Month 35

Month 35

Dear Olivia,

I started writing a post for you two weeks ago and I decided to sit on the post and not publish it because it was rather grim.  In all honesty, it was written after a rather long day filled with you declaring your independence every few minutes followed by excessive foot stomping and shrieking.  I’m not going to sugarcoat it – it has been a difficult few months.  Two year old’s are really horrible people and others who feel this is a wonderful age, clearly do not spend enough time with two year olds.  Every other word is want or need and when your absurd demands are not met, you turn to sassy obnoxious behavior, usually directed at Miles.  I had to listen to you cry for two hours that you wanted and needed macaroni and cheese.  Literally every five minutes you asked if you could have macaroni and cheese and I would respond with, “please sit tight, it’s coming.”  Finally it was done and I swiftly placed it in front of you.  You then turned to me and said, “I don’t want this – I’m not hungry.”  These are the moments I have to talk myself off of a ledge because you drive me batshit insane.

This month, in preparation of your first day of preschool, I decided to tame your mane and finally give you your first haircut.  I waited quite a bit because it took you a really long time to grow hair and because it was the last bit of baby left on you.  I discussed in great lengths with my hairdresser Misty, how to approach the first haircut and she gave pointers as to how to avoid a meltdown in the middle of the salon.  You were well rested, you had snacks, I had toys – we even had you come in a little early so you could watch me get my hair cut and to see it was no biggie.  I should have known who I was dealing with because you’re not really a child to freak out over little things like this.  Of course I was over prepared and you watched diligently the entire time without shedding one single tear.  Sadly, this could not be said for me.  We have had a rough patch recently and I know you’re growing up and watching this ‘right of passage’ so to speak tugged at my heart a bit.  I was prepared with my little ziplock bag and made sure every hair strand made it in.  Misty did notice that you did have two grey hairs and I’m beginning to wonder if this rough patch is also taking its toll on you as well?  We went out to dinner after to celebrate and everything was delightful.  At 10:00 that evening, I made the horrible discovery that I did not have your bag of hair clippings and I felt my heart drop.  I tried desperately to remember where I last saw it but my mind was a complete blank.  I broke down in tears that I would be so careless with something so special to me.  I visited the salon and the surrounding area outside of the salon with no luck and pretty much accepted the fact that it was gone.  We had dinner the night before at a brewpub and I had this horrible feeling that I had left it there and certainly a brewpub upon seeing a bag of hair clippings would not understand the significance and toss it.  Your father and I were out of town at the time they reopened the following morning so I had your Grandpa stop in to see if they had it and by some amazing luck, they did.  The manager at the time overheard the busboy pick it up and comment how gross it was that someone left behind their bag of hair and he told him to hold on to it because it must have meant something to someone.  Yes, I cried and yes I’m crazy for being so sentimental over hair but one day when you’re a Mother, you will understand.  If one day you are a Mother and you still don’t understand, well then you’re just cold and your heart is made of ice.

You started preschool two weeks ago and it really couldn’t have come at a better time.  You love it and ask every morning if you’re going to school.  The first day left me with anxiety when I heard that you refused to use their bathroom and had to be changed three separate times due to accidents.  The preschool requires every student to be potty-trained and the first thing that came to mind when I picked you up was oh crap, you’re going to be kicked out of school and I’m going to be stuck with you every hour of every day for the next year!!  Oh. Hell. No.  It couldn’t happen and I would do everything in my power to prevent that from happening even if it means sending you to school dehydrated and wearing six layers of pants.  The first day I picked you up from school, I recognized your teachers in the play yard and I did a quick scan across the playground for you.  I caught a glimpse of you running in to the playhouse where I found you screaming at this poor little pudgy boy who was glaring back at you.  It took me ten minutes to persuade you to leave the playhouse and come home.  This in my eyes makes this a successful endeavor.

You are very vocal and honest now in your preferences for everything.  I never know if I’m on the in or outs with you when you wake up in the morning so I always proceed with a bit of precaution – kind of like approaching a lost dog.  It may look sweet but you don’t know if that thing is going to lurch forward and bite your face.  I tiptoe quietly to your bed and greet you and wait for the words that will set the day in motion: “Hi Mommy!” or “I don’t want you – I want my Daddy!”  The latter is a total buzzkill and I know I’m in for a horrible day because it’s just a day where I’m set up to lose before I even begin.  Fine, have your Daddy – see if I care.

It’s funny how being a Mother totally changes your outlook on things.  I used to always look at other people’s children as adorable and hilarious but after dealing with a manic depressive multiple personality midget, I suddenly find myself annoyed by everyone else’s children when I’m in public.  I see their cute little faces giggling and I glare at them with distaste because I know they’re all the same.  You’re all sweet when you want something and then you turn on a dime and become these little psychopaths running amuck.  Children are crazy and you are the President.

Today was picture day at school and my fear of having a daughter is suddenly become a realization.  From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I trembled at the thought of having a girl because I for one was not a girly girl growing up and thus had nothing very feminine to offer you.  I don’t know how to do hair nor do I pick out the frilliest dresses.  I thought about putting you in a dress for picture day but then I envisioned you running around with your dress hanging around your neck because you still don’t know how to pull the dress down.  Your hairdo consisted of a second brush over and leave-in conditioner.  We arrive at school and I am met by what appears to be a mini beauty pageant because I’m looking at midgets with perfectly coiffed hair and the biggest poofiest dresses one has ever seen.  It is Pleasanton so I wouldn’t even put it pass some of these ladies to do a little spray tan action on their youngins.  So you’re not wearing a ‘Gone With the Wind’ dress.  You are wearing adorable little Converse sneakers and you’re smiling – what more could I ask for.  Although secretly I do hope one of the girls gets her dress caught in the tricycle.

In one month you will be three years old and my only hope is you don’t spit, bite or throw things as I hear is a common occurence amongst three year old’s.  You have very odd demands when it comes to bedtime.  As I’m leaving the room, I have to kiss and hug you at least three times.  I have to say, “I love you more than all the stars” and “Goodnight my babies.”  You then demand that I say to you “Goodnight Gerri.”  If I don’t call you Gerri – you freak out so you’re now Gerri.  I’m ok with this as long as you don’t want me to call you Sir Chauncey thumb up the butt skull face – then I might have to say no.  You do have the potential to be pretty awesome which gives me a little hope on bleak days.  You have named our little fisherman statue Al Gator and you can order my entire Starbucks beverage on your own.  If you can’t remember my drink in your old age while reading this, my drink is a Grande half-caf soy no whip Cinnamon Dolce Latte.  If that’s not a party trick, I don’t know what is.

I may not be able to provide you with all the one-on-one time your heart desires at this time nor can I promise you the girliest of girly upbringings but you can always count on the fact that if you need anything or have a problem, I will always be here for you and I will always have a stack of the most current catalogs on hand.  In my honest opinion, I think that’s better than any fancy braid I could teach you.




One response to “Month 35”

  1. Awesome. You're the best Yen, and even though you don't think you're doing a great job, as an outsider, I see that you are. And I'm not surprised. I mean this from the bottom of my little mexican heart, I hope that I can be as good a mother as you. Second to my own of course 😉 Miss those kids. They're adorable and Olivia is "special" ahahh! I kid I kid…She's great, and you're the best. Love love love…

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