Awkward Mom vs. The Trimester Three Triad

Newsflash! Super Toddler took his first steps on Thursday, October 6, 2011! Exactly 7 months and 27 days after BabyCenter sent us that email telling us that he should have already taken them. He was stark naked, trying to get away from a diaper change; motivation really is everything, it would seem.

Yes, I know I owe you a home visit post. I have it somewhat written; can't quite finish it. Guess the pain is too fresh. Not to mention the villains we are dealing with over here. Readers, let me just tell you; the Trimester Three Triad have taken up residence at Awkward Manor.

You know; Exhaustion, Fake Labor, and Bored-of-Being-Pregnant-Want-Baby-to-Hold-Now. Now, these are the Triad bosses, but they have tons of minions that stomp in and out like they own the place. Currently, Self-Doubt is sitting on my chest. He was roused by all the comments regarding my size I have been getting lately. (Side note, please don't ever ever say to a pregnant woman, "Are you sure that is your due date? Because when I was 8 months, I was much much bigger than you." Believe me, someone in the 8th month of pregnancy has felt every one of those 8 months and is 2 steps away from making your lip much much bigger for daring to rob her of any of it. Oh, and the response, "You don't look pregnant at all" never sounds nice. If you think I look like I have a beer belly, please keep it to yourself.) Lurking over there in the corner, looking really shifty, is Panic, I-can't-Stop-Making-Lists, and I-feel-like-John-Hurt-from-Alien-please-don't-let-the-baby-come-out-the-same-way. Oh, it is a non-stop party over here.

To be fair, Exhaustion has been here for awhile. Guess he scouted the place out for the other guys. I can not sleep. There is little to no sleep going on. I toss. I turn. I move. I kick Awkward Dad and his snoring out. I fall asleep for a couple minutes and then go get him because I heard a noise that may or may not have been in my dream. I toss. I turn. I get stuck while turning. It is endless. So, I ask BabyCenter (when will I learn?) what to do. Take naps. Oh, I see, take naps. When exactly? Super Toddler naps like a champ because he doesn't exactly like to sleep at night. I think he might be in league with Exhaustion. Super Preschooler sleeps like an angel at night but as given up his afternoon nap in favor of this: "Mommy, Mommy, look, I can do a hand-stand on the couch. Mommy, Mommy, how many is 2? What is blood? When is Halloween? Is it Halloween today? Can I be a ghost? Mommy, Mommy, look, I am a ghost, doing a hand-stand on the couch. Mommy, Mommy, can I have a snake? How many is 4? How do you spell Halloween? When is Halloween? Mommy, Mommy, can I have some markers? Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy. Nothing, just wanted you. Mommy, Mommy, look, I drew you a picture. On the couch. Mommy, Mommy, what's wrong?"

Fake labor has arrived. And that is what I am calling her. I don't care that her real name is
Braxton Hicks Contractions and that, according to "What to Expect When you are Expecting" (seriously, when will I learn?) she is actually very helpful in the very early labor process. Whatever. Every single time I feel one of her fake labor contractions, I get excited. I think, "This is it! Here we go! Gonna meet Super Fetus soon!" And then, the contraction goes away. And nothing else happens. Well, now, that isn't quite true. Stuff happens. Someone needs a diaper, a cat throws up, someone wants a cookie and throws a fit when handed an apple slice; you know, stuff. But not exciting birth stuff that will require someone else to deal with the diaper, the vomit, and the fits for a few days, while I go to a fancy hospital with nurses that bring me ice and let me sleep and give me a little baby to hold. And yes, I am aware I may be skipping over some other unpleasant "stuff" here, but you have to know that the sheer power of Bored-of Being-Pregnant-Want-Baby-to-Hold-Now can render you blind to memories of the other aspects of birth. He is an extremely powerful villain, kinda like a Doctor Doom or a Galactus. You know, the more I think of it, the more Fake Labor is like a herald for Bored-of-.....you know, I am just gonna call him Bored. You all know what I mean and I am too exhausted to type his whole name. Anywho, Fake Labor is Bored's Herald; kinda like Silver Surfer is to Galactus. Yes, that is it. And yes, I really nerded out there, sorry.

My whole point is that I am in my third trimester.

Really? That was my whole point?

Oh, and I can't seem to manage to finish my other post because of it.

Really? Because that doesn't make it any better a point.

Hmmm....not sure what my point was.

Hey, did I tell you that Super Toddler walked?

Sigh. Let's let Awkward Mom get it together, shall we? Check back here soon, perhaps she'll somehow nap and be able to be a little more coherent. Same awkward time, Same awkward channel!

Walk? Like all the time? Lady, come on. I gave you those few steps the other day, give me a break. I am busy right now standing in a hole in this Elmo table. Check back with me in a few. Thanks.

Awkward Mom vs. Perfect Mom

Frankly, we are not sure what number battle we are on here with Perfect Mom, probably 1604. We were waiting to document it in blog form until we had a big one on our hands, and this, my dear Readers, is a doozy.

OK, so here is what happens. Excellent Mom and I head to the park. I am not going to tell you where this park is, mostly to protect the guilty, but I will tell you that I have no intention of heading back anytime soon.

Super Preschooler is playing by the merry-go-round. He wants to play on the see-saw, but since Super Toddler and Excellent Toddler want to swing, that makes see-saw kinda just see. Which isn't as fun. So, he is pushing the merry-go-round sadly, and the toddlers are swinging. Excellent Mom and I are probably gossiping, can't remember, but that is a pretty good guess. The swings are maybe 8-10 feet from the merry-go-round and Super Preschooler is in full view of the rest of the party. (You all know that is about to become important.)

A swarm of boys (ages 3-4) descends on the merry-go-round; Super Preschooler is elated! He begins pushing it with them and all is joy....for about 2 seconds. Perfect Mom appears on the scene and yells, "Stop, stop, there is a LITTLE boy there. Wait until he leaves."

Ummmm....

Then, she arrives at the merry-go-round, puts a protective arm around my son, and loudly announces to the park "whose LITTLE boy is this? Where is your [extremely neglectful] mother, LITTLE boy."

I wave and say (no need to shout when you are 8 feet away), "He is mine. He's fine, I can see him." And for the record, I swear I say this civilly.

She says, "Oh, well, come get him. They are going to go too fast for him."

"I am sure he will be fine, he has been itching to go fast on that thing."

"Oh no, I am sure he will get hurt. He is so LITTLE."

OK.....now my voice gets icy, I'll admit it. "He is their age. He is 3 and a half. I am sure he can play on the merry-go-round too."

"They are going to go too fast for him. He will get hurt."

I do NOT want to fight this woman, I really don't. I walk over there and pick Super Preschooler up, while saying to him, "I am sorry, Super Preschooler, but it seems these boys don't want to play with you." Was that childish? Perhaps, but it is the truth. Well, their mom doesn't want him playing with them, so same thing at this age, really.

She verbally leaps at me. "That is NOT what I said! He is too little, he will get hurt." She turns to gossip about me with her friends, while the boys (plus a little brother, who is most likely 2) pile onto the merry-go-round.

I just walk away and resume pushing Super Toddler in his swing. Super Preschooler, not in the slightest upset (this is important for later, folks), goes off to pick up acorns.

This should be the end of it, but remember, this is Perfect Mom.

About 30 minutes later, Excellent Mom, Excellent Toddler, the Super boys, and I are having a pleasant picnic lunch. Not a Skittle or Cheezit in sight, I am most proud of myself. It is a lovely day and the children are all happily eating fruit. This day is certainly on the upswing. Except it is totally not. Perfect Mom approaches and says to me "I want to revisit our encounter."

Seriously? Because I really really don't. (Of course, I say this in my head and turn politely to her instead.)

For the briefest moment, I fantasize that she is going to apologize for excluding my child or embarrassing me, but please. This is Perfect Mom. She doesn't make mistakes. She crouches down between Super Preschooler and me and the rest is the crazy-making lecture of the century. So, here you go (to the best of my knowledge I am not exaggerating this and Excellent Mom can correct anything I left out):

Perfect Mom: I just don't understand why you were upset.

Me: Ummmm...well, I was watching my son, I was right there, and when you asked whose child he was, I suppose I got defensive. (Check out my mature "I" statements, Readers!)

Perfect Mom: Well, I always stand right next to my child, so I didn't see you. He is too little to play with them.

Me: He is short for his age, but he is 3 and a half. He is their age, he could have participated.

Perfect Mom: He would have got hurt.

Me: You don't know that.

Perfect Mom: Well, the most damaging thing of all was when YOU spoke for us and said that we didn't want him to play. You spoke for us and that wasn't true, you said we didn't want him to play and that was damaging to all the kids. That was so damaging to the kids. (She is stage whispering this to me 2 inches from Super Preschooler's ear. I assume the whispering is to protect him from further damage.) It was SO damaging that you said that.

Me: But it was true.

Perfect Mom: I never said he couldn't play with them.

Me: But you did.

Perfect Mom: It was so damaging.

She leaves. And I am left with that uncomfortable feeling of rage that I know will be turned inward on the ride home. Excellent Mom, an excellent friend with a great sense of emotional intelligence, looks right at me and says "This is her issue, not yours. You were fine."

I know in my head that she is right, but I don't think anyone can explain it to my heart. Or my stomach. Which is now in need of those Skittles. Or maybe some chocolate....a cake of some sort....brownies, that would be good...excuse me please....be right back...perhaps some ice cream...no...no...Waffles!

And let the self-pity party begin! We swear that we will get to the home visit at some point, patient Readers. But Awkward Mom has left the building, emotionally speaking, and she is also physically on her way to the kitchen to rummage around. How about we get back to you on the home visit, eh? Thanks!

He looks 3 and a half, right? I mean, I know the fashion sense is early 20s raver, but everything else says 3 and a half, right?

Awkward Mom vs. the Mini-Van

We regret that we must interrupt your regularly scheduled program with this urgent announcement: The Awkward Family now has a Mini-Van! Just to be clear, we don't regret that. Just the interrupting. We shall return you to your regularly scheduled programming just as soon as Awkward Mom stops looking at Wonderwall on MSN.....might be awhile. Here are some pictures of the new Awkward-Mobile to tide you over!

Same make and color as the old Awkward-Mobile. We tried to convince Super Preschooler that we used magic to "grow" the car. He wanted to know why it took all day then. Never try to pull the wool over his magical eyes.

A whole row all to himself....at least until November.

Just noticed those keys there.....nice one, Awkward Dad.

Giving the steering wheel a kiss. The fact that while kissing the steering wheel he blew the horn so loud that it brought all our neighbors to the windows still does not affect the cuteness.

Here's to many an adventure in the new Awkward-Mobile!

(And yes, there are already Goldfish and Cheerios on the floor...)