I can't remember the last time I cut my own toenails.
Is that odd? I'm not sure. I used to self-groom my feet on a fairly regular basis. But then I got older, and had more money to spend and realized that I deserve to be pampered. So, every three to four weeks or so I head to the local nail salon where I enjoy an hour of massage chair, foot rubs and a new color polish. The thought of a pedicure brings a smile to my face. In between those visits? I do nothing and my feet look fabulous.
Unfortunately, there are ten more toenails and ten more fingernails that I am responsible for grooming. Twenty tiny little nails, attached to tiny feet, attached to legs that kick and twist at the first sign of the nail cutter.
I dread cutting Eliza's nails. She hates it, and I hate it. But I also hate the way long nails look on a toddler. Not only is she likely to accidentally scratch herself - or another kid - but she is also spending most of her day playing on the floor, and her hands get quite dirty. It's just not sanitary for her to have long nails. So, every three to four days or so I brace myself, bring her into the bathroom, and begin the grooming process. She shrieks, she squirms, she screams, and does everything she can to wriggle her way free. I take several deep breaths, hold on tight, and try to go as quickly as I can. On a good day she will relent and let me cut most of her nails before she starts the second round of her protest; on a bad day she will scream the entire time and end up with uneven nails that ultimately need to be trimmed again a few days later.
In short, giving Eliza a "mani-pedi" is usually one of the lowest points of my week.
If only I could bring her to the salon with me. I'd gladly pay a professional do the dirty work. While I soak my feet in a tub of warm water and catch up on gossip magazines.
Anyone want to invest in a new business opportunity?
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Dunkin' Dark Roast
I am not a coffee drinker by nature. I never craved it in the morning and did just fine throughout high school, college and law school on only the occasional cup of Joe. Things changed when Eliza arrived. The sleepless nights were harder on me than any late night study session, and the stress of caring for a newborn was more taxing than preparing for the bar exam.
New mom glow? Nope. I felt like shit. All the time.
But then I started drinking coffee. The fog lifted, the birds chirped and the baby's crying stopped annoying me. Well, not really. But life became tolerable again. After a medium iced dark roast with milk and Splenda.
For some reason I feel ashamed that I am so reliant on my morning java. I was oddly proud to have been a member of the no coffee club for so many years. It feels weak to be so in need of caffeine and I know it's not the healthiest beverage. So that's why, when asked if I drink coffee, I feel the need to explain my status vis a vis coffee.
Not a coffee drinker by nature. Just a temporary member of the coffee club.
(They sell 18 year memberships, don't they?)
New mom glow? Nope. I felt like shit. All the time.
But then I started drinking coffee. The fog lifted, the birds chirped and the baby's crying stopped annoying me. Well, not really. But life became tolerable again. After a medium iced dark roast with milk and Splenda.
For some reason I feel ashamed that I am so reliant on my morning java. I was oddly proud to have been a member of the no coffee club for so many years. It feels weak to be so in need of caffeine and I know it's not the healthiest beverage. So that's why, when asked if I drink coffee, I feel the need to explain my status vis a vis coffee.
Not a coffee drinker by nature. Just a temporary member of the coffee club.
(They sell 18 year memberships, don't they?)
Thursday, February 17, 2011
At the car wash
Drive thru. (Drive through? Drivethrough? Drivethru?)
However it's spelled, I am loving the concept. Today I dropped off our dry cleaning, bought a lemonade at Panera, and got my car washed all while Eliza took her afternoon nap. It was awesome and terrible at the same time.
Eliza's not a great napper. She is the type of kid that needs two naps a day or else she's a hot mess by dinnertime. Unfortunately, she hates going down for a nap in her crip. There have been maybe 10 times over the past year that she's gone down for a nap willingly; the rest of her naps have come after a fight, or taken place in the car.
The car. It's a glorious place where the baby is strapped down and I can sit, listen to music and sometimes even talk on the phone without interruption. Playdates at our friends a half an hour away? Bring it on. Doing errands while she sleeps? Even better.
The old me, the pre-mom me, the cool me that lived in Cambridge and could walk to the dry cleaner or to the local mom and pop owned bakery would cringe at how dependant I am on the car these days. But that me didn't have to carry around a 20 pound ball of energy everywhere. The former me didn't have a crucial two hour window between naps to accomplish a day's worth of errands and make lunch. The need for multi-tasking wasn't there. Like most of my friends without kids, the former me just wouldn't have gotten "it".
But the new me does get it. The car is my new sanctuary. That's why today I enjoyed every second of getting the car washed at the car wash . Sitting, car in neutral, foot off the brake, baby strapped in, watching the water spray the dash, and the suds hitting the windows and just doing nothing.
That's the ultimate drive thru experience.
However it's spelled, I am loving the concept. Today I dropped off our dry cleaning, bought a lemonade at Panera, and got my car washed all while Eliza took her afternoon nap. It was awesome and terrible at the same time.
Eliza's not a great napper. She is the type of kid that needs two naps a day or else she's a hot mess by dinnertime. Unfortunately, she hates going down for a nap in her crip. There have been maybe 10 times over the past year that she's gone down for a nap willingly; the rest of her naps have come after a fight, or taken place in the car.
The car. It's a glorious place where the baby is strapped down and I can sit, listen to music and sometimes even talk on the phone without interruption. Playdates at our friends a half an hour away? Bring it on. Doing errands while she sleeps? Even better.
The old me, the pre-mom me, the cool me that lived in Cambridge and could walk to the dry cleaner or to the local mom and pop owned bakery would cringe at how dependant I am on the car these days. But that me didn't have to carry around a 20 pound ball of energy everywhere. The former me didn't have a crucial two hour window between naps to accomplish a day's worth of errands and make lunch. The need for multi-tasking wasn't there. Like most of my friends without kids, the former me just wouldn't have gotten "it".
But the new me does get it. The car is my new sanctuary. That's why today I enjoyed every second of getting the car washed at the car wash . Sitting, car in neutral, foot off the brake, baby strapped in, watching the water spray the dash, and the suds hitting the windows and just doing nothing.
That's the ultimate drive thru experience.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Happy mom-anniversary!
I have a one year old.
My daughter's first birthday was yesterday. We celebrated with a family party over the weekend, which culminated in Eliza's first taste of cake. We unwrapped countless beeping, singing plastic toys and tore wrapping paper into tiny shreds that covered the carpet like confetti. It was a great party. But all I could think about the whole time was me.
So much has changed since the moment that helpless newborn was first placed in my arms.
I can now change a diaper in fifteen seconds flat while holding down a wriggling, squirmy little girl. I carry cereal and crackers with me wherever I go. My car is littered with crumbs of food and I no longer care. I am constantly humming a child's song of some sort throughout my day.
I no longer remember to look at myself in the mirror before I leave the house. I routinely have remnants of food on my sleeves and lower pants; I've been thrown up on more times than I care to remember. I am an expert in swaddling, and am able to argue both sides of a debate on the merits of Ferber versus Weissbluth. Sleeping until 7 feels like a vacation. Going on vacation is no longer a vacation; it's simply a location change.
I have experienced a greater connection with a person than ever before in my life.
The free pass that everyone gives new mothers? Gone. I no longer have a baby, I have a toddler and that is a whole new animal. I am a veteran mom. I am now expected to have my act together. That sweet little baby who slept in her carseat while I colored my hair and spent an hour at the bookstore? Gone. She is her own little person with needs and an ever growing ability to express herself.
Not everything has changed. The nervousness I feel over the fact that my husband and I are entirely responsible for Eliza's health and happiness? That's still there. The love I feel when I'm holding Eliza? That's still there. The utter disgust I feel when she drools, poops, spits up or rubs her sticky fingers on me? Still there.
I have a one year old.
My daughter's first birthday was yesterday. We celebrated with a family party over the weekend, which culminated in Eliza's first taste of cake. We unwrapped countless beeping, singing plastic toys and tore wrapping paper into tiny shreds that covered the carpet like confetti. It was a great party. But all I could think about the whole time was me.
So much has changed since the moment that helpless newborn was first placed in my arms.
I can now change a diaper in fifteen seconds flat while holding down a wriggling, squirmy little girl. I carry cereal and crackers with me wherever I go. My car is littered with crumbs of food and I no longer care. I am constantly humming a child's song of some sort throughout my day.
I no longer remember to look at myself in the mirror before I leave the house. I routinely have remnants of food on my sleeves and lower pants; I've been thrown up on more times than I care to remember. I am an expert in swaddling, and am able to argue both sides of a debate on the merits of Ferber versus Weissbluth. Sleeping until 7 feels like a vacation. Going on vacation is no longer a vacation; it's simply a location change.
I have experienced a greater connection with a person than ever before in my life.
The free pass that everyone gives new mothers? Gone. I no longer have a baby, I have a toddler and that is a whole new animal. I am a veteran mom. I am now expected to have my act together. That sweet little baby who slept in her carseat while I colored my hair and spent an hour at the bookstore? Gone. She is her own little person with needs and an ever growing ability to express herself.
Not everything has changed. The nervousness I feel over the fact that my husband and I are entirely responsible for Eliza's health and happiness? That's still there. The love I feel when I'm holding Eliza? That's still there. The utter disgust I feel when she drools, poops, spits up or rubs her sticky fingers on me? Still there.
I have a one year old.
Monday, February 14, 2011
My blog's first post!
I have a blog.
I've been kicking around the idea of blogging for a few months but never acted on it. That changes today. I was inspired by an old diary I found over the weekend that belonged to my mom. She documented her day-to-day activities in her role as a full time mother to a three year old (me) and a baby (my brother). Nothing in the diary overtly revealed any of her feelings; in fact, the entries were fairly mundane. But they brought to life another side of my mom that I never had the opportunity to know. I'm not sure why it means so much to me now to know that my three year old self loved her bath to be filled to the brim with water, or that I used to wake my baby brother up each morning by climbing like a monkey into his crib. But somehow knowing those details makes me feel like a more complete person, and gives me strength as I forge ahead on this incredibly scary journey known as motherhood without the love and support and guidance of the best mom that I ever knew: my own.
A few details about me: I'm 33, married to a wonderful, supportive and silly husband, and living in the greater Boston area. We have a daughter, who looks just like her daddy, and a labradoodle named Lucy who was our first baby. My mom died of breast cancer when I was 17. My dad has since re-married and I have gained a stepmother and two sisters: the best possible outcome. My brother is my best friend.
I'm a writer turned lawyer turned mom turned part time lawyer turned part time writer. I love the beach, the Red Sox and peppermint stick ice cream. I hope my daughter will never need to rely on this blog to get to know me.
Gulp.
I have a blog.
I've been kicking around the idea of blogging for a few months but never acted on it. That changes today. I was inspired by an old diary I found over the weekend that belonged to my mom. She documented her day-to-day activities in her role as a full time mother to a three year old (me) and a baby (my brother). Nothing in the diary overtly revealed any of her feelings; in fact, the entries were fairly mundane. But they brought to life another side of my mom that I never had the opportunity to know. I'm not sure why it means so much to me now to know that my three year old self loved her bath to be filled to the brim with water, or that I used to wake my baby brother up each morning by climbing like a monkey into his crib. But somehow knowing those details makes me feel like a more complete person, and gives me strength as I forge ahead on this incredibly scary journey known as motherhood without the love and support and guidance of the best mom that I ever knew: my own.
A few details about me: I'm 33, married to a wonderful, supportive and silly husband, and living in the greater Boston area. We have a daughter, who looks just like her daddy, and a labradoodle named Lucy who was our first baby. My mom died of breast cancer when I was 17. My dad has since re-married and I have gained a stepmother and two sisters: the best possible outcome. My brother is my best friend.
I'm a writer turned lawyer turned mom turned part time lawyer turned part time writer. I love the beach, the Red Sox and peppermint stick ice cream. I hope my daughter will never need to rely on this blog to get to know me.
Gulp.
I have a blog.
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