A few months ago, when I had noticeably dropped baby weight, Lucy looked at me and asked me to suck in my tummy. I did and she looked at me approvingly. "Yeah," she said. "Now you look like a real woman!"
If I were a real woman, my neighbors would never drop by and find breakfast still in the kitchen at 3 o'clock. My home would be spotless, dishes in the dishwasher or the cupboard, food in the fridge or the cupboard, not mouldering on the counter.
If I were a real woman, I would view my entire closet as wearable--not shun specific items because they show off my muffin top. Tee shirts would not be a viable option unless they were cute and girlie. I would be perpetually fresh and pink...like a rose.
If I were a real woman, I would have clean windows all of the time, dog and small children notwithstanding. I would never raise my voice and my poor, lucky husband would be at my beck and call...totally whipped and powerless before my whims.
At least some of the time I can make myself look like a real woman!
Maybe a "real woman" could have gotten her two-year-old dressed before one p.m. today. Not me. I'm just an imposter with a kid who (apparently) has a very limited choice of clothes which are not "weird." We honestly had to wait for the wash to process his "My Dad Rocks!!" shirt. The previously acceptable "Monster Dunk (you better watch out!)" shirt is no longer acceptable.
I keep wondering if I should just clear out all of the clothes he says are "weird." It would leave him with about four shirts and four pair of pants. But then, I think... what if it just gets worse and he selects a subgroup of these clothes? I purposely don't have all of his favorites clean all of the time, because I want him to branch out. Maybe for some people this would fall into the "Pick Your Battles" section of Parenting 101. I don't know. He doesn't wear about 80% of his clothes, and 90% of his clothes are hand-me-downs. Of course, like anyone, he's more tractable when his mood isn't spoiled by being tired or hungry or cold or hot, so he does branch out. Just not very often.
What would a real woman do? Have him pick out 5 shirts and 5 pants and pack the rest away for Charlie?
Speaking of Charlie!
He has his third tooth coming through and the fourth is just behind it. He's walking now about as much as he is crawling when he's hanging out, but if he really needs to get somewhere, he crawls. Bedtime might be his favorite time of the day, because his siblings hold still long enough for him to maul them. We have been comparing Charlie to a zombie for a long time because he lurches toward faces and tries to eat them. He also eats toes. He likes bikes and wheels and shoes and the dishwasher. He still has a little Jack-Jack separation anxiety when I leave him, but (I think) it's getting better.
Lucy has a little piano romance going on. She thinks it's cool and will go "practice." I taught her the names of the keys and taught her basic fingering. She likes to play chords and do modified scales. She is still liking gymnastics a lot. She's getting ready right now for a fun meet in November, so is practicing her routines in class. I don't see her practicing a lot at home. Although Lucy goes to gymnastics twice a week, she identifies herself as a soccer player. Her team this year changed their name every game. One week they were the Smurfs, one week the Blue Bats...you get the idea. In the last game of fall, she scored a goal. When she tells the story, she just giggles and shrugs her shoulders and says "I was the only one there, so I kicked it in."
In the last few days, Gabe has had a flip switched. If pressed, I would describe it as an overactive, destructive, slightly violent switch....but hey. No one asked me. He is very interested in jumping on things and leaping onto things and leaping off of things and throwing things and tipping big things over. When I ask him to please be quiet, or calm down, he likes to say, "I don't have to!" Lots of fun! I do feel like I've got one thing on Gabe right now. He hates lotion or cream and although he has very dry skin that gets chapped and needs some kind of help, he will not let me put anything on him. I have taken to putting a little Aquaphor on my fingers and "wrestling" with Gabe. As I wrestle, I smoosh his cheeks and face with the Aquaphor. Pretty sneaky, huh?
A friend described being a parent as 49% torture, 51% pure joy. The percentages can go all sorts of ways but I agree with her. Some things do seem like torture, but the pure joy parts of it make the torture fade back. :) I am happy to say that although some days include some torturous times, I am grateful for my family a million times over. It's hard to imagine life without them.