YOU CARRY ME.

Since the very first day we brought Harrison home, I have carried him just about any time he wanted me to (which is a lot).  I empathize with his desire to be held and toted around.  Wouldn't  you love to have someone carry you in from a long car ride?  Or when you're shopping and your legs decide that they are done carrying you without complaint?  Definitely when you're walking to your car from the fair or the zoo and you're so tired you could lie right on the pavement, but you still have a good mile to go?

Who wouldn't love to be swooped up and carried?  So, I indulge Harrison's requests to be picked up, even when I would really like to be carried myself.  Isn't that the ideal metaphor for parenting, really?  We do things for our children that no one does for us anymore.  Adulthood comes with the realization that you are on your own.  Even with a good support network and people that you can lean on, there is no longer someone there to just carry you when you want to opt out.

I want Harrison to have that ultimate of comforts for as long as I can make it last.  Sadly, we may be nearing the end.  Besides the fact that he weighs in at quite a wallop, he is getting long and gangley.  He is no longer a pudgy little ball of malleable baby that I can hold in a heap on my chest.

Now when he curls up in my lap, his bowling ball of a head hangs over my shoulder while his little man legs drape the length of my lower half. When I go to pick him up, I feel as if I should be wearing a lifters belt for my back's sake.  When he throws himself at me, he can knock me right over.

My baby boy is definitely growing up.  Just recently I've realized that he is not, in fact, "my baby" at all.  He is my big boy.  Getting bigger all the time.  How many more times will I be able to lift him out of his bunk bed?  How many more piggy backs will we share?  When will he last crawl into my lap for a snuggle?  

I don't know the answer to those questions, but I'm going to make it last as long as I possibly can.  Then when I can't lift him one more time, I'll tease him like I usually do, and say "I think it's your turn to carry me, buddy!", but it will break my heart because I will know it's the last time that I will be his everything.  From then on, he will have to walk.  I'll be there to walk beside him and hold his hand.  I'll be there for him to lean on always, but his days of letting me carry him through will be at an end.

I know that it's my job as Harrison's mom to help him walk alone, but right now I just want  to hold my baby a little longer.

NOT GONNA DO IT.

I hate mornings.  I don't mean in a cute, Kathy cartoon, kind of way either.  I mean I REALLY hate them.  It is a shock to my body every single time I have to get out of bed for the day.  I slug around, feeling like I'm trudging through sand until about noon, and don't ever fully wake until I go to bed again.

Then I'm all "Hey!  Ho!  What are we doing tonight?!?  I'm ready to party.  You ready to party?!  Let's do it!  Let's get crazy!  Let's forget where we left our underpants and make some questionable decisions!"

Luckily, this phase of alertness (usually) morphs into the desire to read for six hours, before I can do any lasting damage.  At least, most of the time.  So, I settle in with my kindle and tell myself I'll just lie in bed and read a chapter or two until I'm good and sleepy.

One novel later, I can catch roughly three Zzz's before the sun comes up...If I got to sleep right now. Instead, I am lying awake having this inner dialogue;  "I'm still awake.  I'll just close my eyes, breath deep, and be asleep in a few minutes.  Ok it's only been an hour. I can still get two hours of sleep if I fall asleep now.  It's not too late.  Shit.  I'm still not asleep.  WHY AM I AWAKE RIGHT NOW?!?"  I'm never going to sleep again.  Isn't that a disease?  People who never sleep?  Maybe I should google it and find out what I'm up against."

As the sun is rising, my google weary eyes are finally drifting down...and "Mommy?  Are you awake?  Is it the day time?"

"Kill me.  Kill me now."

Here's where you stop feeling sorry for me...the next thing I hear is my hunk of a husband whispering "Hey buddy, mommy's sleeping.  Should we go make you a waffle?"  I know, right?  He is the best.  Tell me something I don't know.

Maybe one day I'll be one of those people who fall asleep easily and wake irritatingly perky and refreshed.  Until that day, I'll just continue to stockpile coffee, like the world is ending, and keep Amazon in business with e-book purchases.  Sleep tight everyone.  Someone has to.

HARRISONISMS AND HOLIDAY PTSD

Am I the only one having trouble getting my shit together post Holiday?  I'm way behind on most everything.  Including this blog.  Thanks for bearing with me.  I will share a few Harrisonisms to show my gratitude for your patience.

• "Mommy... you're not Grandma, but I still love you."

• "Hmmmm, I don't know this author."

• "Is the milk that comes out of breastez clean or dirty?"

• "Well, if you keep driving like this, you're gonna get under arrested."

• "Dear Santa, Harrison loves you.  I would really love a ticket for sleigh rides, and...everything else I want."

• "I'm all bungled up and ready to play in the cold!"

• "Where is the goddamned Waffle House anyway?"

Before you vote me worst mom of the year, that last one did require a convo about the appropriateness of 4yr olds and cursing.  I understand his agitation though.  When you want a pancake, you want it RIGHT NOW!  Am I right, or am I right?

I hope you are all recouping after the Holidays.  I'm trying to get back in the groove.  Maybe you'll even hear from me again soon.

HARRISONISMS (OF THE WEEK)

I know.  I know.  I am embarrassingly behind on updating this blog.  You know how the holiday season can be.  I have, however, been keeping notes on Harrison's latest and greatest.  Enjoy.

• "I need some hand seasontizer." 

• "This is sooooo exasperating."

• "I'm afraid of TWO things...heights and ghostez."

• "Daddy, do not tickle me.  I do not like being tickled in October."

• "I know it darling."

• "You're not my best friend for ONE WEEK."

• "Our other house wasn't really  that awesome, but this house is WAY awesome."

• "I just love my family."

• "Tickle my back.  I just need to relax."

• "Look mom!  It's the baby cages!"  (the pack n plays at target)

• "Chill, girl.  Chill."

• Me- "Harrison, how is your dinner?"   Harrison- "Delicioso!"

• Me- "Would you like a string cheese?"   Harrison- "Well, of course."

• "Ok, Dad...sing me Rudolph, but when I close my eyes, go out and enjoy mom."

There you have it.  HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

MY SON IS "BRINGING BOOTY BACK".

Harrison loves a dance party.  Watch out though, because he is suddenly as strong as a f*cking pit bull and his dance parties can easily turn into pillow fights that will leave you with a pretty serious case of whiplash.

One of Harrison's favorite songs right now is Meghan Trainor's 'All About The Bass'.  He and I go around constantly  singing this song; which he sings as "I'm all- a -buck- a -bass", by the way.  I don't even know what that means.  I'm sure he doesn't either.

Case in point; when I was in elementary school, I had a friend (who shall remain nameless, but KNOWS who she is) who used to sing Paula Abdul's song 'Rush' as "mush, mush... hurry hurry love will come to me...mush, mush...".  Like love was a sled dog she needed to "mush" across the frozen tundra.

Anyway, the thing I love about Harrison singing this song, is that A) he is learning body acceptance and B) he is cuter than anything you've ever seen when he is wiggling his hips (in his ninja turtle underpants) and singing into a transformer figurine for a mic.  But let's get back to the body acceptance issue for a second.

I won't pretend to believe that my sweet baby boy will never see porn in his lifetime, but I think the more we dialogue about what real men and women look like, the more prepared he will be for a healthy view of sex.  Lots of real girls have "bass".  His mama sure does.  I think it's great for him to know that sexiness is relative.  There is no one acceptable body norm.  Or even one
sexuality norm.

He needs to start understanding that while we are inundated with images of what "normal" looks and acts like, there is no such thing.  We are all normal.  I don't want him to judge his body by Abercrombie & Fitch standards and I don't want him partner shopping based on media standards of what is attractive either.

I hope that as he grows, more celebrities will rail against absurd photo shopping, and that there will be more "real body" campaigns.  I hope he hears a lot more songs  about body acceptance.  I hope that when he does finally see some porn, that he will ask me or his dad "Hey...so...people don't really bleach their butt-holes  do they?"

Maybe by then he will feel like he can look any way he chooses to, and love anyone he wants, and they can have whatever kind of sex they want to have, and that will be ok.

He probably doesn't realize that we are covering this territory when we have our little dance parties, but we are.  Right now I have to go because Taylor Swift's 'Shake It Off' is on and we have boogying to do.

THE "MOM" RESUME.

It has been a very long time since I was officially a part of the work force.  I left my job with Allstate Insurance in 2003 so that I could concentrate my efforts on not dying.  If you haven't already, you can read about my years of health crisis at A Life Almost Taken.

After my surgery in 2008, I started considering going back to work, but by then I had a new problem.  My biological clock was not ticking.  It was screaming obscenities at me.

It didn't want to start a new job and then promptly become pregnant- these were the days of my uttermost confidence in my ability to become pregnant.  So, after some discussion, my husband and I decided we would concentrate on the family thing first.

We concentrated...and we concentrated...and then we concentrated some more.  By now I did have a job.  I was self employed at the 'get yourself knocked up' factory.  I put in long hard hours.  Ovulations were charted.  Specialists were seen.  Medications were taken.  Fertility treatments were on the books when I peed my 4,137th stick and it said "pregnant".

Harrison was born in 2010 and there was no way I was not staying home with that baby.  Shhhhhhh now and hear me when I tell you that my decision to stay home with him is not a judgement upon you working mothers.  It's really really not.  In fact, I am in awe of those of you who juggle careers and families.  I think we as mothers are all wired differently.  Some of you are better moms for the hours you spend away working, but I  knew myself well enough to know that I could not and would not do both things well.

So for me, the decision was easy.  I became a SAHM.  It's the best thing I've ever done in my life.  I love it and I'm good at it.  With one child.  I cannot fathom being home with four or five children all day.  Again- no judgement here.  I'm simply stating a fact about myself.

 I would lose my fucking mind if I had that many children running around.  Some of you do it and do it well.  Some of you almost have me convinced you enjoy it.  But that's not going to happen at our house anytime soon.

Harrison is now is school, so here I am, once again considering employment.  I'm a 35yr old SAHM with an eleven year gap on my resume.  It doesn't scream hire me.  Shouldn't it though?  I don't mind the question "What have you been doing with yourself for the last 11yrs?".  If I were reading my resume, I'd be asking the very similar questions.  "11yrs, huh?...Are we talking about a prison term here?"

But it seems to me that, while it's not exactly quantifiable work experience, I have been  loading my resume with skills.  I can clean up vomit and finish a sandwich in a fifteen minute time span.  I can multi task my ass off.  I can answer the same damn question sixty-two times in a row before I scream.    I can walk over and around a toy obstacle course in the dark.  I can bathe an angry/slippery con artist in under ten minutes.  My toddler negotiation and bribery skills are unparalleled.

In my mind, I shouldn't be justifying my resume.  I should be recieving so many job offers that I can't even respond to them all.  Am I right moms???  Am I right?! 

I've decided that I will not be ashamed of my resume gap.  I've been creating and raising a person dammit!  I claim no more mom shame!  Who's with me?!?

HARRISONISMS (OF THE WEEK)

Ok, so I know I've been completely AWOL for weeks, but we have FINALLY gotten moved into our new house.  Harrison, as usual, has been cracking my ass up so I thought I'd get back on the blogging  horse with some of his latest and greatest.

• Me- "I'd like to cuddle with you Harrison."

          H- "Yeah, well...that's ok with me."       

• (Grandma to Harrison) "See how the stars make an outline?"

           H- "Yes.  It's called a constellation."

• "Hey mom, daddy has brown breasts."

• "Well, I'm not going to make a situation out of it."

• H- "There's a doughnut shop!"

          Me- "How can you tell it's a doughnut shop? "

          

          H- "I guess I'm just clever."

• "You get a sticker mom.  Let's put it right here on this breast."

• "OH  pish posh."

• (Me to daddy)- "Somebody has been asking to play soccer again."

           H- "Yep.  That somebody is me daddy."

• "Mommy, you're my little honey cup."

• "My feelings are bleeding."

• "Can I please have a brother?  Pllllllease???"

• "Are you feeling kind of frisky from your coffee?"