Earlier today I was sitting at my desk at my new job (yup, I got a new job — I’ll get to that in a minute) thinking: I should really start a blog. I have a lot of ideas to shout out into the oblivion of the internet.
I went as far as to sketch out a great blog name and concept before reality checked in: I just started a brand new job — I’m kidding myself to believe I have any extra time to design launch a brand new blog.
And then I remembered: oh yeah… don’t I already have a blog?
So here I am, dusting off my bullhorn and pointing it at the abyss, feeling sheepish for letting Doublefab lapse — again. Thinking about how I fell off the blogging wagon gives me the same uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach as staring at the piles of bills, receipts and junk mail threatening to engulf all non-essential surfaces in our living room or realizing that searching “mobile dog washer” on Yelp and then leaving the tab open on my computer for weeks at a time isn’t getting Alice any cleaner.
The last time I posted here, dragon boy was 9 and a half months. Now he’s one, an occasion we marked by hosting a casual BBQ in our yard with some local friends and their kiddos. Despite Pinterest-induced delusions of productivity, I did not weave rainbow yarn decorations or raid Etsy for Chinese lanterns to color coordinate with paper soda straws and handmade keepsake invitations. Although I did manage to scrape together a birthday cake for Little Big Man using a recipe I found on a sweet little blog called Domestic Space, written by one of those organized, has-her-shit-100%-together mamas who only exist on the internet.
The cake turned out great and we got some suitably cake-y photos of Birthday Boy mawing it in his highchair while I stood by weeping unphotogenically. Yes — weeping — as in complete and total Ugly Cry. For me it was a bit of a full circle moment — I’m notorious in some circles for losing it at every birthday between the ages of 3 and 13. Truly — we have pictures of me at my Dress-As-Your-Favorite-Disney-Character 5th birthday party sitting on my mom’s lap in my powder blue and white Alice in Wonderland pinafore, confronting of a fully-lit birthday cake, hysterical.
What can I say – I’ve always been someone who Feels Her Feelings. It took years before I felt equipped to toe the line between joy and hysteria (a line which for me remains very fine). Singing Happy Birthday to my 1-year old pushed me over my limit and there I was again, blowing my nose instead of blowing out the candles. Let’s just say, it was not a picture of familial bliss that anyone would pin to their Pinterest, unless they were collecting inspiration for a “Family Meltdown” board.
I started a full time office job — complete with an into-the-city-commute — the Monday after G’s birthday. Yeah, lots of big changes. I’m enjoying the freedom and the opportunity to wear makeup and real pants, but I miss my baby boy with every breath. I pick him up at the nanny share and it’s like he’s grown an inch and gained a new skill every day. He learned to say “agua!” He learned to say “hola!” Look, he mimics you when you sneeze — “a-choo!” Now he’s cruising along the couch, or crawling up the front stairs, or stealing the keys to the car and driving down the shore to get matching tattoos with his ill-chosen girlfriend.
Everyone tells you “they grow up so fast,” and now I see that yet again, everyone is right. So maybe I don’t blog enough, and my house is a wreck, and my dog needs a bath, but I’m spending my “free” time enjoying these last fleeting moments of G’s babyhood. My new mantra for parenthood: Bless this mess.