The Big 6
Now that the party, presents and celebratory eating out is over, reality is setting in — I am the mother of a six year-old. Whaaat?!
Getting used to saying I was someone’s mom in the first place was surreal to me. I was a first time mom at thirty-six and up to that point I was just “me.” For years there was no other title I held which connected me to anyone else other than myself.
I am convinced the reason we keep track of babies ages in months is so parents can slowly get used to being a parent, month by month. Once I was familiar with responding to being “Azul’s mom,” it was easy, I was his and he was mine, and like most parents, I wore my title with pride. I had no problem admitting I was a mom, not to mention I had an infant on my teat most of the day, so that kind of gave it away.
The transition from being a parent of an infant to toddler is an easy one, saying “my one year-old” is just as easy as saying “my two year-old” or “my three year-old.” Then there is four. This is the point where you realize that your baby is a little person and a personality starts to show (or rears its ugly head). Personality warps into budding independence and all of a sudden you have a “five year-old.” Looking back, this all seems to happen in the blink of an eye, but the fact remains, your connection to your child is still there, they are still just little guys who need you and you need them.
Your parenting grows with your child and both of you are still experiencing something new together. When you are five years into parenting, that’s exactly what it is, five years, a parent of a five year-old, and you think, “not bad, I’ve done this for five years,” with some sense of accomplishment. I’m not sure if it is the number or age or both, but at six something changes. Your baby is going to Kindergarten and is SIX! And the real kicker, not only is your child now six years old, you are six years older too. Ugh!
Azul is six and in school all day and I am forty-two! What happened? Is this what a mid-life or mid-parenting crisis feels like? Where did the time go?
I am sure there are more mid-parenting (although “mid” is deceiving) crises to come, but right now all I can do is let it sink in…I am the mother of a six year-old.
Running Scared
I am going to start this by saying something I thought I would never say, “the other day when I was running,” now the rest happens to me all the time, “I needed to pee.”
The running part is new to me, it is amazing what your body can do when your favorite hobby, smoking, is no longer a part of your life. I am working myself up (and no not in the way that I would need a cigarette after) to running a half marathon. That is about thirteen miles, and I am feeling a little intimidated, but I am ready to do it. I ran a few 5ks and a 10k, so I thought I would step it up and get beyond six miles. The problem is I always need to pee. Usually I deal with this urge by knowing where every public restroom is, and I have no problem peeing on the side of the road during a road or camping trip.
So, about five miles in, sure enough, I needed to go and started to evaluate the situation.
In my favor: I was running in an area called the “Bosque,” meaning woodlands or forest, which in the drought-riddled high desert of Albuquerque, New Mexico is actually ”trees near the river.” And trees are good when you gotta go and it looks like this…
Against me: I didn’t want to get caught with my pants down and it made me think of this local story from last year, where a runner was caught on security cameras crapping in someone’s yard.
http://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3tD4nmw1yZs&sns=em
Now, in my defense, I was nowhere near that point, but whatever, I still didn’t want to be recorded peeing and later seen on the local news, with or without the blurry bubble covering my face. What if I was recognized with my pants around my ankles? No, thank you!
This led me to think: First, who was actually watching me? I don’t think there are cameras out here, but maybe the City has some secret Bosque watch party going on, I don’t know. Second, there are a lot of animals who live out here and I didn’t want to run into one of them. What actually lives out here? I’ve seen rabbits and squirrels and snakes, random birds, but what else? I wouldn’t want to experience a beaver to beaver encounter while I was relieving myself.
No, I can hold it…I really need to pee!
Then I started to think about the people who live here. There are a lot of stories about the homeless who live in the Bosque and I certainly did not want to urinate in their dwelling.
I’m fine…Oh, who am I kidding I am going to pee my pants!
So I started to scope it out again and look for a good place to stop. I didn’t see anyone, fellow visitors or inhabitants in the area, and thought this is my chance, my moment to take care of things and then continue running in peace. Then I saw him…
A coyote! WTF! I wasn’t even sure at first because it was so skinny, which of course means it’s hungry.
I had a feeling the dependable Bugs Bunny anvil would not be falling from the sky to stop him, so I ran! Not sure if it was my bladder or the wildlife, but I ran eight miles that day. Next time I will probably just pee myself.
Spring Break Slip
Thoughts of Spring Break always conjure up images of sun and sand, drinks and tans, but this year was different, for Spring Break we went to a place where the daytime temperatures were colder than the nighttime temperatures in our home town of Albuquerque, New Mexico. No bathing suits, suntan lotion and fruity drinks for me (okay, some fruity drinks), we had business to take care of. My Father-in-law’s only request upon his death was to be buried in South Dakota in his family’s plot. So, with turtlenecks, hats and gloves packed, we headed north for Spring Break!
The last time we were with my husband Alan’s extended family was in 2010 in Santa Barbara, California for his cousin’s wedding. A very different occasion, there was sand, bathing suits and drinks, although not much sun, but enough to use the pool at the hotel.
I had just had Azul a couple of years prior and was not quite ready to let go of my maternity bathing suit, no matter how hideous it was, until the Santa Barbara trip. My new J Crew suit was awesome, a conservative cocoa color, one piece with a halter strap that fit tightly around the back of my neck. Although the neck line was not revealing, the halter strap made me much more comfortable. In addition to a new baby and a new suit, I had a new figure as well. Things were a little bigger than they used to be thanks to breast-feeding and the expansion of my pelvic bone, preparing for child-birth. But I was ready.
Jim, my father in-law, had flown to Albuquerque from Washington D.C., stayed a few days and then the four of us continued west to California. Most of the family stayed at the same hotel which was nice for family time, we don’t see everyone very often and this was the first time they would meet Azul.
One afternoon Jim, Alan, Azul and I went down to the pool. On the way we ran into the groom of the upcoming wedding, so he joined us as well. There was a lot going on, we were swimming and hot tubbing all while chit-chatting with Jim and company. In true fashion, my Father-in-law was able to read the newspaper at the table near the pool and talk at the same time.
Azul and Alan were sitting on the side of the hot tub and I decided to dive into the pool. Flawlessly I dove in, the coolness of the pool was exhilarating, and when I surfaced facing Alan’s family, I could feel the cold ocean breeze on my chest. Ahh. Then I realized, I felt it a little too much. I looked down and to my horror, although my halter strap was firmly in place, the front of my suit had slipped down below my breasts. I immediately covered myself and looked up to where my audience sat and they looked away. I don’t know how much they saw, I’m assuming everything, but they were perfect gentlemen and never spoke a word of it.
Soon more family joined us at the pool and we all moved on from the incident.
With much comfort this year, I was looking forward to greeting everyone in a Turtleneck sweater.
Carmelina Hart 