I think I said this yesterday…Celebrating a first birthday week every day is EXHAUSTING!

Tuesday marked Day 2 of Davey’s week long first birthday celebration.    On our agenda for the day…Build a Bear, Auntie Anne’s pretzels, and whatever else struck our fancy.    Grammy, Aunt Dee Dee and I were all showered, clothed and ready to hit the road by 10 am.   We arrived at the mall at the perfect time…not a lot of crowds, prime parking, and fast access to Starbucks!

This was a day of firsts for me as well.    While I’ve walked by a Build a Bear store a lot, I’ve never actually been in one before.   Tell you the truth; I’ve always thought the stores were a parent’s worst nightmare.   After all, you build a bear?   I was sure the prices were outrageous, not to mention all the additional little add ons, where the store really makes their money.   It’s a stuffed animal, for crying out loud!   Perhaps it’s not as overpriced as those pathetic, matted ones you can win at a fair, but still stuffed animals are a dime a dozen, right?    Well, that’s before I actually had a child and understood the concept.

Once we were in the store, we were informed as to how the process worked, what we could purchase, the fact that we could name the animal, give it a birth certificate, and even have a house for it as well.   Again, I thought to myself what a rip off, but I was bound and determine to still do this with my son.

So, I took Davey out of his stroller and let him walk along the line of stuffed animals until he picked out the one he wanted, a fudge colored puppy that had a strong resemblance to our dog, Dixie, aka Sissy.   Once Sissy was picked out, we then took her over to the stuffing station where Davey was able to stand on the pedal that pumped in the stuffing.    The next part was picking out a heart for Sissy.   I watched as Davey went through about 20 hearts (all of which pretty much look exactly the same), before finally settling on one.   We took his pacifier out of his mouth and watched as he kissed the heart (actually he tried to eat it), then watched as the heart was sewn into Sissy.    Next we picked out a sound for Sissy, a dog barking, before finally taking her over to the “sink” to be washed and purchasing a red “Happy Birthday”  t-shirt for her.    All of this took place within a 15 minute span, so I was a bit worried as to what else we were going to do on Day 2 of his birthday week celebration.   And as a side note…I’m totally sold on Build a Bear!   Can’t wait to do it again when he’s older.

After creating Sissy’s birth certificate and paying for her, we were off to the next adventure:  Auntie Anne’s pretzels.   Nothing too outstanding to report, but he did enjoy the cinnamon sugar pretzel bites with the glazed dipping sauce.    And before leaving the mall, we partook in one more little thing I hadn’t planned…a train ride through the mall.

It’s been a while since I’ve been to the mall, so I was completely unaware that they had a small train that was driven around one section.   For a small nominal fee, Davey and I hopped into the yellow car, gave the conductor our tickets, and off we went.    What a treat, especially now that my son is waving at anyone and anything that comes along these days.   He waved his hand, sometimes both at the same time, at every person we passed in the mall.   He giggled at a few, but for the most part stood on the seat of the car and waved out the window.    What a little ham!

Day 2 concluded with a strong 2 hour nap that afternoon, for Davey not Mommy!   I don’t know about Davey, but I had fun.     I loved every second with him.   I loved watching his face light up as he made his first Build a Bear.   I loved watching how he gobbled down pretzel bites, begging for them as if he were a starving child.   I loved watching my little precocious bug wave and giggle at every one while on the train.   Most of all, I loved having the blessing of being his mommy and having the opportunity to do these things with him.

Next up on the birthday week celebration:  playground, Runway Café, and Rita’s Italian Ice.    And we’re only halfway through the week!

A first birthday is a magical one.   It’s special for not just the child, but also for the parents and family that are integrated in that child’s life.

My child’s first birthday is this week and I decided to do an entire week of celebrating for Davey, after all having Davey in our lives deserves a celebration.

It’s a week of firsts.   A week of birthday treats.   A week of birthday events.   A week of birthday fun.   It’s something that I want to celebrate every year the week of Davey’s birthday.    Some of you may be asking “why the entire week?”   To that I say, “Why not celebrate the entire week?”

Since Davey is much too young to really decide what he wants to do each day, I’ve taken the liberty to plan and coordinate his schedule this week.   It helps that his Grammy and Aunt Dee Dee are in town to facilitate the logistics and to partake in all the fun events as well.  Each day is something new, something different and they’re all leading up to the grand finale…Friday his actual first birthday!

Monday, we decided to go to the apple orchard.   This wasn’t exactly a first for Davey.   We went last year when he was 4 weeks old, much too young to really realize what was going on.   Of course, he won’t remember what went on this year either, but he still had fun.

Thankfully, we went earlier this year, so there were still some apples on the trees to be picked.    After spending about a half hour picking apples and climbing trees, we made our way over to the snack bar to partake in the first of a lifelong of traditions…a birthday treat.    Davey experienced his first apple donut and apple frosty.   Both of which appeared to be a huge success, so we bought a dozen apple donuts to share amongst ourselves and Davey has managed to consume an additional two more since yesterday.

I don’t know that he’s going to really remember his first traditions.    I don’t know exactly how they’ll mold him either, and perhaps doing this is a selfish act on my part.    I don’t know.    What I do know is the experience is wonderful for me and him TOGETHER.    It allows me to bond with my son in new ways.   It allows me to show him how much he fascinates me daily, how much he’s changed my world, how much he motivates me to be more than I ever thought possible.   For me, having a week of birthday celebrations is special, it’s something I never had and it’s something that I’m already looking forward to next year.

Some mothers may think I’m going overboard, but being a stay-at-home mom means I have the time to create these little experiences with my son.    I am blessed to have the ability to celebrate my child’s birthday every day of his birthday week in a new and exciting way.

As I gave him his bath last night, I thought back to the day.    I thought back to his excitement at the apples.   I thought back to his fearless attitude with climbing the trees.   I laughed at how he’s a jumping bean and constantly moving, thus preventing my ability to photograph the memories.    But most of all I smiled at being blessed with this wonderful baby boy and being blessed to be his mother.

Each day this week we have something new planned and I promise to share each one just as soon as I can get caught up on my sleep.    What I’ve found about celebrating a first birthday is it’s EXHAUSTING especially if you do it all week long.

My husband walks down stairs and sees me standing in the kitchen, cup of tea in hand, staring at the fridge.

“What’s up, Mama?” he asks.

“Just admiring the first piece of craftwork from our son that we’re able to hang on the fridge,” I reply back while admiring the tree with the leaves and apples Davey did tonight at church. 

We started up a new family tradition tonight.   As many of you may already know, I clean my husband’s office twice a week for a little extra spending money.   Usually Davey and I head down on Tuesday afternoons, but we decided to change that up this week in order to go to church.  

I packed a picnic dinner for us which we ate after I cleaned and then we took off to church.   Our church has a little kid’s thing called AWANA Puggles.   Davey gets an hour with his friends from church, plus craft time, story time, and a few teachings about Jesus.   While Davey is there, my husband and I are with the adults having our own time learning about the Bible.  It’s a win-win situation for our family.

So, tonight, after Bible Study, as I’m picking Davey up, I get the “report card” (which is just a verbal one) of how Davey did.   Because Puggles is later in the evening and ends close to Davey’s bedtime, I worried about how he would be.   Would he be invited back?   The report was excellent and I understand that my son is quite the entertainer.   I’m not at all surprised.

I suppose what excited me the most; however, was to have my first piece of artwork to hang on my fridge.   As soon as I came home, the first thing I did was to fish it out of his diaper bag, get rid of a few items that were worthless on the fridge, and then display it proudly.   As a matter of fact, I’m taking the occasional break while writing this blog just to look at it.  

It’s the little things I’ve found that excite me.    This is one of the little things I looked forward to in becoming a mother.   I look forward to the day when my son brings home something he’s made, whether it is a necklace or bracelet, a drawing or vase, or a birdhouse or anything that his little hands have made and says to me, “Here, Mama, I made this for you.”  

Pretty soon you won’t be able to tell I have a stainless steel fridge and I can’t wait!

Davey’s first picture.

Humans can tolerate a lot of things, Moms can tolerate even more.  

For moms, tolerance holds a different meaning than the standard definition provided by dictionary.com which states that as a verb, the word means to allow the existence, presence, practice, or act of without prohibition or hindrance; permit. 

A body can tolerate a certain level of pain.   A mind can tolerate so many assaults  before it finally caves.   Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending upon how you view it, a mom’s tolerance for pain (her own) and mental assaults (again her own) far exceeds the average human’s.

Where do I get this rationale you ask?   Well let’s start. 

My son is a little over a week shy of being a year old.   Gasp!  He’s soon to be entering the toddler stage and terrible twos!   I guess we’ll find out just how strong my tolerance really is.   Over the past year, I have endured a broken toe that continually has toys dropped on it, little feet stepping on it, and the occasional encounter with a piece of baby furniture.   I have tolerated the pain.   I have tolerated head butts, scratches, and the need to bite as he teethes.   None of the above have been intentional and when they have, Davey was disciplined. 

Another case in point…loud noises.   Not a big fan, never have been, never will be.   My son now likes to get my metal measuring cups out of the drawer and bang them on the floor.   The noise at times feels like a metal hammer beating on my brain.   The sound piercing the inner reaches of my brain that encourages my tolerance.  He squeals loudly, beats toys together, and even forces loud barks out of the dog.   Again, these are all part of his growth stage, none of which he intentionally does to drive his mother batty (at least I hope not).   

I tolerate the interruptions in my writing, something that my husband dared not do (even now he doesn’t bother me as I’m writing).   With my son, it’s a different story.   Usually his interruptions are to bring me a book or a toy.   In most cases, I end up losing my train of thought in regards to what I was writing, but I tolerate it.  My undivided attention is more important to my son than anything I could possibly be writing.     

I tolerate the disastrous house that looks like a tornado blew through it.   I tolerate the diaper blow outs, the spit up, the messiness of his eating, and the over all demolition of anything important to me.   I set boundaries with my son and I discipline him, but in the end I’ve learned a whole new level of tolerance where Davey is concerned. 

Much like patience, I never thought this would be something I could acquire.    Tolerance has never been a part of my vernacular, that’s partly my fault because I’ve never allowed it in.   I don’t have a choice these days.   

So, in closing today’s word of the day is:  TOLERANCE.   Remember it Mommies.   You’ll practice it a lot throughout the years.  

I like to say I was once pretty OCD.   Everything needed to be perfect and every item had only one residence.   I remember thinking to myself that when I became a mother that would NEVER change.   I actually threw my head back and laughed devilishly at other moms who told me that would change.   No way was that part of my life going to change.  I mean it’s a part of my personality, it’s what makes me who I am, and it can’t change.   It’s not like moving furniture to be more accommodating.   It’s changing a unique part of me and I never thought that was possible.   Well, one thing I’ve learned….ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE WHEN YOU BECOME A MOM. 

I’ve always been able to multi-task, whether it is work, school, or friends and family.   Piece of cake for someone like me who always needs to stay busy and have a project going.   My old version of multi-tasking is obsolete.   As a matter of fact, I don’t think it can be considered multi-tasking, it was more like organizing.   Now, staying busy means chasing after my son as he crawls under tables, behind couches, climbs stairs and chairs, walks into bathrooms and closets.   Multi-tasking means writing this blog while holding him and giving him a bottle.   Multi-tasking means washing dishes while between giving my son bites of food.   Multi-tasking means being a mom.  

So, that part of me hasn’t changed.   Of course, I don’t have as much time for myself and what I want to do, but it’s life.   What has changed is my obsessive need to keep things neat and tidy.  It’s not possible and anyone who tells you it is as a mother is literally a super mom.  

Books go on a shelf, but not while my son is awake.   Toys go in the toy box, but not while my son is awake.   Currently my kitchen is an obstacle course of a bouncing ball, one fire truck, an activity table, a play hammer, mega blocks and a wagon.   And what do I do about it?   Right now, I just step over and navigate.  I learn the obstacle course and how best to maneuver it until my son takes a nap.  

When you become a mom, the only thing you become OCD about is your child and his well-being and what makes him happy and what makes him tick.    OCD for moms is a completely different universe, one I’m more than happy to be a part of.

It’s that time of year, what we call in our household…The Most Wonderful Time of the Year!   

Last year, Davey was nothing more than a growing bean in the womb when the season started.   I spent the Labor Day weekend suffering through the heat and humidity of the Deep South just to savor one small morsel of college football before my baby arrived.   After his arrival, the sheer enjoyment of the age old tradition (at least for us Southerners) took a back seat.    This year is a different story.

Thursday night, before the first official game of the season started I had a little chat with my son.   It was imperative for me to make sure that he understood that in this household college football is a sacred ritual, one not to be confused with any other sport.   College football is a gift from God.   It’s an amazing time of year, when victors are spoiled, losers are baited, patience is tested, and for the first time all year, the entire universe comes together.

As I explained the importance of college football to Davey, he looked up at me studiously.   He maintained intense eye contact, never wavering, and actually acknowledging through nods and shakes of his head, that he knew the impact college football had on my life and what it could mean to him.   I had this same talk with his daddy (a Northerner, who didn’t at first appreciate all the camaraderie of college football) when I first met him almost 10 years ago.  

So, the first game of the season started, and Davey yelled at the referees with me.   He stood in front of the television a few times shaking his head.   He clapped when I clapped and actually at one point raised his hand in the air as if to say “Yeah, go team!”   And the best part was that he managed to stay awake the entire first half of the game!  

I knew early on that Davey would be a football fan.   I knew he would honor the traditions that came along with it.   And to watch him all weekend as game after game after game was played out on TV, only melted my heart and made me one proud mama!

We seem to be getting back into our routine this week.    Tuesday started up our play group again.   We’ve met sporadically throughout the summer either because of vacations, pregnancies, or inclement weather (which affected us because we were meeting at my community pool).

I was terribly excited for Davey to see all of his little buddies; friends he’d made when he was merely 3 months old and could barely move around.   I couldn’t wait to see him play with all of them especially now that he’s on their level and is able to walk around and keep up with them.    What I wasn’t terribly excited about was seeing him become the leader of the pack where trouble was concerned.   *Groan*

When we arrived at our friends Sandy and Landon’s house, Davey got to work walking over to Landon, trying to hug him and pat his head (his new thing these days.   I suppose this stems from us having a dog.)  Then I watched as he found a way to navigate DOWN the one step from the kitchen into the family room.   He walked around the family room, occasionally spewing out his baby gabble, picking up toys, looking at furniture, and just doing his typical inspection of his new surroundings.   Side note:  when Davey starts inspecting he walks around a little bent over (as his posture isn’t 100% yet) with his left hand on his lower back.  It’s quite humorous.

After a quick inspection and a chance to attempt to eat Landon’s crayons and coloring pencils, we settled in for play time, just the 4 of us, that was until Davey’s other buddy Ethan showed up with his new baby brother.   And then shortly after that, his long lost friend Pete made an appearance as well.

So, here we all were, minus a few friends, back together again.   Davey was so happy.  He was finally able to move with the others.   He was finally able to be a part of the action; unfortunately I didn’t know that action meant the encouragement of trouble for all the other boys.

Davey took it upon himself to take crayons and leave the family room.   He climbed the one step from the family room into the kitchen and immediately stepped on the accelerator heading for the hallway and parts unknown (at least to him).   Each time I caught him, I brought him back, told him “no” and he eventually surrendered control of the crayons as I was worried that he would use the walls as his canvas.   Yikes!

With crayons gone, I didn’t feel quite so nervous about Davey roaming the house, but still I wanted to prevent it.   And here’s what I found out about my son.   He’s not a follower; he’s more of a leader.   He’s an instigator, a troublemaker, the type who likes to push the boundaries.   He’s fearless, adventurous, and compelled to get into as much trouble as possible.   I caught him luring a few of his other buddies down the hall on Tuesday.   When I came upon them, two of them turned around and looked at me with an “uh oh” expression on their faces and they immediately stopped.   My son, looked at me, smiled, tried to grab his friend Ethan’s hand and run down the hall!   TROUBLE, TROUBLE, TROUBLE…that’s my son.  Ugh!

As a side note, I at least don’t have to worry about Davey being a follower in life.  I don’t have to worry about him being led around by others.   He’s not having any part of that.   What I have to worry about is the level of trouble he’s willing to get himself and his friends into.   Sigh.   This mama’s going to have her work cut out for her!

What I wouldn’t give to know what he’s saying.   Each day he becomes more and more enunciated and more and more vocal.

Last night, my husband and I sat down to watch television while Davey played.  He has his times in which he will get into his own little world and play with his toys while his daddy and I do something else.  It’s a rarity, especially since he pretty much sits on the floor, minute after minute, entertaining himself without destroying the house.

We kept the television low as Davey sat with a plethora of books strewn out around him.   Our interests were more about our son and what was going through his mind and what he could possibly be trying to say.

Occasionally, Davey would pick up a book, open it wide and hold it up in front of him with a little giggle and a baby gabble that sounded like, “duh, dah, duh.”

He says the mish mash of words so definitively and with such inflection that I can’t help but wonder, is his little brain computing what’s in front of him?   Is he trying to say the words of the objects that he sees?  Does he know what those objects are?   And then the next thought that comes into my mind has me swelling with pride…my boy’s a genius!

After he’s twisted the book around in his hands a few times, he’ll put it back on the ground only to roll over and get on his hands and knees and flip through the pages.   And again, his little gobbledy gook of language spills from his mouth as his points at things on the page.

Last night we tried not to interfere with him and what he was doing.   I’m afraid that if I try to get involved with him at that point then I’ll only distract him and as selfish as it sounds, I just enjoy listening to his baby talk.   I like the way his voice sounds when he tries to talk and make words.    I like the way some words come out more high-pitched than others.   I like how sometimes he’ll grunt after he talks.    I love just listening to him; it’s one of the greatest relaxations and enjoyments for me.

Davey can say “mama” and “dada”, but apparently he’s close to saying “cracker” and he even tries really hard to say Sissy, which is the name we use when referring to our dog, Dixie.   Of course, he can’t exactly enunciate the “s”, so when talking to the dog it comes out more as “diddie” which we could confuse for my husband except that Davey is always walking over towards Dixie or looking right at her when trying to saying her name.

Baby gabble is one of the most treasured little things about a child.   The sound of it can turn a really bad, upside down day into a state of pure bliss.  My husband tells me that sometimes the thought of coming home to hear Davey is what helps him make it through the day.

The wave of exhaustion is continuously crashing over my body.   Everyone said it would be coming, I just thought it would be sooner rather than later.   Of course, did I really think that if it came early, then it would leave early?  Obviously, if that was my rationale then I’m definitely a novice at this sport called “Mommyhood”.

Davey is 11 months old today.   This morning I find myself sitting back and reflecting not just on his 11 months on this earth, but also the over 9 months when he was in my womb and the new meaning of the word “exhausting”.

My pregnancy started out tiresome and physically draining, not to mention mentally.   It improved and by my second trimester, I no longer felt pregnant, with the exception of a growing belly.   By the final few weeks of my pregnancy, I was back to being fatigued.   I couldn’t sleep.  I couldn’t get comfortable.  I couldn’t move.

When Davey arrived, it was a bit of like walking through a blur the first week since my husband and I were operating on very few hours of sleep.   We were so exhausted that we couldn’t sleep something I never thought possible.

As the months went by, Davey began sleeping through the night, taking naps during the day and allowing my husband and me to get back on a semi-routine.   Actually, we created a new routine.

My days as a stay-at-home mom were filled with new adventures and excitements, but also regular chores like cleaning the house, doing the laundry and dishes, and mowing the lawn.   During those initial days of being at home, life was pretty easy for the most part and I attribute that to the fact that my son was immobile.   And as ashamed as I am to admit it, I really really miss those days!

Davey started taking his first steps at 9 months.   He was crawling around 6 months.   The crawling wasn’t quite so difficult because even at that stage I could place him in his jumperoo or his pack and play.   I could keep him contained.   Now that he’s walking, I’ve had to borrow additional baby gates, put locks on cabinets and pretty much reside myself to the fact that I can no longer accomplish ANYTHING while he’s awake.

My house is disaster central from 7 am until about 9 pm.   I don’t bother trying to clean up after him.  He just pulls it all back out again.   I can’t do anything in the kitchen because he sneaks up behind me and if I’m not careful, I’ve tripped over him.   We have a baby gate at the top of the stairs, so that I can at least let him run around upstairs while I’m taking a shower or cleaning.   I keep baby gates up at the two kitchen entrances so I can keep him quarantined into the family room and kitchen.

These days, he’s climbing on the furniture, climbing on the fireplace, trying to climb into the dog’s crate, pulling the tablecloth on the table.   He’s wearing me out!    I’ve almost decided I don’t need to run anymore to lose weight.   Just chasing after my son will do it.

Last week at the beach, my husband suggested I bring his book down onto the beach.  He would read it while we were sitting there.   I nearly choked as I tried to stifle a laugh.   Did he really think there was going to be relaxation with an 11 month old at the beach?   Surely, he’d lost his mind.   He quickly found out that bringing the book was a futile effort.   For 2 hours, our son walked all over the beach, into the water and back again, ran, tripped, face planted into the sand, threw sand, splashed water, met new people, and pretty much refused anything that was related to “relaxing”.    Relax is not a part of Davey’s vernacular.   And what a shame that is.

But in the 11 months that Davey has been on this earth, if diminished relaxation is the side effect to being a parent, then it’s the best side-effect this mama’s ever had.

I stood out on the balcony, much like I do every summer when I arrive at my parent’s beach condo.   I like to people watch, get a feel of what to expect for the week, and I like to reminisce.

My parents bought this condo when I was in the 11^th grade, so over 20 years ago.  We’ve spent many a summer there as family, when my brother was alive, and more recently, my husband and I have spent our summers there as my parents no longer seem to enjoy the crowds and the heat of late July in Myrtle Beach, SC.

This past week was the first week we took Davey with us.   It was his first experience with sand, the ocean, and what I thought would be unbearable heat (as it usually is).    As I watched my son play, I started to think back to all of the summers I’ve spent not just at the condo but in Myrtle Beach.

My husband and I were truly unaware of what to expect on our first beach excursion.   We came prepared…tent, chairs, Davey’s chair, cooler, toys, towels, sunscreen, and camera.    Of course, it was a bit of a comedy show watching us attempt to put the tent up while also chasing after an overly adventurous 10 month old.

I watched as my son became enchanted with the sand, the little grayish crystals that seemed to siphon right through his fingers.    It was the amazement upon his face that really took my breath away, but also melted my heart as I experienced yet again another moment of true bliss and happiness just watching my son.

When we took him down to the water, he showed no fear, no need to cling to my legs or to his daddy’s.   We kept him at the edge at first, letting the little waves of water gently lap at his feet.    As the water raced back into the ocean, he moved closer, almost chasing after it with his hands outstretched and wonderment on his face.    It was like he was saying, “Come back!”

We took him out a little bit further into the ocean, this time letting the water rise up to his knees.   Davey let out a squeal, an excitement and happiness, as he leaned over and started splashing the water.   He was in love, truly in love.   He sat down at the edge and let the water engulf him to his torso.   He kicked and splashed, giggled and squealed.

He spent hours in the sand, raking his fingers through the disheveled layers.    He tore down sand castles as quickly as his daddy and I built them.   And he explored the beach, making new friends, and picking up seashells along the way.

I’ve spent a lot of my lifetime in Myrtle Beach and I’ve always loved every minute of it, but taking my son for the first time and experiencing it with him helped me to see not just our vacation and the condo and the beach in a whole new light.   It helped to see my life in a whole new light and I am truly blessed.   I am truly happy and I am truly loved.

As my husband carried Davey down to the car on our last morning, I stood back on that balcony and reminisced yet again.   This time I saw my son from afar playing on the beach and for a moment just a brief moment I saw my brother standing alongside him.