Self-Made Mom

Now that my son is attending a real-life preschool (you know, the kind where you can drop your kid off, there are no tears, and you pick your kid up all clean and happy) I’m mixing with different kinds of moms other than my first-time mom/ SAHM crew that’s kept me afloat since I quit work in January.  There are still plenty of SAHM moms, but now I’m privvy to second-time moms, working moms, nannies, daddies, partners and older moms.

I typically get along with everyone I come across.  And I think I’m pretty good at coming up with small talk with anyone from my friend’s non-English speaking nanny to my cohort and carpool-mate. Except for the aforementioned “older moms.” The moms who for whatever reason married later and had kids later. I can’t seem to crack their code.

To me, they appear to have more life experience, solid careers and knowledge of time before computers and compact discs.  To them, I’m just a sprite. So young. My skin is so good. My metabolism hasn’t crapped out yet. So young.

So yes, some of this may be true.  I married at 26 had my first kid at 28 and will have my next at 31. I married before all my friends except one. I had a kid first. I’m practically Jamie Lynn Spears. But some of it’s not. My skin may be smooth-ish, but I have zits. Lots of them.

With age may come wisdom, but not with regards to motherhood.  I always felt that motherhood was the great equalizer. Lately, though, I feel that the scales are tipped and I’d better jack on some years so I can fit in better.  But wrinkles be damned.

I have a problem.  I can never find matching lids to go with my Tupperware bottoms.  No matter how hard I try to organize, sort, and eventually replace them, I can never quite figure out how to get my Tupperware collection to fit together.

 

Even Thomas can’t fix this disaster.

This is kind of like how I felt playing the children’s game “Thomas and Friends: Special Delivery” with my son. (My apologies to the ladies at Brighter Minds Media for the long delay in this review.) The game, rated “E” for “Everyone” and advertised by Brighter Minds at being appropriate for a two-year-old, had me befuddled from the opening menu.

Once I figured out there was a button to tell stories and one to just play the game, I thought my son and I were in business. Until I actually started to play the game.  I’m embarassed to say I had trouble matching up James’ train tracks appropriately in the first story segment. I’m even more embarassed to say that I couldn’t figure out how to get to the next story.

My son enjoyed the colorful pictures and trains whizzing by, but I couldn’t hide my frustration with a preschool-age game. After repeating the same story countless times, and trying different combinations of sequences and story lines, I gave up.  Just like I’ve given up ever trying to have an organized Tupperware set.

Post your tips on how to help me organize my Tupperware collection, and I’ll enter you in a random drawing for the Thomas game.  Maybe you’ll have better luck than I.

So we’ve made the decision not to find out what we’re having. We didn’t find out during my first pregnancy, and we thought keeping the gender a mystery would make things a little more exciting during delivery this time around. Since I have a boy already, I think I’m having another boy.  As my friend said, “It’s what I know.”  Plus, I feel boy vibes.

I’m trying not to care too much about my unborn child’s sex.  I know boys, I love having a boy and having another would be easy and a lot cheaper. Plus, all that matters is a healthy, normal and happy baby, right?

Not from the way my family and friends are talking. Nearly the first thing everyone says to me after I tell them I’m pregnant is,

Oh, I hope you’re having a girl!

I’m never sure how to respond to such statements.  Don’t get me wrong - I’ve already started looking longingly at all the pink and purple in the stores, thinking about life with princesses and ponies, and braiding hair before the first day of school. Everyone keeps telling me that they think I’m having a girl. (People, this doesn’t help).  But I keep reminding myself that it doesn’t matter - if all I get is more trucks, tanks, and messy curls, I will be just fine.

It’s amazing how much emphasis people put on gender when your first child is a boy. The woman at the store telling me that boys are great and they “love their mommies,” but how her friend had two boys and a girl and was “so excited.”  The friends who say they thought they were having boys all along but were so “surprised and estatic” when they had girls. They all assume that having two boys is the worst case scenario.

I’m excited to meet the little gomper who’s making me so queasy.  It may turn out that I’ll be surprised and bring home a bundle of joy in pink.  But I may not and instead be buying blue and camouflage forever and ever.  My son will have a brother, and I’ll be the happiest mom on earth.
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Now for your read-along enjoyment, here’s a recap of my first trimester symptoms. What do you think it is?

- Night nausea starting at 4 pm and lasting ALL MISERABLE NIGHT LONG
- Craving for fruit and anything in vinegar and oil
- Weight gain of 7 pounds (too hard to tell where it’s settling for now)
- Fetal heart rate of 153
- Skin broken out on face and back

Say girl and you’re dead to me.

Thanks, all for your very kind wishes! All the good juju you sent my way today inspired me to post on my Work It! Mom blog … Now off to watch what shall be a very interesting VP candidate speech.

There’s one rule in our house when it’s time to eat: no family holdbacks. Meaning, don’t holdback eating something because you’re worried that Aunt Mary won’t have enough to fill her up.  (I don’t really have an Aunt Mary, but that’s besides the point.)

I happen to think FHB’s (family holdbacks) can extend beyond the dinner table, however.  And dear readers, I’ve been holding back.

As most of you know, while my blog is as honest as can be, I’m never able or willing to disclose personal events as they occur.  There are certain things that are sacred to my family and as much as I want to spill it, I don’t.

But now, no family holdbacks.

I’m pregnant. Thirteen weeks so.

This is part of the reason I’ve lost my motivation mojo.  I’ve spent the better part of the summer in and out of a nauseous haze, coming up for air when I remember that I have a two-year-old who really would like to play (paaay) instead of watching mommy lay on the couch.  I don’t know what I would do if I actually had a real job.

I’m sorry I’ve been holding back.  Guess that’s what happens when you’re already a neurotic Jewish mother.  I will try better, though, to make sure from now on that there’s enough food on the table for all of us to share from now on.  Unless that nagging nausea takes away my appetite.