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Somebody asked me the other day how old X was. Without even thinking I said “Two…. and a half”. Because we moved onto the years some time ago. They, however, were insistent I calculate and tell them his age in months so that they could compare his development chronologically to that of their 49 month old. Or something. And so, I rolled my eyes and finger counted as I reasoned aloud, “2, is 24 months… July is the 7th month… so 24 plus 7 is… Holy hell he’s 31 months old!”

I don’t know why it shocked me so much but it was as if I saw him moving out of the two’s for the first time. He’s been twenty-something months for so long and saying thirty-something just sounds ridiculously old. 31 months. Almost three.

Whatever mile-marker he’s stumbled upon is suiting him well. He’s sprouted several inches in the past few months, is slowly loosing the baby belly, is all undies all the time and is keeping us on our toes. I forget sometimes that he doesn’t forget a thing. He remembers being a very small baby, like, a NICU small baby and talks about it sometimes. Tells me of times I wasn’t there. It’s both creepy and wonderful.

He’s hilarious, and musical and loving. He’s spirited, firey and stubborn. He is so much his Papa and me. Yet so much his very own. He’s speaking Spanish now, well. And often surprises me with words I didn’t know he knew in the middle of the night. Or the middle of playtime.

And now, rather than wake up and cry for me to come help him back to sleep, he slithers out of bed with ninja silence and hobbles down the stairs to say “Mama, I wake up” as if I were confused by his presence before me. He is so proud of himself and we of him.

I am most amazed by his imagination, his pretending. I love getting sucked into his world and traveling on the great adventures of simply being two. His beautiful, loving heart that seems to beat for everyone else leaves me speechless. And when it breaks I ache like I never thought possible.

I see him walking this tight rope between babyhood and the rest of life as he spontaneously inserts yoga poses into the middle of conversation. The crawling up on my lap to nurse pleading “I NEEED YOU” and the giggly “I want to do that! ALL BY MYSELF!” as I follow his finger to the tallest, steepest slide at the water park. And what do you say? The word “can’t” seems to have fallen out of our vocabularies. David and I look at one another and encourage him instead, “someday, buddy, someday”. And that’s just fine by him, because right now there are dumping buckets of water, and miniature froggy slides and a Mama and a Papa to hold his hand when it all gets a bit too tough. Until he gets older, “more growed up”, and he can take down this big world, all by himself. Or at least until he’s three.

Sometimes shit happens. And sometimes the kind of shit happens that flips your whole world upside down. And because of said shit you realize you have been living in a depressed daydream formerly known as life for years with no other explanation than you had no freaking clue what you were doing, what you were missing and what it was all doing to those around you. No clue that in your blindness you’d become bits and pieces of the thing you hate. The one thing you swore you’d never be.

DAMN if feels great to wake up and be alive, but it also kills. It sucks, it’s sad, and it’s a knife turn in the heart to see the destruction, the pain, the brokenness you’ve left behind. Every bit of those shattered pieces are all I am, all I have. So far gone and so important. It needs to be fixed, mended, and nursed back to health and it will. I have faith it will be fixed, I have to.

Through I’ll I’ve endured, I’ve never been so low, so powerless. Yet to be in that place and not feel hopeless, not feel like the victim is a strange thing for me. And while I am embarrassed and enraged that a portion of that is because I was on the other side, it is also my solid proof that I’ve let go of the cause. That I am finally laying the hurt to rest and unearthing me. I wish I could grab so much and take it back, stuff it all away, rewind the hands of time and replay it all through the lens I see now. With clarity and love and life rather the clouds, the hurt. It would all be so different. Sure there would be pock marks and bumpy roads, maybe even a few landslides, but it would be ideal, it would be us.

I know now that I can’t promise perfection, that if I strive for that I’ll go the other way but I can promise to be present and I’m learning now that’s more important than anything. My hope of all hopes is that it really isn’t too little too late.

If you haven’t made your way over already thanks to all the internets buzz (or that fancy little button on my sidebar) please head on over to check out Blog Nosh. It’s an amazing way to find wonderful posts from blogs you might never find otherwise. And well, selfishly, I make my debut today (as editor, not writer) with a sweet, fun piece from The Newborn Identity

Oh and the amazing Megan has worked her arse off getting this thing going. Believe me, this woman is worth your clickage and then some.

Would you believe me if I told you I forgot I had a blog? Good, because it’s not true.

But I have been busy and drudging along and working through some things not fit for posting on these pages. And because I’m not comfortable pouring my heart out about what I’ve found myself in the midst of, it’s been easier to not post at all. To keep it in. To stay away. Because I feel like anything I could think of to write would be fake. Maybe not lies… but putting on a happy front where one did not belong. Not that there aren’t momentary rays of glorious sunshine but when those quick moments grab me, you better believe I’m basking in them rather than running here to write.

I realize this is all of this is mite cryptic and possibly worrisome, and it is, because, well… it is. It feels weird to be posting yet remaining private. I wonder how anonymous bloggers do it. How they allow themselves to be real with their cutesy names and pseudonyms. Maybe that in and of itself makes it easier. Maybe.

And so where do I go? I picture myself being in and out of here, sharing and withholding. Shaking things up and tearing them down.

I often seek my solace in this keyboard and this screen and I know I will need that now more than ever but I’m learning that part of growing up and growing out is knowing when to refrain to uttering the first thought on the tip of your tongue or even, occasionally, thoughts ones stewed and sulked upon, therapeutic or otherwise. To process before I speak (or type).

This ride is beautiful and disastrous, full of bumpy, pock marked roads but it’s being traveled, with white knuckles and withheld breath, but traveled just the same.

And for what it’s worth, one of my favorite songs seems oh so fitting all over again.

Crazy. Busy. Week.

I want to crawl in a hole and hibernate and wake up about a year ago, but we’re drudging forward. We rounded out the craziness with a day at the 2nd International Babywearing Conference and some shopping with these fine ladies.

And then off to see David tattooing at Navy Pier. Not only is he in marathon tattoo mode, he’s practicing life as a jet setter as he hops on a plane this afternoon to fly to OH to see Tom Waits, only to come back on the first flight back after the show. Ahhh, the good life.

And now we’re off to have some fun and raise some money for these warriors (in pink). Xav wishes you all a very, um, contemplative day.

Girl and X photo’s by the amazing Crooked Eyebrow.

There are few things in life that leave me speechless. And I’ll have to admit, when I come across something that does it usually isn’t long before the words come and the furious spewage begins. Today I received an email from my Itsy Bitsy Yoga mentor and had a serious “FOR REAL?!?!” moment. Apparently, premiering tonight on NBC is a show called “Baby Borrowers” (I’m not linking to it, because I don’t want to send them traffic but believe me, it’s real) Anybody want to guess what it’s about?

I wholeheartedly agree with the statement released by Zero to Three and so I’ll spare you my fireball and let you read their words below-

“It’s not TV, it’s birth control” is how NBC promotes its new reality series “Baby Borrowers.” On June 25th, the show will be launched on national television as an “intriguing new social experiment that asks five diverse teenage couples to fast-track to adulthood by setting up a home, getting a job and becoming caring parents.” Unfortunately, the NBC series exploits very young children in the pursuit of entertainment.

The babies and toddlers participating in this series will be separated from their parents and caregivers for three days. Unfamiliar teenagers will take care of them during this time. This setup can be very harmful for the babies and toddlers involved. For the past 80 years, many studies have shown unequivocally that babies and toddlers suffer when they are exposed to this kind of prolonged separation from family and left with people that they do not know or love. As all parents know, babies and toddlers are very distressed by separation. They cry, cling, and search for their parents. The longer the separation, the more upset they become. Some children are unable to sleep and refuse to eat. The responses routinely last long past the child’s reunion with the parent. Prolonged separations heighten young children’s separation anxiety and damage their trust that their parents will be available to protect and care for them. Children can become angry and rejecting of their parents after being reunited with them, damaging the fabric of the child-parent relationship.

These findings have become the basis for a new science of early childhood. A robust body of early childhood development and brain research clearly confirms the critical nature of early development. It is a time when young children form attachments with parents and caregivers, develop security and a sense of self, and learn what to expect from the world around them. Studies show that babies and toddlers need to feel safe and secure in order to form a positive sense of self, to form healthy relationships, and to feel confident to explore their world. This sense of security is dependent on the availability and stability of their trusted primary caregivers. Being separated for a
three-day period from a parent or trusted, familiar adult, and being thrust into the care of a total stranger who has no experience with the child—how he or she is comforted, likes to be fed, held, etc.—and who has no experience caring for young children at all, can be very stressful for the child.

As a “safeguard,” NBC has hired a nanny to be nearby in case there are concerns. However the nanny is no more familiar to that child than the two strangers who will be caring for him for three days. The nanny does not know him or what his signals
mean—such as what he needs when he cries out in the middle of the night, or how he shows he is hungry, tired, or is overwhelmed and needs a break from play. Moreover, even though the parents of these young children are watching via closed-circuit television, the babies are not aware of that and have no way of knowing how long the parents will be gone.

Legitimate social experiments are not conducted on national television or on reality shows. “Baby Borrowers” may have a catchy theme, but it exploits young children with potential harmful consequences. This is no social experiment. It is an extremely misguided endeavor that puts at risk our most vulnerable citizens, young children who need our love and protection.”

I can not imagine what would motivate parents to put their babies through this… oh, wait, it’s America- anyone wanna guess how much money they made? ::end rant::

PS- This opened a flood of topic in my mind, I’m interested to hear you opinions on this, more thoughts coming from me soon.

I’ve been busy, too busy. This week has been filled with catching up on orders at nest, preparing for an awesome spa day sleep over with a couple of my Mama Speaks ladies (read: cleaning, cleaning, and more cleaning) and a couple of days that disappeared into thin air thanks to the MINI having a crisis again.

But today, begins summer. Oh, summer my love. How can anything be crappy when the sun is shining and blue skies abound? So I’m taking the path of cheese and asking you to play along in a wee little summer time meme. Easy enough. top 10 things you love about the season. (and don’t forget to sign the linky)

Here goes my Summertime Top 10:

1. See above comment about sun and blue skies

2. Warmth (after 9 months of winter, I’m reeeeeady!)

3. Bare feet (I ALWAYS have bare feet, so maybe I should say bare feet minus the stares?)

4. Tank tops and hoodied nights

5. Beach. Beach. More Beach.

6. Walks, bike rides, skateboarding and endless other excuses to be outside.

7. Food on the grill. (did I mention, we don’t actually own a grill)

8. Watching my baby turn brown. Don’t worry we use sunscreen. It’s just fascinating to see the offspring of pale, burnable ol’ me turn golden.

9. Sweat. I’m weird. I actually like to sweat. One of those things that make me feel alive.

10. Outdoor concerts. Music is my muse and nothing beats a show outside. City festivals, amphitheaters, parks and more, here we come.

My baby is getting a little bloggy love today from the amazingly sweet Mamas at Mums the Wurd. Check it out, you might just be able to win yourself a sling while you’re over there.

I’ve been practicing for tomorrow for quite some time and yet the anguish is inevitable. I’m trying to reconcile the celebration and pampering due to my dear, darling husband for the amazing Papa he is and my pain in celebrating Father’s Day for the first time without a Father myself. The only thing I know how to do is to let it be, let it come and take it one moment at a time.

Happy Papa’s Day. You are amazing. We love you so