Yesterday we heard Marlo mumbling, “Coco,” repeatedly as she shoved a wedge of graham cracker into her mouth. And then again as she crawled intricate mazes throughout the living room. That’s all she said yesterday, and we realized she may think it’s the only word in the world because all she hears every day is COCO! COCO! COOOOH! COOOOH!
Those damn babies! Picking up on shit!
I’m writing this as I sit in the SLC airport waiting to board a mega-delayed flight to New York, trying not to feel guilty that I didn’t get to see Marlo before I left the house this morning. Leta and I shared several hugs before I left, and I reminded her about that word she used yesterday, in proper context, the one I apologized for saying in front of her, and she said, “I promise I won’t say damn again.”
What? It’s Mother’s Day. I had to get my parenting in.
I’ll be in New York for less than 24 hours, appearing tomorrow morning on the CBS Early Show, talking about the “rules” around writing about your kids on the Internet. Yeeeaaaaahhh. I don’t have much experience with this issue, so I have no idea why they called me. I’m guessing… don’t write about that enema you gave your two-year-old?
So, it’s Mother’s Day. Wait, didn’t I already say that? PAY ATTENTION, HEATHER. And I don’t get to spend it with my kids. And you would think that this is exactly what a harried mother would want as a present, but I just feel awful about it. And I can pinpoint that feeling to the fact that I identify myself as a working mother now, and balance is incredibly hard to achieve. Damn near impossible (cover your ears, Leta).
I’ve been trying really hard to stop, no really. STOP. Like, cease moving. To enjoy the little moments with my kids. And it’s physically exhausting to force myself to do so, because life is just so nuts. And Leta can’t find her balloon, DID SOMEONE POP HER BALLOON? Are you insane? You think ANYONE would pop your balloon? No one is allowed to spell SPIDER or TORNADO while you’re in the room. POP YOUR BALLOON, AS IF. While Someone Important From LA is on the phone, and the guy who is here to fix the fence is knocking on the door, and oh no, COOOOH! COOOOH!
I know this isn’t a unique situation, and it’s one told over and over again, and you’re all OH GOD, not this work/life balance bullshit again, is this website turning into the third hour of a morning talk show? Where’s the poop, ARMSTRONG?
Well, I just got a text from Jon that said, “Aaaaaaaaand Marlo has the stinkiest smelling diaper EVER.” You have no idea how many of our texts to each other are poop updates. Well, then again, you probably do.