Reconstructing the Truth

Lately I have been missing in action in the world bloggerdom. For good reason though; after three months of typing under the blogger name of HipHop Mommy and three additional months of living this thing we call life, I have to make a confession.

I am not as hip hop as I thought was.

For this I am truly sorry. 

No I am not. I just realized that my former title really didn’t fit in line with what I was writing about. Dirty Laundry Diving, Working Mommy Woes, She Beats Me, Mischievous Crawler, Mommy Half Days…

None of which particularly sound culture forward or hiphopish for that matter, so I have changed the name of my blog and my persona. 

I am Super Mom!

Ok, that is a bit extreme. 

I am not even close to super mom. Actually, I am trying to get a degree in that major and with the one year anniversary of me starting classes looming on the horizon, all I have to show for it is a loving husband (a bit messy though) and a adorable little boy (a screaming beast at times) who I have recently nicknamed Bubba and a whole lotta drama that comes from being a married baby momma.

I love it though.

I really do.

If I didn’t I would be here the regal you all with the hilarious and truthful moments of being a full time mother, wife, and worker. 

Yep, I am pretty crazy. 

But then I do love being crazy.

But sometimes I love being sane for more than an hour.

Or so I told myself. 

Then I went and started my own business.

Yep…

The True Stories of Motherhood and Wifedom.

I swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. 

I Can’t Compete with Daycare

Darren is bored.

The Hubby and I finally have a day off together on a weekday so daycare was not necessary today.

Pretty sure Darren would beg to differ.

He love’s daycare. There is constant action, little ladies loving him up and cater to his every whim, and of course, the coolest toys ever. Sounds like a baby rap video right? All of these things are lacking in our home environment.

I never knew it until today. Ok. Lying. I knew that home and daycare were two different environments. But when your child is at daycare for eight plus hours a day five days a week, the hubby and I thought that tons of toys, little girls who weren’t sisters (any other type of girls, in my opinion, are banned until he moves out) weren’t necessary. 

How wrong were we? Daycare is stiff competition.

By six this morning Darren was taking his fist nap of the day. By seven-thirty he's awake and wily.  By nine he’s screeching to keep himself amused. Ten-thirty he’s settled down for his second nap (his choice not mine). Twenty minutes later he’s bright and bushy-eyed for the hubby who is just officially waking up for the morning.

By this time I realize it might be a long day for all of us. 

Three hours and a twenty minute outside excursion later, I have a pounding tension headache and I am more than ready for Darren to take nap number three. 

Then he starts nodding off while eating his bananas.

Insult and relief are at war within me. I know we are a low key when we are at home, but seriously?  He never falls asleep if food is present. I am relieved as I lay down with him, but spend ten minutes critically questioning my parenting priorities.

Priority #1: purchase more toys. When you have to resort to using the TV to keep a six month old amused you are definitely lacking in the toy department.

Priority #2: Have more children. I will admit that my son appreciates the little ladies at daycare and would pick them to play with over me any day. I refuse to duel with them. My solution is to provide him with build in playmates. Mama trumps all when it comes to these kinds of decisions.

Sad Puppy

“I know what your blog should be today,” The hubby said this to me two days ago.

I turned from the door and gave him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“Sad Puppy.”

I still was confused.

“Babe, that is the fifth time you’ve checked the door in a half an hour.”

I gave him a shamefaced smile. It was the truth.  I had been waiting for my mom to come so we could begin our road trip. Since about ten minutes after I got home from work, I had been ready to go. That was at twelve-fifteenish. She was supposed to be at our house at one. It was one-twenty-four.

Who’s the late one now Mommy? (just kidding.)

My eagerness is fueled by my need to be close to my son. I hadn’t seen him since Sunday before I went to work. Five days and one mental breakdown later, I was practically itching with withdrawal. As the hubby put it I was a “mental case.” In retrospect I was a walking mental case. Tears were always moments away, irritation level extremely high, and restlessness even higher. 

The fact that he called me a ‘sad puppy’ is a major understatement for what I had become.

So why did I put myself though sending Darren six hours away to spend time with the hubby’s family?

At first I wasn’t sure. But after fielding a half million ‘How will you do it?” questions from co-works, family and friends, and a million “I could never do it,” and one “Enjoy it while you can,” (Cindalicous) statements, I know why.

Growing up, I was never given the chance to really get to know my adopted father’s family. As a result, I barely know them and rarely see them. Now that Darren is back home with us and hearing how much fun he had with his cousins and aunts and uncles, it makes me regret not knowing them better.

When the topic of Darren going to visit for awhile (without mommy or daddy along) came up, I was completely against it. I actually did what I could to put it off for a while. It’s not that I didn’t want him to go see family, but I didn’t know how I would cope without my little man. The more the hubby talked to me about it, it became very evident that the visiting would happen. I agreed it should happen.

 That doesn’t mean I had to like it.

It means that family is a high priority for me. 

It has been, and always will be. 

It means that if I have to send my son six hours away for a week, it will happen. But be prepared for me to be a basket case. Actually, be prepared to deal with the emotional, hormonal, irrational lost woman in your presence. AKA: a mother. 

The Hubby felt the same lost feelings, but he was manlier about it.

“I miss my Lingle,” (His pet name for Darren, don’t ask). That’s all I heard from him, that and random bursts of laughter as he was reminded about some cute thing his little man would do.

But he made the same decision as me. 

It means family is a high priority for him.

It has been, and always will be.

“So how, often do you think you’d be able to let Darren go visit?” This comes from the hubby tonight.

“Babe, I just got him back, I am not even thinking about the next time he’s going.” 

He just laughs. I think he’s just relieved he doesn’t have to deal with me being a mental case anymore.

(Leave a comment and let me know what you would do in this situation. Thanks for reading!)

Skinny Girls Have Jiggly Too

Cindalicous calls it her persians (like the bakery treat). Black people know it as a booty-do. A lot of bloggy moms refer to it as their jiggly. Me I just know it as the extra padding. But I do have it.

My discovery of this jiggly started when my husband looked at me two weeks ago and said.

“Those jeans don’t fit like they use to.”

“Um, yeah. I did have a baby.”

I know he didn’t mean it a derogatory. Really, I think he is proud of it. Because he won’t have to explain to his family that his wife isn’t anorexic anymore; she is just really skinny. Pulse at the age of twenty-three I finally have hips and a budonka-donk. But it did make me start sneaking honest looks at my new form in the mirror.

What an unsettling experience. 

I will be honest; I thought I would get lucky and keep the same figure I entered my pregnancy with. Now, I have this pouch sitting on my front side. I should just name Darren Joey and tuck him back inside until he can walk.

Any change to a woman’s body regardless of her pervious weight, shape, etc. is life changing. And like most women I feel a huge urge to count carbs, diet excessively, and take inventory any and all pieces of food that past my lips and win my body back.

And like any sensible woman, I combine these extremes with going out to buy better fitting jeans.

I wiggle in to a part of Charlotte Russe Curvy Boot dark wash jeans and look in the mirror. The jiggly is making a definite concave, but my waist still has circulation. Then there is a knock on the fitting room door.

“Baby you in there?”

“Yeah,” I open the door to show him the wares. He looks them over. They get the butt-approval. I look doubtfully in the mirror and grab my jiggly.

He’s preening in the mirror.

“Babe, are you ok with my jiggly?”

Without looking at me he keeps smoothing his hair down. I block his view still clutching my pouch.

He looks me in the eye.

“Do you mind my jiggly?:

“No.”

“So I can’t really say anything can I? You look great.”

Have I mentioned I love this man?

Missing the Little Man

My son is gone. 

Ok, I know that is dramatic and only part of the truth, but I am in a dramatic type of mood. Darren is actually visiting his grandma in Milwaukee. 

So he isn’t gone, but temporarily absent. Either way I have to deal with being just a wife for three more days, and who wants to do that?

Me, and not me. When I left for work yesterday I was proud of myself. I was teary-eyed, but no tears were shed. I made it through work without crying or excessive calling or texting. I gave myself a big pat on the back.

The dread set in on the drive home; twenty-five minutes to contemplate how I was going to spend a night (and the next several nights) alone with the hubby? So I tried to keep positive. He’s not that bad of a fellow to hang out with. He has a sense of humor, he a good, if sometimes frustrating, conversationalist, and when we go to sleep he doesn’t snore too loudly. 

So under my anxiety and worry I am looking forward to spending quality time with him.

That’s doesn’t explain why when I arrived home I couldn’t sum up the energy to go inside.

The dread I had been feeling had transformed in to quiet panic. What was it going to feel like walking into a house without my baby boy?  Whatever that feeling was I did not want to feel it. Nope, I would just have to sit here until I had to go to work in the morning. 

Then I got a picture text. My baby boy had officially arrived and he was smiling framed by a heart of rose. My jealousy spiked. Two seconds later I was bawling.

And that is how the hubby found me ten minutes later. 

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m fine.” Sniff.

“If it’s that bad we can go pick him up tomorrow.”

“No, that’s not the point.” I wipe my face. It really isn’t the point at all. Honestly, I do want Darren to have bonding time with his fraternal family.  I just don’t want to be six hours away when he does it. 

“You’re not going to be depressed like this all week are you?” The things men say that don’t make situations better.

“No, I’m fine.” I just need time to adjust. Please.

A little over twenty-four hours later I am partially adjusted. Thanks to some retail therapy in the form of a gift card; provided by the hubby (thank you very much) last week in anticipation of a possible meltdown on my part. He knows how to take my mind off of things.

Two days and a dozen hours until I see my little man again.

I can do this.

This is the picture his Uncle Rodney took today of him.  I so miss that face!

Amazing Fall Days

Life is crazy now, but some days are slow and relaxing. Yesterday was one of those days.

In a lucky stroke of fate I have two week days off. Darren and I were able to spend the whole day together, I felt like a true stay-at-home mom. I loved every minute of it, even though Darren screamed my ears off. Not that he was upset or anything. He just likes screaming.

Me, I felt quite domesticated to be honest. I did laundry, cleaned, pretended I was a race car, fed my strapping boy those vegetables he despises, talked baby talk, probably asked my strapping boy why he was screaming one hundred times (he replied by screaming), pretended to be a soft pillow, watched Cesar Millan do his amazing animal thing, folded the four baskets of clean clothes I’ve been avoiding for a week and a half, took some amazing fall baby photos, danced in the kitchen with before mentioned little boy giggling his head off to Taylor Swift, accused my strapping boy of purposely blowing out his diaper so he didn’t have to take a nap ( it was the prunes to be truthful),cooked supper consisting of meat, vegetables, and a side plus dessert. Not bad if I do say so myself.

The whole experience brings tears to my eyes. Motherhood is the blessing I didn’t think I would be experiencing at the age of twenty-three and today made me appreciate my role more. Nothing can take back the moments that melt your heart. Like Darren stroking my cheek until he fell asleep in my arms, or discovering his sense of humor. Like him throwing all his toys from his walker then screaming for my attention and laughing when I mimic his scream.  

Then his daddy gets home and I could hardly keep it together. It was too picturesque for my emotions. I was wiping tears away as I watched my hubby playing with his little boy. Sigh give a man a baby and it makes him irresistible.

But enough of the sappy stuff, here are the best pics of today.