This week I sort of geeked out over 12-12-12. All the other matching dates in this past decade were cool. I mean, who could forget lucky 07-07-07? This year was different because it’s likely the last triple date we’ll have in our lifetime. It will be 01-01-01 again on January 1, 2101, but that is 89 years away. With advances in modern science I could envision living to the extremely ripe old age of 120, but it’s unlikely. Another 12-12-12 is out of the question for me.

But, not for my daughter. She could live to see it.

Upon this realization I stopped and prayed. I prayed to God my baby would live 100 more years to see the next 12-12-12 on December 12, 2112. I prayed she would celebrate her 102nd birthday the month before, surrounded by her Great-Great Grandchildren. I imagined myself as a stunningly beautiful 131-year-old angel looking down from heaven. I’d watch her wheel up to her birthday cake in a super space age wheelchair she controls with her brain. I envisioned a 22nd century Willard Scott-like person wishing her a “Happy Birthday” on whatever medium has replaced television. She will regale her posterity with stories of her silly mother who typed out tales of her child’s life on an ancient computer. I will smile and laugh at my baby turning 102.

Even as a centenarian she will still be my baby.

I’ve been a little pouty the past few days. I haven’t been myself. I haven’t done my best work. I’ve been putting off all these fantastic blog posts I’ve had in my head. I’ve let the house get a little messy. I haven’t felt like cooking and our family has dined on cans of soup or Gerber Toddler dinners. I may or may not have only eaten leftover pumpkin pie for dinner last night.

You know how it is. Sometimes you just feel like wearing your hair in a ponytail and throwing on your glasses instead of primping. Good Lord! Please don’t tell my mom I haven’t finished the Thank You notes from Charlotte’s birthday. It doesn’t make it any better when I see over-achieving moms on the Internet with their gorgeous photos and stunning Christmas decorations already up.

I’ve just had two days of blah. Days where I killed a few moments making pictures like this on the iPad.

I could blame it on the cold I’m fighting. In recent months we seem to be passing around the same daycare snot nose between the three of us. I could blame it on the drab, drizzly weather. I could blame it on a post-Thanksgiving carb coma.

I could, but I won’t.

This post is me clearing my head and pulling myself up. I’m capable of more than mediocrity and I’m better than the blahs. I’m better than some lame-o who doesn’t do her best or compares herself to other people online. We have a great holiday planned and I have high hopes for 2013. With the sniffles waning, my body is begging for some exercise.

Deep breath. Shake it off. Let’s do this.

This was me today. It was the kind of Tuesday where I answered work emails from my phone as the doctor at Urgent Care told me to “Get over yourself and go home. You’re not going to work today. You’re running a fever.” So I sucked down soup and Airborne with no makeup, glasses, and tissues always in tow. Between naps I watched episodes of “Arrested Development” on Netflix. Laughing at the shenanigans of Gob, Buster, and Tobias made me forget about the body aches and runny nose.

This affliction came to be thanks to my daughter. My poor girl had a double ear infection with a virus on top. She had a fever from Thursday through Sunday. I worry she had it before that and we didn’t notice it.

When my fever from the virus started I felt terrible! This had me wondering. Was she starting to feel bad before we noticed it? Could her tantrums be because she didn’t feel well and couldn’t tell us? We can see when she is lethargic. Like any kid, she cries when she bumps her head or smashes her finger, but what about when she’s starting to feel ill? She can tell me when she has a boo-boo, but it’s not like she can say, “Mama, I feel like I might be coming down with something,” or “Daddy, I think my lymph nodes are swollen and my throat hurts.”

I Googled “When can a child tell you they are sick,” but I didn’t get the answers I was looking for. How old will she be when she can say, “I feel sick”? The mothering instinct has served me well so far, but I’m not gonna lie. It would be really nice for her to tell me when something is wrong.

How did you get your child to tell you something is wrong? When were they able to do that? I figure if I get some advance warning of her sickness, I may be able to keep myself healthier too.

You all know I freakin’ love the Olympics. I mean Greyson and I geek out over the games. We love them so much we may or may not have made a baby during the Opening Ceremonies of the Vancouver Winter Games. (Bow chicka bow wow!) Every two years I’m all like, “Aaaahhh! Team USA! I-must-watch-every-event-even-archery-and-curling!!!!!”

Some news I heard today made me even more proud of one of our Olympians. Kerri Walsh Jennings was pregnant when she and Misty May-Treanor won their third consecutive gold medal in beach volleyball. What!? How amazing is that?! She didn’t even know.

The London games marked the first time the US had more women athletes then men. 50, even 20 years ago this would have been unheard of. Now we have a pregnant mother of two winning gold medals. Just a couple of years ago, Natalie Portman accepted her Academy Award when she was pregnant. Rep. Cathy McMorris Rodgers (R-Washington) had both of her children as a sitting member of Congress.

I know our politicians are fighting a lot of battles right now for women’s healthcare and the US falls behind other nations in maternity leave time. But, I have to believe more instances of working mothers making achievements like this will help.

So Kerri, congratulations on not just three gold medals, but three children. You are an inspiration for all American mothers. Thank you.

 

This weekend our friends Erin and Billy came to Raleigh to visit.  They moved to Charlotte about six months ago.  It has confused their 3 1/2 year-old son that he now lives in the city of Charlotte and that is different from his little friend.  When Will walked in the door, I couldn’t believe the tall, lean, little boy he had become.  Will always called our daughter “Baby Charlotte.”  He obviously couldn’t call her that now.  He looked at the toddler before him in slight disbelief before the two took off to play.  I got to snuggle their newborn son, Nate.  It was a great time.

Erin and I are lifelong friends.  Kindergarten was when we began our storied friendship.  I’m sort of in love with these pictures I snapped of Charlotte and Will together.  When I look at them I see their mothers.  The young friends we were are echoed in the faces of our babies.

I hope your Labor Day was this happy.