I'm Not Asking For The Cover of Time Magazine!

Everyone that has children wants them to do great things. Not just for the obvious reason of needing a retirement plan since that whole social security thing is looking grim at best, but because you love them insanely and you want them to be happy and educated and well rounded and employed. We are no different with Tegan. We want (and know) that she will be amazing at...something.

It's that something, that question mark that leads many parents (okay, at least Josh and I) to turn every little thing Tegan does into a sign of her feature talents. She liked water as a baby...SWIMMER! Huge fan of books...WRITER! Rolling and throwing the ball...ATHLETE! And we're all familiar with the cat thing which of course points to VET! Then we remind ourselves that she is also good at things like shitting her pants and making fart sounds with her mouth, and neither of us seem to jump at possible careers that list those as requirements. Although we are happily accepting suggestions.

So of course when Tegan starting playing with crayons and paper the other day, the artist in me couldn't help but go bananas at the thought of a little artist. She seemed to really enjoy herself, and did surprisingly well at hold the crayons and understanding line and form and balance (kidding). She does enjoy it though..a lot I'd say.

(My Little Ar-teeeest)

But I know this might or might not mean anything. Yes, children naturally gravitate towards certain things, and sure, interests they have as they get older impact what the choose as work, but now is far too early to really know anything.  I mean, I should probably wait for her to um, I don't know, walk, and say more than 5 words before my imagination maps out her whole life. (I solemnly swear to not be a parent that pushes their kid into a certain career. Even if that career is as a highly payed and well respected artist that is nationally recognized, and lives in a super awesome loft/studio in NY...Scout's Honor.)

Because right now, in reality, toys are for playing, Books are pretty to look at, and crayons, while they do make really pretty marks, are often times still best for eating.  

(I mean, who wouldn't? They smell so good!)

Animals and Politics

Tegan loves to be around other kids. Loves it. She watches other kids when we are out, and always trying to go to them if she can. I love that she's social. I mean, who wants their kid to be like Ally Sheedy from Breakfast Club or that creepy guy from The Burbs? No thanks. Lately, I'm beginning to wonder if their aren't some parents out there trying to raise socially defective kids.

I have the attitude that babies are babies, and are often more like little animals (which they are) than little people. Sometimes they hit, or take a toy, or get a toy taken. I see this as normal. Sort of baby survival of the fittest. I like to handle this by not handling it. Obviously, I will tell Tegan to be nice if she hits a kid or something like that, but she doesn't know how to be soft handed or how to say "listen asshole, that was my shape sorter and I want it back." She's a fucking baby.

These parents that hover over their kids and carry them off the second anything gets less than perfect are creating cry babies. The kind of kids that make it so that other kids can't play tag anymore. We don't need to let them brake bottles over each others heads (pun intended), but we should let them experience some physical interaction before they're 37.

This seems to be how most people parent. Particularly at my story group each week. Which is why I am BEYOND thrilled when Tegan gets to play with a baby who's parents are paranoid nut bags. It's so nice to just let kids play, and not spend the whole time burning an ulcer into your guts because the other parents are raising the boy in the bubble or forgot they're not chaperoning a Junior High dance.

When my friend called and said she wanted to bring her little girl over for the first time I was thrilled. She is the opposite of the parents mentioned above. In fact, she was cooler about the girls getting crazy than I was. This was particularly true when a whole container of puffs spilled, and my obsession for tidiness (understatement) couldn't refrain from kicking in.

So Tegan spent the evening playing with her new bff Vienna. And mom had a reason to put on real clothes and speak like a college graduate. Win. Win. Sometimes they cried, and sometimes fingers went into eyeballs and it wasn't always perfect, but everyone survived...and it was a lot of God damn fun.

(friends)

Let Me Tell You A Little Story, Again.

As previously mentioned, Tegan is constantly changing. What she wanted for dinner last week now gets pitched to the floor, playing with the shoes in the closet is boring, and even Samson seems to be getting the cold shoulder as of late. Everything seems to come and go in Tegan's world except for her love of raspberries (which we'll get to another time) and books.

The kid loves books. She will spend half an hour flipping the pages back and forth, obsessively trying to master the thin pages (without ripping them to shit). For the most  part, I love that Tegan loves books. One very compelling reason is that it comes in very handy when she is having a meltdown. Let me be clear, when these tantrums occur I would rather be a half drunk call girl stuck in a room with Patrick Bateman than try to calm her down with any traditional methods.  A book is the only thing to tame this one.

While her love for books never fades, her acceptance of new books is with much reluctance. She has her favorites and that's that. We go to the library every week where I grab the ten board books look the least likely to be carrying the plague, and we go home and give them all a test run.  On a good week, I'm lucky if I can get two.

This basically means that I am stuck reading the same books over and over and over. I shouldn't call it reading because at this point I don't even need to look at the pages. If you think watching the same kids shows over and over again is the most suicide inducing aspect of parenting, let me tell you, reading about a car going beep beep over and over is equally annoying.

Honestly, I'm pretty thrilled she loves books so much. It's better than loving TV or Barnie or methamphetamine. Hey, and maybe this will stick around, and she'll actually complete her reading assignments in school (unlike her mother who despised reading until she found out not all writing was done by old, boring white men) and maybe become a writer...a really famous talented one and write the next great masterpiece like War and Peace, or Catcher in The Rye...or Twilight!

Okay, okay, I'm getting ahead of myself here. Although, this whole fantasy of how Tegan will support me in old age is a much better (and less psychologically damaging) pipe dream than say, pageanting. For now I'll settle for reading the same five books over and over again, and attempting to broaden her literary horizons. The Truth is, if she's happy to listen, I'm happy to read...again.

(book worm/future NY Times best selling author)

Giving The Finger

Tegan is officially pointing...at everything. In addition to the finger gesture comes the word "that? or more like "dat?" with a very clear question mark attached to it. Is is fucking adorable. (my use of "fuck" indicates a level of cute that far exceeds that of puppies and kittens cuddling in a hay filled barn.)

Aside from the obvious point (pun intended) that she is expressing herself, and wanting to know what EVERYTHING is, it's the opening of the parenting door I have most looked forward to. Questions. I love the things kids come up with. Even before I was a parent or an expectant one, I loved to see all my friends post things their kids would ask and say. Classic comedy that can't be rivaled. I mean, Bill Cosby made a whole damn show for it.

Right now I am simply telling her what something is. "Dat?" Tree.  "Dat?"  Toothbrush.  "Dat?" cat vomit.  But one day comes my much anticipated chance to come up with equally clever answers to questions like "why do my ears stick out?" "So that Batman has something to pick you up by when he wants to take you out to dinner"

I realize that this is a slippery slope, and that when the day comes for such answers I want to make sure I pick and choose when to insert some "creative license" as I'll call it. After all, I don't want my kid showing up to kindergarten telling her classmates that the grass is green because leprechauns pee out their feet.

For now we'll stick to "dat?" and (mostly) correct explanations. Although, I make no promises. If my child points at you and says "wiener" I had nothing to do with it.

("dat?")

God Made Dirt...

Tegan is almost walking. She is in this funny "middle" phase where she crawls around with her ass in the air from crawling on her hands and feet rather than her knees. While this is a super exciting milestone, it has also required me to be a bit quicker on my toes and definitely more creative.

A few months ago, I could get away with having her play in the office while I worked on school stuff (okay, okay, while I played on Facebook and daydreamed about items on Etsy). Now, I might get 3 minutes of that when I'll suddenly realize "it's gotten awfully quite in here", and discover Tegan in the living room watching tv.

Along with my need to watch her like a hawk, I must also come with new "exciting" things to do. The closet full of shoes, and pushing the cart out front are old hat. So I have yet again had to expand my parenting repertoire. And the scariest new place, our backyard.

It was once a well manicured oasis (blatant exaggeration), but seeing as we know our house will soon be a banks house, saying we've let it get a little overgrown would be an understatement. There are weeds as tall as her out there, and old dog turds, and rotten grapefruits and decayed bird heads for all I know. Okay, okay, so I'm painting a pretty terrifying picture, it's not quite so bad, but overgrown for sure.

But she loves it, and I can see why. And I loved that stuff too when I was little. Ask my mom about pulling leeches off me after catching frogs in a pond. Who wants to sit inside and play with dolls when there's mud and dirt and grass outside to romp in and ultimately shove in your mouth? Not this girl.

Yes, her clothes get dirty and I'm sure she's gotten into plenty of nasty things that would make a grown person vomit, but that's being a kid. And that's learning. We keep babies inside because we worry about germs and what not, but then we wonder why kids are fat and depressed and don't play outside later in life...really? So I let my kid eat dirt. I let her get messy. She scrapes her knees and gets bruises, and as a result, she's going to kick some major ass...and definitely have a better immune system.

(Trouble)

Who Are You, And What Have You Done With My Baby!

There are a lot of things you hear over and over and over again as a new or expectant parent. "Good luck getting any sleep" is a classic, or "GET THE DRUGS!" and even "whatever you do, don't rock them to sleep!"   While all of these and about a half dozen more got shared with you everyday whether the advice was requested or not, the great thing is, you can choose to ignore it, which in a lot of cases, I did. The one that every experienced parent always says (particularly older ladies) is that it all goes by so fast. This one takes the cake. 

And it does. (I'm going to do my damnedest to avoid crying on my keyboard and try to stick to my usual banter, but I make no promises.)  I've accepted that just when I get something mastered, she changes. When her sleeping is down pat, it's time to cut a nap. When she stopped falling on her face (this actually still happens quite a lot), she started slamming her fingers in doors. Once I've put everything just out of reach, she's to the next shelf. Oh, and the clothes, and amount of food they eat...you get the point. They are constantly evolving...literally.

I can handle all of this. I can handle the constant changes and need for adaptation. In fact, I like it. What I don't like is that I never feel like I will remember her previous stages enough.  I have moments where I wish I could just slow it all down or bottle my state of mind or something. No matter how many photographs I take, or videos I shoot, or blogs I write,  I will never get her just right.

When you see someone everyday it can be hard to notice gradual change. It's like that with kids, and then one day I will be holding her and catch a glimpse of us in the mirror and realize how big she looks in my arms. It is mind blowing.

I know it will just keep going faster, and in what feels like a few months, she'll be borrowing the car and asking for a tattoo (to which I will reply with a raised eyebrow and a quick flash of the then faded and saggy skull and crossbones on my back that I thought was super cool at 18). And boys (sorry Josh), and college and marriage, and then her having a baby. Okay, my heads about to implode. 

In 24 days Tegan will be a year old. And in that year, she has never been away from me for more than 5 hours. You may think this makes me insane. It does. It also makes for an indescribable bond.  And at 11 months I already find myself saddened by her independence...and then I remind myself that a little independence means the occasional happy hour with the bff, and a date with the husband, so I relax a bit. With turning 1 will come walking, and running, and expressing herself with more (human like) speech, sleepovers at the grandparents, big girl beds, mommy going back to work and a lot of other new things. And I'm beyond excited to see what the 1 year old Tegan has to offer. I just wish I could have had this one a little longer.

(341 days ago)

Take Me To Your Linguist

Every aspect of watching Tegan develop is entertaining and often times very humorous. She learned to crawl by chasing cats, motor skills from diligent practice and learned to eat by watching her dad (or so I'm guessing by the way she seems to be a bottomless pit and always seems to make a mess). The area of her development that I find to be the most interesting and coinsidently, the most hilarious, is her speech.

Now I need you to take a moment to remember a few classic films from the 80's, Gremlins and E.T. Now take these two "voices" (particularly E.T.'s drunk voice) and mash them together, add in a little velociraptor from Jurassic Park and some Darth Vader and that is what my child sounds like when she "baby talks". Honestly. yes, she throws in the occasional "dadda" and what not, but most of the time she sounds like something from another planet or at least a different species. 

I know it's just her way of practicing speech, and that all those silly sounds that remind me of a singing Mogwi will eventually turn into "mama's",  "I love you's" and "I hate folding the laundry!'s".  It's just not what I expected. I thought kids were supposed to make some cute "gaga" sounds and laugh, not scream and yell and make death metal growls. 

So I guess for now, I'll just enjoy Tegan's stellar ability to imitate aliens and fuzzy little monsters before her words turn into things I'll wish she never learned how to say. I mean, aside from maybe singing like Hall and Oates or turning into a unicorn, there aren't many cooler things than a kid who can do a spot on E.T. voice.

(Calling the mother ship)