No One Told Me Being A Mom Makes You Invisible . . .

Ok, I'm just going to dive right into this one . . .

You get pregnant or decide to adopt. Whatever method you choose, you decide to become a parent (ok, sometimes you decide and sometimes fate decides for you. I'm a lesbian--I had to decide). All your wonderful friends rally around you, so ecstatic . . . feeling your belly, talking about the pitter-patter of little feet with you, planning baby showers, just so excited for you. You think, "Wow, I am really lucky. My friends rock my world." You might even invite a friend to be in the room when you give birth, or a whole group of friends to be in the room with you when you and your partner find out if your bundle of joy is a boy or a girl. Your friends tell you things like, "You're just going to have kick us out of your house when the baby's born; we're so excited . . . we're going to be there all the time." You feel so surrounded, so supported.

Then your beautiful, awe-inspiring baby arrives. You are beyond happy, and your friends are still there, visiting you in the hospital and after you get home. Your friends are still around, despite any fears you may have had while waiting for your baby to arrive.

Time marches on, and pretty soon you realize your friends aren't coming around as much . . . then not at all, it seems. You're not really bothered by it at first; your baby consumes you and that's just fine. But then your baby gets a little older, say a year or so, and then all of a sudden you're reading on Facebook how everyone went out to the bar last night and had so much fun. And it hits you: no one invites you anywhere anymore.

I love my son more than my own life; anyone who knows me knows that. But most days, I feel totally unattractive, probably because I only get a shower every couple days. I eat standing up while on the way to do something else baby-related, barely get to use the bathroom by myself and go to the grocery store for social interaction. And I need a night out every once in a great while. But when no one invites you, what to you do?

I feel like these people that used to always be there just operate on assumptions now. The assumption that I can't do anything because I have a baby or that I don't want to do anything. Not to mention hiding behind excuses like, "You don't have to be invited!"

I feel that getting out every once in a while makes me a healthier, happier person, which in turn makes me a better mother to my son (and wife to Amy!). So now I feel like I have a new task to tackle: find new, like-minded friends who understand the demands of parenthood, but I have to find them while I spend 80 hours a week at home running a day care. Hmmm . . . how easy is this going to be?

I don't really think there's a lot of people out there reading me, even though I'd like to think otherwise, but if you are reading this, whether you do follow me or you just happen to stumble upon this, please comment and let me know I'm not alone.

"For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson~

My Baby Keeps On Growing!

So I'm back . . . again. The holidays are here and gone, it's 2010, and what now? I always feel a sense of depression after the holidays, the letdown of it all, I suppose; the fact that Amy, Cullen, and I were all sick for Christmas didn't help. But it's a new year, full of plans and hopes and dreams, a clean slate. One thing that I am super-aware of at the moment is how fast my baby is growing.

Now, obviously, any intelligent person is aware that their baby is constantly growing, from the moment of conception. But for some reason, I seem to be hypersensitive to that fact currently. The growing stack of storage tubs in his closet holding mounds of adorable (and tiny) baby clothes, anxiously awaiting Act II when they can debut on baby brother or sister; the toys (and toys and toys!) constantly being rotated and getting more and more advanced; the growing number of feats he can accomplish, providing us with a longer list of things to look out for (ex. As I exited the bathroom this evening, I happened to glance at the stairs and noticed my baby boy smiling at me through the banister, so proud of himself for independently climbing halfway up the stairs. Yes, we have gates, no it wasn't latched, and thank Goddess he knows how to climb on his hands and knees. We're not perfect, we're parents! [courtesy of Nick Jr.]).

He's so beautiful when he runs across the room, looking back over his shoulder to assure that I am close behind, chasing him, gaining on him. His laughter rings out as he does a 180 and runs into my legs, wanting me to pick him up and snuggle him--which I do, of course. He loves to dance, to any music that comes on and also to Guitar Hero. As soon as he hears his Momma come home from work and call out, "Hello," he could be anywhere in the house, but drops what he's doing and runs towards her voice, laughing the whole way. He climbs on everything in sight at this point and loves to give kisses and hugs. He says, "up" when he wants held and feeds himself with his miniature utensils.

It was kind of funny, an experience I didn't expect, when I was in Pizza Hut last night picking up dinner. I was waiting for our food and I happened to look over and noticed a family with a set of twin boys that had just walked in. The boys were maybe somewhere between 12 and 14, and they were cute, with their reddish-blonde hair and their skater clothes. My chest swelled slightly and my heart ached for Cullen (at home with Momma) as I thought, "He's going to be that big--and bigger!--one day, and my love for him will feel just like this, just the same." He will always be the one I would die to protect, worry incessantly about, and whose world I will always want to be perfect.

What did I do before him? I certainly can't remember . . .