"Got My Mojo Working"

Um, or not...

Two of the things I've been surprised that I am enjoying as a woman no longer in her twenties are pop music and talk radio. These pleasantries are combined in my morning commute with the wonderful local morning show here in NC "Bob and the Showgram". The female DJ happens to be just shy of a month older than myself, 31, and this morning they were discussing how she feels that she "lost her mojo at the age of 31".

Now, the loose definition of "mojo" we are using here is that intangible thing that all women have at some point, that feeling of being attractive to the opposite sex. You know what I'm talking about: it's how a happily married woman gets flushed and giddy over the possible flirtatious banter of a male coworker, UPS guy, fast food employee taking your order, or in my case, the Hispanic landscaper that yells out "Si, Mami" as you are walking across the parking lot. (At my weight and breast-waist-booty ratio, the white boys barely look but I seem to be a total hottie to our more ethnic population.)

They were discussing how Kristen thought she was going to be hit on during a recent trip to New Orleans and the French Quarter, but came back feeling pretty unattractive despite the fact that she has a live-in boyfriend who adores her. They were asking callers to describe when we knew we lost our mojo.

I can actually pinpoint mine. I was 25 years old, on my way to work at 8AM, swinging by a coffee shop that I happen to love, that also happens to be adjacent to the very large University downtown. I was fixing my drink at the little counter with all the assorted spoons, napkins, straws, etc. when a fairly toned, tan, attractive male arm reached across my front side to grab a napkin. I glanced up and thought "hmmm, he's pretty good-looking" and then glanced down and realized he was wearing jeans, a tee, tennis shoes, a typical college sophomore outfit. Before my mind could even process the thought "you are way too old for him" he said, "excuse me, ma'am," and smiled. Not a sly, daring smile at all, or even a "you're hot for an older lady" smile, but the kind of smile that says, "oh, I really did just get in this old lady's space; that was rude," before carrying on with his day and forgetting that I existed.

Now, 6 years later, with a husband, a mortgage, a real job, and a beautiful child, the mojo is gone completely. As in, I don't even care anymore. I think I may have been hit on at work by a client today, but I barely noticed because all I could think was "geez, dude, hurry up so I can keep researching ride-behind bike trailers". And sitting here tonight, looking fairly bedraggled after coming home to find a sick dog (you know what that means I spent my first half hour doing, on my hands and knees with the Spot Shot), a clingy child, and getting stung by a hornet in the arch of my foot, mojo is a word that doesn't even exist in my lexicon.

I've got what I want. Right down to the toothpaste on my foot.*

*Google and the hubs both said this was the best home remedy for the sting, and they were right.

P.S. Don't walk around in your yard barefoot.

And in the End, I Have No Control.

When we last "spoke", I was trying to make the decision as to whether to keep pumping or give up the fight. After pumping so much that last week and having a wonderful week breastfeeding my son (my walking, talking, almost no longer a baby, son), I lugged the monstrous Medela and associated accoutrements, ice packs, and cold bag back to work today.

After an extremely hectic morning that included a new hire that I had no idea was starting today at the door at 9AM, I finally sat down about an hour ago and prepared myself, only to find after sitting half exposed in my freezing office that my pump is broken. This moment could not be any more anticlimactic if I tried. I fumbled around for a few minutes, trying to figure out if the plug or something was just messed up. It may be the A/C adapter, and it may work in my car at lunch. But as of right now, the word is no more full time pumping.

I should be overjoyed. Lord knows I have done nothing but complain about it for the last 6 or so months. Here, in my online mom group, to my husband, family, co-workers. All they have heard is what a drag it is and how I can't wait to be done with it. But now that the choice has been taken away from me, I'm left only with the thought of the impending weekend and my probable inability to nurse my son more than twice a day.

I tried to cherish every moment of nursing over the last nine days, knowing that we would likely be cutting back. But I am a very sentimental, nostalgic person inside, and all I can focus on now is how my baby is not a baby any more. He is now walking 75% of the time, and the crawling is really only to find something to pull up on so that he can walk. No more watching a crawling, naked baby following me down the hall to fold laundry. No more soothing at the breast. No more naps with mommy...he has trained himself well to sleep in a crib in a room on his own. He is growing more independent by the day, and with the countdown to his 1 year birthday at 23 days now, Mama is growing weepier and weepier at the loss of her wee babe.

I thought I got it before, when everyone told me it flies by. But I am only now beginning to understand...

More About How Experienced I Am...

Last night, a younger friend dropped by to pick up some baby stuff for her sister that is visiting. We are loaning our infant carseat, stroller frame, bouncer seat, etc. to her so that she doesn't have to try to navigate the airport with her 4 1/2 month old son and assorted crap that comes with having a 4 1/2 month old. This, combined with the fact that her little sis is planning her wedding, made me think about how obssessed I have been over certain things in the past. We talked about all the wedding magazines and shows and bridal salons she has checked out, and it brought me back to that time when NOTHING WAS MOE IMPORTANT THAN ME PLANNING MY WEDDING! But that is a different story. Let me tell you about some baby things I no longer need to obsess over.

Baby food. Remember my tiny Sprout giveaway? Well, I became a fan of Sprout on facebook and they sent me a box of 6 assorted pouches. "Cool," I thought, and then immediately followed that up with, "what the hell can I do with this?" Too little, too late, for my child who ate baby food for about 2.7 weeks until we switched to a modified baby-led weaning plan. "Well, maybe I'll do another blog giveaway?" Then I remembered that out of everyone who reads my blog, only about 3 of them have babies eating baby food still, and I know two of them in real life. So lucky them! They each get 3 pouches of Sprout!

Baby legs. Thank GAWD I never gave in to this obsession. I got my baby steals email today and nearly shuddered at the thought. Why was I so concerned with these? Seriously? Leg warmers for babies? I do give myself credit...it was winter, and diaper changes were tough enough as he started wriggling and squirming. Now it's summertime, 90+ degrees every day, and the most laughable thing I can imagine to put on my son are freaking leg warmers.

Baby toys. Because once we hit standing/cruising status, I realized it doesn't matter. I could fill his toybox (okay, he doesn't have a toybox, which is something I should put on his birthday list) with empty water bottles, old pans, toilet paper, the dog's tennis balls, and anything he can "drive" across the floor like a car and he would never know that those huge exersaucer/jumper/sports center monstrosities even existed. Come to think of it, if I just emptied out our large cooler that would make a perfect toybox, because that's his favorite household item at the moment.

Assorted diaper bag crap. I forget to pack a bib half the time. I forget to pack diapers sometimes. My kid only has one sippy cup and it's usually dirty (after hummus and baked beans dinner last night I get the heebie-jeebies to think about it's status right now...and I'm kinda worried it's where the dog can get to it, so he may have 0 sippy cups when we get home tonight). I think his burp clothes and receiving blankets are long gone. He only poops once a day in the AM, so I rarely have more than 3 wipes on hand. Honestly, I don't even know what else we used to keep in that thing.

What have I replaced these things to obsess over with? Well, you know there is always something!

Baby shoes! He got his first 2 pairs about a month ago, and it was love at first sight for all of us. So far he's a Robeez baby, but we are expecting these in the mail any day (thanks again babysteals.com). Now, I was following the hippie standards with the "barefoot is best" mantra for a while. But then I got tired of having the dirty-little-feet baby out in public. And Jacob got really tired of not being able to get down and boogie in public. And my husband got tired of me letting our son crawl on the dirty floor in public. So we have shoes!

Birthday parties. Now, anyone on any mom website with any child between the ages of 6-12 months knows that this is the hottest. topic. ever. I'm not that mom. This will not be a debutante ball, coming out party, or showcase for mom. My kid will not have a separate "smash cake outfit" or $25 cowboy hat to wear in pictures. In fact, he will only have a smash cake because Harris Teeter will give him one free. He will likely be naked or mostly naked when we put the cake in front of him. I am making his real cake/cupcakes. I am ordering his invites online for cheap. (I need to get on that, actually). I will buy paper plates and silverware at Wal-Mart or Target. Despite how much I love what some of these Etsy sellers are doing, I'm just not paying a ridiculous amount of money for all this specialized paper crap that I will have to set up and tear down anyway. Just grilling hamburgers and hot dogs in a local park with a playground. But that doesn't mean I'm not getting excited about the "theme".

Yogurt. Seriously, do you know how hard it is to find full-fat Greek yogurt?

Big boy pajamas. He wore his first pair last night, and when I went to get him at 6:45 AM, my "baby" was leaning nonchalantly in the corner of his crib, smiling at me with his elbow propped on the rail. How have we gotten here so soon? He is now the oldest kid in his baby daycare room. He's going to move up any day now, we're only waiting for a space at this point. His teacher told me this morning that she's started taking him over to "visit" because he gets bored in the little baby room. Sigh...no more onesies, no more footie pajamas. Walking will come any day now.

And I will have to start saying "I have a toddler".

I Used to Be a Night Owl.

Before baby, I was such a late night person. I used to work in retail management, and had a wonky schedule with nice time off during the work week, shifts that started at 1PM sometimes, and being at work before 9:30 was considered early.

I switched to my current career around a year and a half before Jacob's birth, with "banker's hours" and although it took a while, I eventually got used to it. However, I was still terrified of what would happen once I gave birth. Seriously, I could easily stay up until 2AM, sleep until 10AM, and my husband and I never seemed to be able to make it out of the house on the weekends until noon or later. The thought of waking before 7AM was reserved for plane flights, nightmares, and Easter Sunrise Service. How was I going to adjust to having to get myself and a baby ready, take him to daycare, and still be at work by 8 or 8:30?

Part of the solution was to find a daycare that only made my one-way commute 7.1 miles. Mission accomplished, until a recent promotion that puts my one-way commute at over 30 miles. I have to leave home nearly an hour before I'm scheduled to be at work. How has that worked? Surprisingly, exceedingly well. I am usually the first one to my office in the morning. My husband and I will soon begin carpooling three days a week. I go to bed between 10-11PM, wake up between 6 and 6:30, and I actually enjoy it.

This morning, before 8:15, I took a shower, got dressed, put bandages on my heels to prevent new-shoe blister syndrome, nursed Jacob and changed his diaper, played and flirted with him for 15 minutes, took him to daycare, took the dog to the vet/groomer on the way to work, and swung by Starbucks for an Iced Caramel Macchiatto. It felt GREAT! Next up, waking up at 5:30 to have half an hour of "me" time? I used to think that would be impossible, but now I think it can be done. We'll see...

Life is short, but oh so sweet!

Today was Senior Day at church. I don't know if every church does this, but it's kind of a day where the elders of the church take over the service. They plan the service, the songs, invite a speaker, do the children's sermon, etc. The whole church service is run by a group of Seniors.

Ours sang funny songs for their specials, about their hair being white and their eyesight going bad, that got some laughs and livened us up. They also sang about being ready to go Home and meet the Saviour. It got me thinking about Jacob, and how short life is already! (Imagine, one day his children are going to think about the 80's the way I think about the 30's!)

Everyone tells you before you have kids that life will seem to fly even faster, and they are totally right. It seems as if every time I have started to get tired of the "stage" he's in (sleep deprivation and constant nursing, then not being able to put him down all day, now the separation anxiety) he has flown right through it into something else, making me want to scream "STOP! Stop growing so darn fast!" This weekend, I had to lower his crib after going in to his room for the second time to find him standing and holding on to the waist-high crib rail. So now, I can no longer lean down into his crib and kiss his sweet little head goodnight. A moment that I have taken for granted the last six months is now gone.

I also tried to spend a few extra minutes with him by rocking him after nursing him tonight, which turned into a meltdown. My sweet little baby that cries when I go around a corner of the room is too big to be rocked when he's tired. He wants the routine of being placed gently in his crib drowsy so that he can take his Mickey blanket, flip onto his tummy, turtle his butt up, and put himself to sleep. .::sigh::. It's a good problem to have, but maybe we did too good of a job teaching him to self-soothe, because now I look back over the last 8 months and a week and wonder if it would even take two hands to count the number of times I rocked my son to sleep?

Life is just flying past at warp speed. Two and a half months ago, my guy was tripod-sitting for a few seconds before tumbling over...now he's pulling up and trying to test himself by letting go of me when he's standing up. He's babbling "da-da", "ba-ba", and "ma-ma" almost constantly, and I'm starting to believe he even knows which one I am. Where did my little baby go? And will I cry every time he reaches one of these huge milestones the way I am as I'm typing this? Every stage is so beautiful and so fleeting that I have to just remind myself to cherish it, to find ways to fit more in and yet stop to enjoy my son's life.

I vow to never again utter the words "it's been a long day", because now that little man is half way between half a year and his first birthday, I know that our days are far too short.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Of going out as a 30-something.

First of all, I want to point out that I am A-OK with my age, yet when I was younger and the above mentioned TV program came on regularly, "30-something" was a phrase that stuck in my mind as meaning ancient. The only time I have really felt old recently was when I started this blog and also started reading other blogs regularly. There is a group that calls themselves "20-something bloggers" and at first I thought that meant there were 20-something of them. I swiftly realized my mistake, and for a brief second was excited until I realized that I would never be eligible to join them.

On to my real story: Friday night my husband and I had our first overnight, meaning little guy stayed with a grandparent while we went out for a night on the town. We went to dinner and a comedy show for a good friend's birthday, and since it has been a while since a 10:15 comedy show, or even staying out later than 9PM has been a possibility, there was a feeling of not wanting the night to end. (There was also beer involved, along with the promise of more beer.) So after the show ended, we visited one of our favorite young and hip bars that we frequented a few years ago (when we were 20-something). That experience was so enjoyable that somehow we found ourselves at IHOP at 2AM. And since I knew I would never remember some of my observations, I wrote them down to share with you.

My original intent was to weave them all into nice colorful prose, stringing them into some semblance of coherent thought. But it was 2AM and I was about 62 oz. into some fairly strong microbrew. Saying that I remember these thoughts would be the overstatement of the decade. So instead I will list them, bullet-style, for your entertainment.

-young people say "shit" a lot
-the fact that I just called them "young people" really ages me
-at least we're not at Waffle House where I would have to remember if I liked them "scattered, covered, smothered, or hashed"
-we are getting better service than the table of college kids next to us b/c the waiter knows we're going to tip more
- they're not listening unless we say "pot" or "sex" (this, after I apparently said the previous statement about tipping aloud and my husband told me to tone it down)

And my biggest gem, while I was in the bathroom:
-I feel so much more grown up and confident than I did in my twenties, at least until I realize that I'm tucking my camisole into my granny panties.