Like any new mother I was hesitant and frankly dreading Charlotte’s move from infancy to toddlerhood.  If I’m being honest it was a “Waa! Waa! My baby is growing up” thing.  Seven months into officially having a toddler and I realized.  I love it.  Toddlers are not only adorable, they’re crazy fun!

It has been the greatest adventure watching my baby become this giggling, talking, playing, fighting, eating, drinking, dancing, singing little person.  She has become a child with likes and dislikes, good days and bad.  She is a human who gets sick, gets hurt, gets well, and heals up.

I feel silly even writing it.  It’s an obvious and ordinary thing to learn and discover your world.  But, not when it’s your child.  When it’s your child it becomes magical.

We were coming home the other day and I said in the car, “Charlotte, are you ready to go home and see Daddy and Ginger?”  She was quiet for a second, then responded, “Mama too?”  I said, “Yes Baby.  Mama too.  Always.”

I made a mental list today of all the stuff I want.  Nothing that I NEED, mind you, stuff I WANT.  Indulge me.  Take a look.

• This poster about blogs and coffee:  There are not many things that sum up a person in one little poster, but I think this one gets close for me.  It’s very “Amy”.  I love it and plan to buy it from MadeByGirl.

• A new season of Hell’s Kitchen:  I think if most women had to pick their “English hottie” it would be David Beckham, Colin Firth, or Prince William before hereditary male pattern baldness got the better of him.  I hear the young girls dig the British group of Bieber clones called One Direction.  Not me.  Only one Englishman will do.  I’d like Gordan Ramsay to cook me something!  I don’t know what it is, but when that man yells profanity at a floundering restaurateur I want to yell, “God save the King!”  (Please note: Greyson knows of my Ramsay fascination.  He’s okay with it.  He feels the same about Katy Perry.  Please also note: I like Kitchen Nightmares and Master Chef better than Hell’s Kitchen, but that’s the one that comes on in the summer.  Beggars can’t be choosers.  Is that an English saying?)   

• A cute, funny Sesame Street shirt:  Okay, see, we want to take Charlotte to Sesame Street Live! soon.  We even discussed tailgating outside the arena before the show with our friends and their toddler.  Hey, we’re gonna need a beer if we have to sit through that.  The kids can have Goldfish and juice boxes.  Charlotte already loves Cornhole, but we’d like her to brush up before football season.  I want to wear this one to the big show.

I’m quite certain Greyson will want me to wear this one…

• A new laptop:  I’ve barely started shopping.  I’ll take your recommendations.
• This necklace with my monogram:  It’s by Moon and Lola and I’ve had my eye on it forever.

• This Lilly Pulitzer bag:  Yes, it’s my sorority’s pattern.  I don’t care that I’m a 30-year-old.  Carrying this bag is my refusal to grow up.  Besides, this is a crazy cute bag.

• A trip to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter: Eeeek!  I want to drink Butter Beer, wave my wand from Ollivander’s and skip through Hogwarts.  But, I surely don’t want to go in the coming months.  Florida in the summer?!  No thanks.  Greyson and I may plan a trip this fall, sans toddler.  I want to be a kid with my husband.  I solemnly swear we will be up to no good.

Upon reviewing this list of things I think about all the time I came to a conclusion.  I AM A NERD!  Seriously.  Only a seriously geeky girl would want these things.

No lie. I was playing around with this "glasses" effect and thought, "Oooh! These look like Harry's! I'll put them on Charlotte!" (See, nerd.)

As parents we become enamored with our little babies.  Raising a baby is full of snuggles, feedings, rocking, and swaddling.  I look back on the days of Charlotte’s infancy and I get all squishy inside.  Yes there is poop and sleepless nights but it’s a perfect, sweet little one!  Right?!

Today I realized I’m raising a person.

Don’t get me wrong I was fully aware that it was a human baby I birthed 17  months ago, but something she did today made me realize she’s a PERSON.  A flawed human being.

I went to pick her up from the Waddler class today and she didn’t greet me with her usual enthusiasm.  Well, I thought, “That’s okay.  My mama-ego isn’t THAT fragile.”  (Yes it is.)  I sat on the floor at her level.  Some of her classmates toddled up to me, enthralled with my beaded necklace.  Charlotte’s good friend gave me sweet smiles, sat in my lap and cooed at every bead.  Charlotte did not like this.  It happened very fast.  She marched over to that little girl and gave her a swipe before turning on me with a swat.

::GASP::

I blurted, “CHARLOTTE!  No ma’m!  That is not nice!”  I looked at the teacher who seemed equally shocked.  (Good, it seems that’s not common.)  I turned to check out the other little girl and she was smiling and obviously not phased.  Her swipe didn’t hurt me either.  I  said, “Charlotte we do not hit our friends and you do not hit Mama!  It’s okay for another kid to sit with your Mama.”

She felt jealousy and anger like a real person.  Suddenly it became a daunting task to be the person raising and molding this little human.  I went on to stress how she should say she was sorry to her friend, but the toddler mind moves quickly and she started playing with my necklace.  I guess we’ll get to shame and empathy when she has another “human moment”.  When can we start Time-Out?  I have no idea.

::SIGH::

Raising a toddler is full of  messy dinners, squrimy baths, repeat book readings, and Elmo snuggles.  Tonight I got all squishy inside thinking about my girl.  Yes there are tantrums and food throwing, but she’s my perfect, sweet little one.  Right!?

Okay readers, I’m in a “bloggy mood.”  You know, I’m just ready to meet new bloggers and find some new favorites to read.  I was psyched to learn about this year’s Ultimate Blog Party.  I’m in!   (I’m a little behind.  Forgive my tardiness on this post.  I know most of you had these done Friday.)

If you’re new here, I’m Amy and I’ve been blogging since 2010 when I got pregnant.  I knew a lot of women had pregnancy blogs so I worried I wasn’t really pregnant in the 21st century if I didn’t chronical every bout of nausea and fetal kick on the Internet.  I kid.  I kid.  I started it really so I would remember everything about my first pregnancy and child birth.  I had no idea this would turn from a hobby to a passion and allow me to meet some awesome people!  It’s become my daughter’s baby book in a way because God knows I’ll never get around to making one of those.

Me, our 1-year-old daughter Charlotte, and my husband Greyson.

A little about me… I’m owning the fact that I’m 30 years old.  (Dirty 30!  Woop! Woop!)  I just started a new career in public relations after eight years in television news.  I was a reporter for the last four and ready for a change.  Here’s the story.  I may be the luckiest woman in history with my 4 1/2 hour childbirth.  Of course that was after more agonizing over baby names than has ever been necessary.  

So let’s get the party started bloggers!  You’ll find me on Twitter @SomebodysParent and this party gave me an excuse to do something I had been putting off.  I made a Facebook page for the blog.  I would appreciate a “like” so I don’t look like a friendless/fanless sap.  Thanks!  Let me know if you’re going to BlogHer 12 this year.  I’m PSYCHED to be going with her, her, her and her.

Happy blogging!

Lately Charlotte has been channeling her inner Pebbles Flintstone with her outer hairdo.  The other little girls in the Waddler class have all been sporting “sprouts” since the teachers started pulling their hair back.  Her hair is long enough that it’s in her face, but not so long she needs a haircut.

My mom disagrees and believes it’s first haircut time.  That’s okay.  Her disagreement helps prove my point in this post.

Everyday I sit Charlotte in my lap and pull her thin baby strands into one of those those tiny clear rubber ponytail holders and top it off with her signature bow.  Okay, I just made that sound really easy.  I should tell you how it really goes.

I get ready.

Brush. {check} Two ponytail holders {check} (I always have two, because inevitably I drop one of those little buggers and it’s gone until it gets stuck in the vaccum.) Bow. {check}

I put her in my lap.  She whines and wiggles down.  I snag her, squirming and screaming as I brush, tug, and twist the rubber band.  She breaks free and runs.  I’m back to hair one.   I scoop her up and distract her with a toy.  Once again I brush, tug, and twist as fast as my fingers can before sliding the clippy bow under the elastic.  Phew!  We made it until she tears it out in the car seat.

Greyson watches this with horror.  He exclaims, “Amy!  You’re pulling her hair!”  “Uh, yeah.  I have to fix it,” I reply.

(Translation:  In the South “fixing” your hair means doing your hair.  As in, “I fix my hair every morning.”)

He says, “But, doesn’t that hurt her to pull her hair?!?”  I say, “Well, yeah sort of. But, that’s just part of doing your hair.”

It was then I realized,” The Mother Daughter Hair Wars” have begun for a new generation.  Yeah, putting Charlotte’s hair in a little ponytail is not very comfortable.  I probably pulled a little.  But my mom pulled too, so did her mother before her, and her mother before her.

This is me as a toddler with a simple barrette I no doubt ripped out and my Mom had to replace to take this picture.  The second picture is me as a 6-year-old clearly thrilled with my side Topsy-Tail ponytail.  (Please tell me I’m not the only one to remember the Topsy-Tail.)  The final picture is of me in High School with my millionth bun for the millionth ballet recital.

These pictures do not include the umpteenth double and single french braids, banana clips, pigtails, crimp irons, sponge rollers, updos, perms, and even a hairpiece for dance competitions dubbed “the ferret”.  My mother may or may not have encouraged my sister and I to wear panties over our curlers to bed to keep them in as we slept, only to have the curls die midday in the North Carolina humidity.

One year my mom took me to the salon so I could get “The Rachel.”  Over many years she would subtly and not so subtly suggest when my sister and I should get trims because we looked “scraggly”.  She was the first to disapprove of my highlights and the first to point out early grays.

Greyson said once, “Why does your mom always ask about your hair?”  I said, “I dunno.  She’s my mom.”

Mothers and daughters have fought and cried over hair for eons.  My curly haired friends have epic stories of their domestic hair wars.  The thing is, some of the best conversations I can remember with my mama were when she was brushing my hair or we were getting ready for something.  She was always the one to complement me when my hair looked pretty.

I don’t want to start a hair war with my daughter.  It’s just hair.  Really, it’s not that important.  But, every tug and every style is part of what bonds us as girls and women.

“I promise that my personal tragedy will not interfere with my ability to do good hair.”- Steel Magnolias