Hello, Pushkin

My neighbour took Mae to the market to give me a break. So nice. I haven't gone out alone since the last time she babysat and I went to the dentist on July 17, if you can even count that as a break. I mean, obviously, there are breaks when my husband is home on the weekends, but it's not quite the same. Those are only breaks until I hear her crying or talking and go to see what's up, or until my husband can't find the bottles or a soother or something else and calls up the stairs. To be a real break and to officially count, Mae and I have to be physically separated by at least two-blocks because, if we're not, I can't stop myself from listening to see what she's up to, and popping my head downstairs to check in.

The weirdest part of it is that - for the most part - I don't mind the constant togetherness. In the eleven months since she's been born, the longest I've ever gone out is probably five hours. And when I do go out without her - like I did an hour ago, to get groceries - I find myself looking at all the moms with babies and feeling weirdly jealous and lonely.

I feel like a loser admitting this, but I'm actually, at this very minute, watching the clock because they were supposed to be back at 1:00ish and it's already 12:54. Oh. there they are now. Yay!

I've been wondering when, developmentally-speaking, kids start to become aware of grossness. Whenever it is, Mae is definitely not there yet. If left to her own devices, she'd happily chow down on handfuls of sand and dirt (including bugs, if she could find them) then gnaw away on dirty sandbox toys and somebody's old shoe (found on the ground, of course).

This morning, while I had my back turned for a fraction of a millisecond, she plunged both hands into her poopy diaper and gleefully smeared it all over the crib sheet and her pajamas, and my arm, and her legs. I have (I think) developed a pretty high gross-out tolerance for certain things lately, but that one got me.

Awhile back, I was joking with my husband that I was going to buy a little cassette recorder and attach it to my belt. On it, I'd play an endless loop of me saying "No. Not for your mouth. No. Ick. Not for your mouth. Ick. Ick. Ick. Not for your mouth..." Honestly, though, it's not seeming like a half-bad idea these days.

It completely blows my mind how much Mae understands these days. For example, if she's feeding herself yogurt and you ask for the spoon, please, she will put it right in your hand. Well, most times. Other times she will throw it on the floor and then lean over to see where it went, looking amazed and amused. She also understands "Stand up big and tall, please," and "Sit your bum, please."

And she knows her way around the house. "Lets get in the stroller," I'll say, or "Which way to the bath?" and she holds one of my index fingers in each hand and leads me there, barreling headlong, practically panting with excitement.

And yesterday. Oh my God. Yesterday. It was the best day ever. Not only did she say mama for the first time, but she also gave me a present. We were at the park having a snack of Cheerios. I was picking them up from her stroller tray one at a time, and she was opening her mouth like a little bird so I could pop them in. Then all of a sudden she reached into her mouth, took out the Cheerio I'd just fed her and, with a huge smile, tried to feed it back to me. Was it gross? Oh yes. But I ate it anyway because that's what mothers do. And I loved every mushy, pre-chewed second of it.

Big news at our house. Mae took two steps on Monday all by herself. We were in the backyard with our neighbour (Yaya). Mae's daddy was sitting exactly two steps away and Yaya just let go of her hands and said "Walk to Daddy," and she did! It was amazing, but also not amazing.What I mean is, it was so easy and so natural. She's been working up to it for such a long time now that it barely seemed like an effort. It makes me wonder if she might have done it even sooner if I'd just let go of her hands. Unfortunately, I'm particularly bad at letting go when it comes to her. It's something I have to work on.

And then, this morning, she said mamma while walking towards me, and has been saying it over and over again ever since. It's the most beautiful sound on earth.

Also, I'm quitting my job this week. Maybe even today, if I get around to it. Mae and I just aren't ready for daycare. She's extremely shy in new situations. Big groups of noisy kids get her all upset. Like, last week, we went to the early years' centre, and the kids sang Row, Row, Row Your Boat with the verse about the crocodile where you scream at the end. And, oh my God, it was traumatic. She had big fat tears running down her cheeks and was clinging to my shirt and we had to go outside and pick dandelions until it was all over. That's not an isolated event by any means. It happens almost every time we go there.

And, while I know she'd get used to the noise and routines of a daycare eventually if she had to, I don't think I would. It probably goes back to my inability to just let her go, but still, I can't make myself be okay with the idea of her spending 75% of her time being taken care of in a strange place by adults who aren't me. If she went to daycare, and I went back to work, I'd see her in the morning (while we rushed around getting ready for daycare) and at night (while we rushed around getting dinner ready and putting PJs on) and on weekends, of course, but still. It's not good enough. Plus, I did the math. After paying for daycare, transportation and work clothes, I'd be bringing home a whopping $600 a month. When it comes right down to it, you couldn't pay me enough to leave her at some strange daycare... and $600 is definitely, definitely not enough.

So I'm going to freelance, and I'm going to hope that some of the writing grants I've applied for come through, and I'm going to - somehow - make it work. I feel like I'm at the edge of a very big cliff about to step off. It's terrifying, but also kind of exciting. I keep repeating this quote in my head, from one of the dumb self-help books my mom gave me: "Leap and the net will appear."

So, here I go, just like Mae, letting go and putting one foot in front of the other, just hoping beyond hope that I'm ready, and that it will all come naturally.

Mae is so unrushable. It's infuriating. Yesterday, it was ten squillion degrees in our house (today it is, too) and, after she had the indecency to wake up early from her nap and interrupt the work I was trying to do, all I wanted to do was to get her dressed so we could go to the library, the grocery store, the pharmacy and the health food store after stopping for a coffee, then swing by the shady sandbox on the way home.

But the plan hit a snag when she didn't want to get dressed. There was a kitty to look at, and a tambourine to play with, and it was fun to wait for the split second when I took her diaper off and was reaching for a wipe to sit her poopy bum smack down in the middle of the clean sheet. And, of course, once the diaper was back on and the mess cleaned up, staying still to put on pants seemed beside the point to her. Then we had to have a bottle, which she took fifteen minutes to drink one-twentieth of while taking breaks to putter all over the living room pulling books off the shelves.

Sunscreen was next. And she always has to chew on one sunscreen bottle while I squeeze sunscreen out of the other. And she always has to close the tray on the stroller herself. And she always had to point at the light in the front hall while babbling incoherently. And she always has to take her shoes off again after I put them on.

And by the time we'd finished all of that, I had to pee... So, basically, by the time we got out the door, it was practically time for her next nap. We rushed to the pharmacy, spent five minutes at the library, stopped by the sandbox for two seconds until some kid threw sand at her, then came home.

By the time I fed her lunch and put her back to sleep, I was on the edge of snap, and it occurred to me that, really, I was the one who was approaching things all wrong.

Mae is unrushable. It's how she is. It's the hallmark of toddlerhood, which she is now entering at breathtaking speed (ironically enough). Clearly, if I don't want to go insane, I'm going to have to be the one to slow down, which is infuriating... totally infuriating... but just might end up being good for me.

I can't take another day of this torture. I need pants that fit!

For months now, I've resisted going clothes shopping. First, because I don't want to spend the money. Second, because I'm not going anywhere much besides the park and the early years' centre, so who cares what I'm wearing? Third, because I can't figure out what size I am anymore, anyway.

All my maternity stuff is huge... and the jeans I bought just after Mae was born (when the idea of putting on something without an elastic waistband made me giddy) fall off my hips now. And you'd think my normal pre-pregnancy clothes might fit, right? Only you'd be wrong. They're mostly too big, too. It's like the combination of breastfeeding, running around after Mae and not always having time to eat lunch has shrunk my hips, legs, butt and everything else down to nothing.... except for my stomach, where there's still a strange, bulgy, flappy thing that, I'm guessing, will never go away.

This morning I was so desperate for something that wouldn't fall off that I actually put on a pair of sweatpants... even though I swore to myself when my mat leave started that I would never be a sweatpants mom. I ended up looking in the mirror and taking them off again but, still, it was an awfully close call. So, that's it. I'm taking my mystery-sized butt shopping this weekend. Wish me luck!