To Big Boy Bed or not to Big Boy Bed...THAT is the question!

So what, dear readers, is the answer?! This is one that has been mystifying me for some time now. My son is just barely over two years old, and my husband thinks he is ready for a capital B-i-g, capital B-o-y, capital B-e-d! While that may, or may not, be the case, I do not think that I am ready!

This is not a question of wanting to keep my baby a baby as long as possible, it is about SLEEP! Of which I love, and my son does not. We have always had trouble getting him to sleep, getting him to stay asleep, and then getting him back to sleep! My argument is that he has not climbed out of his crib yet, so why put him in a bed that doesn't have four walls and that he can get out of?!

I have done everything that I can do to mentally prepare for the switch from crib to Big Boy Bed. I have used retail therapy to see if that would help, but the anxiety is still there. I have let my creative juices flow, deciding what theme to outfit his bedroom in and still, anxiety. Once again, it is not about my baby growing up, it is about the SLEEPING!!

I can buy whatever fancy Captain's Bed or bunk bed that I want. I can buy sheets with dinosaurs or pirates. I can buy a dozen decorative throw pillows and decorate his room with Toy Story paraphernalia, it is not going to make him sleep! If there was a magic quilt or a secret pillow that allowed the Sandman to sprinkle sleepy dust on my precious little sleep fighter, I would buy it today and offer them double the price! Sadly, it does not exist. I checked...twice.

So, here we are back at the same crossroads. To bed, or not to bed. I have gathered all necessary materials, we are as ready as we will ever be, and we are constructing the bed set this weekend. We are taking the plunge into Big Boy Bed territory! My hope is that my son, who if was ever one of Snow White's dwarfs he would be called Unsleepy, loves his new bed and wants to stay in it! I know he can do it, I'm sure of it. Super confident in my little boy, yes I am.

I'm keeping the crib set up next to his bed, just in case.

Why "Congratulations!!" is the appropriate response for someone having a baby

It begins with telling people you 'have news' and then giddily telling them that you are 'expecting'. "CONGRATULATIONS!! Were soooo happy for you!" is the response you expect, and the one you get.

BULLSHIT!

Those people are not happy for you, they are happy for themselves! You now get to see what they've been dealing with for however many years old their monster is (or, the horror, monsters are)! No one ever tells you the real deal of becoming a parent for the fear that, a) they will sound horrible, b) no others will join them in their miserable bliss.

Sure, all throughout the pregnancy you will experience those endorphins of happiness, picking out teeny weeny little socks and decorating the baby's room in oh-so-cute baby animals. You'll even take those happiness endorphins with you all the way through your delivery and the first few days of your baby's life. You will spend hours staring at your baby sleep, not caring that you haven't slept for 48 hours with a stupid I-love-everything grin on your face.

Then the reality sets in and you start to worry. You'll worry if your baby is eating enough, sleeping enough, pooping enough. You'll worry that your baby will be happy, feel loved, not get hurt. You'll worry that your baby will grow up to be a dreaded teenager and then you'll have to worry about more things. You'll worry that your baby will be successful, and content as an adult. You'll worry about if your baby will want to have their own baby so you can have grandbabies. Upon hearing the words, "we're expecting", NO ONE says, "You just set yourself up for a lifetime of worrying, way to go pal...". Nope, they say, "Congratulations. We're sooooo happy for you!"

BULLSHIT!!

No one warns you that you will be giving birth to not a baby, but a Rubik's Cube. Yup, that's right...that little evil colored square block is what you'll be bringing home from the hospital, and now you have to stay up day and night trying to solve the cursed thing while it cries and screams. Finally one day you will solve it and be so proud you will hold it up triumphantly for the world to see. All those little squares will all be the same color on every side and you will breathe a sigh of relief and collapse into your bed from utter exhaustion. Then one day you will wake up and see that some bastard has mixed up all the frigging colors on you and you have to solve it AGAIN!! This will go on repeatedly year after year, but like a sucker you will keep solving it because you love your Rubik's Cube more than anything else in the world and you worry about it.

Congratualtions? Yep, that's the best response. Keep those starry eyed, lovestruck new parents in the dark as long as you can. The poor things don't know what's coming. Anyway, isn't it more fun watching them change from happy, grinning, giddy morons to sleepless, worrying, Rubik's Cube-solving zombies?

I thought I gave birth, not gave up my brain

Since bringing new life into this world almost two years ago, I have learned that I am now technologically inept. I, myself, was born with a Nintendo controller in my hand, ready to make Mario punch blocks above his head for those oh-so-gleaming gold coins. I could play any game on any system and didn't need one manual to tell me what to do. I could work my walkman, and eventually, discman, with ease (yup, I'm THAT old!). I could maneuver my way around a computer and I could work a VCR like nobody's business. Please note that I am NOT so old as to have had a BETA player or 8-track.

However, since becoming a Mommy I have been rendered useless when it comes to any form of technology. The Nintendo Wii baffles me, I have NO IDEA how to work my iPod save for turing the cursed thing on, and my Blackberry Pearl only serves to make straightforward calls, with the occational simple text message. Mostly it acts as a paper weight.

What HAPPENED to me??!! They say children are born with the knowledge of how to use all of the current technological gadgets. How? Well, I've figured it out!! The little monsters steal it from us, the poor, unsuspecting, loving mothers that give life to them after countless hours of excruciating pain!! Somewhere between my water breaking and my son entering the world, he stole my techno-saviness, rendering me a techo-moron, completely clueless as to how to use any new technological advances.

I guess I am now destined for a life of having eyes rolled at me while my son helps me with EVERY electronic device in my life. Sigh.

I dress my son in frilly pink pinafores

We found it difficult this past Christmas to decide on what present Santa would be bringing our son. He already had many toys to play with (of which he ignores for a spatula and a colander!) and a closet full of clothes. He has an extensive library of books and was not in need of any new necessities yet, such as a big boy bed or potty. We do not want to spoil our son, but we do find it hard to resist certain toys sometimes (mostly because we want to play with them!) and we knew our families would be sending him lots of presents as he is the first and only grandchild on either side. So began the War of the Christmas Present.

Almost since my son was born, he loved to be in the kitchen. He loves to watch people cook and he LOVES kitchen utensils and bowls. At four months old he would sit in his bouncy chair on the dining room table and watch me prepare supper, happily gazing and drooling at whatever I was doing. When he was old enough to be mobile, he was always at my feet playing with kitchen paraphernalia and even extended this to ALL DAY play. The rule around here is wash everything from the kitchen BEFORE you use it, because chances are it was drooled in, stepped in, sat in, or covered in dog fur from the floor. Sorry to anyone who has eaten a meal prepared by me in the past 12 months. What? You survived.

The love of a kitchen has extended to play outside the home as well and anytime my son is near a play kitchen he is immediately drawn to it. He loves the buttons, he loves the sounds, he loves the baby sized kitchen tools. Therefore, I decided that we should get him a kitchen for Christmas. I may as well have said that I was going to buy him a new wardrobe...all pink, all frilly, ALL dresses!!

My husband was totally against the idea, and every male who caught wind of my idea was aghast that I would do such a horrific thing to my son. Imagine! Providing a child with a toy that sparked imagination, creativity, and learning! What kind of mother was I?!!

I must say, in his defense, my husband was against the idea, but did not really know why. He felt that it was a 'girl's' toy and that it just felt wrong to give a kitchen to a boy. I do not believe in gender specific toys, and if my son wanted to play with a doll, I could care less. I asked my husband if it was okay for girls to play with 'boy' toys and he said, 'yes', but also said if we had a little girl as well, he would have no trouble with our son playing with his sister's toys. Basically, his theory boiled down to if there were 'girl' toys in the house, it wouldn't bother him if our son played with them, but HE didn't want to bring those toys into the house for our son. Loophole!!

My husband didn't say that I couldn't buy a kitchen, and if it was already in the house, then our son could play with it. Devious, no? I found a kitchen in the community that we live in, which is remarkable since we have NOTHING here, but couldn't buy it right away because I did not want to directly go against my husband's wishes. I respect his opinions on how to raise our son even if they are totally wrong...all the time. What? No, I didn't say that honey, there must have been a glitch in the computer. I love you.

Anyhoo...

I decided to try and convince my husband of the advantages of our son having a kitchen, the major one being he will leave our kitchen alone. My husband HATES that our son spreads every single thing in our kitchen from one end of the house to the other. I could see him caving in and I happily went to buy the play kitchen. When I got to the store, IT WAS GONE! I was so sad, Christmas was ruined and there would never be other presents to buy... ever! Who's dramatic? Me? Oh, yeah, I guess a little.

My husband, who may I remind you was TOTALLY against the kitchen, saw how upset I was and ordered a kitchen off the internet for Santa to place under our tree Christmas Eve. Christmas was saved! Let the angels rejoice! Fa la la la la la la la la...and all that.

Christmas morning our son ran out to the tree and squealed with delight and immediately began to play with his kitchen. Since Christmas our son still plays with his kitchen, 'cutting' up play food and serving us meals, pouring 'juice' and drinking from his cup, frying eggs on the stove and microwaving pizza. I love to watch my little budding chef in action. Who knows, one day he may grow up to be a world famous chef, or at the very least he will be able to cook a mean meal to impress a date. What girl doesn't love a man that knows how to cook?

Ruining my child's life...one playdate at a time

Every day that I picked my son up from the sitter's house this week resulted in him crying his eyes out and saying, 'I don't want to', which is very hard to understand not only coming from a 21 month old's mouth, but from a crying one? It was like trying to decipher Beaker from the Muppet Show.

Today, though, I did not have to work and we could finally enjoy a full day together. All week we had a playdate planned for the afternoon and my son and I were looking forward to it very much. The precious little sweetheart took his nap on time and I had to wake him up for his lunch so that we would not be late for his haircut which was an hour before his playdate. So far we were having a great day, no tears and a well behaved little boy.

My son sat still for his entire haircut with the promise of a lolli-pop at the end, which the lady always gives him. He then even sat on my lap while I got my eyebrows waxed (ye-owwch!) and happily enjoyed his tasty treat. We then proceeded on our merry little way to our playdate. So far, still a great day without tears and to top it all off, my son was being the sweetest little boy ever. Mommy dearest was about to ruin all that, though...

We arrived at our friend's house 10 minutes early and my son squiggled out of his seat and ran to the door. He knocked on the door and danced in place with pure delight knowing that soon he could PLAY! I rang the door bell and waited with him. He kept knocking on the door and their dog kept barking at us from inside the house. I knocked again. My son danced some more, no longer containing the joy that was inside him. We waited for awhile, but still no one. Disappointed, I told my son that we would have to leave and herded him to the car. As we were leaving I saw their Golden Retriever peeking his head out through the curtains wondering where we were going. I put my son in his carseat and you want to hear a kid scream! He was so sad, he broke my heart and it was all I could do not to cry along with him. I wondered what happened to my friend and her son, why they were not answering the door? They knew we were coming over. Did something happen and they had to leave? Were they still napping and couldn't hear us at the door? Sad and confused, we drove away. The whole time my son was crying uncontrollably. He finally stopped, but then started crying again! I had no idea how to make it up to him...I almost brought him to the sitter's house just so he had someone to play with!

About a half hour after we were supposed to have our playdate, my friend called me wondering what happened to us. What happened to us?! I was confused. I explained to her that we came by and no one answered, and that the dog was barking at us from inside the house. She said that they were home the whole time, that she didn't remember the dog barking and wondered if I was at the right house. I assured her I had been (we had visited before) and described her house in detail to her, plus we had seen her Golden Retriever peeking out at us through the window. After talking out possible things that could of happened we discovered that I was knocking on her neighbor's door...who has the EXACT same house as her...AND has a Golden Retriever like her!!!

How dumb can one person be??! I felt so stupid and so sad that I not only ruined my son's playdate, but another child's playdate as well! Mother Of The Year right here, folks. So apparently the way to reward a child for being on their best behaviour all day, for being the sweetest little boy that makes you proud to be his Mommy is to break his heart and make him cry. No wonder this kid cries when he sees Cruella Deville picking him up from daycare! You'll be happy to know that I have now turned my son's Education fund into a Therapy fund...he'll be needing that more.

For sale: one heart, broken; one ego, bruised

Ever have your heart ripped out and handed to you by a 21 month old? No? Lucky you. Today my son decided that Mommy doesn't need her heart anymore...it's just a cold, shriveled black thing in her chest anyway, why would she need it? Yes folks, today my son cried, no bawled, heart-wrenching sobs, at the thought of going home with his (gasp!) Mommy.

My son first starting going to his sitter about five months ago when I started back to work. I thought that it would be hard for him to have Mommy drop him off, wave bye-bye, and leave. Wow, was I delusional! The first day I dropped him off for the day (after a few hour or so practice visits with and without Mommy), he walked away from me and into the playroom. No backward glance, no hug or kiss good-bye, no tears. Okay, there were tears, but what I do in the privacy of my own vehicle is my business.

He has never fussed at me dropping him off for the day, which actually makes me happy. I would, however, like a hug and kiss for my own selfish reasons, but whatever, my wants take a backseat nowadays. After I take off his coat and boots, I watch as his little behind disappears into the playroom. When I pick him up at the end of the day, he is usually excited to see me and after realizing that it's time to go home, waves bye-bye to his sitter. Perfect.

Today, however, I may have mentioned that he decided to use my heart as a basketball, so it needed to be softened in the morning to be yanked out in the afternoon. He had to have been plotting this evil plan all morning. He has to be diabolical. He has to be evil. Okay, maybe not evil, but just wait...wait until you hear this!

This morning I got a hug and kiss good-bye!! Can you believe it??!! If you put one of those Grinch boxes that helps you see through the human body in front of my chest, you would've seen my heart grow three sizes today. I. Finally. Got. My. Hug. And. Kiss! Now, I know what you're thinking, because I thought it too, but then I got to see how diabolical this kid could be.

When I picked him up this afternoon he was playing in the playroom with another little boy. The sitter went and got him for me and brought out my sweet little boy, who burst into tears at the sight of me. You would've thought I actually looked like Shrek today if you saw the tears! He then proceeded to cry harder when I took him in my arms, my loving arms, the same arms that couldn't wait all day to hold him. He then sobbed uncontrollably when I tried to put his shoes on while he was sitting on the chair. The horror! The woman who loves you dearly and missed you all day wants to take you home...how can the world be this cruel?! I then put him on his feet on the floor and he hugged into me, which I thought was a way for him to console himself in his mother's arms because he was so sad. I felt good knowing that he would turn to me for comfort. And then it happened...the ripping of my heart from it's warm cavity, the heart that had been warmed that morning in preparation for that afternoon. My son kissed me on the cheek and started to head towards the playroom!

Now, you may be thinking, 'your son hugged and kissed you, how sweet'. NO! Your WRONG! He wasn't doing that because he LOVES me. He was doing that because it was the combination to me LEAVING! It worked that morning, so he thought he'd give it another shot and I'd leave him alone to continue playing. Can you believe that??!! My son is already manipulating his Mommy by using love to get what he wants. Oh my god...I just realized...my little boy is already becoming a MAN!

You can be replaced by a bucket of sand

A good friend of mine once wondered how those dudes that hold the stop/slow signs at road construction sites felt knowing they could be replaced by a bucket of sand. Hilarious? Yes. True? Pretty much.

It illustrates the point that we are all essentially replaceable in our professional lives. No matter how good you are at what you do, someone else can do it just as good, or least do it half assed enough to get the job done. I encountered this phenomena when I went on maternity leave and it honestly never occurred to me prior to that how unimportant my existence really is. I'm not saying this in a pity me kinda way, either. I'm saying it in a, 'holy shit, the world CAN turn without me!' kinda way.

I remember my last day of work before I went on maternity leave. The kids and I had a great day...we learned, we laughed, we cried...they threw me a party. It was awesome and I was looking forward to relaxing and having some time to myself before the baby came and I had to say good-bye to ever being alone again. The next morning I woke up, you would think, relaxed, but no! I woke in a panic thinking, 'Oh my god!! The kids have Math this morning...I have to go teach Math...if I'm not there how will the LEARN MATH??!!' Hilarious? Yes. True? Not so much.

Yep, there was someone there to teach them Math, and Language Arts and (Gasp!) Science! Someone could REPLACE me!! My head was spinning with the epiphany I had...I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Considering I was 9 months pregnant I'm pretty sure I had a good chuckle.

The silver lining in this story that keeps me going? It was an actual human being, NOT a bucket of sand, that replaced me. I mean, buckets of sand have pretty much met their calling when it comes to holding a stop/slow sign. But in front of a classroom full of students, not so much. It's ridiculous to even think that a bucket of sand could replace a teacher. First of all, the bucket of sand would never make it out of university. The first person that put a cigarette out in them would make them feel worthless, dirty and used. They'd quit, because they are notorious for being quitters. Secondly, if they somehow miraculously made it through university and actually found themselves in front of a classroom full of students, a stop/slow sign would NOT work. I know, I tried.