Hold You?! Is that too much to ask?

"Hold you! Hold you!" He repeats himself again and again as I try to chop lettuce at the kitchen counter for taco night. "One minute Francis," I say as patiently as possible in my frazzled and exhausted state. But he doesn't wait, not at all! He starts pulling at my pants and repeating himself louder and faster. At this point my pants are sagging off my backside, my hair is in my face and my patience is teetering like Humpty Dumpty on his wall! In a matter of seconds it feels like my mind will crumble into a million pieces, and just like the nursery rhythm... “All the kings’ horses and all the kings’ men won’t be able to put mummy's brain back together again.”  Yet, this little blond haired boy has no clue that Humpty and Mummy have so much in common at this moment. His determined brown eyes are pleading, "Mommy, mommy, hold you, hold you..." and so just to silence him I bend down and hug him. But that’s not enough, “Hold you!” He demands as he climbs up my legs like a little monkey, and he is only silenced when he is sitting on my hip and I am chopping lettuce awkwardly with one hand. 

Now you may be judging me, “Why do you make him work so hard just to be held?” Well you will notice that this particular story takes place at the END of the day, when I’m making dinner…This means that I have already spent my ENTIRE day fulfilling the , “Hold you” needs. I have also heard close to 1 million “HI’s,” said three inches from my face in constant repetition – beginning when I first open my eyes at 6:30 in the morning.  I have searched high and low on my hands and knees for Buzz, YeeHaw (Woody) and Sippy cups more times than I can count, I have refolded the same blankets and picked up the same toys so many times that I feel like someone just keeps hitting the rewind button on my life. I have had this little boy lick my face, pee on me, plunge his hands down my shirt and stick his dirty little fingers in every glass of water I have consumed. Not to mention the Falling Asleep tendency in which he must be laying on top of me with both hands nuzzled as close to my armpits as I will let him go.  

So, “Yes!” By the end of the day, “Hold you” is a lot to ask – Okay!?

 
Then, not so many hours later, as he lies in bed (well I should say I lay in bed and he lays on me), with his hands safely tucked under my arms, I feel his little body finally go limp, I sigh with relief. And just as I begin to enjoy the silence my mind starts to wander,

and suddenly I realize how small he is,

and how much bigger he is than he used to be,

and how much bigger he’s going to GET!

And so the tears come, first just a little, then sobbing – soaking his beautiful baby-smelling hair as he sleeps. I hold him tighter and I pity myself and my poor motherly heart that is bound to be broken as the “Hold you’s,” and incessant, “HI’s,” are replaced with, “I’ll do it myself,” and eye rolling. What frustrated me today will be a cherished memory in days to come. And because I’m apparently self-destructive, over emotional and tad dramatic my mind flashes forward to a day, not so far from today, that I will peer UP at my little boy with my own determined brown eyes and say, “Hold you?” And just to silence me he will bend down and hold me. And his hair will probably be in his face and his pants will probably be sagging 
off his backside…

Walk of Shame...

And so begins my walk of shame…the long disgraceful trek back into the blogging world – a world in which I have utterly disappeared from since Thanksgiving. Yikes - So much for my personal goal to, “Blog at least twice a week,” Ha, at this point twice a year might be more up my alley. Yet, as I march my way down the walk of shame I shout vigorously my excuses that have replayed again and again in my guilt-ridden head since my unintentional sabbatical. And these excuses are noteworthy if I do say so myself, so wait to judge me on my seemingly flaky blogging tendencies.  

Peanut #2 at 9 wks

Dad and Messenger Boy

And the story begins in mid-November when my husband came home from work to find an 18 month old wearing a sloppily colored onesie that read, “I’m gonna be a big brother!” Husband’s response was a sparkle his eye and a nonchalant, “I knew this was coming!” Little Messenger Boy had no concept of what kind of news he was delivering or how it will turn his world upside-down in a few - quickly passing - months. July to be exact… And to vent a bit - I, as a Christmas baby always envied summer birthdays; pool parties, bbq’s etc… And I always thought it would be nice of me, as a  mother, to grant my child a gift of a summer birthday. Yet, I never considered that a July baby meant being nine month prego in blistering heat (I live in the desert), with achy everything and swollen feet lopping over my flip flops.  Just buy me a muumuu and set me afloat in a pool on an oversized raft. (Pray I am being overdramatic and the experience is a pleasant one - I will keep you updated.). 

Back to my point, along with the joy, excitement and gratitude also came

violent nausea, mean headaches and exhaustion, which were NOT symptoms I experienced so cruelly when prego with Messenger Boy. Of course – within a couple weeks of this bigger than life, or should I say big as life, news, we were also thrilled to find out that we were, for the first time, home owners! Our little dream house on Symeron Road was going to be ours – through the miraculous work of God, against all odds! We had first seen it in October and thought, “This is it!” But we never dared to believe that it truly was our IT! 

Proud Home Owners

Considering the horror stories that loom around the great house hunting experience these days and the fact that it was the 1^st house we really liked (and only the third house we put an offer on). We were told we would have keys in hand at the beginning of December, and yet despite diligent efforts keys were delivered on Dec. 17^th.  Moving was complete chaos, in spite of elaborate plans to keep it organized…Mood swings, nausea and moving helpers who wrote, “Miscellaneous Crap” on boxes after specific instructions to write “detailed descriptions” caused Prego Patty to leave the scene to preserve sanity! In the end our little, but growing, family, made the move from town-home to own-home with few disastrous glitches. Hysterically unpacking MOST of the boxes just in time to set up a little Christmas tree and sing a couple Christmas songs before the holiday season had passed.

And so, after all this blabber really my excuse is this: I am tired! Fantasize about my bed, sacrifice meals, coax little boy with candy to be quiet – kinda TIRED!

 

Also, I have a list of blog entries that never made it from my fingertips to the keyboard – but in my sluggish mind they sit, waiting for a burst of energy to project them onto the pages of CallMeCordelia. One is a family recipe - Jimmy Cake: Which certain friends have been hounding me about despite my delicate state. You know who you are! Second: A particularly dramatic tale about the hardships of the second-baby-building experience in comparison to the first. Third: Thai peanut pasta. And Lastly: A certain church experience which involves holy silence, an (almost) two year old, Jesus and a nerf gun that happened to have a lazar on it.

Hang in there for the full stories…