Two

There are so many great things that come in two…

Burgers on a Big Mac, eyes, hands, elbows, boobies (since we’re on body parts), balls (unless you’re Lance Armstrong), twins, high heels…

… and my kid. There are not two of him, but he is now two.

Like, seriously, where the fuck did those two years go?!

I suppose they were lost in the melee of diapers, animal flashcards, and Playdoh. As much as I’d like to admit that I’m mostly the same person that I was before him, I really am not. I talk to other mothers about their kids now, (sporadically) and get a ridiculous thrill out of the fact that my boy mimics every word that comes out of my mouth. (I still retain my sailor’s vocabulary, but at least only I realize it when my kid is yelling “FUCK”. )

In other ways, I am still me. I don’t like to cook still, and very closely resemble Cher’s character in the movie Mermaids when it comes to preparing meals. (Finger foods, finger foods.) I still enjoy whiskey at times, and other assorted adult beverages, and sometimes wonder if, as he gets older, my kid will recognize the tell-tale signs of my tipsiness.

I am glad that I now have a little person to drag around to fun things like the zoo and the science museum, as I did not exactly enjoy coming off as a creeper/pedophile when frequenting such places before motherhood. Too, I like this having a young one to throw themed birthday parties for. (We just had a Dr. Seuss one.)

Clearly, I have lost my edge when it comes to writing, because it seems that I am rambling now, and have written a post of little or no interest, so I think it’s time to say goodbye for the night.

So farewell for now, dear readers. I just wanted to let you know I’m still around.

XOXO

 

The Girl That Was

I suppose I am still Her, at least a little bit. That girl who blurbed on and on about mostly herself in all those previous posts that were so entertaining in a car-crash-sort-of-way. My biggest problem now is navigating WordPress’s new look. It has been many moons and a daylight savings time since I’ve thought much about my blog. Aye, me.

To say that I have the perfect baby would be a crude understatement. Yes, at least most mothers would say as much about their own spawn, but how many can actually say they are being honest when they say it? Of all the lies I will never admit I may have told in my life, this is not one of them. My Boy is the essence of everything good that is in me, and all the good that is not in me, too. He bears no hint of the darkness that resides in me, and is forever ready with a smile for anyone who pays him any mind. If there is any evil in him, it may only be heard in the demon shriek he has perfected, which he really only uses to entertain himself.

My life in other aspects is somewhat more bleak. In my previous post, I hinted of dissention in my relationship. ‘Tis not the stuff of beloved Rom-Coms these days, unless we are referring to the part in such movies where the lovers spat. Yes, it is safe to say that there is much spatting going on. Let’s just blame it all on the Rockstar’s Daughter.

Ok, it’s not entirely her fault, but I do believe her existence begets a black hole of exhaustion that sucks in everyone she comes in contact with. Even the dog is bone-weary. Ha. I made a joke there.

That being said, I felt the need to brief you all on the goings-on of your Bookwhore. I cannot say with any certainty that I will be back in any capacity closely resembling the former Me, but I have been feeling the need to once again take up my quill and write. (Something other than just my book, that is.)

Until We Meet Again,

XOXO

Sparklebumps

My Boy

My boy,

I think you are most beautiful

while you sleep-

arms stretched “this big”

and legs splayed, frog-like.

But then you awaken,

and I see

how completely wrong I can be.

You smile,

and even though your mouth

is as empty as an old man’s,

that smile holds

the whole world within it;

and I cannot help but

hold your tiny grinning face

in my hands.

I can scarce believe

that without a single intelligible word,

you make me fall in love

over and over again.

There are times

when I’ve felt a failure;

but looking into your beloved face,

I realize that whatever may come,

I’ve already succeeded.

Contemplating Motherhood

I always said I would be a good  no, a great mother if I ever had kids.

Well, I have one now, and I’m starting to think I might have not had a fucking clue what the hell I was talking about.

I don’t find myself rambling on non-stop to every ear willing to listen about my son’s sleeping habits, bodily functions, learning progress, etc. Of course, I tell them if they ask, but when people ask, “How’s the little one?” I am quite at a loss for words, and stumble around in my head frantically searching for the right words I’m supposed to say. My response is usually- “He’s good. He’s the cutest baby in the world. He’s a happy boy.” People look at me after I’ve said so, waiting for me to add more. What else is there to say? He’s a baby. He sleeps a lot and cries when he’s hungry.

Then there are the times my Babe and I are at home. Of course I read to him, which he seems to relish, perhaps because I do all the voices. I give him the recommended Tummy Time, despite the fact that he came out holding his head up and possessing of legs pretty much strong enough to walk on. We go for walks sometimes, during which I worry that the cracks in the city sidewalks are bad enough to cause shaken baby syndrome. I feed him when I’m supposed to, and play with him so I can see his adorable smile; but then I hear these women talking about how much they love babies and always want to hold theirs, never wanting to put them down. I put mine down. In fact, the only time I hold him is to feed him, read to him, and occasionally cuddle profusely with him. But what I wonder is: do all those women obsessed with their babies have maids? Because I have a house to clean, and a dog to take care of, and a yard full of flowers to take care of, and how the hell am I supposed to hold my baby all the time when I have all that shit to do?

I don’t look ahead and think to myself that, “Oh, hey! I’m going to want another one of these little papooses in a couple of years so this one has someone to play with, or so I have another baby to hold.”  I love him to bits, and I want him to grow up to be a strong, respectable man, but how could I possibly love another one when this one has my whole heart? Even if he did make me completely miserable the entire time he was growing inside me. And I already want him to be 2 or 3, so he can talk back to me and I can at least understand him.

I haven’t dropped him on his head, but neither do I gingerly hold him as if he might break the way my Rockstar does. I don’t like to see his sad face, but when he cries when he’s not hungry, I don’t immediately pick him up, and I tell him he doesn’t need to fuss, because I know he’s faking it. I know this, because during these times, I walk over to him and start singing “Somebody to Love” and his little fake cries turn into squeals followed by smiles. At least he has good taste in music.

Honestly, the only proof that I have at least one motherly bone in my body is the plethora of pictures that have filled up my phone and my Facebook wall.

I’m not even sure my Rockstar finds me to be motherly, since he asked me why do I have to cart the baby around all over the place. I just thought I was acclimating him to the general public. And I thought him being with me was better than leaving him with a babysitter….

I suppose I’ll not really feel like a mother completely until he gets old enough to actually call me “Mommy”. I guess if he believes it, then there’s no reason to doubt it.