birthday

I didn’t need a sonogram to tell me that I was having a girl. The pregnancy symptoms were clear indicators that the bun in my oven had lady bits. The minute the little test came back positive, my butt and hips got so big I could easily be mistaken for a Kardashian. The glowing skin of pregnancy, yeah, that was nowhere to be found on this lady. Oh, and for good measure, 14 weeks of being green from morning sickness made this particular pregnancy….memorable. But the worst was making it through 40 weeks of pregnancy with my son and my skin was unscathed, but at 36 weeks, I guess my girl thought it was time for me to earn my stripes–stretch marks. Traitor!

Big booty, vomiting, and tiger stripes aside, two years ago when the doctor placed my gal in my arms, I swear to you, friends, it was like Stevie Wonder was in the delivery room singing “Isn’t She Lovely,” because she really was. She was the most beautiful, mucus covered, gooey, messy baby girl I had ever laid eyes on, and I was immediately smitten with her. Good thing she was cute, because she was on my shit list in utero.

Today is her second birthday and she isn’t that gooey, stretch mark dealer, but a fireball of a little lady that skipped walking so she could run, Disney Princess loving, in a constant state of singing and dancing, scaling the back of the couch so she can ninja leap onto her brother, bossy pants and she is all mine!

Maybe it’s the English teacher in me, but I can’t think of a better way to describe my gal:

Fierce and fearless: At her Mommy and Me gym class she is the first to dive into the ball pit, will race up and down the slides, and when they need a volunteer for some crazy stunt, guess who they always look to first. I’m not sure I have the heart for my baby to be such a thrill seeker. If she ever sends me a video of her bungee jumping, I will die a million deaths.

This weekend we celebrated her birthday with her little friends. As long as I live, I will forever remember her sweet face as we sang to her, and after she blew out her candles, she looked at her dad and said “I did it!” Excuse me while I have a moment. My heart just exploded in my chest.

Sometimes I envision throwing her a lavish wedding, but in reality, in twenty-five years this wild child will probably call me on a Tuesday to tell her father and I she met someone and will be marrying him on a cliff in Santa Monica…on Wednesday.

Watch your step because this sugar and spice is FIRE when she is mean. I used to follow my son around making sure no one took toys from him or that older kids were too aggressive. I don’t worry too much about this one. Seriously, try to take a toy from her or steal her swing, I dare you.

Moms and daughters have interesting relationships. Fortunately for me, I’ve already started laying the groundwork for motherly guilt that will ensure she stays with me forever. She may be just a little girl now, but I have big plans for us. While I am young and vibrant she and I will go to New York, eat fabulous food, and sing along with Broadway shows. However, when I am old and grey, she will humor me and take her old mother to Atlantic City, push my wheelchair up to the slots, order me a few Captain and Diets, and kick back while I press my luck.

But in all seriousness, since she is officially two, at what point do I have to stop referring to the extra junk in my trunk as baby weight?

Today, Mimi has hit the ripe ol’ age of 22 months. According to some random baby website she should be able to:

Say at least 20 words

Sleep at least 12 hours uninterrupted

Has the ability to wrap her Daddy around her little finger

Can clear the room with her ear-piercing screams and tantrums

While we still have two months before this little lady is two, this particular month has really struck a chord with me because Monkey was 22 months when I had Mimi.

In preparation for her birth and when trying to wrap my brain around having “two under two,” I remember thinking “He is so big now and so independent.”

Ummmm aca-scue me? What the hell was I thinking?

I look at my sweet Mimi and even though she is not a baby-baby anymore, she is a baby and sure as hell not independent. Unless, of course, you count going down the slide by herself or when she screams “Beat it!” to our dog when Suggie has gotten too close to her Goldfish crackers.

Here is Monkey at the hospital meeting his sister for the first time. He is wearing a “Big Brother” shirt. Big Brother? He isn’t a big anything! He was just a tiny toddler that is freaked out about seeing his mom in some random hospital bed and can’t understand why his Nene is handing him some baby. Thanks, but no thanks, lady. Just give me a snack instead, OK.

I love when people ask me how he adjusted to having a sister. He was so little that he has no memory without her around to cry, mess up his toys, or to share my lap. So the transition for him was no biggie. Me on the other hand, well let’s just say it wasn’t as smooth.

When I was pregnant and exhausted from chasing a toddler that was full of energy, I would fret over how difficult it would be to have kids so close in age. How would I handle their sleep when they are on such different schedules? How would I get two kids in and out of car seats without losing one in traffic? Is it even possible to get them both dressed and out the door before nine AM?

Here is the part where you expect me to say that all of that worrying was pointless, right? WRONG!

All of the difficult scenarios that I could imagine happened and they were usually worse than I expected. I spent most of that first year sleep deprived and crying. Many mornings were spent kicking a soccer ball to the boy while I nursed the baby. Now THAT is multi-tasking!

I couldn’t understand why I thought it was so hard to shower with just one kid. With two it would be goodbye soap and water, hello perpetual ponytails

When the fog started to lift and we made it to her first birthday, her invitations said this:

Happy First Birthday, Mimi!

but it should have said

Thank God We Survived!

Now that time has passed, I have adopted that strange ailment that affects all mothers at some point. You start to forget how bad something sucked and your memories get all bury and wishy-washy, just enough for you to look back on a particularly hard time fondly. Try it on yourself.

Morning sickness? Eh, all that vomiting wasn’t so bad? I actually look very nice in green.

Labor and delivery? Tis’ but a scratch.

The first year with two under two? It was lovely. I cherished every moment.

Could this be a hallucinogenic side effect from pregnancy hormones?

Here’s the thing I know for sure, everything happens for a reason and our life is exactly where is should be. I wouldn’t trade my two under two for anything. Because if I even thought for a minute that life would be better or easier if we had waited a little longer before we had our second, I would be a fool because I wouldn’t have my Mimi and she is perfection and life is perfection with this little hurricane!

Happy Birthday, Baby!

Two Under Two Reminder