Grown Ups Wanted.

I wanted to have children. I planned for them. I longed for them.
I thought it was an informed decision.

I was married for ten years before we even started to try. I traveled. I had a career.
I got to the point where I looked at babies and felt a clutch in my heart.
I baby sat for friends. I changed diapers and gave bottles.
I waited until weekends seemed a bit endless and even boring.
I was ready.

It was everything I expected and a whole lot I didn't.
I have never been so in love, as I was cradling my infant daughters and gazing into their eyes.
Watching them learn to walk, bathing their sweet, silky bodies - these were all things I imagined and planned for.

Cut to today with me explaining to the eight year old that her words might be offensive.

"What does offensive mean?"

I had a shocking realization.
I am responsible for the morals, ethics and behaviors of another human being. Two in fact.

I understand that when they are older they are on their own with that but for now it's my job to guide them.
It's my job to navigate them through decision making, friendships, manners, socializing.

!

I do not feel prepared.
I thought about snuggling with a sweet baby.
I failed to realize that sweet baby would grow and be joined by a sister, who would also join her in the ongoing pursuit of aging.

I was comfortable with the snuggling, bottles and diapers.
I am not sure how I feel about this part.

Somedays as I seem to do nothing but re-direct, guide (ok shout) and teach - I wonder who am I now?
Who is this woman cutting up grapes and trying to find a graceful way to explain how we deal with the need to fart in a friends car?
Later, when I am looking into a crumpled face as I hand down a consequence - I wonder what happened to my life?

It feels ludicrous that just because I wanted a cute pink baby, I am now responsible for her emotional well being.
In my head I am still 25 and thinking mostly about shoes, parties and music.

When I see the trusting eyes of the eight year old as she comes to me for advice or help, I can't help feeling that I didn't think this through completely.
This is the point when I really have to find something better than "because I said so."

I'm willing to accept responsibility but shouldn't someone have mentioned this to me?
Shouldn't I have had some inclination that this was in the long range forecast?
Did I skip that class?

It's not that I am unwilling in this task. It's just that the task seems more age appropriate for a grown up.
That can't possibly be me?

Missing.

I miss my bladder.
Don't get me wrong - nobody took it out of my body. It's just my bladder was the bladder I had before kids. This current bladder - not mine.
It belongs to an knat or some other teeny, tiny creature.

Let me explain. This past weekend was my annual trip into movieland. I get to go to a premiere and post party that (in my mind) rivals the Oscars. It's luxurious, fancy and fun.
Getting dressed up is such a rare treat for me. Admittedly my marker is low - washed hair and brushed teeth low.
So this really is a treat.

I jetisoned the kids to my sweet blogger friend Mosey and began the long journey that is transforming myself from woman in sweats and a pony to red carpet glam.

One of my favorite parts of the whole event is dress spotting. So many gorgeous women in so many different dresses.
I followed (not in a stalkerish way) one particularly pretty, slinky, silver dress into the bathroom.

I will guess that the occupant of the dress was younger than me but not by decades.
We settled into neighboring stalls.

I wasn't intending to listen but you know, a half inch of formica with an eight inch gap at the bottom doesn't hide much.
She peed like a horse.
I imagined several gallons exiting in under 5 seconds. Impressive.
I on the other hand, with my post partum body, felt like I had several gallons to expel - but only managed to squeeze out about a half cup full in around one minute.
After resting my poor, tired, overworked bladder - I was able to add a tablespoon or so.

Exiting the stall I found that slinky silver was long gone. She was probably gulping champagne straight from the bottle. No problem for her to 'hold it' during the movie screening.

So, there I am, a guest at a wonderful event. In a pretty dress of my own. As much food and drink as I care to consume all around me. Dancing, gambling, schmoozing - more fun than any one person has the right too.
What am I doing?
Lamenting the loss of my bladder.

I *may* be missing the point.

Where Are Me?

Playing hide and seek with a three year old is in turns hilarious and exasperating.

Firstly, the concept of closing your eyes and not peeking while you count is lost on the three year old.
She wants to see where I go - so she can find me - perfectly logical if you're three.
Her only goal is to find me within 2 maybe 3 seconds so we can play it again!

When it's her turn to hide she shouts "Where are me?!" at the top of her lungs before I finish counting.
It's delicious.
I could listen to 'where are me?' a thousand times.

Unless... I have listened to it a thousand times.

I've got ten rounds of hide and seek in me -tops.

So when I run out of enthusiasm, I start to feel that I'm a lame mom.
Who wouldn't want to run around looking for a sweet three year old while she loudly shouts her location?

Parenthood is so tricky. I wanted to stay home but some days I would pay out every last dollar I have to put her in daycare.
I wanted to be there to see her firsts. Know her intimately. Share her experiences.
But some days I would rather clean toilets than spend another moment playing Candyland.

Am I missing a gene?