Oh hey! We’re homeless and spending two nights in a hotel while we finalize things for one house and then move into another.  It’s a tad chaotic, but fun.  We’re making the most of it.

We’ve been having a lot of discussions with Charlotte about babies, I had to share this recent conversation:

Me: “Charlotte, what do babies do?”

Her: “Um…they cwy!”

Me: “That’s right! They cry. What else do they do?”

Her: “Um…they sweep!’

Me: “That’s right! They sleep. What else?”

Her: “They crap!”

::pause::

::look at Greyson as his mouth drops open::

Me: “Charlotte! That is not a nice thing to say! Where did you hear that?”

Her (looking confused): “They crap!”

Greyson: “Charlotte that’s not how we say that.”

Her (looking confused): “They crap der hans!”

Us (backpeddling, feeling relieved): “Oh! Yes! Babies do clap their hands! That’s so good!”

Charlotte went on to sing a rousing rendition of “If You’re Happy And You Know It Crap Your Hands.” You can imagine Greyson’s hand motions to this version of the song later in the night after Charlotte had gone to bed.

I recorded this video the night of March 5, the night I found out I was pregnant.  After I took a pregnancy test I ran to the store to buy Charlotte a Big Sister shirt to show daddy  You can see the rest.

I love everything about this video.  I love my husband’s befuddled look, his messy curls and that old Han Solo t-shirt.  I love that he doesn’t act disgusted even though I’m handing him something I just peed on.  He’s the kind of guy you have babies with.

I’ve been a little absent and quiet in this space.  Partly because it’s been REALLY hard not to write about everything on my blog and partly because I’ve been going to bed at 8:30pm.  I.  Can’t.  Stay.  Awake.  Ya’ll.

I was going to tell you yesterday, but I decided to hold off since yesterday turned into a day of national mourning following the bombings in Boston.  My prayers are with everyone there.

If you want a little good news, I have some.  Thank you for reading Somebody’s Parents.  Is there such thing as Somebodies’ Parents?

My child sleeping in a crib meant she was a baby.  She could stand and peer over the edge and push toys between the bars, but she was still confined to an infant’s sleeping conditions.  She may be a walking, talking toddler during the day, but she was my baby by night. I would rock her in her rocking chair before letting her retire to her crib.  It was heaven.

It was a little bittersweet removing that front part of the crib to make a toddler bed.  She suddenly seemed so grown-up in a bed instead of a crib.  We made the change just when Charlotte turned two back in November.  I had no idea, but this turned into the most delightful little surprise in my mommy life.  Every night for the last five months I have gone upstairs to check on her before going to bed.  Sometimes I have to arrange her ever lengthening limbs to keep her from falling eight inches onto the carpet.  I cover her with a blanket.

I’ve found I absolutely love not having the front of the crib on her bed anymore.

I sit on the floor and lay my head next to hers and let my fingers get tangled in her curls.  I listen to her breathe.  I rub her back and feel the rise and fall of each of her breaths.  I brush the back of my hand against her  cheeks and thank God that this beautiful healthy child is ours.

This is usually when she startles and pushes my hand away.  Then I smile because I really know she’s mine. I hate to be touched when I sleep, too.  I give my little independent sleeper one more peck before slipping out of the room.

I wonder what other bittersweet milestones will end up being very sweet, after all?

I’ve seen and heard lots of women lately identifying themselves as “boy moms” or “girl moms,” meaning they are the mothers of children of only one sex or another.  There are even cute poems on Pinterest and fun t-shirts to celebrate this identification.

I have many friends with sons and no daughters.  99% of these women are wonderful and never say things to disparage other mothers.  But, some things have been bugging me lately when I’ve talked to a couple of  “boy moms” I know.

• Comment #1 from a boy mom at a “Mommy and Me” type of class- “I’m SO GLAD I had boys!  It’s so much easier!”

Okay, so you just said that in front of my daughter.  Granted, she is only two-years-old and probably doesn’t understand, but since you were so comfortable saying it, I imagine you would not edit yourself in front of a little girl who is say, 5-8 years-old and would know exactly what you meant by that comment.  Basically, you just told my daughter she’s not good enough that it’s a huge hassle for me to be raising her.  

Ma’m, you are the example of women for your son.  You just made that comment in front of him as well.  What is he supposed to think about girls and women when you disparage your own gender?

• Comment #2 from a woman with one son contemplating having another baby- “I just don’t even know what I would do with a girl!”

Um, okay.  YOU WERE ONCE A GIRL!  Someone knew what to do with you.  It’s not like female humans are a different species or something.  It’s still a baby.

Now, let me say.  I’m not innocent in the “Girl Mom” versus “Boy Mom” thing.  During a discussion about whether boys or girls are easier, I took it a little personal when a boy mom said, “Girl stuff is just too much.  All the bows and tights and stuff.  I mean, I don’t have to deal with periods and emotional teens and stuff like that.  Ugh!”  I fired back with, “Well, it’s boys who drink too much, drive too fast and don’t call their mothers!”

I am sorry for that comment.  I in no way meant to imply that all young men behave like that.  I probably shouldn’t have taken her comments personally.  It just grates on my nerves sometimes.  I LOVE having a daughter.  Not because she’s a girl, but because she’s ours.  I didn’t care when I was pregnant if she was a boy or a girl and I don’t care now.  I love her for who she is.

Let’s drop the titles and just be “moms.”  Okay?

So, as I was writing this, I started thinking about all my good friends who might think I’m talking about them.  I’m not.  Ya’ll are awesome.  I’m talking about acquaintances.  I promise.