I want to be the kind of mother who is open to different interests of her children, even if they are far from interesting to me. But, at the same time, not over bearing with opinions should a child become involved in something I love too.

I want to be the kind of mother who sometimes makes pancakes for dinner and macaroni and cheese for breakfast.

I want to be the kind of mother who raises voracious readers.

I want to be the kind of mother who wants to run after my child when I drop her off at summer camp. Partly because I’ll miss her, and partly because I want to join in on all the fun I know she’ll have.

I want to be the kind of mother who drops everything to splash in puddles in the rain, even if it’s a weekday evening, and we have things to do.

I want to be the kind of mother who can make a birthday cake but, knows it’s okay to buy a really awesome one from the store.

I want to be the kind of mother who lets my kids lick the beaters if I bake the cake.

I want to be the kind of mother who sometimes lets the kids watch TV on trays in the living room.

I want to be the kind of mother who encourages fruits and vegetables, but understands a little high fructose corn syrup slipping in their diets is okay.

I want to be the kind of mother that one day a year, takes my kids out of school just to go to the zoo.

I want to be the kind of mother who never puts myself down in front of my children.

I want to be the kind of mother who saves artwork, but donates old toys.

I want to be the kind of mother who is best friends with my children’s father and remains on a united front with him. I want to love him wholly and without reservation.

I want to be the kind of mother who still listens to Top 40 and wears bikinis through my 30’s.

I want to be the kind of mother who expects effort, not perfection.

I want to be the kind of mother who volunteers her time to show effort and dedication.

I want to be the kind of mother who can say the only lie I ever told to my children was about Santa Claus.

I want to be the kind of mother who dedicates herself to her children without martyring herself or losing herself.

I want to be the kind of mother who prays with my children and husband.

I want to be the kind of mother who protects and defends, but understands when it’s time to let my children stand up for themselves.

Most of all, I want to be a kind mother.

What kind of mother do you want to be?

It feels really good to be running. It’s not something I’ve done in the past, but I like stretching my limits and pushing my body. I ran the BlogHer 5k. It was my goal to run the morning of my birthday in Central Park. I wanted that good fresh start for 31. I want to set an example of good fitness for my daughter.

That all sounds fabulous doesn’t it?

::sigh:: Okay, I have a confession. Okay, two confessions. Alright, three.

1. The 5k wasn’t very organized and I met up with some girls and we ran about 2 miles. There was no real start and end point. It was just kind of like, “Okay! Enjoy your run, wherever you decide to go.” As bloggers, we all decided to go through Central Park. I still got up at 5:45am after being up until 1:00am the night before, so I consider this an accomplishment.

2. I’ve packed on a few in the past 8 months or so. I was able to breastfeed Charlotte for her entire first year. She never had formula. I was a pumping, nursing little milkmaid. I stopped pumping at 12 months and stopped nursing when she was 13 months.

Thanks to this I burned off the baby weight pretty quick. No running necessary. However, I haven’t cut back on my eating. For me, pregnancy hunger was NOTHING compared to breastfeeding hunger. I put it away!

3. Facebook has become a fitness motivator. I know what you’re thinking, “Amy, that is so shallow!” Oh, yeah. I know. I can admit that. I’m admitting this here and now for every woman who understands…

Nothing motivates you to work out like some girl you used to know looking fabulous on Facebook. I logged in a few months ago to find an old friend sauntering down the beach in her bikini. Her baby is about the same age as mine. Gah! She looked amazing! Another friend has already had two babies and posted a picture of herself scantily clad and skinny. What if I run into them somewhere?!?

Jealousy should not be a good motivator. I shouldn’t compare myself to other women. I need to be a better example as a woman raising a young girl.

Uh, yeah. But, I want to be hot too. My kid can’t read yet. She won’t know how shallow her mother really is for a long time. It’s cool.

I’m always amazed at how different she looks now from when she was first born. But, not when she’s sleeping. To me, when she’s asleep her face looks exactly the same as it did when she was a tiny newborn.

The other night when I went in to check on her one last time before going to bed. Instead of a quick look, I stopped and sat on the floor. I was on my knees with my head pressed against the crib bars, my face just inches from hers.

I silently watched her breathe and like so many other times I was overwhelmed with how much love I have for my child.

I kept thinking….

Do you have any idea how much I love you?
Do you have any idea what I would do for you?
The lengths I would go to for your security? Your well-being? Your happiness?
Do you know?

No, she doesn’t. I can tell her and show her in a million different ways, but she won’t know until she becomes a mother herself.

Just after she was born I remember thinking, “Oh! So THIS is how much my mother loves me. I get it now.”

I think it must be one of the cruelties of parenthood, knowing your child will never understand until they have their own.

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Clearly from this photo I’m big on recycling.  I did do my 4th grade science project on recycling.  It was the early ’90’s back when putting one can in a bin constituted saving the earth.   The picture on the left is a shot from our maternity photo shoot in fall 2010.  The shot on the right was yesterday.  Still rockin’ this dress from 2010!  Yes, it’s a maternity dress.  I’ve learned I can re-wear lots of preggo clothes.

Can a get a “Belt It!”?!  That’s what I did to this maternity dress here…

I’m not the only one recycling.  Last summer I put Charlotte in a 12 month dress at 9 months old because I was terrified she would grow out of it.  Ha!  I’m an idiot.  My teeny senorita is 20 months and can still fit into 12 month outfits.  See…

August 2011

July 2012

Did you catch the outfit Charlotte was wearing at the top of this post?  Yep!  Recycled!  It’s a 9 month outfit she’s wearing now as a 20 month old.  It was a dress last summer, and a top with shorts this summer.

August 2011

Kid sizes are kind of a crock.  So are most maternity clothes.  Take that manufacturers!

When the doctor broke my water to start labor, (Yea!  That’s right!  I was induced, okay!  I’ve heard the criticism.)  little did I know that would just be the start of the wave of fluids to leave my body for not just the next six hours, but the next six weeks.

The worst was in the hospital when I couldn’t go.  I kept apologizing to the nurses who had to catheterize me.  I filled a two liter container.  No, I’m not exaggerating.

As if meconium laced newborn diapers weren’t gross enough, no one  tells you about all the postpartum leaking, seeping, and general weeping.  I’m here today to share more about post-baby bodily fluids.  You’re welcome!

• Sweat– The first two weeks after Charlotte was born I would wake up in drenched sheets with wet strands of hair.  I would apologize to Greyson for all the saline in the bed.
• Urine– I had to go all the time.  It was always an ordeal, you know, with the stitches and such.
• Colostrum–  The very first bit of breast milk you have.  The first time I fed Charlotte in the Delivery Room I was shocked to find it there!  I remember saying, “Oh my God!  There’s milk in there!”
• Breast milk–  The next few days after Charlotte was born my mom kept asking me, “Has your milk come in yet?”  I would reply, “I dunno.”  She would say, “Oh!  You’ll know.”  Boom!  Little did I know, when the dairy opened, I would be in business for a full year.  My cups runneth over. I swear sometimes I thought I had enough milk for two babies.  I never had to buy formula.  That was awesome.  I have to say, I really miss calorie burn of lactating.  Now, I have to run instead of sit on the couch with the breast pump.  Boo!
• Lochia–  That’s a fancypants Latin word for “six weeks of heavy period”.  Oh, and no tampons.  Only pads.  I had horrific flashbacks to 7th grade.
• Tears–  I’m not a cryer by nature.  I mean, I’m not cold hearted.  I shed a few reading The Notebook and watching Mr. Holland’s Opus.  But, it was nothing compared to other women (::ahem:: my sister) who sobbed during Titanic.  (“I’ll never let go, Jack!”) Something happened when the hormones started dropping.  I came home and saw flowers from friends and coworkers and could stop crying about it.  This Chevy commercial  came out the week we brought her home.  It killed me!  I would just look at Greyson and say, “What has happened to me?!”

Even with all that dampness I look back on those first days affectionately.  There was nothing like it.  You just have to wade through.

November 4, 2010. The day we brought her home. I was nervous, puffy, swollen, but happy.