Miss Independent

Well, I'm fostering independence now, baby.

In the 2 weeks since I last blogged, Anonyhub and I farmed Anonybabe out to his parents and took a 5-day vacation, and then started her in daycare. Wham, bam, see ya, ma'am.

We've encountered a few tears, but a whole helluva lot less than I expected from her (some more than I expected from me).

I can tentatively say that I feel good about the daycare (activities! weirdos other than mom and dad! small people other than the one in the mirror! regularly scheduled food and naps!).

I can say that I feel good about the vacation without reservation. As much as Anonhubs' parents make me want to tear my hair out with every other visit, Anonybabe likes 'em. And if she likes 'em, well, bless. I want her to spend time with and know any family members she doesn't like - I think it's important to know your roots and how to navigate them - how much more will I encourage her to be around people she's comfortable with?

Why she would choose to be comfortable with these particular people, I cannot say. Every bad thing I can say about them is a little assholish on my part: all they ever want to talk about is how they're renovating their house; they're into recreational shopping; every food they make involves ingredients from cans, plastic tubs, or bargain meat bins; they all live within a square block or two of each other; they do not read; they never once thought about attending college; they hate all the movies I like and like all the movies I hate; they vacation in Cancun every year. Sigh. They aren't bad people, but they are often boring, tedious people. It doesn't help that they would probably say the same thing about me.

But everybody needs an emotional home. I never expected Anonybabe's to be with me, with us. Chances of that happening seem as slim as winning the lotto, with all of the factors that have to click into place, genetic and otherwise. If she feels understood by anybody I'm happy for her. That's hard to come by. It's something to cherish.

Babe in arms

Last week I decided to stop carrying Anonybabe around everywhere.

I did so willingly until that point, picking her up whenever she would ask. She was slow to learn to walk; she was incredibly deliberate and cautious about everything she tried and walking was no exception. No step-taking until she was absolutely ready. I didn't push her to walk, I sat back and let her take things at her own pace, secretly worrying when toddlers several months younger than her were flying past at top speed.

So she didn't start walking until after 17 months. And even then she was unsure on her feet. And then it was winter in Chicago and there was snow everywhere and the snow freaked her out so that it ended up making more sense to carry her or put her in the stroller. It is only within the past month that she lost her fear of touching/walking in the snow. And it is only recently that the cold/snow abated on a regular basis.

So a couple of weeks ago, a month shy of Anonybabe's 2nd birthday, I finally decided I was going to stop picking up Anonybabe on demand. We went to the grocery store, which is several blocks away, and I carried her most of the way back, but when we got to the end of our block I put her down and told her I needed her to walk. "No, Mama, No!" she cried "No ho ho hoooo! Anonybabe walk, No!" I kept walking and urged her to follow me, and she started to wail. Long and loud, so that tears and snot and saliva joined stream and dropped in a long, clear, drip from her chin. A neighbor came out to see what was happening and gave me a penetrating stare.

"Are you giving mama a hard time?" she asked.

"I'm giving her one," I answered, "She's used to being carried everywhere and I'm making her walk." Meanwhile Anonybabe sobbed in the background and refused to move. Eventually after 5 minutes of sobbing and yelling, she shuffled a quarter of a block or so. It was too cold to stay outside for the hour it would take to get to our house at this rate, so I scooped her up and thanked her over and over again for trying to walk. I felt like a little bit of a jackass, but knew that I had reached the end of my rope when it came to carrying her around. She's heavy, and she's capable of walking. Ergo, she needs to walk.

I feel a little bad that Anonybabe was subjected to such a sudden switch, but she should probably get used to it since that seems to be my m.o.

Poops-a-million

Dudes. Anonybabe pooped in her mother freakin' potty yesterday.

It has oh-so-slowly dawned on me that in potty training, I will have to take the reins and call the shots if I want this thing to happen. My tendency is to just watch things happen at their own pace, watch them unfold.

I think when I thought about it at all I assumed this was how I would potty train. I'd go to the bathroom around Anonybabe, I'd talk about it, I'd let her know that this was what was expected of her, and when she was ready she would choose to do it.

Turns out I'm not that patient. I know that she's fully capable of using the potty. Time to speed up the process. Time to sit her down on the potty every couple of hours and praise her to the stars if something comes out. Time to talk constantly about how she'll be out of diapers soon. Time to bribe her with left over Micky Mouse birthday cake and ice cream.

I want to be done with diapers. I can't snap my fingers and make that happen, so I'm going to do several other things to push us in that direction.

Innocence and Peppermints

I have this cock-a-mamie idea:

that people carry the seeds of their future within them...that if you know where to look for it, you can see the luck, the happiness, or the tragedy of a person's entire existence in their eyes/actions/demeanor when they're a child.



But now that Anonybabe is around, I'm feeling the opposite. She's not exactly a blank slate, but she's a damn site closer to it than I ever thought she'd be. She is poised on the cusp of writing her own story. For reals. That's exciting. And strange.

Perhaps I took Oedipus Rex a bit too seriously in junior high. I tend to project this air of tragedy on kids. Like they already carry the mantle of grief and confusion and responsibility that adults have. I still don't think innocence is a virtue. A luxury, maybe. _Maybe_.

But I was surprised to see a glimpse of clean innocence in Anonybabe last night. And I was surprised by how...natural it felt.

Watch her sleep

I'm scared to let myself enjoy Anonybabe. She was freaking delightful yesterday. Babbling and talking. Thanking me for stuff. Pooping in the mother effing potty for Christ's sake.


I think back to those first nights in that first year...they were nightmarish. I really felt like I was going to die or she was going to die. Stop breathing in the night. Like I wasn't going to be diligent enough. Of course I didn't really think that she was going to be suffocated under a pillow or by her own CO2, but...if I was awake, and I often was, at least every hour on the hour - I'd think, might as well check, just to see that she's okay, just to make sure this isn't the one time I assumed things were okay and they weren't, just to do everything within my power to make sure she is safe and happy, because god knows most things are outside of my control. I was just...so scared and unhappy. And lonely.


This morning as I climbed out of bed and into my clothes while Anonybabe and Anonyhub were still sleeping, I went back to say a little silent blessing and goodbye over each of them before I left. I always go to Anonybabe first. I thought about this as I leaned over her to watch her breath, as I thought out my declarations of love and wishes that she have an exciting, fulfilling, captivating day. I looked over at Anonyhub, head thrown back, mouth open. He used to get the benefit of my laserbeam focus before Anonybabe came along. When she did, I kind of dropped him like a hot potato. She needed me, but it kind of boiled/boils down to the fact that I want her. I choose to be consumed by her. It's so easy to fall into. The dopamine riverbeds were all dredged out so that when that first flood of the mother obsession hormone hit, it flowed easily in her direction.


Can I really live this and observe it at the same time? Motherhood, I mean? In my mind's eye, I'm always holding up all of the failed and broken and tepid and twisted parent/child relationships I know - and they are legion. Why in the world would I think my relationship with my daughter would be any different? Everybody loves their kids. Everybody does what they have the resources to do. And yet everybody suffers. But I think I'm trying to jump ahead to the suffering part, the alienation, the stifling anger, the lifelong damage. I'm trying to head it off at the pass. And I don't really think I can. Rather, the only way I could would be to bypass all of the good parts of being a mother: the intimacy, the miracles of growth and development happening right before my eyes, the depth of affection. I think they are all part and parcel. And I know that to embrace the good is to necessarily open myself wide to the bad. To feel even more keenly than Anonybabe does the pain she'll inflict on herself while she's trying to figure herself out.


The process of pregnancy and childbirth wasn't as bad as I feared. In fact, it was pretty awesome. Maybe the same thing will happen as Anonybabe grows up and becomes a human in every sense of the word. Maybe watching her grow up won't be as painful as growing up myself.



I'm ready for her to become sinful, in some ways. I'm ready to be com padres.

Game on

My dad was a football player. A pretty good one, I'm told. He was a star player in high school and college, set some records, even played pro for a smidgen of a moment. He had (and even has to this day) a hard time letting go of his glory days.

I thought of it as no coincidence that he had a hard time letting go of the days when his kids worshipped his every move. He would talk wistfully about the time when we adored him, before we started calling him to task about this or that. I never had much empathy for him for that. "Suck it up," I'd think. "Kick your damn ego out of the way so we can interact like adults."

But I'm starting to sprout a little empathy for the man. A body could get used to all of this hero worship. It is heady, heady stuff. Anonybabe gets pissed with me, sure, and often. But I'm still the greatest thing since sliced bread as far as she's concerned. I find myself forgetting that this has got to change, and will soon.

She is usually still asleep when I go to work, but she woke everybody up before dawn this morning, chattering her head off. We got to eat breakfast together, and then I suited up for the cold. Usually the sight of my coat and hat are enough to elicit moans from Anonybabe, but this morning she said brightly "Bye, Mama! Bye bye!" I am ashamed to admit that it was very very hard to kiss her and leave while the getting was good. "Where are the tears?" I thought. "Where is the gut-wrenching need for me?" I hesitated, found myself waiting for it...then had to will myself out the door.

Oh, god. In how many microscopic ways am I fostering dependence? I regularly shock myself with my own ugly desire to be the center of her world. I want to be aware of her need for me, respectful of it, tender with it. But I want to be happy for her when she is content without me.

If it ain't broke...

Anonybabe seems to be intent on squeezing every last drop of goodness out of her winning "I hab idea" phrase.

Most recently she composed a tune on her 4 note toy piano: "Iiiiii....haaaab...iiiiii.....deaaaaaaaa!"