Rainbows and Race Cars

One of my fondest dreams is to prance through the girl's section at T@rget filling my cart full of leggings and skirts and Easter dresses with big bows.  I imagine clutching "Snow White"'s hand as we take her to the Magic Kingdom for the first time.  Ribbons, lace, princesses, sparkles, pink.....I have always wanted a daughter.

Except for last week, when I realized I really didn't.

I realized I wanted a daughter like I wanted a fire place or a master bathroom. A fun and delightful dream, but definitely something I could live happily without. As cruel as that sounds, when faced with the ultimate decision, my desire for a daughter was superficial to my real desire.

A third child.

And when it became clear to me that I wanted my two sons to have a third sibling closer in age to them no matter what section of T@arget I needed to shop in, the world opened up a most wonderful not-surprise surprise.

A son.

I have a 2 year old son half a world away.  He's just 14 months younger than Little Bro.  He'll be 3 by the time I can kiss his sweet heart-shaped lips and hear the laughter that accompanies his most killer grin.

He's perfection, and my heart is bursting with joy.

My dreams are now filled with color coordinated holiday sweaters, fire truck tennis shoes, and World Series champion baseball caps (okay, that last one might really be a dream).  I imagine my sons always having someone on their side, always having someone to play with, always having someone to protect and be protected by.  The more I imagine having three boys, the more I am surprised at how I never realized before how much I would love that.  Because this is it for us.  A 4:1 ratio.  I'm so so so looking forward to it.

I might not have gotten pink glitter, but I got my rainbows.

Dreams and Expectations

Over and over in my life, I find myself at a point where I realize that the dreams and expectations I assumed were one and the same were actually two very different things.  It's rarely, if ever, a bad thing, but I once wrote that "failed expectations do not automatically mean bad outcomes."

And that is true.  I believe it with all my heart.

But it's scary and feels big to have to separate a dear dream from mature expectations.  I can't expect all my dreams to come true. But if my expectations are realistic, I can dream to fulfill those for a fuller, more wonderful life.  And that dream can come true.  Will come true, even, if I am brave enough to readjust those expectations and dreams when needed.

To my Big Star on his Big Day

Dear Baby Big Star,

You might only still be wearing 18-24 month shorts (2T if it's a bad laundry week), but you are every second of your 3 years old today.  Today was your first day of preschool.  That "in Seb-teb-er" day finally arrived.  We've talked about it so much and teased you with a year's worth of Little Bug school pick ups that I don't really think you believed this day would come until I pulled out the Elmo backpack and strapped it on you.  You dutifully stood there while I took pictures, but I could tell you were still wondering if this was all pretend.

I snuck some looks at you in your seat as you and I drove alone to school this morning.  You had this tiny grin glued on your face as you watched the familiar route with rapt attention.  This.was.happening.

OMG, this was happening.  My baby was going to school. I'm sorry, but wasn't it just like last month that I cuddled you in my arms and played "ko ko ko epp" while you drank one of your five daily bottles? I've been totally okay with you going to preschool up until this morning when I had a mini panic attack thinking through the fact that I was going to take you to school where you would function independent of us.  Like, what kind of madness is that?  You are my baby.

But you stood in front of your new preschool like a kid before a Christmas tree as I snapped a few more shots.  Every shot you inched farther out of frame as your entire body was literally buzzing from suppressed excitement.

And then, with no preamble from either of us, I let you go.

You actually ran into that school shouting "Big Star's preschool!  Big Star's preschool!"  All that was missing was the fist pump or the flag you planned to stake down.  There was no hesitation, no fear.  You hung your backpack in your room, gave your teacher (Little Bug's beloved old teacher) a good morning hug, and ran off to get your hands on the freaking dump truck you have been eying for the better part of 6 months.  By the time I realized what had happened, you were across the room hunched down playing with two other friends, and I didn't have the heart to drag you back for a goodbye or hug.

For the record, I didn't cry, although thinking about not getting a hug makes me want to now.

No surprise, you were a big star today.  Your teachers were busted up over the stories you told them about Idaho and grandma and tractors.  They marveled at your fabulous eating habits (salad...seriously kid, you even ate salad for them?), sharing nature (umm, what?), and great listening skills (thank goodness).  And I am so freaking proud of you for diving right into "real life" and thriving.  It's not a surprise, but it's still a joy to see.

You were so happy today to tell us all about your day. You had the time of your life and knowing that I am going to see that twice a week for the next year is fun to think about. 

It was time to let you go a bit, my baby Big Star.  You and I both needed to let you grow up a bit, since you certainly can handle it.  I'm proud of you for rocking preschool like a champion.  Just one tiny step toward what will undoubtedly be the life of a star.

I love you, Big Star.  Happy first day of (BIG STAR'S!) preschool.

First Day Blues

Oy.

Seriously, Oy.

Yesterday Little Bug said goodbye to the school he's been at for the last 3 years.  They have played a huge part in his life and therapy and helped built him up into a pretty confident boy.  I tried to write about it last night, but sobbed my brains out, so the letter I wrote them will have to suffice for his memory book.  That and the book the teachers wrote him, each page filled with a letter from someone special in his life.  They shared memories of his first step, his leg braces, his first slide, his first bike ride, his first sentences, etc.  The messages were filled with pride, love, and hope.  They were beautiful and heartfelt and I've sobbed every time I have gone through it.

Moving on as tears threaten...again.

Yesterday was also emotional because it was the open house for Little Bug's new school.  This school is specifically for children with significant special needs and it is full time.  (He'll be going half day to this school and half day to a developmental preschool elsewhere in our district.)  Appa and I fought against this school for the last 2 years, but we finally agreed to this half day program when it became clear that Little Bug needs this one-on-one ratio to really focus on his education goals.  Our eye is on Little Bug being in GenEd Kindergarden at least part time next year, and that just won't happen without this school.

So recap...this school is a good thing for him.

But it's very different than anything he's done before.  The classroom is pretty bare and drab since some of the students can't handle too much stimulation.  Most of his classmates can't talk and about half can't move without the aid of a wheelchair.  There isn't a lot of fluff...it's down and dirty life skills and learning.  I actually look at these things as good things.  He'll be making friends with kids who are different than the other kids he knows, and that is always a bonus to me. But it's different and a bit intense right now.

Yesterday as we walked into the school, Little Bug told me that his tummy hurt and he was feeling like throwing up.  Classic signs of his anxiety.  Seeing him experience and identify nervousness made my heart sad.  Scared is one thing, but nervousness just seems like such a grown up emotion that I wanted to shield my baby from, especially when it comes to school, which he normally loves.

The open house was intimidating, even though all the teachers and students seem awesome, and Little Bug latched onto me and refused to interact with anyone and was asking to leave...very NOT Little Bug behavior.  After about an hour he started crying and begging to leave.  He clutched my hand the whole way back to the car and kept saying "No go back to Ms. Dxxxxx school tomorrow."

I cried for the millionth time after dropping him back off at his beloved traditional preschool. 

And this morning he woke up sad because he knew he was going back to that school.  He acted out all morning and begged to go back to his traditional preschool.  I packed him a favorite lunch and decked him out in his favorite Thomas shirt and firetruck shoes.  I clapped and cheered and acted like school was going to be the coolest thing ever...because it will be soon.

And he stood stock still for 40+ "first day of school" photos with various shades of concerned and worried looks on his face.

The bus came and he bravely gave me kisses and waved goodbye.  Because THAT is the kid Little Bug is.  He's brave and strong and will do what he needs to do, even when he is nervous or sad.  And Little Bug is also the kid who falls in love hard and fast and would much rather smile than frown, and I have sincere hope that those qualities will help him find his groove at this new school soon.

This is a good thing, but man, it is hard to watch your baby battle through their fears.

Sassy and Special

Scene: Little Bug's bedroom as I was trying to get him into jammies while he was trying to apply stickers to his face.

Him:  "Moooooooom, stooooooooP."

It was articulated perfectly with a pop of teenage chagrin and annoyance.  In that moment there was no trace of anything but a boy telling his mama to back off.  So brilliantly 4 going on 14 that it took my breath away.

Life is changing.

Two Secrets

Little Bug's medication has messed with his sleep, and although we are no longer a closet co-sleeping family, most nights lately I have ended up in his bed at some point in the night.  He isn't a cuddler in the traditional sense, but he always has to be touching me with his feet.  Sometimes it is just his tiny toes against my thighs, and sometimes he burrows both his feet as far in between my legs as he can.

Secret #1: I will sometimes move slightly away from his touch just to have the lovely heart-melty feeling when his feet immediately follow me for contact again.

Secret #2: I adore the nights when I get to cuddle with my sleepy baby boy.  Screw the sleep training.

I Wanted This

Today wasn't one of those days, but I've had plenty of them recently that seem to start and end on a loud note.  The days when I count down the nanoseconds until bedtime, only to realize once the kids are asleep that I have no energy to spend on myself.

And then I try to remember (I try) that not so long ago I would lay in bed at night fantasizing about the day when I would be that worn out mother, energy sucked dry by chasing giggling children down aisles in a shoe store or emotionally tired from battling through an epic battle of the wills thanks to the Terrible Threes.

I wanted this.  All of this.  I wanted them.

I wanted to be the one who made their owies feel better, got the best laughs, and gave the best cuddles.  I wanted to be the one they called for when they were hurt or proud.  I wanted to be the one to teach them their letters, numbers, and manners.  But I also wanted to be the one cleaning up the blood from those owies, who inspired the fiercest tantrums, and who took the hardest whacks from an angry baby hand.  I wanted to be tired and overwhelmed and stretched outside myself.

For me, the path to motherhood was intentional. I wanted this.  Even the low stuff.

I look at the picture at the top of this entry and my heart swells.  It reminds me of that dream I had not so long ago where I would imagine a shadowy child bringing such joy and happiness to my life.  It reminds me of how desperately I wanted that dream. And then I look closer and I see the unmistakable gait of my big star, low and fast and hell bent on his destination.  I recognize the child and the reality that he is sleeping upstairs right now, recharging at a much faster rate than I will be for tomorrow's next round.

He's not a shadowy dream anymore.  He and his brother are real, beautiful children, and they are mine.  And for them, I will give up sleep, food, water, DDP, reading, or anything else I might need to in order for them to be happy and healthy and loved.

Well, not the DDP actually.  That's my secret weapon.

Like I said, I try to remember this when I'm counting to 3 for the millionth time in an hour or explaining why we can't pee on [insert local, body part, household item, etc. here].  Because there are dreamers out there right now whose shoes I was in not so long ago, and I know they would give anything to be the one that had the honor of raising my kids.

Simply put: I am lucky and happy to be a mama.