Did you know this blog started out as a way to recap my adventure into mommyhood? I wanted a place to talk about/share my life as a triumphant mother. I had high, lofty goals as to how I thought things would turn out. Unfortunately, that first year didn’t go exactly as I envisioned and it was less about being triumphant and more about keeping my head above water.
So, I just didn’t really talk about being a mom. I couldn’t let people know I felt like a failure. I mean, clearly everyone else did such a great job at it per social media! One thing led to another and I somehow began this #runtamrun adventure and well, my blog became what it is today. Mostly training plans, high-fives, and talking about my fear of pooping myself.
God bless the internet.
And while I’m in a much, much better place than I was two years ago I still don’t post much about being a mom. But this time it comes from a different place. A place of privacy. Sometimes, I just want to keep our memories to ourselves. No need to blast them into the universe despite what social media tells us. When we had Lillie I purposefully did not post a picture on Facebook for, like, days. I wanted family and close friends to be witness to our blessing first. I was fairly hormonal and with not taking to motherhood like I thought I should have, odds were I would break down and tell you all to fuck off and never have kids. I was protecting you guys. I swear.
[Fact: That actually did happen. Ask Emilie.]
That is to say, I don’t judge any of you who do this – I’m a sucker for an adorable new born baby picture just like any ovary-laden woman is – this was just how we felt at the time. (If
when we get pregnant again, I probably will post a picture much quicker this go-around. I’m in a different place now.)
I’m writing all this to basically say, every so often I will write about Lillie and I won’t judge you if you don’t read. Most of you have stuck around to cheer me on in my training (you guys are the bestest!) but y’all, she’s 3 now and fucking hilarious. I don’t want to forget these moments, so, I give to you Lillie Lately.
[Walking down the hallway, Lillie comes up from behind & pulls my sweatpants to the ground]
Me: What the…?
Lillie: I SEE YOUR BOOTY. I SEEEEE IIIIITTTTTT!
She runs away laughing maniacally, I sigh loudly.
Putting away laundry, I walk by the restroom where Lillie is “dooty”-fully sitting on the toilet. She’s unrolling the toilet paper while singing, “I’m getting paper for my booootyy. BOOOTYYY.”
If you have asked her at any point in the past two months what she’s going to ask Santa for you would have gotten this answer, “A biiig yogurt.”
I know you’re probably thinking that we’re just not hearing her correctly, but I assure that is not the case. Perhaps she’s saying “Yogi Bear?” like one of our church members suggested, but no, she literally means a huge bowl of yogurt.
And yes, Santa assured her that was possible with a slight nod from mom when his eyes met mine at the request.
A few weeks ago I set out early Saturday morning to get some miles in, I had hoped to be finished by the time she woke up – she wasn’t and with about 1 mile left in me, she & Alfred surprised me by driving up beside me. It was a nice little morale booster as I finished up and man, I felt good thinking about what a wonderful example I must be setting for her.
A couple hours later, she walked up to me and said, “Mama, you were running like dis! [arms moving back & forth beside her] but it was lot slower, like dis. [arms moving at a snail’s pace] I like to run faasssstt. Why you don’t run fast?”
Basically, my kid just called me out on being slow. And I couldn’t even argue with her because well, 1. It’s kind of true and 2. She’s three. You can’t out argue a 3 year old, it’s next to impossible. And if you somehow manage to find a winning argument, it won’t fucking matter because by that time they won’t care. They’ll be too wrapped up in putting shoes on Barbie or flicking a bug across the kitchen floor.
Anyone else have kid stories to share?
Please, for the love of sweet baby Jesus, let me know I’m not alone.