She Will Be Infinite


This is one of those images of Charli that makes my heart stop. If only time would stop, too.

I know that one day I’ll dig through thousands of digital photos to find this exact photo. I’ll compare it to her first day of kindergarten and her last day of high school. I’ll show it off to anyone who can stand to see the picture … Again.

I will relive all of my favorite moments, like the first time she tip-toed down a large, empty hallway with an owl backpack slung across her back. She looked so very small and so very curious.

This Charlotte, this beautiful daughter of mine will be infinite. Maybe only in my world, but that’s all I need.

Her Mother’s Daughter

HOS’ job keeps him busy most nights, so Ms. Charli is stuck hanging out with me. I’m afraid the poor child is doomed…

Every day brings new experiences that only perpetuate my belief that she takes after me.

These are the top 5 reasons I know my daughter is my mini-me.

1. She throws a tantrum when someone takes away her cookies. While this is true of most people, we have this awesome tantrum where we cautiously lower ourselves onto the floor to prevent injury. Once safely sitting on the floor, we commence flailing around like mad women.

2. Her finger nails are her weapon of choice. My cousins love sharing the story of the time it took three of the older cousins to hold me down and cut my nails so I would stop attacking them. I don’t remember the details of this scenario, but I do remember it happening. In an effort to overcome embarrassment, I say I was pretending to be Wolverine. … I wasn’t.

3. She eats anything off the floor. This can be read two ways – emphasizing anything or off. She does both. Tonight, she took noodles from the pan, toddled into the kitchen where she put them on the floor before picking them back up and eating them. She will also eat anything edible that is on the floor – including yesterday’s snacks.

4. She is mouthy. I don’t know what she is saying yet, but when she starts to use real words, I’m in for it! When I tell her no or raise my voice, little miss sassy pants will take a couple steps away from me, turn around and shake her index finger at my while babbling in a tone that is sure to dominate her teen years.

5. She eats anything. My best friend calls me a “human garbage disposal” for good reason. Charli isn’t far behind me. There have only been a few things she wouldn’t eat… And there have been a few things she ate that even I wouldn’t eat. I’m not complaining! She makes me feel like an awesome cook.

I claim all of these things to be inherited from me – good or bad. She also sleeps in the most uncomfortable positions, but this has to be shared equally with her daddy. He rarely looks comfortable…

Well, Charli, you’ll fight me on this for many years, but you really are your mother’s daughter!


Mommy Weakness

Mothers talk about things like this in private, and a few have been outspoken about it. … I still feel like a bad mom when I say it, but sometimes I just can’t do it.

Obviously, I can and I do, but there are minutes, hours and one or two days where I just feel defeated.

I don’t want to be crawled all over, pinched, scratched or hit. I don’t want to sit in front of a high chair for an hour. I don’t want to say “no,” and be ignored. I don’t want to listen to tantrums or unwarranted crying.

So I feel frustrated, and more than once, I’ve shed tears during these moments of mommy weakness. I try so hard not to raise my voice or get angry.

… Because I did. I did yell once. The look of fear and then awful crying that followed broke my heart more than anything I have experienced. And despite my being at fault, she crawled to me for comfort, making me feel that much worse.

During these times – times like tonight – I shove all of my “I don’t wants” deep down inside me. I become a jungle gym. I let her eat for as long as she wants, one tiny bite at a time. I say no over, and over, and over again. And I try to soothe as comfort as much as I can.

The tension on my jaw gets tighter causing my TMJ to flare up, but it’s all for the greater good – the screaming 11 month old one room over. The keeper of my heart, and potential destroyer of my sanity.