This past Monday I picked up what’s left of my dignity, threw it on the ground and promptly drove over it in my new suburban mom SUV. In other words, I took Drew to baby story time at the local library. The whole experience was only forty five minutes but, oh! Where do I begin?

Well, why don’t we start at the beginning. The library is two floors, and the children’s library is on the second floor (we won’t get into why I think this is a poor planning choice, seeing as many children sit in STROLLERS! That require an ELEVATOR ride!). I ASSumed that baby story time was in the children’s library. So I wheel Drew into the small elevator, and shove us into the corner so that a nanny and her charge can get into the elevator with us. We arrive at level two and as the door opens the nanny realizes that we are not where we are supposed to be.

“You’re here for baby story time?” the nanny asks.
“Yup,” I reply.
“Oh, yes, story time is down,” she says and points below us. I look at the elevator buttons and see an “LL”.
“Oh!” I say. “On the lower level?” Then awkwardly mutter something about how this is my first time. (Isn’t your first time always awkward?)

We get to the ‘lower level’ and as we roll our strollers down the hall I suddenly see where baby story time takes place. “Oh!” I say brightly to the nanny. “It’s in the audiTORium!” Meanwhile, I’m thinking, this library has an AUDITORIUM? Where am I? The seats are all wood, polished to a bright shine. The nanny deftly pulls over to the side of the hallway and pulls her charge out of her stroller. I ask if we are to leave our strollers outside of the auditorium and she tells me yes. Of course. We wouldn’t want to mar the impeccably spit and polished auditorium! Oh well, when in Rome…

Drew and I get into the auditorium and while I am trying to play it cool, trying to look like I know exactly what goes on at baby story time I look around for a friendly face – another mom who looks equally confused or in a state of disbelief that she, too, has ended up here – sitting on a giant rug featuring cartoon animals and waiting eagerly to begin reading a story that is likely no more than twenty-five words long.

Except, no such luck. First, I am one of maybe three moms in the place. The other fifteen or so women are nannies. A nagging SAHM insecurity creeps in: are the moms of these other children too important to attend an activity such as this? Are they all on critical conference calls, talking about important issues, shaping the geo-political landscape? Are the other moms busy trying to stop the oil leak in the Gulf? All while I sit on the animal rug, staring at the yellow duck, pondering whether we’re going to read The Very Hungry Caterpillar or Goodnight Moon?

My wonderings are interrupted by the arrival of the children’s librarian. She’s blonde and slightly overweight and very nervous. It seems today’s turnout is much larger than usual. I feel slightly sorry for this woman who keeps brushing her bangs out of her face and trying to raise her voice to an octave not usually acceptable in a library setting. I don’t imagine she’s a fan of public speaking. She’s a librarian after all; she chose a career in books. But there we are, fifteen women (and one man) and sixteen babies of varying ages, all waiting for something magical to happen.

The librarian starts off by waving hello to all of us with her stuffed tiger hand puppet. We then begin a round of nursery rhymes. Drew is whimpering, a tragic frown on his face and a lone, fat tear resting underneath his left eye. I don’t know if it’s all the babies or the unfamiliar environment or the suspicious brown tiger who can clap his paws together. I turn Drew to face me, shushing him and telling him that it’s ok, but on the inside even I kind of want to weep. We blow kisses at our babies, take pony rides to Boston, and all the while Drew is one cry away from a full-blown meltdown. We sing Baa Baa Black Sheep and a stuffed black sheep comes out of the librarian’s bag of tricks, jumping up and down and encouraging us all to sing along. When we get to the nursery rhymes he recognizes he calms down a little, but he’s still not comfortable. I don’t blame him.

The whole event ends with a rousing rendition of Ring Around The Roses. We all have to get up and ‘dance’ with our babies around the circle. I bounce Drew in my arms and continue to whisper ‘it’s ok, it’s ok’. We drop down to the animal rug at the chorus ‘ashes, ashes, we all fall DOWN!’ and with that, I see the very last shred of my dignity disappear into the rarified air of the auditorium.

Oh, baby story time. I’ll see you next month.

I know I’m supposed to ‘enjoy every moment’ with my son and ‘treasure it all’ because it ‘all goes by so fast’ but can I confess that I’m a little bit eager for Drew to get to an older stage? There are so many fun places we could go to around here, so many fun activities we could do together. I want to take him into Manhattan on the train. I want to take him to the aquarium. I want to take him to a simple playground, for chrissake. But it’s too soon.

Drew is nearly five months and yes, this past month has been one of incredible leaps in his development. It’s blowing my mind how fast he has morphed from a sleeping, shitting blob to something that more closely resembles a human. There are things he LIKES. Granted, they are nothing more than funny voices, silly faces, and tickling motions, but all of a sudden I know what to do to make him smile, or even laugh. It’s great. But I’m greedy. And like anything else that’s good, rather than revel in the goodness, I find myself wanting more. More, more, more.

I’ve been looking up various activities to do with Drew. I’m open to anything. Music, sports, outdoors, indoors, I really don’t care what it is. I just want to Do Things with him. But I haven’t really found much that you can do with a baby under six months old. It’s like you’re in a holding pattern from birth to six months. Just make it through parents, then we’ll talk.

I know six, eight, ten months, even a year isn’t far off. And before I know it we’ll be so busy that I’ll be longing for the days when I could just pop Drew in the stroller and go out to lunch somewhere without having to tell him to sit still, be quiet, hands off the table. But right now? I’m a little bored. A little lonely. I want a little more out of my sidekick.

Mother’s Day took on a new meaning for me this year as I got to join the club of (hundreds of?) millions of women who are celebrated on this day. And it’s funny, because while you know that (hundreds of?) millions of women are honored on Mother’s Day, you still feel like it is Your Very Special Day, just for you, almost like your birthday but better because you are being honored for what you do, not just the fact that you exist.

I didn’t have any grand plans for my first Mother’s Day, mind you. I just wanted to spend the day with my boys, and, oh alright, I secretly hoped that Mike would handle more of the baby wrangling and household chores, thus giving me the opportunity to laze around on the couch and gaze at my family while feeling like the Queen of Sheba.

I’m pleased to say that the day unfolded pretty much just like that. Drew kicked things off by sleeping two extra hours – until eight rather than six. This allowed Mike to sleep in along with me, which placed him in better spirits for the morning. Following that happy start, I had a perfectly brewed cup of coffee made for me, a beautiful bunch of flowers surprised upon me and a couple cards, one from Mike and one from Drew. Kid’s a genius! Four months and he’s already signing his own cards. (and I still believe in Santa).

We spent the afternoon at Mike’s parents’ house and while I did end up washing more post-meal pots and pans than I would care to on Mother’s Day, I did have a delicious meal that I didn’t have to prepare, so I’ll count my blessings. It was also delightful to see Drew’s grandparents and uncle fuss and marvel over him. He played the role of perfect grandson to a tee too. For several days prior he had endured teething spells that left him cranky and frankly, rather annoying. But on Sunday? All smiles. Kid knows when to put on his Sunday best, I’ll tell ya.

It twas a day to remember, and yet I did not remember to take any pictures. Here’s one from last week though. Let’s pretend it was taken yesterday, shall we?

I haven’t mentioned it explicitly, but if you’ve been reading for awhile and are good at context clues, you may have guessed that since the birth of my son I have transitioned jobs and am now a stay at home mom.

The title ‘stay at home mom’ really opens up a Pandora’s box of reactions, doesn’t it? If we were to play word association, what words would come to mind? Old-fashioned? Necessary? Unnecessary? Ideal? Noble? Luxury? Drudgery?

I was always of two minds about the institution. My mom was a stay at homer in the eighties, arguably a post-feminist decade when women had already trailblazed their right to work in corporate America and were headed to offices in all their boxy blazered, shoulder-padded glory. “Latchkey kid” was a common term back then and I recall that many of my classmates were just that. Of course, kids never want to be different, so in those days I wanted my mom to work just because everyone else’s mom did. I was too young to appreciate that there was always someone there to ask how my day was when I walked through the door, even though as I got older my response was always ‘fine’, followed by a trudge upstairs to my room. Ah, teenage angst!

Once I became a working professional and found some degree of success in that world, it was hard for me to fathom how I would one day factor kids into the mix. I had worked so hard over the past six years. Would I really just give it all up? I couldn’t see how. Besides, I liked the feelings of accomplishment that came from a job well done. I liked being recognized for my talents and rewarded with the occasional promotion or even less occasional pay raise. I liked the intellectual challenge. So what would my options be if a child were to enter into the mix? Daycare? A nanny? Common choices, obviously, but scenarios that neither I nor Mike had any experience with (his mom was a stay at homer too).

I tried to picture what life would be like in all scenarios. Of course, without benefit of having a child already, this was impossible. In the end, a multitude of considerations guided my choice. And thankfully, it was my choice. Mike understood that while his input was critical, it was ultimately me—the mom—who had the final say.

So here I am: a mom at home. It’s funny, no one (or at least very few) would argue that motherhood—work at home, work outside the home, stay at home—is the hardest job in the world. Stay at home motherhood, though? I understand that there are plenty who question the merits of this career choice. To me, though, being a stay at home mom is like anything in life – it’s what you make of it. I could park myself in front of the TV at every nap time, getting up only when absolutely necessary. And let’s be honest, there are days when I’d like to do exactly that. I choose not to. When the baby is up, alert and wanting attention, I shower it on him. I dedicate myself to being with him – teaching him, making him feel loved, playing with him. At times, this is incredibly tedious. Talking to someone who can’t talk back tends to make you feel a little nutty. Keeping up a chipper tone of voice for twelve hours a day can be incredibly tiresome. Dangling brightly colored objects in front of a person’s face over and over again gets monotonous. But the smiles you get in return, the moments you realize your child has picked up a new skill or learned something about the world because of you really are rewarding.

When Drew’s napping, I work on the other aspects of the job, what those in the restaurant industry call ‘side work.’ I do the laundry, yes, and I iron. I empty and load the dishwasher ad infinitum, I clean the bathrooms. Are these tasks drudgery? Yes, but doesn’t every job have some degree of mindless work?

I try new recipes, with the goal of mastering a signature lineup of dishes. One day when Drew is grown and living on his own, I hope when he comes home he asks for some of these meals, ones I worked hard to master in the early years of his life and that Mike politely choked down while I was still getting the hang of them. I hope that when Drew’s away at college, or living in his first apartment, when talk comes to food he tells friends or girlfriends ‘my mom makes the best…’

The rewards of this job will never come in the form of pay. And I know it’s likely that sometimes my efforts will be rewarded with tantrums, tears, sneers and slamming doors. Many of the rewards may not be reaped for another twenty years. But I’m patient; I can wait. In the meantime I’ll accept http://www.shesjustsayin.com/wp-admin/post-new.phppayment in the form of gummy grins and snuggles.

They happen simply, quickly, with no fanfare. They happen at random times, the way the universe intends—when you least expect them. They are small things, really. But they are huge. They are milestones.

For weeks and weeks he stared at you, watched you feed, change and care for him. And then one day he smiles, and that smile changes everything.

His tiny fists were bunched and now slowly, over time, they are not. Now his hands are spread wide, open, accepting of your finger. Where once you couldn’t pry one tiny finger out, now you are holding hands.

His legs were curled up into his abdomen, frog-like. And while you were feeding, changing and caring for him they slowly unfurled. Now they are stretched out, dangling out of your arms while you hold him, kicking the side of the rocking chair, seeking more space to spread out.

His noises were only grunts and slurps, indicators of basic needs. Soon soft coos were added into the mix, vowel sounds, like all the experts said. Now there are consonants sprinkled in, and the sounds are louder, more forceful. He was once quiet (save for the cries), now he’s an endless string of OOOOH, GRRRR, ANNNHHH, RMMMMM, EUUUUUUU.

His head was a floppy appendange, needing to be constantly cradled and nestled close. Now his neck is strong, and his head cranes this way and that. “Focus” you tell him while burping, trying to steer his head back to center.

His back was best, the only way he would lie on the floor. You tried the belly. He struggled, cried. Then, from one day to the next, something changed. On his belly he pushed himself up and looked around, happy, not frustrated. He turned his little swivel head this way and that and took in the new views. He arched his back slightly and leaned, just a little at first, and then more. You watched, pleased with his progress. And then the lean tilted to an even sharper angle and gently the weight of his body shifted. He rolled over. He looked up at the sky, calm. You showered him with praise, tears pricking your eyes. He accepted the praise but his look seemed to say, ‘what’s the big deal?’ It’s as if he’s been doing it forever. Another milestone reached, little, but huge.