In which there is an excuse for gorging on cake......

Nine years ago I was surprised and giving birth. I mean, not surprised because, after being pregnant a few times already - I was certainly aware it was imminent. Just so you know because I realize that the peek into the crystal murky waters of my mind that you get on the blog, here, MIGHT have led you to doubt my intelligence and/or sanity and believe I didn't know how it happened. No, I was surprised because the event was startlingly early. Not that it doesn't happen in the common human world or anything but, ya'll, this was MY world - you know, where everything goes just the way it's supposed to - or should, anyway. Where the lessons you've learned equip you to deal more heroically with the challenges that are before you. Where, having learned those lessons sort of protects you, in an optimistic sense, from continuing to screw your life up or, worse, to do so to your kid's lives. It was at that moment that all the confidence, possibly bordering on arrogance, and VA-voom that my parenting experience had imbued me with through the mothering of Things 1&2 were revealed for what they truly were. Lessons that would teach me much but be fruitless in preparing me for 'knowing' anything about something so mysterious and unique as a human life. No matter how many times you do the parenting gig, it will be different, amazing, and a thorough mental workout EVERY TIME. Silly me, I thought I had a tool case of useful expertise. Please excuse the well-worn wallet pic - this was before we had nifty scanning/photo preserving munchkins hidden in the computer.

When he weighed in at 24 lbs. at 3 mos. of age, I was so proud. I had used my expertise and careful watch on nutrition for myself and him to bring him from under 6 lbs. to a stout, bubbling baby in no time. By the time he was 7 months old and crawling up and down stairs and trying to walk, I began to realize that this was not the working of any expertise, but more of a natural wonder that would continue to challenge and confound me as I tackled the awesome task of communicating with someone who was faster and more agile than I but who could only blow raspberries at me, say 'no, no, no' and cry loudly. Around that time, he discovered electrical outlets. Neither of my other two Things seemed to ever care what was under the kitchen sink, who lived in the mysterious outlets, or how fast they could run down the road after the tractors working potato harvest to try to catch them - ON THE ROAD! No problem, I had parenting books and friends on my side - I went right into town and got some nifty plastic protectors and installed them all while he was asleep, smiling to myself that his outlet exploring days were over. The next morning, when he went to his favorite outlet and found it blocked, he waddled into the kitchen, pushed a chair up to the silverware drawer, got out a butter knife, waddled back to his favorite plug, and proceeded to attempt to pry out the offending plastic cover. I may have counted the days on that afternoon until he stopped nursing so I could have beer in my life, again.

At one, I put up the first baby gate I'd every used (Things 1 and 2 were awful children, don't you think, leading me to believe this would be easy and failing to train me up properly for the task?) because he took to crawling up the stair railing and 'see-saw'ing on the top rail (my billionth heart attack). I heard him wake from his nap, whimper, and then the characteristic 'thud' of his little feet hit the floor and started running. I met him at the gate to let him through but he put his little chubby baby hand up shouting, "no, no, no" so I stopped just for a FEW SECONDS which was long enough for him to reach his arm over the gate, flip the latch, and swing it open while clapping for himself and smiling a mile wide. He weaned himself the following week for some potatoes with cheese on the coffee table and I can't say I wasn't grateful.

So this has been the theme of our little dance together - an astonishing tale of a little boy who, when born with a head full of long, shiny black hair that put Mr. Potter to shame stumbled and bumped to get into the world and has been boldly trudging on since. I get tired just watching it. Always full of laughs and that Leo-esque charm that makes it impossible to keep a straight face when you should be acting like the mom but find yourself laughing hysterically. Like when, upon hearing that his sister couldn't get the beads she wanted at the craft store because two very rude women were sprawled out into the aisle and refused to move their cart for a little girl (and fresh off the experience of becoming Lord of the Rings and, as such, Orc enthusiasts), he ducked his little head down and said, 'I'll see to this..." I left my cart and everything to chase after him but, ya'll, he's really fast! I found him, just turning the corner into the aisle, myself, or heard him, more like it. Seems he transformed himself in the Orc Warlord and trudged up to the women with his imaginary spear gruffy shouting, "Fall in line, you maggots, NOW! Fall in Line!".

I should have acted surprised but their horror and,yet, total obedience to him as they fell in line and moved their carts over so his older sister could get to the beads was....poetic....and hysterical.....and priceless. I've found that my version of 'acting like a mom' rarely means anything other than loving this experience for all it's worth and remembering that, though my chance victories and accomplishments may delude me into thinking otherwise at times, I know nothing!

Happy Birthday, Kid!

As it would happen, this is also the beginning of the month so that means it's time to start another Great Giveaway. Bet you thought I was gonna give you something easy like, 'wish my kid happy birthday and you're in the drawing'? Heh....you know me too well. This month we'll be giving away something of the sock yarn variety - a grab bag of mini-skeins in random colors, shall we? To honor the chaos, comedy, and general bag of who-knows-what that this 'Mama' adventure embodies?