Letting Her Go (just a little bit)

Giuliana is growing up so fast, it literally makes my head spin sometimes. Just a second ago I was struggling with nursing and buying size 1 diapers. Now I have a girl who runs around the house playing "Twinkle Twinkle" on her kazoo and is practicing climbing in and out of her (really HIGH) big Big Girl bed.

I posted this picture on Facebook the other day and my friend (Hi, Kate!) wrote back, "cute pics of a little girl, but where is Giuliana...I don't see a baby anywhere?" AHHHH! She's so right! Look at that face-no trace of a baby anywhere!

Lately I've been trying to let myself allow her to grow-up a little bit. Just a little bit. She's such a good girl. She's so careful. And she enjoys her freedom. But, man, is it hard to let go. I've been allowing her to play by herself for short periods of time, even if I can't see what she's doing. I've even permitted her to be on a different floor of the house by herself for a few minutes! I'll admit, putting that in print fills me with anxiety. Am I a terribly negligent mother?!? What do you mean you don't have your eyes on her EVERY MOMENT! But then I remember, again, she's not six months old anymore. She is growing up and deserves the freedom, and responsibility, of a little independence.

Right at this moment I am sitting in her bedroom, on the laptop, while she plays her toy piano and sings "Old MacDonald." She sings about good Ol' Mac and his duck, and she stops suddenly and asks where her little toy duck is.

"It's downstairs, I think" she says, "I go get it, be right back!" And then she runs away.

"Be careful," I call out as she heads for the stairs.

Be Careful. I must say that a hundred times a day. Enough that she often looks at me as she is about to do something risky and says, "Be careful, Giuliana!" just to save me the effort, I guess. But then she usually does take her time with whatever it is she is trying to do and is careful about it, so the reminder must stick somewhere in her brain.

I know it's just a matter of time before she is driving away on her own. I just want to make sure she's always careful, whether I'm there to remind her or not.

Just Me, My Bowl of Ice Cream, and My Thoughts

Friday night and I'm all alone. Well, not entirely alone. There is a sleeping two year old who until a half an hour ago was climbing all over me, kissing and hugging and generally trying every trick in her Cute Book to weasel out of going to bed. Ha. She doesn't know who she's dealing with. Obviously.

And there's the dog and the cat. But their both snoozing, too. Other than THAT, I'm all alone. Which really just equates to my husband being out of the house. He and his dad went to see local wrestling. Not local high school wrestling. Just local, adult men, wrestling. Ewww. John was NOT psyched about this plan. But when his dad gets an idea, there really is not saying "no, I'd really rather stay home and clean the eaves. In the dark. And in frigid weather. While it's snowing. Thanks anyway."

So, it's me and my ice cream. It was me and my Dove Chocolate Truffles a few minutes ago. I'm indulging a serious need to douse my troubles with chocolate. This week has suuuuuuuuuuuuuuucked. It was my first week as department supervisor at work. That in and of itself wasn't so bad, but coupled with every other stressor in my life at the moment it was really all I could do not to quietly unplug my phone, cart it to the garbage room and hide it under a pile of shredding. After smashing it with my shoe. Or a hammer.

I feel like I'm losing my grip. Just a little. I came home from work this evening, left G playing with Daddy downstairs, changed into sweats and flopped on the bed. And stewed. That is so very unlike me. Usually, to my own peril, I am a busy little worker bee when I get home. I just can't relax right away. There's dinner to make, a kid to play with, Facebook to check, chores to do...I don't actually sit down until sometime after G has been tucked in and the dishes have been done. I admit, some nights I have to push myself along as I longingly look at the couch, but most nights I'm on autopilot. Tonight, I'd just had enough. I really didn't care if anything got done or if we ate at all. I didn't even give G a bath, just put her to bed grimey.

I'm just fed up with things being so hard. This is so very cliche, I know. And shallow and selfish and stupid. But I'm just angry that things that seem* to come pretty easily for most people cost John and I dearly. It costs our mental health. Both of us are feeling the effects of all this stress and depression is setting it. It costs our relationship. It's so very hard to feel romantic or spontaneous when you are living according to a damn clinical chart. It costs us financially because of all the freaking copays to multiple doctors and pharmacies that add up over time. Believe me they add up.

Some days I really regret this decision because I knew it would be like this. I just knew it. Then I think about all the things I'm hording up in the attic and imagine giving them away, giving up so quickly and never needing them again. That breaks my heart.

I admit, though, that a quick perusal of my blog list will find several women who have what I want. And they didn't have that when I started following them. It seems every one is on the same page as I am, but my page is still blank. And it's beginning to hurt. Again. This is how it was the first time around. So very hard. So frustrating. So all consuming.

I just wanna get drunk, have sex and get knocked up. Why can't it be that easy?


*Disclaimer: I KNOW it only seems that way. Everyone has their own struggles, yada, yada, yada...I'm just not there right now. Right now, this is how I feel.

Too Cute Not To Share

More dress-up. Introducing Her Royal Highness, Queen Giuliana.

Edited to add: I originally called her "Princess Giuliana", but I had to come back and upgrade her status after contemplating that she would NEVER settle for a Princess title. This little Diva rules whatever room she walks into...

Fun In A Box

When I was a kid, my cousins and I had in the toy room an ancient steamer trunk that was filled with tossed off dresses, scarves, hats, shoes, purses, necklaces, gloves, and other assorted and random articles of clothing from my mother, grandmother and aunts. There were even a few donations from my grandfather in there. Our dress up box looked exactly like this.


Now, I can't tell you what my grandma and my mom were thinking when they put this monolith in a room dedicated to our toys and imagination, but I can tell you that none of us ever lost a finger or suffocated climbing in and out of this thing. And we did climb in and out of it on a regular basis. I can also tell you that playing dress-up for hours on end with my cousins is my very favorite childhood memory. We would spend all day creating different outfits for each other, playing "house" and "school" and "store" in full regalia. We would eventually string up an old sheet on the front porch and drag all the adults out to the driveway to watch our costumed "plays."

I played dress-up when I was alone, too. I lived with my parents in my grandparents' house, so I had the advantage of having the toy room and all its treasures to myself most of the time. I vividly remember donning "gowns" and bedazzling myself in necklaces, bracelets, and a glittering gold scarf and spending the afternoon running around the yard pretending I was Maid Marion ala Robin Hood.


Giuliana's dress-up box is currently housed in an old picnic basket. I have plans to upgrade her collection of accoutrements to a larger trunk-style home eventually, but haven't found the right combination of steamer-trunk-without-the-threat-of-potential-dismemberment-and/or-death yet. And for now, it all fits nicely.

The other night Giuliana ran to her dress-up box and, all by herself, whipped up what I already know is going to be one of my very most treasured memories of her toddlerhood. We had finished dinner and she had cuddled up on the couch to watch a little pre-bath Max & Ruby. Max and his bossy big sister were playing "detective" and searching for clues to solve a mystery. They were decked out in trench-coats, hats and magnifying glasses. The moment the show ended Giuliana jumped up and raced to her dress-up box. She started throwing scarves and purses left and right out of her way until she dug up her own magnifying glass. Next she located one of her hats, a pair of sunglasses, and a scarf. She asked me to get out her coat, and I finally realized what she was doing. I handed her her tweed trench-style coat out of the closet and helped her put it on. She accessorized herself and then began running around the house looking for clues with her magnifying glass and trying to solve a "miss-ry!"

Sigh. (Sorry for the blurry picture, but I couldn't get her to stand still for more than 3 seconds.) I love this girl. And I love her childhood.