s that feeling you have when you’re in school and you’ve waited until the absolute last minute to get that paper done and you worry about if you’ll be able to turn something in or if you’ve waited too long.   That’s what I’m feeling like these days.

My pediatrician says it’s perfectly fine where Davey is, but I don’t necessarily agree with that.  Am I trying to do my pediatrician’s job?  No, but I definitely want to make sure that Davey doesn’t fall behind.   I actually have a few friends who claim their child has an advantage over mine because he’s in daycare.   I don’t agree with that either.   I just don’t really know what to do anymore.

I know a lot of you will tell me to stop putting the pressure on me and Davey.   I know a lot of you will tell me that he’ll speak when he’s ready, but for those of you who have been or are teachers, can you give me some advice or assistance as to what I could and should be doing to help encourage his speech?   I just want him to stop beating around the bush and speak his mind.

Sigh.

I’m terrified and I can’t even describe to full effect how or why I’m terrified.   I actually found it difficult to sleep last night as my mind kept going on and on and on about the possibilities and what could or could not happen.   You see, I’ve contemplated having another baby.   I don’t know how seriously I’ve been contemplating it until last night when my husband asked if I would like to try to have another baby this year.    The question actually stemmed from us making sure that we could financially handle baby number two and how our insurance would impact the timing, the latter of which I’m well aware lies within the good Lord’s hands.

I can’t really tell you exactly how I feel.   I know that last night I was nervous at the thought of having another baby.   After all, we’re in our groove now with Davey.   Do I really want to start all over again with another one?   I’m pretty sure I do, but it’s almost like deciding when or how to pull off that band aid.   Do you do it fast and swift so that the pain is only brief, or do you slowly start doing it and then deal with the pain as it pulls off little threads of your skin?  To me, making the decision to have another baby is like the pulling off the band aid analogy.   I should just decide that now is the time I want to do it and just do it, right?

There are a lot of worries and fears I have.   I worry about if I can take care of two children.   Truthfully, I never thought I had it in me to take care of one.   Why test fate by trying to see if I can take care of two?   Questions keep swirling within my mind, some selfish and others are pretty legitimate.    On the selfish end, it goes back to my vanity.   I’m actually getting my body back to its pre-baby days.   My stomach is flattening back out, my muscles are toning back up, and I’m feeling all around good about myself and my appearance.   Do I want to give that up to have baby number two?   I know it’s selfish.

Another concern I’m having is whether I’ll lose my sanity.   I’m not a patient person.   Becoming a mother has forced me to start developing that virtue, and it’s still not mastered yet.   There are days, which you all know about, where I’ve literally wanted to run into my closet and lock the door and hide.   I can’t do that.   I can’t think that way.   I’m a mother, for crying out loud, and if I want to bring another one into this world, then I need to nip this in the bud.

Concern number three has to do with Davey and his feelings.   He’s been my life for the past 16 months.   Every decision I’ve made, every sacrifice I’ve taken, every road I’ve walked down, he has been the one and only catalyst.   He knows this and he knows that he is my world and that during the day, no one else comes before him.   Do I have enough of “me” to give to another child?   Do I have the ability to love two of them equally?   What if I don’t have enough love?   What if Davey starts feeling neglected?   I honestly think this fear is weighing on me more than anything else.

Today, I’ve spent a good portion of the day delving into these rampant thoughts and fears of mine.   To do it or not to do it?   I like the idea of a large family, seeing as how I’m an only child (although I haven’t always been).   I don’t have that ability of getting together with my siblings at Christmas or holidays or the weekends, just to catch up on things and let our kids play together.   It’s a luxury I always thought I would have, one that I took for granted.    I want Davey to have this.   I want him to have brothers and sisters that he can play with, that he can grow old with, that he can have when his father and I have left this world.   I want all of this, but can I really do it?

How about my readers out there?   What sort of fears did you have when you became pregnant with your second, third, fourth children and so on?    Do you have fears or concerns about having another baby even before you became pregnant?   I can’t imagine I’m the only one who is going through this.   I really need to just rip off that band aid, don’t I?

I read an article that discussed the top 7 things to never say to a stay-at-home mom.   Most of them I nodded my head at and said, “So true, so true.” I even had a slight chuckle from time to time and sighed with content knowing that so many others were experiencing the same things as me.  

But there was one particular “faux pas” that really angers me every day.   I hear it from our friends, I see it in their eyes, in their snide comments, and it really has my blood boiling.   I don’t like for them to look at me differently or to look at my son differently and I don’t like feeling bad either.  

Let’s get one thing clear…just because I am a stay-at-home mom does NOT mean that my husband and I are rich.   We do not live paycheck to paycheck, but we also do not go out to fancy dinners, go to movies, and spend money on happy hours or new clothing.   We chose a lifestyle that meant we had to forego a lot of the little luxuries we had been privy to when I was a full time contributor to our monthly income.  

My choice to stay home meant that I had to resort to not being able to go grab lunch with the girls on a regular basis.   I don’t get the luxuries of my café mochas at Starbucks anymore (gift cards at Christmas are like the Holy Grail for me).   I buy the $1 bottle of chocolate syrup at Wal-Mart and mix it in with my coffee every morning in order to get the same effect (or at least close to it).   I haven’t bought myself a new piece of clothing in months.   I bought my first new pair of shoes in over 6 months just this past November, and I haven’t bought another pair since.   My husband and I eat in most every night, have date nights once a week in front of our television with Red Box movies and popcorn.   We ride our bikes together, walk together, and hike together, little things that do not cost any money from our pocket.   We’ve changed our lifestyle to accommodate this new lifestyle.

I feel like there’s this stamina that is associated with stay-at-home moms these days.   You have to be rich or well off to do it, and it’s a lie.   You have to be disciplined and willing to sacrifice your normal day-to-day comforts to do it.   I’m tired of people saying they could do the same thing if their husbands made as much as mine does.   And here’s the funny thing…my husband doesn’t make a ton of money.  He’s just smart with it, saves it, invests it, and refuses to buy ANYTHING on credit.  

My biggest adjustment has been that I now must rely on my husband for money, something that I haven’t had to do in nearly 20 years.   I’ve always had my own money and have always worked, even three jobs at once while I was in college.  I was not dependent on anyone else, but I’ve become dependent on my husband because I’ve chosen to be home with our son.   I’ve chosen to put my pride on the shelf and be the one to raise our child.  

I don’t judge others who are still working.   I don’t presume to know what their financial situations are like, nor do I gossip behind their backs about their lifestyles of choice.   So, why should I have to suffer through their jealousies and snide remarks, especially those working moms out buying new Kate Spade shoes, driving BMWs, and getting weakly pedicures while having their mimosas?   I gave that up to be home with my son because in the end my memories and time with him are worth more than a lifetime of tangible and materialistic possessions.

I’ve had my first official bout with having to sterilize EVERYTHING in the house and I mean EVERYTHING.

Yesterday, Davey was diagnosed with pink eye in both of his eyes.   To say that I was a little disappointed and bummed is an understatement.   I was actually incredulous about the fact that he had contracted this.   This is part of the reason I don’t send him to daycare.  Those places are Petri dishes for every germ imaginable.   They’re worse than a breeding ground.   Apparently, it doesn’t matter, though, because if Davey is going to catch something, then there’s not a lot I can do to prevent that.  I can’t exactly sterilize the entire world, can I?   If I could, I can tell you where I would start, but that’s not exactly a blog for this site.  

The doctor told me that Davey is contagious for the first 24 hours, but that after that, since I would be putting drops in his eyes, then we should be in the clear.  I also have to immediately wash my hands each time I come in contact with Davey.   Such a shame, since one of the things I love most is to hug and kiss all over my baby.   I have to abstain from that at least for a while.   And since he was contagious for the first 24 hours, I had to come home and immediately start the dreaded sterilization process of everything in the house that his grubby little hands touch.   

I was actually alright with this; after all it is part of my motherly responsibilities.   Truthfully, I was looking forward to it, since I’m officially in my need to clean mode.   I assume you all read my blog about my new steam mop?   It’s quite the dandy.   Anyways, I stopped at Walgreens, picked up Lysol wipes, Lysol spray and Davey’s medication.   I came home, dropped up those eyes of his (which by the way is way worse than wrestling an alligator.   Who’d have thought putting drops in a baby’s eyes would prove to be so darn difficult?)  and then I got busy to cleaning.

What a daunting task this proved to be.   He has more books than I can possibly count and you know he has to pull EVERY ONE of them off the shelf.  He can’t just pick a few to look at.   Then there were all of his stuffed animals.   I whipped out my can of Lysol and I doused those babies good.   Finally, I made my way to his play room.   One look and I was completely deflated.    I put him to bed for his nap, then came back downstairs and for the next two hours I sterilized all of his toys.   This child has toys I didn’t even know he had.   Some of them I actually wonder if he pocketed from other people’s houses.   If any of you out there are missing any toys, my son likely has them.   There are way too many toys in this house. 

And did I not once write a blog where I stated I felt guilty for not buying enough gifts for Davey?   Well, let me tell you, those days of guilt have long since passed.    Guilty?  This Mama?   I don’t think so.   Every time I cleaned a toy it seemed like the playroom would purge itself and more would show up.   Davey should consider himself lucky.  

I didn’t even bother to clean each individual Mega Block he got for Christmas.   I took the bin upstairs to the guest bathroom, filled the tub with water and bleach and dumped those babies in.   I just pulled them out this morning, so hopefully all those little germy buggers are gone.   

On a side note, I’ve had zero sleep because I keep having nightmares about getting pink eye myself.   And pink is probably the most hideous color ever.   If I have a daughter one day, I’ll never dress her in pink.   This has forever traumatized me with the color.   Ha!

I sent Davey off to be with my aunt for a good portion of the day on Thursday.   I needed some “me” time and she’s always more than willing to watch him.

To say that I was looking forward to this day just for quite some time is an understatement.   A HUGE understatement.   I’ve been counting the days since January 3^rd.    So, what do I do with my “me” time you ask?   When the baby’s away…mommy will play!   And play I did!

I started out in my kitchen where I immediately got down to business with emptying out a dishwasher, loading it back up, washing pots and then that’s when I pulled out the mac daddy, the toy I’ve been waiting to use for over a week, my Christmas gift from my in-laws…my bright red STEAM MOP!!!!

This steam mop comes with a handheld unit, with three different attachments for cleaning countertops, a scrubbing brush to clean some dirt and grime, and even a grout tool!   Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!   I cranked up the music in the house, filled up the water tank, and I got down to business while Billy Joel belted out “Uptown Girl” in the background.   How fitting that song should be the one playing as I clean.   I felt like such an uptown girl myself, wink wink!

Of course, as I made my way upstairs my fun started to wane just a bit.   I’ve pretty much gotten used to having to clean up after my husband.   It can be pretty gross at times, after all he is a man.   And well, he doesn’t exactly clean up either.   He’s almost worse than our son.   But as I was cleaning up Davey’s bedroom and his bathroom, I started to daydream about what my life would be like in a few years.

There was a bit of apprehension on my side as I thought about having two men in the house and what that will mean to my kitchen and bathrooms.    Then my thoughts of despair immediately began to dissipate as I thought about the fact that I would soon have free labor to scrub toilets, take out the trash, dust the house, and empty the dishwasher.   That’s right!   I said it…FREE LABOR!   Muahahahaha!   And if I had a handlebar mustache, you can bet I’d be twirling it around between my fingers as I thought this.

Suddenly, Bruce Springsteen’s Dancing in the Dark came on the speakers (yes I was listening to 80s on 8) and all my thoughts went away as my only concern was dancing with my vacuum and keeping to ole Bruce’s beat.   I danced and I mopped.   I vacuumed and I danced.   I scrubbed and I shuffled to Kenny Loggins’ “Footloose”.

Aaahh…the joys of motherhood, the little things we find to help motivate us through the days

If there’s one thing I’ve learned as a mother, it’s that my child always has an angle.   That angle is usually self-serving (aren’t they all?), but I don’t believe the intent is anything other than that of a typical child…to satisfy his wants.

Davey has known the word “no” for quite some time.   I’m not really sure he’s managed to comprehend it’s meaning, at least not until about a month or so ago.   It used to be that before he would do something that he knew was “illegal”, he would look over his shoulder at his, give us his little devious grin, and slowly start into his unscrupulous act(s).   I suppose he thought his smile, being one of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen, would be a distraction and I wouldn’t see his leg slowly rising as he began to climb onto the hearth.   Truthfully, that did work once, but don’t worry.   I’m not quite so weak anymore!

These days my son has adopted a new routine especially since he has learned the word “no” means he’s not going to get what he wants.

The term “manipulator” usually has a pretty malevolent connotation attached to it.   People hear the word and they automatically assume that the person it is ascribed to is evil, loathsome, and just plain untrustworthy.   This is by no means my son and I don’t think he has malicious intent, but I must say he is becoming quite the master manipulator, or so he thinks, especially when he’s told “no”.

Just today, we sat in the floor and went through his animal flash cards.   He loves these things and immediately begins into what I’ve termed a penguin-esque sort of excitement.   Let me divert quickly and explain that.   For those of you who’ve never met Davey, we have started referring to him as our little penguin.   From as long as I can remember he has always flapped his arms and patted his legs with excitement.   It’s literally what a penguin would do, hence the penguin-esque excitement.

Back to the cards that he so treasures.   I’m not sure what the fascination is with these, but he loves to hold them, to flip them over and over in his hands, to turn them up and down.   He starts flapping his arms as soon as I walk over to the drawer where I keep them safely housed.  Recently, he’s started putting them in his mouth, chewing on the edges, and even bending the cards.   Needless to say, it’s frustrating for someone like me with an OCD personality.   I loathe his cards being bent and scarred.

Today I gave them to him one at a time.   I soon as I took one away he would reach for another.   Since I am trying to teach him about the animals (and all the necessary facts are printed on the back of the cards), I don’t want him to immediately hold them.   I tell him “no” and put my arm out.  At which point, he has started whining at me and then wrapping his arms around my neck.   At first I must admit I was deceived.   I thought to myself, “oh what a sweet little boy I have.   He just wants to give out hugs.”   That’s not exactly the case.   The hugs are his angle, his diversion, his attempt to take what I’ve told him he can’t have.   He actually let go of me with one arm today, and tried to reach around my back to grab the cards!  That little devil!

I’ll still take the hugs regardless as to what their intent may be, but it makes me chuckle to think that Davey actually believes that as long as he’s doling out the love, I’ll let him have whatever he wants.

Keep thinking that , kid!   You’re going to have a long and almost torturous life.