Rhymes with 30

My husband and I went to dinner and a movie on my 30th birthday, which is exactly what I wanted. There in the movie theater bathroom was a group of teenagers glistening in awkwardness, engrossed in a Taylor Swift sized problem:

The movie got out earlier than I thought. My dad is not coming to get us until 10.

My mom can totally give you a ride.

I wish we could have a sleepover.

I made eye contact with the tallest girl in the group while I washed my hands and smiled. She has no idea, but I was her a week ago. Or at least it feels that way. I whispered to my husband during the Pitch Perfect 2 trailer when Rebel Wilson winked at a frat boy and hinted that he would get lucky later, Charlotte is never watching movies like that. Possibly for the crude sexual overtones, but mostly because musical comedies are just a gateway to dance comedies and we all know that those lead to hardcore street drugs.

I don’t know how I can be raising a child when I still feel like one. Maybe the only way is to always feel young at heart. I’m comfortable with the type of grown up that I am: I only buy chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and my favorite pair of jeans are jeggings. I tried to find funny ecards about turning 30 but they were all so damn depressing. I’d like to make one that says: Hey, I’m precisely where I want to be at 30, I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. Perhaps with a passive-aggressive smiley face. I’m not mourning the loss of my 20s and I have absolutely no urge to take up knitting or cut bangs. Charlotte’s squeals of delight are much too loud to hear a biological clock ticking. So forget the “Dirty 30” clichés, pre-midlife crisis, and 30 is the new 20 nonsense; I am going to revel in the fact that I’m old enough now to just be happy.  

If You Build It, She Will Run

Christmas is the most wonderful time of year! Along with the joy and general merriment, it is the time when our children teach us one very important lesson: buy them a toy and they will play with the box. I continue to learn this lesson over and over again in various forms. Charlotte is not old enough to believe in Santa or understand that the holiday season is upon us, but she does light up like a Christmas tree every time I open the door to the bathroom. That’s right, the bathroom, which is attached to the enormous playroom we have created just for her, with enough toys to rival Santa's workshop. Never mind Disneyland folks, we have found Charlotte’s happiest place on Earth.

Many mom friends admitted that it was just easier to forgo putting up a Christmas tree than to watch their toddler attempt to climb it while choking on various reindeer ornaments. This is not a hostage negotiation. I refuse to live in a world which is one hundred percent dictated by a tiny human that cannot yet locate her nose. My husband assured me he could design something to keep Charlotte away from the tree. While he was building a glorious tree guard contraption, I took Charlotte over to the tree. My daughter has never showed fear of any kind. She goes to any person, laughs when our dogs play fight and would body surf down the stairs (if I let her). My husband is an hour and a half into this project and Charlotte reaches out to touch the tree like Sleeping Beauty with the spindle. Immediately she pulls her hand back, cries out, and rushes for my lap to hide her face. By this point my husband is knee deep in wrapping paper and I don’t have the heart to say that the whole project might not be necessary. 

I sit in the once living room/now playroom while Charlotte chews on the child proof latch that she removed in the bathroom. I try and take a picture of Charlotte by the Christmas tree and she reaches 4G while "running" away. We make plans and Baby laughs.

It's Not Like Hoarding Cats

What is it about beginning a new stage in your life that makes people immediately ask when you will move onto the next? Your first moments of marital bliss are peppered with paparazzi-style questioning about children. Have you thought about babies? Do you want kids? When do you think you will start your family? Or your feet are in the stirrups for a 38 week check and the gyno asks about your postpartum method of birth control. To this I answered, “Uh, my baby.” My doctor was not amused. I don’t think sarcasm translates well when you’re not wearing pants.

So if you’re me and generally speaking pretty snarky most of the time, when someone asks about baby #2, I respond with:

"I just really want to enjoy every second of my daughter’s childhood without having to think ahead to our next one."

It has just the right amount of bite and you will still be invited over to play. I haven’t trademarked it yet, so please feel free to use it as needed. 

The decision to have a second is, in a lot of ways, more real than the decision to have your first. With your first baby there was still a sense of mystery and wonder. When you decide to get pregnant again, you have finally figured out the dance and then someone hands you some flaming ferrets and tells you to juggle. Why do they have to be flaming you ask? You must not have children. 

With all of my free time, I started watching 19 Kids and Counting, where they treat having children like hoarding cats. I wanted to look at the extreme end of parenting in the name of market research and they don’t have a show called My Fulfilling Life Without Kids, unless of course you count The Bachelor. I always assumed we would have a big family, but after having 1, I realized they don’t come as a litter for a reason (those with twins & triplets, bless you). Each one is a big decision and I shall treat it according. Not to say I’m ruling anything out, but when you’ve already created the world’s most perfect child, how can you possibly improve upon perfection? We’ll get there someday, but until then, thanks for not asking.

A sibling? I'll have to really think that over.