Lillie Lately v.1

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.