I'm just the vessel, the very content vessel

My head rolls over, heavily. I hear her happy chatter coming from the nursery. [How long can I call it a nursery if she’s getting so big so fast?] This is the 5^th Saturday in a row that she has slept in, woken up happy, and generally taken it easy on us. [I love this kid.]

I stumble to the bathroom, my bladder being squished by a child I can only hope will be half as lovely as the first, and take 60 seconds to myself. I walk into her room to find her sitting in the crib arranging her stuffed animals and blankies in a lovely circle around herself. Her socks are placed neatly side by side in the formation. [Is she OCD or just developing some random life skill I take for granted every day?]

“Do you want to get up?” I ask her sweetly, holding out my hands to her. Her eyes dart side to side as she considers. “No” she says sweetly, going back to playing with her dolls. It’s a trap I know. My pregnant back doesn’t want to bend down to pick her up. Her toddler self doesn’t want me to walk away and leave her there.  Her cuteness wins me over and I bend down to lift her out of the crib, pausing so that she can grab “Sacha” the doggie and Sacha’s blankie on the way up. Without these, I know that her demeanor will instantly change and I will want only to go back to bed immediately.

One quick diaper change and we’re snuggling onto the rocking chair, as she laughs and asks me to tickle her again. For a kid that squirms to get away from tickles so quickly, she sure does return easily requesting them “again”, no question in her voice (“again?”) just a simple statement of what she knows I will deliver (“again.”).

We play like this for what seems like 5 minutes, but I know is closer to 45. I know the timer on her tummy will soon go off and I must make some headway towards the kitchen. I’m a big supporter of the plan to feed her before she goes crazy, rather than trying to reason with her in the throes of hanger (hunger, anger, hanger). I put in my contacts, brush my teeth, and invite her to go find Daddy. She runs (like a small drunk, torso twisting, arms flailing) into our bedroom, and gleefully yells out “I found you Daddy!” the newest phrase in her growing vocabulary.

We rouse him just enough to let him know that we’re headed downstairs to make breakfast. He sleepily says he’s right behind us. [God, I love this man. But I know better. He’ll be back asleep in 10 seconds, if he was ever awake to begin with.]

We make our way down the stairs, as she announces “Horsey Cow” that we will be watching Baby Einstein again this morning. [Shocking!] As much as I wish I was annoyed by this daily request, I am ever more grateful for the vocabulary she’s growing and her ability to tell me in (relatively) plain English what she wants and needs. Life is ever-so-much-easier when I know how to keep her even keeled.

I start the DVD, she dances to the intro music, beautifully amazed at the intro credits, completely excited when I offer her a sippy cup of milk.

It’s a good morning. An ordinary morning. But in so many ways, this is a great morning. It took us many months to land here, but the simple quiet and happy love of this child has changed our world forever. She is joy, defined. She is innocence, explained. She is the future, dancing before our very (sleepy) eyes.

I watch her, enraptured with the horses, cows, and pigs on the screen, as if she hasn’t seen them 100 times. I cannot fathom that something this beautiful came forth from two such ordinary, exhausted people as ourselves. Looking at her in awe, I am reminded that while pregnant I confided in my mother that “I can barely make rice, how am I supposed to make a human??” to which she easily replied, “God’s making her, Rachel. You’re just the vessel.”

To which memory I can only reply, “Well done, God. Well done.” 

A day in the life of...*drum roll* WONDER MOM!

4:45 a.m.    Alarm goes off, I stumble to it, my pregnant feet sore as they hit the ground, smack the snooze button un-ceremoniously. [Is that plantar fascitis? Note to self: need to go see a podiatrist.]

4:50 a.m.    Alarm goes off again, I stumble to it, curse at it, and head to the bathroom, tripping on *someone's* steel-toed boots [again].

4:51 a.m.    I start the shower, silently praying that my not-quite-two-year old doesn't wake up before I get my hair dried.

5:01 a.m.    I slather oil on my growing waistline, hoping that the stretch marks absorb it and go (to hell) back where they came from.

5:05 a.m.    I stumble back into the bedroom, feeling refreshed? No. Alert? Not quite. Clean? Yes, okay, that's a good start.

5:10 a.m.    I turn on the hair dryer, and instantly feel my hair go from wet to statickey. [Note to self: need to find a new dryer with a better "low" setting.]

5:20 a.m.    I pull on work clothes which I will wear for the next 15 hours, thanking God for pregnant stretchy panels.

5:30 a.m.    Downstairs to put on shoes, makeup, and a necklace.

5:33 a.m.    [What? You get more than 3 minutes to do your makeup?] Pull out smoothie ingredients, start the blender, and hope once more that she stays asleep through all this racket.

5:35 a.m.    Throw leftovers into lunchbag.

5:38 a.m.    Prenatal vitamins with a small bowl of applesauce and glass of water.

5:40 a.m.    Upstairs to check on toddler and ask husband (B) if he's almost ready [What? You don't make time to bug your husband in the morning? Shame on you. No, I've never been too tired to do so. Not once. He'll vouch for it.]

5:42 a.m.    Back downstairs, take sippy cup, Cheerios, my smoothie, and lunchbag to the car.

5:45 a.m.    Back upstairs, wake up sleepy toddler, somehow magically finding time to tickle her belly button and rub her chilly feet as I get her dressed.

5:55 a.m.    Back downstairs, hand smoothie to B.

5:57 a.m.    Watch B flirt with little toddler girl as she says "Daddy go work". Smile through my exhaustion.

6:00 a.m.    See B out the door.

6:10 a.m.    Where did the last 10 minutes go? [Dangit]

6:11 a.m.    Time to convince her to stand still so that I can put in her pigtails ("pig-tailps") and bows ("boats").

6:16 a.m.    Put her into a jacket, owl-ey hat, and one mitten. She insists I have the other mitten and make a puppet out of it. If I forget or say "later" then I better be prepared for 6:17 a.m. toddler meltdown.

6:20 a.m.    Put on "mommy jacket" and "mommy scarf". Turn out lights, pick up toddler [when did she get so heavy? when did my shoulder start to hurt like that? why do pregnant women get carpal tunnel syndrome?]

6:22 a.m.    Load her into carseat, trying to convince her to keep her jacket and shoes on, and hoping that her tears dry quickly when she sees her morning cup of Cheerios sitting there awaiting her hungry little grab.

6:24 a.m.    Close the car door and enjoy approximately 5 seconds of silence. Climb into my seat, crank the heat, entertain a request from the backseat that I turn on "funny song". Put the car in drive.

6:25 a.m.    Play the "Light/Dark" and "Stop/Go" game on the way out of the neighborhood, hoping that the three minutes I just put in count as parental investment in her growing mind. What better time to show her LIGHT vs DARK than in the pre-sunrise hours of our commute? And STOP vs GO, that's too easy. "Again" she chimes from the backseat.

6:28 a.m.    Explain to toddler that we left the neighborhood without slowing to say hi to the "bear" and "goose" statues in the neighbors' yards because it's too dark out [and Mommy forgot, okay, she f'ing forgot]

6:33 a.m.    Pull onto the highway. "Good morning clouds" "Good morning cars" "Hi big truck". [Zone out] "More airplanes please"

7:00 a.m.    Pull into Starbucks drive-through. “What’s that?” she asks, every time, pointing to the Starbucks logo sign. “Starbucks Lady” I tell her. “Ooooo Starbucks lady’s coming” she tells me.

7:07 a.m.    Receive one hot chocolate [damn I miss espresso] and breakfast sandwich. “More” she implores, asking for my breakfast as I pull out into traffic. “Oh, remember you’re going to eat more at school? What else are you going to do at school?” [How long will this distraction tactic work?]

7:21 a.m.    Pull up to gate at military base, say "Hi airplane" to the fighter jet static display.

7:24 a.m.    Driving through the base listen to her say good morning to "Airplane" "Big helicopter" "Gazebo on the grass" and "Cannon" [Do all 22 month olds know about cannons or is it just mine? Should I tell her the name of the giant bomb sitting on display? I think better of this.]

7:27 a.m.    Pull up at daycare, ready to unload her. Where is her sock? Her shoe? Her foot is freezing. Where are the bows we so carefully placed in her hair? Her body is littered with Cheerios. “Cheerios DOWN” she gleefully exclaims, grabbing for as many as she can find and vacuuming them into her little hungry mouth.

7:30 a.m.    Make our way into the daycare, where we must stop to say hi to the fishies (fissies) and guinea pigs (piggies).

7:32 a.m.    Make our way down the hall to the classroom. Lift small body onto changing table, change wet diaper. Wash hands. Fill out paperwork. Coax her towards the teacher while she cries “Mommmmmmmy”. [Thank God for Miss S. who distracts toddler long enough for me to leave without seeing toddler face twist into tears and make me feel like I’m abandoning her.]

7:37 a.m.    Arrive at office, with my now-cold hot chocolate and breakfast sandwich enticing me with their sweet aroma all the way into my office. Turn on computer, put lunch in fridge, sit down for first time in three hours. [No, driving does not count as sitting.]

7:40 a.m.    Email loads. First bite of sandwich. Still quasi-warm, nice surprise. See email from “colleague” I haven’t met yet rescheduling lunch and noting that “Flexible’s my middle name ;-)” [When did it become okay to use emoticons in work email? Oh, right, it didn’t.] Try to decide if he’s creepy or just weird.

8:00 a.m.    Having replied to emails, look at pile of paperwork on desk and realize I need some water.

8:01 a.m.    Cup of water in hand, I realize I need to pee.

8:05 a.m.    Having peed, I realize I need to get to work.

8:06 a.m.    Realize iPod is playing C-Lo “F YOU” a bit too loud. [Zone out]

8:47 a.m.    Where am I? Did I just check the FAA website and legal ads in the paper? I guess so. Notes are updated.

9:00 a.m.    Telecon with PITA (pain in the ass) regional colleague. Put her on speakerphone so I can some work done while she rambles. Periodically find myself flipping her off.

9:17 a.m.    Time to start my online training courses. Only 37.5 hours to go. [How will I get all of this B.S. done before maternity leave?]

11:00 a.m.  Brain dead from training, should I get lunch? Is it too early? I can go buy some wide width boots for cold weather pregnant feet. Oh wait. I packed lunch. That’s right, I can just work through lunch. Then I can leave earlier today. Hmmm…something to think about.

11:02 a.m.  Heat up lunch in microwave. Scarf it down. Dang I needed that.

11:22 a.m.  Realize I cannot keep working. Must leave to get more water and possibly some caffeine. [How much Dr Pepper is “bad” for a baby in my belly? The web says I can have 200 mg a day which equates to 57 ounces of Dr P, but the doctor says 1 serving per day. The truth must lie somewhere in the middle. Like maybe 56 ounces…]

11:31 a.m.  Back at my desk, wondering if my 9 minute break to get beverages should count against my time sheet [yes, I am that OCD], silently calculating my co-workers’ 30 minute smoke breaks taken once an hour. Surely if she can take those breaks then I can just stop worrying…? [Still worrying. Don’t know how to stop.]

11:47 a.m.  Realize that my personal to do list is falling by the wayside. Must make holiday dish, do I have all the ingredients? I will *not* go to the grocery store the night before Thanksgiving. Do I even know how to make baked mac and cheese? How hard can it be? Better re-check the recipe. [Doesn't this $4!+ come in a box??]

11:48 a.m.  [Oh shit] I forgot to make the thank you gifts for the daycare teachers this past weekend. Must get to the store. Maybe I should take a lunch break to go to the craft store. But then I’ll have to work later and get stuck in more traffic.

11:49 a.m.  [Oh shit] I forgot to pick up toddler’s allergy medicine at pharmacy this weekend. Must do that too.

11:50 a.m.  Well I guess if we’re going to Catholic church now then I need to get an Advent wreath. Maybe I’ll find time to do that too.

11:51 a.m.  [Eureka! Ask for help!] Text husband, ask if he can watch toddler after dinner so I can run some errands.

11:53 a.m.  Receive text back reading “Roj”. Roger. He’s on it. He’s probably surprised and glad I asked. No doubt looking forward to getting to be alone with toddler in the absence of all of Mommy’s rules.

11:55 a.m.  [Do I have too many rules? Are they important, useful, arbitrary? Note to self: consider reading up on parenting in my sparetime. Then I’ll know how many rules and parameters to set. Yes, that’s it. In my sparetime.]

11:57 a.m.  [Oh shit] do I need to sign up for any prenatal classes at the hospital this time around or am I a pro now? Oh look, I can do the breastfeeding class as a refresher online for free. Okay. I’ll do that in my sparetime too.

12:00 a.m.  Did I eat lunch? Golly I’m hungry.

12:57 a.m.  Get ready for meeting.

1:00 p.m.    Go to meeting. Try to stay awake.

2:00 p.m.    More emails. A phone call. Yawning.

3:30 p.m.    Time to get out of here. Pack up car, head to daycare.

3:40 p.m.    Walk into daycare. [Note to self, don’t forget the Thanksgiving thank you gifts tonight!] Get a little helpful turnover information. “Please bring more wipes tomorrow, she’s almost out. She had a good day {pause} but she hasn’t been cooperating lately and she tried to bite another child three times today and she was kissing E again today and she hit Miss S in the face during a diaper change.” [Is she a monster? Is she mine? Is this normal? Are they lying about my angel??]

3:43 p.m.    Realize her diaper is wet again, lift her to the changing table, change her, wash her hands, put on the jacket, put on the hat, walk down the hall, time to say hi and bye to the piggies and fissies again.

3:47 p.m.    Get to car.  Load her. Provide snack. Provide water. Provide a book.

3:50 p.m.    Leave the base, saying goodbye to all the airplanes, gazebos, and helicopters on the way.

3:58 p.m.    Pull onto the highway, hoping for no traffic. Traffic. [Shit. This is why I get up early so I can beat the traffic, get done with work early and beat it again.]

4:23 p.m.    Pull into the driveway. Take bags into house. Take toddler into house. Get mail key, walk down the street to check the mail.

4:27 p.m.    Turn on TV. She asks for a video. It’s Baby Einstein. That’s educational right? I’m not a bad mom, am I? [AM I?????]

4:29 p.m.    Go to the bathroom while she’s not paying attention. Feels like vacation. [Oh vacation, that sounds nice. When will I get to do that? Oh, right. In my sparetime with all those extra vacation days I’ll have saved up after maternity leave.]

4:33 p.m.    Daddy is home. Yay! She’s all smiles. He swoops her up, I tie on an apron and start peeling potatoes. Chop the broccoli. I interrupt Daddy/daughter time, asking for help with the pork chops. [Thank God I married a professional pork chop expert.]

4:47 p.m.    She’s crying. Is she hungry? No! Don’t say “potatoes” out loud. They won’t be ready for awhile! Are her teeth hurting? Get her an icy toy to gnaw on. More videos. Did she just ask for Yo Gabba Gabba? [Oh shit, I hate that shit.]

5:33 p.m.    Dinner is finally on the table.

5:57 p.m.    He just offered to clean up so I can get out the door to run those errands. Toddler allergy medicine. Advent wreath. Supplies for Thanksgiving thank you gifts for daycare teachers.

6:07 p.m.    Out the door. Damn it’s cold. And dark. When did it get so dark?

6:25 p.m.    Pick up allergy medicine. Wish pharmacy was near the other stores.

6:33 p.m.    Back onto the highway to head to the mall area.

6:47 p.m.    JoAnn’s for supplies for gifts. Made something work with no clear plan in mind when I walked in. No Advent wreaths.

6:50 p.m.    Head to Family Christian Bookstore for Advent wreath, passing Hallmark. [Hallmark next if I can’t find it.]

6:52 p.m.    Oh look the Family Christian Bookstore no longer exists, back to Hallmark.

6:57 p.m.    Walk into Hallmark [DOH I have to pee. Dear Baby X, that is not a trampoline, stop jumping!!], ask if they have Advent wreaths, the answer is no.

6:59 p.m.    Back to car. Oh look, Michaels across the plaza, maybe they have an Advent wreath. More importantly, they have a bathroom!

7:05 p.m.    Newly-relieved, but I can’t find any Advent wreaths. Mind spirals. If I don’t find it tonight I’ll have to go out to the stores over Thanksgiving weekend. Nooooooooooo!

7:27 p.m.    Home. At last. Oh look, he did the dishes. Oh wait, he left the mashed potatoes out. I better put them away and wash the bowl, and oh look the sippy cups are all dirty, I’m going to need one of those tomorrow morning, I better wash them.

7:47 p.m.    Head upstairs to let him know I’m home.

8:00 p.m.    Back downstairs to assemble teacher thank you gifts.

8:37 p.m.    Back upstairs, ready to pass out. Talk to husband for 20 minutes. He apologizes for keeping me awake. I remind him I need to work tomorrow night, so can we meet for dinner near the base then he can take her home.

9:03 p.m.    Take out contacts. Wash face. Brush teeth. Set alarm.

9:07 p.m.    Wonder mom *out*.