Kids are smart

When Elle came along, I’d been alone and single for fortymumble years. All of a sudden I had a roommate with poor communication skills who didn’t contribute a dime towards the rent or the (considerably increased) utilities, who left her stuff all over the place, and who didn’t care much about what time it was when she wanted to make some noise.

My daughter is fabulous, but like it or not: it’s an adjustment.

There are many reasons why it’s better to be a partnered parent than a single one. One big reason is that, theoretically, with a partner, there’s someone to pick up the occasional slack. If you’re sick, or in a terrible mood, or just don’t feel like you want to engage with that noisy little roommate at the moment, you can (hopefully) look at your partner and ask him/her to take that on.

Not much of an option when it’s just you.

By the time Friday night comes around, sometimes the last thing I really want to do is have to entertain a toddler for a few hours before she goes to bed. (Hopefully, she goes to bed.) And there’s no way to punt that to someone else.

If anyone wants to post “Honey, you signed up for this, so don’t complain,” feel free. But you know what? Just because I signed up for this—and I did—doesn’t mean I have abdicated my right to whine occasionally.

What struck me the other day was the thought that I hope Elle never feels like she’s a burden. I hope my tired face at the end of the week doesn’t somehow communicate to her that I’d just rather not engage, or that she’s anything but a blessing. I’m not much of a poker player, and children are far smarter and more perceptive than we often give them credit for.

“Tired on a Friday night” does not equal “too tired for you” or, God forbid, "tired because of you." It just means that as she gets older, maybe Friday night we watch movies and have pizza, and it’s a way to be together that’s lower-maintenance.

Travel, not leisure

I was out of town on business last week. It was my first time away from Elle overnight, and I went two full days without seeing her; I left for the airport before she got up on day one, and I got home after she went to bed on day two. I had great support from friends on the front and back end, and she stayed overnight with her regular sitter.

For her, really, it probably didn't feel all that different. When I came into her room the morning after I got home, she was as happy to see me as she usually is in the morning-- no more, no less.

She is a happy, adaptable little thing, who is clearly secure in the fact that she's loved and well-cared-for. That's exactly what I want her to be, so I ignore the intermittent pangs that I would like her to be slightly more dramatically attached to me. That's just feeding my ego; that's not what's best for Elle.

At the end of the day, I'm her mom. And it's far more important that I raise a happy, social, well-adjusted child than it is to raise one that feeds some occasional need for validation.

**

While I was out of town, I was able to use the little hotel gym. It was decently set up, and featured my favorite exercise machine of all time: the elliptical.

I can't possibly explain how much I love the elliptical. I love it so much that I should be skinny and muscled. Sadly, I can no longer get to the Y (yes, they have childcare, but I leave Elle for 11+ hours each day; I'm not going to get her home and turn around and leave her with yet another sitter several times a week), and there's nowhere in my house that has high enough ceilings to accommodate an elliptical.

I did recently get a used exercise bike, and have been doing at least a few miles on that 4-5 times a week. This is significantly better than nothing at all, but not nearly as much fun as the dearly beloved elliptical. (And I'm watching season three of Slings and Arrows while I'm on the bike, a Canadian series that has not gotten nearly the attention it deserves. Highly recommended if you like theatre, Shakespeare, or Shakespeare and theatre.) So getting to exercise at the hotel was, believe it or not, a huge treat-- I even gave up additional sleep to go exercise that second morning, before I showered and checked out of the hotel.

It felt wonderful.

There are two questions I get, fairly often, as a single parent. One is if this is what I expected, or if it's easier or harder. The other (often from other single women) is asking what I miss about my single non-parent days.

I answer, honestly, that there's very little I miss. The two things do I miss are:

1. Being able to go to the gym
and
2. Being able to stay in my pajamas all day and sit on the couch and watch movies and be lazylazylazy.

That's not really much to miss, is it?

The nice part about it is that both those activities can return one day. Someday, Elle and I will do pajama days together (I hope we have the same taste in bad movies!). And someday, I'll get back to the gym on a regular basis.

Meanwhile, there’s plenty of other stuff to do.

Blog Envy

I read a lot of blogs (only some of which are linked on the sidebar). Some single mom blogs, some mom blogs, some dad blogs, some blogs that have nothing at all to do with children, some blogs that are just photography, some food blogs. I may have issues with some things about the internet, but I am and have always been a nosy chicken, so blogs are just a way for me to look into other people's windows. So to speak.

I have to be very careful, however, to just read the blogs... not to take anything in them to heart, in either direction.

I shouldn't feel superior to anyone else because of something they say that I disagree with. On the flip side, I shouldn't let other people's lives make me feel less than. Someone lives in a fabulous house with a pool? Good for them. Someone spends thirty hours a week teaching their child to (insert skill here)? Wow, that's awesome. Someone has a ginormous birthday party for their daughter and even has personalized labels on the root beer bottles? Damn, that's cool.

That last example, by the way, is for real. At the time I was still planning Elle's first birthday party, and I truly had a couple of days of completely feeling like some kind of derelict parent because I was planning a potluck picnic at a park, rather than a party with cleverly-named food, personalized party labels on the root beer, elaborate goody bags, and a pony. I truly thought, for a little while, that clearly I should not be a parent. A pony! Why the hell was I not having a pony?

(Because a pony is overkill for a one-year-old, that's why. Arguably, it may be overkill for a four-year-old, but that's not my call to make.)

So I was feeling like roadkill about how my daughter's first party was going to be crap on a stick, and I shared that particular blog entry with a friend. The friend shot me an e=mail, the gist of which was "Holy crap, that's cute. But seriously, who has that kind of time? Please."

And I felt better.

It was a really good lesson. I'm going to be the parent I'm going to be. I'm going to be better than some parents, worse than others. Richer than some, poorer than others.

It's not a contest.

But I still reserve the right to be dreadfully jealous of the gorgeous, gorgeous photography over at Peonies and Polaroids. I wish they lived just a touch closer than Scotland. Also that I could afford to have them take pics of Elle.

By the way, Elle's first birthday party was terrific. There was a huge crowd of people who love her. Everyone enjoyed all the food and the cake and the playground and the sunny day.

And not a single person asked why there weren't custom labels on the soda.

365 days, plus a few

My little Elle is now a year old. That seems completely impossible, but it's true. This time last year I had an infant and was in the throes of figuring out sleeping, eating, and bathing (for me, not the baby!) Now I have a one-year-old with chubby arms and legs, wispy curls at the end of her hair, and very, very Definite Opinions on many things. She has a mind of her own, that's for sure, and I love it.

She's still not walking, but she scoots around like a pro. I'm a little concerned that she's still not pulling up, nor can she get into a sitting position from lying down (she gets the concept, and tries hard, but can't do it without help), but her pediatrician says give it a few more weeks before we are officially worried. I know kids develop at different paces, and her overall health and disposition are so good that I try to take it easy. (Unless my parents start harping in on it and get me wound up. I try hard to not let them wind me up.) She just needs to find a compelling reason to walk, I think. Why walk when you get what you need from scooting?

Her scooting is fast enough that I've finally babyproofed and installed a good, strong gate at the top of the stairs. No more leaving her on the bed and walking away; she's moved to the floor, where she does her best to get into everything she shouldn't.

She doesn't have much of a vocabulary yet, but her receptive language seems to be on track and she babbles all the time with a wide variety of consonants (unless she's around people she doesn't know; she gets quiet then). She can identify specific toys, and when you ask her to give some love to Dolly, she'll squish Dolly to her face and love on her. She knows her own name for sure. She knows "no" and REALLY doesn't like hearing it (see above re: mind of her own)-- she'll do this little scrunchy face thing when you tell her no, which is hysterical. Several times lately I'm pretty sure she's repeated a word after I've said it; her enunciation isn't great, so for a while I thought I was imagining things. I wasn't!

She loves her Dolly. She loves stacking things and knocking them down. She adores books (that's my girl). She likes things that make noise. She turns into a zombie if the TV is on (again, that's my girl). She's fascinated with handles on drawers, and especially likes the handles that swing up and down and make a clanking noise when you pull them up and let them drop. She likes to open and shut drawers, over and over and over. She has a tendency to go after shoes to play with them, which I'm trying to discourage. She likes the swimming pool and isn't bothered by being splashed, and has even started kicking. She enjoys baths.

When she goes scooting off on one of her little adventures, she always takes a toy along with her (once, it was a mini box of Raisin Bran; clearly, she's not picky). Often, she'll take the toy, throw it out in front of her, then scoot to catch up with it. Repeat as needed. She talks to herself along the way-- she has a whole narrative going on-- and it's obvious that she has Very Important Things to Do. We just don't understand what those things are, you see.

She feeds herself, though I'm still giving her some baby food as well. She loves blueberries, bread, cheese, yogurt, bananas, graham crackers, cherries, hummous (on bread), and pasta. We're still working on finding veggies she likes outside of purees-- that's part of the reason I'm giving her baby food. It's the only way to get vegetables into her, so far. She's not big on meat, outside of purees, though she'll eat a bit. She doesn't care for peas, strawberries, or tomatoes (though she's fine with all three if they're pureed!). She'll try anything you put in front of her, though she'll always go for the cheese and blueberries first. She's OK with eggs. I'll probably also give fish sticks a shot, since those are a quick and reasonably healthy dinner.

After many years of single eating, the contents of my pantry, fridge, and freezer have undergone a radical transformation, that's for sure. And I need to remember the cardinal rule of feeding kids: the parent decides what food will be offered and when it will be offered; the child decides whether they'll eat and, if so, how much. If her dinner consists of three bites of chicken, four pieces of rotini, and two cherries... well, that's her dinner.

She uses a sippy cup, although she sometimes doesn't remember you have to tilt it up to get the actual liquid, and she'll slurp away at it looking very confused. She has no interest in holding her bottle, and we're phasing that out over the next little while anyway. I think her night bottle will probably be the last to go.

She's incredibly curious-- her head and most of her body are on a swivel when you're out in public with her. She loves people and faces and conversation, and is happiest when she's playing in the midst of a group of people talking. She's fine if they're not talking to her; she just likes the company. She doesn't miss a thing.

She is not a cuddly toddler. But then, she wasn't a cuddly baby, either; she hasn't fallen asleep on me since she was a couple of months old. When she's very tired, or doesn't feel good, she'll tuck her head down on my shoulder. Sometimes, if I ask her to give mommy a kiss, she'll press her head to mine-- she knows how to give a kiss with her mouth, but her current means of showing affection seems to be the press of the head.

She is a happy, healthy, even-tempered baby. Sorry-- she is a happy, healthy, even-tempered toddler. I am blessed beyond words with this beautiful little girl. When I'm tired, or when I (unfairly) compare her to other little ones her age and wonder why she's not doing X yet, or when I just want some alone time, I look at her face smiling at me from around a corner and realize I don't even remember what I did with my life before she was part of it.

Happy birthday, baby girl.

Still here

Apologies for my absence of late. It's not because my life is dull and I have nothing to say... more like I need to find time to say all the things.

(shoutout to Hyperbole and a Half, which if you haven't read, you totally should. Try "The God of Cake" first. Or any of her dog posts.)

Anyway, I have a post about Elle turning one. But it's on my work computer. I promise to track it down and post it Monday. Or possibly Tuesday.

FYI, Elle is now one whole year old. There's too much to say about that, truly, so I'll just say it and then toddle off to bed. See y'all next week.

Practically Perfect

It was one of those weekends where (almost) everything comes together well-- time with Elle, time to myself, time with good friends. The few bumps in the road were minor and not really a problem.

I even got out the invites for Elle's first birthday bash.

Yup. Her first birthday. I'm not entirely sure when that happened. It's amazing to me how quickly it has gone, and continues to go. It is also, to be honest, terrifying-- if the next 17 years go this quickly, she's going to be in college (hopefully) in about a week and a half. Or at least it will feel that way.

When we're having a rough patch, I remind myself of this. It won't last. It isn't forever. I have her with me for such a very short time, in the scheme of things; I need to savor every moment. Even the rough ones.

Here. Have a baby foot picture. I'm not exactly a great photographer, but baby feet are darling no matter what. And they fit right in with "No way am I showing my daughter's face in public, thanks" mantra.

From ...plus one

She's pretty cute, for an old almost one-year-old. I think I'll keep her.

Go ahead. You can tell me I'm crazy.

One of the things I try hard not to regret is that I waited so long to start trying to become a mom. It doesn't do any good to regret it-- I wasn't ready for a hundred reasons. And if I'd started earlier, I wouldn't have Elle, and clearly Elle was meant to be here.

But sometimes, regret breaks through. It's doing so now because, had I done this sooner (and presumably had similar luck in terms of conception), there would be some chance of being able to have another child.

I know! The very thought is crazy. Insane. But with Elle nearly a year old, the knowledge that she is an only child with a practically nonexistent family feels like a weight on my chest. It's not news, of course, but I can still wish it was different.

Of course, it's impossible. At my next birthday I'll be 45; conceiving Elle at 43 was a miracle in itself. Even if I wanted to give it a shot, I no longer have the insurance coverage that made my IVF possible. And if by some miracle I had another child, the daycare costs would kill me. (Not to mention I have no desire to ever be pregnant again.)

If I had embryos on ice, I just might say what the hell and give it a shot-- why not try a FET, if you've got them? But I don't. I was on massive quantities of drugs and only produced five eggs, and all four that fertilized were transferred. One of them is my beautiful Elle; there were no spares. That's probably a good indication that now, getting on to two years later, the likelihood of viable eggs is pretty low.

So I have all these rational reasons why it's just not possible. Right now, though, there's a part of me that doesn't care.

I guess I'm just mourning the possibilities.