something to think about

Motherhood: it’s an experience fraught with contradictions. It is at once beautiful and messy, exhilarating and exhausting, amazing and agonizing. It is a winding journey that is so filled with certainty and uncertainty, with self-confidence and self-doubt that most of us never really know which way is up (or down for that matter … although crunch a Lego with your bare foot in the middle of the night and you’ll quickly remember).

That said, it is amazing to me that once we cross that threshold from womanhood to motherhood, that we don’t automatically assume a “solidarity” type of mentality. I think supporting our fellow mamas should complete our transformation — wider hips, droopy boobs, empathy for anyone who sleeps with Cheerios in the bed and wears snot remnants on her sleeve.

I’m the first to admit that my automatic compassion switch didn’t flick “on” when Cooper came out. But an e-mail I received tonight has made it clear that I need to super glue, nail, duct tape my switch to the full and upright position … I don’t ever want to be responsible for making another mom feel the way I do right now:

“You and Chris cannot tell me how much you love little Cooper UNTIL you show yourselves that you love him enough to stop the food addiction cycle.”

This is just a small portion from an e-mail written in response to a recent blog entry I posted on Fat Chants.

It is the only sentence that matters.

I believe in my heart of hearts that the sender wrote out of love and concern. I know the intentions were good. But daring to question my love for my son … that simply negates any good that was intended.

I’m truly at a loss …

on-air

At 2 pm yesterday I was huddled in my coworker’s office, my blazing-red face tucked into my hands, my nerves a chaotic mess as the words, “I have Tessa with me here today …” rang out over the air waves.

It was my debut on The North Texas Kids Radio Show (click here for backstory). And folks, it wasn’t pretty. The one cosmic truth I know about myself is this: Thou Shalt Not Speak In Public (or on radio, TV, podcasts, voicemails, outgoing messages, drive-thrus, Cooper’s recordable Elmo toy).

It’s amazing to me, how, when in the zone, I can find just the right words to convey my message when I have a keyboard at the ready. But holy catfish Charlie … ask me to verbalize that same sentiment and I’m transformed into the village idiot.

Ugh. Click here for all the audible "glory" (if you must … but don’t say you weren’t warned). Thanks to Minette for giving me a shot ... I'm sure it will be my last, lol. It was a blast while it lasted! ;)

p.s. Huge “oops with good intentions” out to Shelly over at Sawatzky Survivors, Alicia at Murry Mayhem and MckMama at My Charming Kids for failing to remember the names of their blogs when I attempted an on-air shout-out. You all inspire me ... just a doof behind a mic. ;)

National Mom's Nite Out Dallas 2009

a new view

The hubs was in A-town this weekend helping his BFF do wild and crazy things like haul dirt and work cows, which means Coop and I were left to fill the weekend with some mommy-and-me time.

I must confess, I both love and loathe these times.

Love them because it’s the perfect excuse to do those things you’re not “supposed” to do: like have Dippin’ Dots for lunch, skip bath time, watch entirely too much Elmo … all of which Coop adores (I swear, Elmo is like crack for babies).

Loathe because, though we’ve been a part of each other’s lives for 14 years, I’m always a bit heartsick when Chris is away … more now since we’ve become parents than I ever did when it was just the two of us. I always feel like he’s missing out on some magic memory that Coop and I create together. But, I guess at the same time, it makes it uber-special for me and my little guy, each parent needs those “just you and me” moments.

And yesterday was an amazing one.

Ask anyone who knew me when I was kid and they’d tell you I was the most precocious, dirt-fearing little priss who preferred books to anything outdoors (unlike my hellion of a little sister). Now, an older, wiser mom to her own little hellion, umm, not a lot has changed. ;)

But, I’m making progress.

Yesterday Coop and I went to the Arbor Hills Nature Preserve in Plano (freakin’ love it!). We used to go all the time, but haven’t been able to make it out since we moved. So, as we pulled into the parking lot on Saturday afternoon, I was just as excited as Coop. We tackled the tot-size playground and then, sans stroller (this was a first!), we hit the trails.

Coop had me chasing him under fences, through brush and after dogs (lots and lots of dogs). I, in my $5 Old Navy flip flops, wasn’t much of a match for the wild man …but, then we hit the water. There are lots of creeks running through the preserve and last year, Chris took a pic of me and Coop (see below) on “the edge” of one of them (too chicken to go in … um, eeww).



But, now that Coop is pushing 2 … well, you know what they say, you can lead a toddler to water, but you can’t make him stay out of it. ;) Complete in his socks and shoes and my jeans tugging beneath my flops, we tromped and splashed and climbed our way through the streams.



It. Was. Awesome.

Coop got a little “too brave” at times … his balance isn’t quite up to navigating sudden drop offs and extra-large rocks hidden amongst the pebble beds, but he loved it. And, this dirt-loathing mama did, too.



When we climbed our way outta’ the stream, we were soaked and squishy and covered in mud, but it was one of the best afternoons I’ve ever had with my little guy.

I can’t wait to take him back. (Although, I’ll be rethinking my footwear.)



It’s so important that we, as parents, teach our children and lead them down the right path, but, every so often it’s even more important to let them take the reigns. It’s amazing how the view of the world changes when you’re crouching in a creek bed …

happy pants

I was so distraught over Coop’s adjustment to the new house (or lack thereof) that I took the afternoon off from work on Friday in order to help rectify the situation.

From parents (thanks Shelly!) to professionals (thanks babycenter.com) — everyone seemed to know the one thing I didn’t — setting up Coop’s room should be top priority.

A framiliar setting with his favorite things all rarin’ and ready for play? Well smack me on the ass and call me clueless — why hadn’t I thought of that? ;)

I rushed home, dug out all boxes marked “Coop” and got started. Of course nothing (NOTHING!) went as I’d planned — no walls got painted, no pics or curtains got hung (and don’t even get me started on the refinishing of furniture! ACK!), but I did get his books, his toys, his bouncy zebra all out and strewn across the floor … just as he likes it. ;) And it helped! As did the massive amounts of attention heaped upon him by mom and dad.

Instead of getting boxes unpacked, laundry caught up and rooms adorned with fun décor, I let Coop lead the way (though, I must confess, my impatient side railed against it!). We watched cartoons and munched on French toast sticks before the sun even dared to rise. He and dad played in the backyard, garnering his first big face plant (he doesn’t navigate steps well, yet) with scratches from the middle of his forehead to the tip of his nose to prove it. We read countless books, played ball (and peak-a-boo and where’s your nose/eye/ear/button?), sang silly songs — all the things we normally do, but this time I didn’t give in to guilt of all the things being left undone and, instead, gave Coop my complete and undivided attention — just as I always should.

This weekend my little guy started smiling again and for that I’m happy to live not knowing which box holds my black pumps, to stare at blank walls and to wonder how long it will be before I touch up my shotty paint job.

Coop found his happy pants! And his laughing and giggling and loving life is what makes our house, our home. ;)

break. my. heart.

In the 15 months Cooper has been going to daycare, there have only been a handful of times that he's done that thing that all mommies dread: cry out for you when you walk away. Each time has created a small crack in my heart, but today that crack turned into the grand canyon.

Coop has been in a "mommy mood" for the last week. He's cutting three teeth and, for the most part, he's miserable, which means he wants mama.

I took him into his classroom today and a couple of the other kiddos came right up to him, ready to play. Usually this is a good sign. Other ankle biters mean so long mama, hello play time.

However, this was not the case this AM.

Coop wrapped his little arms around my legs and buried his face into my thigh. I knelt down beside him, gave him a big bear hug and told him how much I loved him. Then, a distraction that typically works when all else fails, I took him over to the slide and set him on the top of it and quickly walked away. He started crying. Started calling out, "mama! maaaaaaamaaaaaa!" I turned back and blew him a kiss and watched, briefly, as the huge crocodile tears rolled down his cheeks and soaked his orange shirt.

I snuck out the door and angled for position so that I could see Coop through the glass, but he couldn't see me. His teacher was comforting him and he seemed to be calming down. Who-hoo.

I who-hoo'ed too early.

I walked outside and glanced over my shoulder and a bright jolt of orange caught my eye. There, in the window, was Cooper. He had his tiny palm pressed against the glass and he was staring at me, his eyes as huge as blue dinner plates.

I mustered all my mommy mojo and smiled (it was fake) and waved, hoping my "excitement" would jump through the window and reach him.

It didn't.

Coop didn't smile back. Didn't wave back. He just stared. He seemed so sad. So incredibly, heartbreakingly sad. And my heart broke at the sight of him.

I got in the car, his eyes following my every move, his hand still on the glass. I blew him another kiss and drove away. Letting my crocodile tears soak my shirt.

I'm sure by now that he's fine. I'm sure he's running around like a wild man, having the time of his life and has completely forgotten this morning.

If only mommy's minds could reset so easily.

moms behaving badly

OK, I’m the first to admit I’m one of those misbehaving mommies … I have screeching matches with Coop instead of cultivating his verbal skills (unless you consider a killer screech a skill), I let him take the occasional crawl around a store when he’s had enough of the stroller (oh, the horror!) and I have yet to convince him that socks and shoes are now crucial to his toddling development.

But, come on! During the past two weeks I have been shocked by some moms’ um, not-so-hot parenting moves.

Take last weekend for example. I was at a playdate at the mall with Hillary and the kiddos, having a blast watching Coop “walk” from me to the ginormous piece of French toast and Ally (his future wife) try to sink her non-existent teeth into the side of it. But then, out of nowhere, the pants come off (not ours). An extremely tall 5(ish) little boy starts parading around the play area sans any covering below the belt (well, there was underwear …). Umm, no, in public, we wear pants. The mom didn’t seem at all concerned, and acted as if she were hanging out at home and not in a public place teaming with tots and other parents. Isn’t this the time when we’re supposed to be teaching children how to interact appropriately with others, understand common courtesy, social norms and follow the rules?

My other encounter was waaaay worse. Like Britney Spears circa 2006 worse. I was headed out for lunch when I noticed that the mom in the next car over was holding her baby in her lap. As she drove! What the &^%$!!! The baby was drinking a bottle while mom tried to steer and when she saw me looking at her, she pushed the tot’s head down out of view. I didn’t have my cell on me, so Hillary grabbed hers and dialed 911 and relayed the situation. Since when did it become OK to play Russian roulette with a child’s life?

Yes, I’m being critical. Yes, I’m being judgmental. And I confess there are days when I feel motherhood is a total whip, but even in our worst moments shouldn't we always keep our child's safety as the No. 1 priority, closely followed by teaching him right from wrong?

writer's do it write ...

...except this one. Sigh.

The countdown to moving out of an apartment (bless you, crappy housing market) and into a house (renting for a year, but it's sooooo a step up) is on. And, to pad the home deco fund, I picked up a 3-month freelancing job.

I love, love, love the work (and the extra $$$), but since I do the writing at night and on weekends, I feel (already) that I'm shortchanging the men in my life.

Chris has been great and tries the best he can to distract Coop while I sneak off to the bedroom to work. But, there's only so much a dada can do when a 14-month-old is adamant about getting to his mommy. There's been a lot of banging on the door, crying jags and all out temper tantrums ... and that's just Chris! =)

This new "extra" job fills a professional and creative hole I didn't even know I had, but how to keep it from creating a personal one is an entirely different story ... and one I'm not sure I can write my way out of.

summer school

Last week was the first Falk family summer vacay and, I gotta’ confess, it felt more like an immersion program into toddler mommyhood rather than a little R&R for the ragged and weary.



Who knew that a 14-month-old could teach his mommy so much?

Lesson #1:
You can pack, you can plan, you can have a play by play ready for every second of every day, but if you forget to take the dang stroller, your child is going to put your strength to the test—physically, mentally, emotionally. “Hmm, just how long can mommy carry me before her arms and back give out? (about one round at Sea World, and that’s WITH the help of a rented stroller, which of course, Coop detested!!!) “How long will it take for my mommy to mentally crack from my incessant pleas to be put down?” (about 5 minutes into the first beluga whale show.) “How long will it be before my mommy looks to an 8-year-old and sees a saving grace complete with halo and angel wings?” (off and on every day for seven days … God bless you Taylor!)

Lesson #2:
Screw with a baby’s schedule and you’re gonna’ get poo'd on. Literally. Cooper reminded me this week that bath time is better left for the end of the day, so that it doesn’t coincide with his morning BM. Tub time and poo time. Um, eww!

Lesson #3:
Always know where the nearest walk-in clinic is! We spent precious hours on Tuesday trying to track down a pediatrician in New Braunfels before tossing in the towel and taking our coughing, fever-running, ear-tugging tot to the nearest doc in a box. Thank goodness we didn’t let our previously unsatisfying trips to Coop’s regular pediatrician deter us from taking him in … he was diagnosed with an upper respiratory infection and lingering ear infections. Two Rxs and a day later, his symptoms were all but gone. YAY!

Lesson #4:
Never, ever subject your nearest and dearest friends to the pain that is sharing a room with your tot. A sleep-through-the-nighter at home does not automatically equate to a sleep-through-the-nighter on the road. In fact, chunk a child in his pack-n-play instead of his cushy bed and you’re pretty much guaranteed to be startled out of your peaceful, too-much-food-drink-sun-induced slumber by all-out shrieking … at least twice each night, and again at the butt-crack of dawn (or just before if you’re super lucky).

Lesson #5:
Vacationing with kiddos will never, ever be what you had planned, or prepared for. And, as it was in my case on a couple of occasions, you may want to back your bags and head home early. But there are moments where the pure and utter bliss outweighs the pockets of bad.

Somewhere between running out of juice and good-for-you-snacks and swapping in Gatorade and dippin’ dots, you realize that you’re on vacation. With your baby. You’re sharing in the holy grail of family-dom, partaking in the annual pilgrimage from home to destination theme park where excitement reigns supreme. Where it’s OK for adults to act like kids and for kids to act like, well, sugar-high’ed kids. Where it’s OK for mommies to let go of the structure and the fear and the expectation of gloom and doom and just enjoy all of it for what it is—a few days transported from the routine of daily life to something bigger, something better—the chance to take an adventure. The chance to reconnect. The chance to see your child, your hubby, your friends, yourself in a new light, trying new things. The chance to laugh, to love, to live.

The chance to learn.

Nope, this summer vacation wasn’t all sunshine and roses (the lingering effects of Hurricane Dolly nearly swept us away on Thursday), but it was the educational experience of a lifetime. And for that, I am eternally grateful. (Um, well, maybe not the poo part.)

p.s. All 170-plus pics to be posted tonight or tomorrow. =)

bittersweet vacation

The countdown to our first Falk family summer vacation is on, with just 6 days to go. And, I must confess, my excitement is tempered a bit by my mommyhood apprehension.

During our extended 4th of July weekend at the lake it became strikingly apparent that I absolutely CAN NOT relax when Coop and I are out of our element. Not to mention Coop's sudden immersion into the "I (only) want Mama!!!"s. I am on a heightened state of alert 24/7 and it’s exhausting — mentally, physically, emotionally. I feel like I’m sucking the fun out of every moment, not just for myself, but for those around me. Party pooper? Buzz kill? Yep, that’s me!

My greatest fear is that I will let my guard down for one second—to catch my breath—and it will be in that brief moment that a mommy’s worst nightmare is realized, that something will happen to Cooper. And it will be my fault. Because I wasn’t doing my job. I wasn’t on-point. I wasn’t protecting him.

In just a few days Chris, Cooper and I will be meeting a gaggle of friends for a water-filled vacation, which includes Sea World, Schlitterbahn and floating the Guadalupe River.

I’ve pictured these days in my head since I was long-ago donning the infamous “infertile myrtle” t-shirt. Doing the touristy things, taking the touristy pics, eating at the touristy places all in the name of family fun. I have dreamt about this. I have longed for this. And now it’s upon me and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t angst-ridden over the possibilities.

I feel shaken and uncertain. My mom-fidence is gone. I am desperate to make this vacation the best it can be, for Chris, Cooper, our friends. Myself. But I honestly don’t know how to be the mom I feel I have to be and the mom I want to be. Is a balance between the two possible or did I waive the right to a relaxed state of mind once that pregnancy stick turned positive?

that day

I knew it was coming.

That day when your little boy struggles in the arms of his daycare teacher as he reaches out for you, crying, wailing, kicking in frustration and anger as you reluctantly walk away.

Today was that day.

And it broke my heart into a million unglueable pieces.

Cooper has been in a “mommy phase” for awhile now. But it hit a fever pitch over the 4th of July weekend. It’s killing me in every way imagineable.

I want to be the one he wants.

But not every moment of every day.

And I cringe at that thought. I HATE seeing him so upset, knowing that all I have to do to soothe him is to simply hold him, to cradle him in my arms. What mommy doesn’t crave that closeness?

A mommy who has to work. Has to get things done. Has to keep order in an orderless situation.

I want Coop to want to be with me. And Daddy. And Mimi and Aunt Amy and every other family member and friend who loves and adores him.

I don’t want to enable his screaming fits and rejection of others, but my heart can’t bare the tears—it seems like such wasted energy, wasted effort, wasted heartache.

I pray that this is a phase that will end as quickly as it started. I pray for strength and guidance and patience. I pray for peace in my soul, because right now there is a battle blazing.

pink stinks

Three days 'til lil' Montana makes her debut and the shop-a-thon is on! Mimi (aka my mom) is in town this weekend -- we're going to see Hairspray tonight for her birthday -- and we've been snagging last minute steals and deals to spoil baby B with! And Coop has "loved" every minute of the bargain-ben-bubba hunt.

Um, not!

This child used to be by best shopping buddy, but now, holy hell! I can't keep him in a stroller ... off the floor ... out of trouble.

By the time we called it quits yesterday, that lil' turkey was covered head to toe in filthy floor gunk. Crawling (sans socks and shoes ... because Lord knows he won't keep those on!) around the floor and snagging things off racks served as the only successful diversion from a knock-down, drag-out bawl brawl (that, he saved for the 45-minute ride home ... gotta' luv friday gridlock!).

Thank goodness Chris is on daddy duty tonight, after chasing Coop through store after store, I'm wiped! Boot camp's got nuthin' on this kid! =)


Coop stayed in the stroller with Mimi just long enough to slurp some milk and inhale a fistful of cheerios ... about 10 minutes out of a three-hour shopping trip. Nice Clark, reeeeeeeal nice.


He's learning early ... put in on the debit, please ... no cash, no stash. =)

p.s. The pic at the top is Coop de-flip-flopping some poor mannequin at baby gap. Sigh.

best. gift. ever.

The other day, my hubby surprised me with a treat ... a rechargeable, handheld gift of pure goodness.

This unexpected blessing led me the most wonderful realization ever: there are 3 gifts that are above all others in the land of mommyhood.

No. 1: The gift of life.
No. 2: The gift of love.
No. 3: The gift of bustin' dust.

Yup. Bustin' dust my friends, bustin' dust. Or, in my case, the daily suckage upage of some serious cheerios, goldfish crackers and the remnants of every scrap of food Coop somehow managed to miss getting into his mouth.

My dear hubby bought me a dust buster!!!! After weeks of whining about how I needed to just "go get one already," Chris snagged one during a quick grocery trip. SWEET!

If you have yet to enter the world of solid foods with an eager beginner, or it's been awhile, the magnitude of this epiphany may be lost on you. However, talk to any mom wrestling with a food-filled, two-fisted tot who luuves to chunk chunks in the floor and you'll soon see how amazing it is! The ability to grab a handy dandy (SMALL!) device off the wall charger and make messes disappear in seconds versus having to lug a huge vacuum out from behind the slew of outgrown bouncers, swings and play things, and it's like SHAZAM! POW! KABAM! I have super power!

The dust buster is my secret weapon. Food chunks my mortal enemy.

Look out overlooked biter biscuit chunk. I'm comin' for ya'!

baby wrangler

To my long list of titles (mommy, wife, daughter, sister, friend, coworker, general pain in the ass), I can now add baby wrangler.

I’ve always heard of the terrible two’s, but no one ever bothered to mention the not-so-ONEderful one’s. Overnight Cooper went from this sweet, happy-go-lucky baby to a screaming, writhing, fit-throwing tot … flailing feet and body jerks included! And that’s just when I won’t pick him up when HE wants or when I put him to bed before HE’s ready. (It also happens when I put him in the grocery cart, car seat, high chair, blah, blah, blah.)

Last night, after an especially heinous/torturous/exhaustive boot camp, Coop decided he’d had enough of this whole “getting his diaper changed” business. After several failed attempts at trying to scale the bath tub wall and climb out on his own (the child has gone plum crazy!), I pulled him out and wrapped him like a baby burrito and prepared for the same routine we’d done night after night for, oh, um, A YEAR!

Maybe Coop’s not as much a creature of habit as his mommy is, or maybe he just wanted to “free ball it” for awhile, but oh, holy Hannah the fit that he threw while I tried to get his diaper on. SCREAMING! KICKING! Every appendage waving erratically in the air. It was enough to wear down any mom, not to mention one that was already down for the count.

I entertained the idea of letting him air dry all night, allowing him to mark his territory wherever he wished. But, I quickly realized that if I didn’t have the strength to tame a 1-year-old, I certainly didn’t have the mojo to scrub up puddles of pee. My second thought was to tape a plastic baggie to his pickle (like the doc does when he needs a urine sample), so that he could “go” and there’d be no excessive cleaning required. But, I knew Coop would just figure out how to get the baggie off and well, just imagine THAT mess.

With a tot still thrashing around as if to smother flames on his body, I did what only a perfectly capable, perfectly adept parent would do … I sang 10 Little Monkeys at the top of my lungs, handed the wild man a toy, put the diaper on backwards, one cheek hanging out, wiped the sweat from my brow and called it a night.

His crib was wet this morning. Sigh.

(f)ears

There is nothing worse as a parent than to see your child suffer and to know that you are powerless to ease the pain. Today it’s a nasty little bug, tomorrow it’s a broken heart — neither one can be cured with hugs and kisses, no matter how many you hand out.

The night of Coop’s birthday started a 6-day decent into baby-sickness hell (a ride that’s still going strong). The past few days have wreaked havoc on my every nerve … the exhausted one, the helpless one, the I-would-do-anything-to-make-the-pain-go-away one.

I’m more physically and emotionally drained from caring (and worrying!!!) for Coop, than I would have been if I had been the one who was sick. On Wednesday, 4 days into the “fun,” we were told it’s just a virus … blah diddy blah diddy blah. But, by this AM, after countless “lukewarm” cooling baths, an iceberg-like apartment, Tylenol/Motrin religiously dosed every three hours, 3.5 days off from work, tears and tears and tears and a second trip to the pediatrician, we found out that Coop has a double ear infection — who-hoo!

When the doc told us the diagnosis, you would’ve thought Chris and I had just won the lottery. “Yes! A diagnosis of SOMETHING!! Something that we can tackle, something we can fix!!”

It’s amazing how paranoid and powerless a parent can feel when you know there’s something wrong with your baby, but there’s not any one word that “fits.” You hope that the fever will spike when you walk in the doc’s office, just so someone with a degree and a stethoscope will “see” that you’re not just an alarmist mommy … that your little one needs more than TLC. It’s sad, really, how you begin to question your gut instinct when there’s not an easy fix.

Since Sunday, there has been very little time that Coop has not been in my arms. He has been so incredibly “mommy-want(y)” that it at once fills my heart, and breaks it. I love being the one he wants, the one he needs. I feel that for all of my missteps, all of my mommy mistakes, I must be doing something right if he chooses to cling to me when he feels vulnerable. It makes me feel like I finally have that mommy “thing” … that “thing” my mom has always had, that I have always clung to, even now, when I need to rest my weary soul. I love the way Coop feels when I hold him, his little arms clutching around my neck, his head burrowed into my shoulder. But I hate that it’s misery that has put him there. I know it’s “just” an ear infection, but when your child is suffering, it hurts your heart, no matter the cause.

I hope the “big boy” meds will help Coop get some sleep tonight … fever free would be a blessing. Chris and I already feel blessed that our fears … have turned out to be ears.

p.s. This pic was taken just as I finished writing the entry above … fever struck again, waking Coop up after only sleeping an hour. Sigh.

i luuuv the way you ...

A friend of mine from high school, whose son is 3 days older than Coop, posted the most amazing blog entry on her son's 1st birthday. With chills running from head-to-toe, I was inspired to steal her idea. Thank you, Heather, for reminding me to not only pay tribute to Coopie's monumental birthday, but also to the little man himself. =)

Cooper, I luuv the way you …

look to dada and me for guidance. Like when you’ve just plowed into the wall and you can’t decide if the bonk to the noggin hurts enough to cry or not, so you read our faces and follow our example (laughter and smiles are usually the way to go!). Or whether you’ve just attempted something new, like pulling up on the rail of your crib, and you want reassurance that what you’ve just done is a good, no a great thing, which it is, though we’d much prefer the pulling up to take place closer to the ground, please.

glance at me out of the corner of your eye and toss a half smile just after you’ve projectiled your semi-chewed peas into my hair. I hate the yucky, mucky spit part, but that sneaky, ha! ha! face you make reveals a deeper, more mature side to your personality and I crave watching each level develop and come to life.

take life as it comes—on your own terms, in your own time. You started rolling over, sitting up, crawling (slithering?), chewing, chatting when YOU were ready and then you dove headfirst into the brand new experience.

make your voice heard. Whether you’re giggling with dada, squealing with delight or making one of your 10,000 crazy noises, your little voice is the sweetest, most precious sound to ever echo in my ears … and in my heart.

hug. You wrap your little arms around my neck, bury your head in my chest and squeeze so hard that you make the world stop spinning and, for a moment, it’s just you and me suspended in this special place made only for, and by, your little hugs.

are easily delighted and fascinated by the oddest things … like when you dig so deep in my mouth I swear you must be destined for dentistry or when you jab your fingers in dada’s ear like you’re mining for gold. Your curiosity is contagious and I pray that you never cease to wonder and question and explore everything around you.

snore when you’re uber tired. I always know that you gave the day everything you had to give when you fall asleep and the faintest little snores waft through the air. It’s a reminder to me to strive to live as fully as you.

indulge me and dada on Saturday mornings when we plunk you right between us in bed and cuddle you and love on you and breathe you in. You look at me and smile, and grab a wad of my hair in your tiny little hand only to flip over to dada (taking my hair with you) and look at him and smile, repeating the process over and over, flopping around like a fish out of water… it’s your silly way of getting in good face time with both of us.

love. You have never met a stranger, never refused to pour on that Coopie charm. You make everyone around you smile and delight in the simple pleasure that is your company. You, just being you, with all of your quirks and crazy characteristics, reminds us all that life is precious and perfect and beautiful, even with all of its little disasters. How could life not be precious and perfect and beautiful when God blesses the world with such amazing little creations like you?

You’ve made me and dada better people. We are no longer Chris & Tessa, we are Cooper’s parents, we are mom and dad (mama and dada to you) and those changes in title have brought with them changes in ourselves. You make us live healthier, happier lives. For you. You make us love more openly, more honestly. For you. You make us embrace the challenges, knowing that triumphs are just around the bend. For you. You make us more fiercely protective, more playful, more compassionate, more open-minded, more optimistic, more realistic, more of everything we might never have been. For you. I love the way you have flipped our lives upside down and inside out … who knew the view would be so much better?

I love you. I love you. I love you. You are my light, my life, my love.

cheeri oh's

well, this was quite the weekend.

I won't go into how I cried all the way home after picking Cooper up from daycare on Friday because I (again) felt like the crappiest mom ever (the solids "thing" was brought up again and I was told that my child was still hungry after he'd eaten all the food I'd sent ... blah, blah, blah). I won't mention how Chris and I had a fight about how crappy I felt and how, as a Dad, there was NO WAY he could possibly understand how I felt as a Mom. I won't discuss the gut-wrenching feeling that overcame me, when, in a fit of mom-sanity, I tore through my What To Expect The First Year book and realized that my son should've been feeding himself a cracker, oh, um, 5 freakin' months ago!!! And, I won't dare go into the guilt-ridden, type-A, we-will-overcome-this-setback-this-weekend shopping spree that didn't end until I'd loaded a cart with more than $100 in baby-friendly finger foods (oh, and a ball for funzies!).

Now that I've outlined everything I won't talk about, here's what I will ... this weekend Cooper and I both triumphed! He, after much protesting, gagging, coughing, nasty faces and one heinous puke session, is now, happy to munch on crackers, cereal chunks, bananas, Stage 3 foods, yadda, yadda, yadda. And I, after pushing through the protesting, gagging, coughing, nasty faces and one heinous puke session, am happily serving my little guy all the foods he should've been eating all along, without being poised in the ready-to-administer CPR position should Coop start choking (AGAIN!).

I've realized that Cooper is not as little, and certainly not as fragile or delicate, as I previously believed him to be. He's a big boy, ready to tackle big things. And now that I've learned that an awful fate will not be found in the likes of every finger food that crosses his lips, I'm thrilled to let him tackle on. In fact, he hit a major milestone at lunch out today ... one that brought a tear (OK, several!) to my eye. The waiter asked if the "child" (um, what happened to "baby"???) would like something to drink. He brought Coop some milk. In a big kid cup. With a straw. And with daddy's help, he downed that milk. THROUGH THE STRAW!! A week ago he couldn't figure out which end was up on his sippy cup!

Before I know he'll be ready for steak and a glass of wine.

eat it

Ugh. Ack. Sigh. I’m having one of those sucky mother days. I just got a call from Cooper’s daycare; his teacher wanted to know if she could give him finger food snacks when she gives them to his other classmates.

“Whenever I give snacks to the other kids, Cooper always acts like he wants some, too.”

I explained that we were taking the whole “solid solids” thing very slowly because Each And Every Time we try to give Cooper a bite of a cracker (anyone recall the whole biter biscuit incident?), a cereal snippet, etc. he chokes — as in crying, coughing, face-turning-blood-red chokes.

Admittedly, I’ve become gun shy on doling out hunks and chunks of food that could potentially send my child to the ER. And now, I guess because of that, I’ve let my little guy fall behind.

After the phone call and a panicked conversation replay for the hubby, I did some research on the world of finger foods. Apparently 7-9 months is the average age of introduction. WHAT??!! Coop’s now 11 months. CRAP!

You can set reminders on your e-mail, your PDA, hell, your TV to raise a flag when it’s time for something important … why isn’t there a similar system for parents? A big flashing neon sign, complete with bells and whistles that says, “Hello, stupid, start your child on big boy foods. Now.”

I don’t want Coop to start kindergarten still eating regurgitated green beans, so I guess tonight’s the night. Cooper, meet Cheerios. Cheerios, please be kind to my son. Self: please remember how infant CPR works … just in case.

mama lion roars

Do you ever feel like you are too blessed? That your life is flowing along too well?

I feel like this right now. And it makes me uncomfortable.

After enduring years where it seemed like bliss was something that was only attainable in other people’s lives, I became accustomed to the curve balls, to the other shoe always dropping. There’s almost something comforting in the chaos … there’s a certainty that comes with uncertainty. You can’t be knocked down if you’re already lying on the floor.

So here I am, thriving in the land of joy and happiness and reveling in every second, but still, ever so slightly, checking over my shoulder, looking for that Mack truck to come barreling down the highway.

I’m blessed. I’m blissed out. I have a beautiful life. And I can’t completely relax. Maybe it’s that mama lion gene roaring inside me, that “thing” that makes the claws come out and forces me to want to protect my den of serenity with a ferocity that would scare even the most deadly of adversaries.

In the light of other alternatives (paranoia? insanity? PMS? ), I think I’ll go with that. I am mama, hear me roar.

growing pains

Coop is growing. And I’m in pain. Sigh.

Over Easter, Coop made the transition from car seat-in-the-stroller rider, to big-boy-in-the-stroller (sans car seat) rider. That was a big adjustment for me. I felt completely out-of-sync not having his little face staring up at me as it had during every other trip to the mall, store, park during the 10 months leading up to this fateful day.

It sent shocks to my heart when shoppers would walk by and say, “Aww, such a peaceful sleeper.” Huh? What? He’s asleep!!?? We walk and I wonder what he’s doing, what he’s checking out. I glance longingly at the newer newbie parents with their tiny bundles still tucked sweetly in their sights and wish to have those days back.

Then, another milestone. We lowered Cooper’s baby bed. He was starting to get scary-wild in his movements … he was doing flips and turns and I knew it was only a matter of minutes before he catapulted straight over the side of the bed. So, Chris lowered the bed to the next level. The next level doesn’t even look like a baby bed. It looks like a cage! A big boy bed with bars. I HATE it! We took the bumpers off, but now that he loves to stick his legs through the slots (and get his chunky monkey thighs stuck), I’m thinking they need to go back on … they will help keep him from becoming permanently affixed to the railing AND give this mommy some semblance of a baby bed back. It’s a win-win, right?

I am sooo thrilled with the amazing little man Coop is growing into, I just wish my heart could keep up with his pace. Thankfully, for now, he still wants to hug and cuddle and fall asleep together and that helps my heart better-handle the other stuff. The growing stuff. The big boy stuff.