Today is Isabelle’s birthday.
She turns two.
The reality is she does not really give a hoot and appears happy to drink her bottle, and throw a tantrum until someone gave her a Cheese Curl for breakfast.
That girl really loves Cheese Curls.
What she does not love is talking. Two years old and I still do not have a Mommy. We have a “uck” a “cat” a “og” and “ooce (like juice)” and “aaarrr” which pretty much covers anything that is not yuck, cat, dog or juice.
Tomorrow we are doing a combined party for the girls. I think Isabelle would be as interested if we went to the spur and I put a sparkler on top of a Krusty the Clown ice cream cup.
So the party is what I want, and has nothing to do with what she wants/needs/cares about (but admittedly aren’t most kid’s parties about the parents, especially the mom?)
I know birthdays should be all about the child and the presents and being thankful for them.
However, for me it is a day to reflect on how fast two years have passed and how much I have changed in the last two years (and yes how much Isabelle has changed, and has moved from teeny baby to little girl status).
Another thing to consider is if it was not for Isabelle, this blog probably would not have existed.
Isabelle being born = Reluctant Mom being born.
I was so sure with her that it would all be easy and I would get it all so right. I was not going to be the perfect mother, but damn, I was going to be the organized and assured mother, and this time I was going to get it right.
Maybe not all of the time, but definitely the bulk of the time.
What happened instead is that I realized that I really did not have it together.
I was struggling because I thought it would be so much easier, because I had done it twice already, and it was so damn hard, pretty much all of the time.
I was so sure I would take to it like a duck to water. Because I wanted this baby so damn much, and I was so excited about having her. I had planned this, I was mature, I knew how this worked, and again, I had a plan!
I had visions of being a stay at home mom, instead I started counting how soon I could go back to work (I did actually contact my company and begged/pleaded/indicated I would like to come back early if they wanted me ….)
What happened instead was a plunge into another wave of depression. I thought that one of us was going to die, or I was going to do her serious bodily harm. I was sinking into the abyss.
I did eventually bob to the top of the cesspool, primarily because I found/discovered/stumbled on blogging.
I know it is not cool to get all-emotional-on-your-arse. It is so cliché to say “blogging is cheaper than therapy”, but damn, blogging was my saving grace (and still is, often).
I had done therapy, so I know it worked, and at my lowest moment I went to my first appointment with a new psychiatrist, and he wrote me a shiny new script of Zoloft, and he suggested I come back and see him …. soon.
Then I decided to try this malarkey called “blogging.”‘
I had never read a blog, I had clearly not blogged, but I thought it might help to write stuff down – and I type quicker than I write.
I adored and still adore Isabelle with an all consuming passion.
She however made me realize that every pregnancy is different. Every birth experience is different and every child is different. Far be it from me to offer advise to someone who is struggling based on my “wealth” of experience, because my wealth helped me not one bit.
It felt like nothing I had experienced had prepared me for what I was going through. I have tried with this blog, never to come across as “having all the answers” and my aim was always to reveal how faulted I was.
Motherhood for me was pretty lonely, especially that first year – funny how you feel alone even in a room full of people. I always felt people spoke about their babies and who eats what, but no one really speaks about how they struggle and how they cry in the bathroom, and how much they want to run away.
I made huge mistakes, like Mommy 101 mistakes. I struggled and I cried, and I just was not getting it right.
It was nothing like I thought it was going to be. And I was disappointed that I was not a better mother, the third time around.
It does not get easier, no matter how many times you take a run at it. (in my opinion)
Isabelole taught me a measure of humility. She taught me that we all do what works for us at the end of the day, no matter how bizarre it appears to the rest of mommydom.
However my having a Good Egg to step in and save me when I was totally fking it up, does help. It really does, and it continues to.
Happy Birthday Isa-Bubbles …
Isabelle : About Two Seconds Old
Isabelle : Two Weeks Old
Isabelle : Four Months Old
Isabelle : Seven Months Old
Isabelle : Twelve Months Old
Isabelle : Thirteen Months Old
Isabelle : Fourteen Months Old
Isabelle : Eighteen Months Old
Isabelle : Twenty Three Months Old
