When you haven't published a blog since November, you should choose some really good material with which to reenter blogdom. Something profound. Something sweet. Something earth-shattering.
Or, if you are a perfectionist that is super busy and stealing a few moments during naptime that really should be spent doing something else, you should reenter with simply: Something.
So as Baby #2 will be here in less than 2 months and Baby #1 is no longer a baby (3 years old!), and as my husband tries to wrap up his dissertation while both of us are way too busy with work, our lives are looking strange but beautiful. For us, preparing for our second boy is a lot less about getting "baby stuff" and a lot more about squeezing every inch of storage out of our house and helping our 3-year-old reach milestones before his life gets turned upside down by a brother (big boy bed and potty training).
A friend of mine always says of her family, "We don't value normal!" They do what works for them and don't get hung up on too many social constricts. My little family, however, is made up of a husband/dad who is a firstborn, a wife/mom who is a firstborn and an only son, who will officially be a firstborn in May. Can you say structured? We value normal. We value sane. We can't help it.
And yet, we are doing things now that our pre-parenting selves would definitely consider not normal, while our post-parenting selves just don't care. Sometimes it's about choosing your battles and survival.
Letting our son go pant-less at home: Okay, not so weird if you realize he's potty-training. It's pretty effective as he gets used to this new phase of life. But we were at a party last night and our friend (with whom we were sharing a sitter) tells my husband, "The babysitter just called, and Gavin wants to know if he can take off his pants." Oy vay!
Sleeping with a box of Kleenex between us: My husband and I are very close, and yet I have let something come between us in bed -- yep, Kleenexes. Apparently, during pregnancy your sinuses can react like the rest of your body: swelling and making your waking and sleeping hours much more treacherous. (I did not experience this with the first pregnancy.) So there they are: a rigid box of tissues in the middle of our cozy bed.
I can't put them on a table or on my side of the bed: I may have to move to reach them (a no-go when I'm already getting up at least once or twice to pee) or they may fall on the floor (enter weeping and gnashing of teeth). No. They are precious. And wedged between my beloved and me is where they'll stay until I can once again take breathing at night for granted.
Letting our son eat cereal and milk with his fingers: This is squarely in the category of choosing your battles, and yet, it's still so weird to me. He knows how to use a spoon, and I keep telling myself that someday soon he'll realize that eating sticky, soupy cereal with a spoon is way better, but I'm not really convinced. I suppose social pressure will take care of that for me.
The other weird thing we do with cereal is we let him mix all different kinds together. I actually started this with him when he was a baby, not realizing that it would become a thing. I would mix different cereals with Cheerios to make the whole bowl less sugary overall. Now, his morning meal is like those suicide drinks we used to make as kids, when we'd put all the flavors of fountain drinks into one cup. Yeah, that's where we are right now. But you know, my little sister eventually stopped putting ketchup on her green beans and mashed potatoes, and I can only hope Gavin will someday not mix fruity cereal with cinnamon cereal with maple cereal...and then shovel it in with his paws.
Well, nap time is over, so I guess I'll have to publish this before writing that witty, profound conclusion that is sure to have you coming back for more. And since no such conclusion currently exists in my head, I call this "saved by the bell."