Why I think two isn't so terrible. . .

I swear, you guys. Two is magic.

Yes, it's hard. Gracie has opinions about everything, and we're no strangers to feet-kicking, scream-at-the-top-of-your-lungs tantrums. She's still learning what "share" means, and her mood can shift from sweet to sour faster than you can even imagine.

She's also been cutting her two-year molars, and I notice a marked difference in her demeanor every time another tooth comes through. (Hallelujah that we're almost done with this teething madness.)

But when it's good? It's so good. 

 

She's into everything I'm doing. If my hair is down, she wants hers down (even if that involves ripping out her bow and her "pony"). If I'm wearing a kimono (always), she runs to her closet and reaches for one of her "'monos" to wear, too. She'll just lean in and lay her head on my shoulder to be a little closer, and it slays me.

She has also been saying the funniest things. Just this weekend, I caught an adorable video of her telling me, "I cooking right now. . . . I busy!" as I was trying to get her down for a nap. Convenient timing, kid. . . 

When something upsets her, she says, "That hurt my feelings, Mommy. That hurt my heart." And then I crumble into a million little pieces.

She knows she's cute, which makes her even cuter. And difficult to discipline.

I don't mean to suggest that she's any smarter or more adorable than any other two year-old on the planet, but she is, in fact, my two year-old. And it's incredible to me to look at her and remember what she was like as an infant. She's changed so much in just two short long years in both appearance and demeanor. What in the world will she be like at four? Or eight? Or heaven help me, 16??

For now, we are soaking up this time. Some nights, I'm counting down the minutes until bedtime. But most nights, we negotiate some couch-time cuddles and sneak in an episode of Sophia the First so that we can enjoy her a little longer.

Everyone says that babies don't keep.

But I still look at her and see the wild-haired newborn who claimed my heart with her first cry. I don't think that will ever change.

So, in this small way, she'll always be that baby to me. No matter how old she is.

Adulting is hard...

I left work early yesterday to try and make it to the Sunnyvale courthouse in time to take care of the tickets I got a few weeks ago. (Because I know you're curious, I was going 65 in a 45, had expired registration, and apparently my brake lights were out. The cop gave zero shits about the tears I cried. Understandably.)

On the way there, I ignored a sign that indicated that the road I was exiting onto was closed and then got annoyed when traffic began to back up. (Because that's reasonable.) I did what every other law-breaking driver ahead of me did and popped the curb onto the service road. Which was also backed up. So I took a "shortcut" through a movie theater parking lot. Which was also backed up. 

I finally made it to the municipal court, dealt with a rude clerk whose job I do not envy, paid nearly $300 to make the tickets go away, and went home.

I popped into our study to admire the gallery wall I spent hours hanging the night before and saw this catastrophe on the floor.

Apparently those Command strips are no substitute for a hammer and a nail. Thankfully, the (overpriced Pottery Barn) frame was intact, so I'll just have to have a new pane of glass cut to fit.

Micah had a softball game last night, so after tucking Miss Priss in for the night, I crawled into bed at 8:00 and called it a day.

Of course, that meant I forgot to pack Gracie's bag for splash day at school, which means she'll be the only kid splashing around in the water in her t-shirt and shorts rather than a swimsuit. (At least I had the foresight to bring some extra clothes for her cubby last week...)

Mother of the year over here, y'all.

Can I have a do-over?

Why I'm not the only thing my child needs...

I wear a lot of hats. At any given moment, I can be simultaneously responsible for the health and well-being of a two-year-old and a fortune-500 company. (Okay, probably not the health and well-being of the company, per se, but at least the company's assertion of its intellectual property.) Many days are a hazy jumble of bath time and conference calls and contemplating whether string cheese and freeze-dried strawberries counts as a healthy meal for a toddler. (For the record, I say it does.)

I'm trying to do it all. And, as any mother—working or not—knows, that's totally and completely impossible. Because if I'm doing ALL.THE.THINGS, I'm probably failing miserably at at least one of them. (Or, more likely, most of them.) Stretching yourself thin only works for so long because, eventually, cracks gaping holes begin to form, and your ish starts falling apart.

So I'm left in this difficult place. This place where I crawl into bed at the end of every day and wonder how I'm going to keep doing this. I literally laugh out loud when people tell me that I've got a great work-life balance because, when I'm in the throes of a busy spell at work, I feel like the world's most mediocre mom. I carry so much guilt around because I'm not with Grace every single moment of every single day, and I can't stand the idea that I'm missing important moments with her because the Court set a midnight deadline on a Friday night, and I need every spare second to finish my brief.

As I look back over the last two years, I absolutely see periods of time that were fraught with late nights and missed bedtimes. Grace spent a good chunk of her second birthday at school because I had an expert report that was due that day. And I will never forget the day that I was working late and called Micah so that I could tell Grace good night. I heard her crying for me in the background, and it crushed me. To my very core.

BUT.

There have also been so many magical moments. I'm fortunate to have a job where I can simply choose to stay home on days when I don't have any work to do. (It's rare, but it happens.) So there have been many instances where we both played hooky so that we could read books and eat cookies and watch Frozen all day long.

I also happen to be married to a man who adores spending time with his daughter. He picks up all my slack with her (and then some), does more than his fair share of the dishes and house work, and still manages to work his own full-time job. Plus, he's not bad to look at, either. (He's basically a unicorn.)

So while I may not manage to find balance on any given day or week or month, I do look back over the last two years and see that it all really does seem to even itself out. Some days I'm an amazing attorney but a crappy wife. And other days, I kick butt at being a mom but drop the ball with my friends. That's just the way it goes, and all I can do is try and give my best without giving up my sanity.

And something that's also been really resonating with me is the idea that I am not the only good thing for my child.

I am absolutely not saying I don't want to have or don't plan on having a deep and meaningful relationship with my child or that I don't want to be an engaged and involved mother. In fact, if you know me at all, you know that's the opposite of what I want.

But I am saying that the one-on-one time she gets with her daddy on nights that I have to work late is good for her.

The afternoons spent with grandparents who pitch in when Micah and I are overloaded are good for her.

The hours she spends at school each day with other kids her age and teachers who love her and are committed to teaching her things I never dreamed of are good for her.

I am not the only influence she needs.

And so I reject the notion that I am failing my child by allowing others to pour their hearts into her while I spend my days doing a job that I love and am good at. After all, it has been established that it's the quality of the time you spend with your kids, not the quantity, that predicts how bright their future will be.

I also recognize that my job in raising Grace is not simply to ensure that she and I are close. My job is to equip her to face the world. In this quest, she and I will inevitably (hopefully) create and maintain a wonderful and rewarding relationship, but that cannot be the end game for me. If it is, I will have missed the point entirely.

When I allow the stress of trying to juggle it all overwhelm me, that stress becomes significantly more harmful to her than the time away from her could ever be.

So I'm working on letting the guilt go, friends. I'm doing my best to remember that I can be a wonderful mother to her while also thriving in a career that fits me well and pays the bills. I don't have to choose.

A day in the life of a working mom...

5:30 a.m.  The alarm goes off. I press snooze, of course.

5:39 a.m.  The alarm goes off again.  

I lament the fact that I am not, in fact, heading to New York and remind myself to change the title of my alarm so as to avoid this disappointment in the future. I check emails and scroll through Instagram because I fell asleep at 8:30 last night and feel so off the grid. I hate and love technology.

5:55 a.m.  I crawl out of bed, wash my face, brush my teeth, throw my hair in a ponytail, and grab a work-appropriate maxi dress because I'm not in the mood for pants today. Micah tells me all about the most ridiculous dream he had the night before and I laugh at how creative he must subconsciously be (because he's definitely an engineer on the outside).

6:15 a.m.  I gather everything I need for breakfast and lunch and decide to make a smoothie because it sounds delicious.

I also get Grace's stuff together, including more diapers for daycare and an extra outfit because she used what was in her cubby yesterday after a blowout. I kiss Micah as he heads out the door with Grace's things in hand so he can put them in my car for me.

I make Grace a cup of milk and quietly open her door. As I'm digging through her drawers to find some shorts for her to wear today, she starts to stir. We sit and snuggle and drink milk and read books for a little while. She screams bloody murder when we have to stop and get dressed. I force her unruly hair into a half-pony and add a bow. And a kiss for good measure.

7:05 a.m.  We get loaded up in the car and head to school. 

Traffic sucks, so I get into the HOV lane to save some time. I sip my smoothie and throw on my makeup at stoplights.

7:50 a.m.  We pull up to Grace's daycare and I can't resist snapping a picture because she looks like such a big girl today. 

I walk her into her classroom, sign her in, and try to set her down so I can leave.  Not happening at all.  We read a book together, but she's still not ready for me to go.  Her teacher sweetly picks her up so I can sneak away.  She catches me and pouts as I walk out, but I hide outside the doorway for a few seconds, and she giggles as I finally let myself walk away.  She will be all smiles when Micah picks her up this afternoon.

8:05 a.m.  I pull into the parking garage at work and remember that it's my secretary's birthday.  I'm so bad at things like this, so I walk straight to the ATM, withdraw some cash, and purchase a card at my building's only store.  

I'll order her some cookies and ice cream from Tiff's Treats when I get to my desk.

8:15 a.m.  I throw my stuff on my desk, slice my hard-boiled eggs, cover them with Louisiana Hot Sauce (which I store in my desk because I'm obsessed), and eat the rest of my breakfast while I check emails and order Jan's cookies.  I'm really running behind today, so I finish quickly and get to work.

12:15 p.m.  It's definitely time for lunch. A co-worker and I head to our favorite lunch spot in town. She orders nachos, and I dutifully order the shrimp salad (which is fabulous). I sneak in two chips.

1:25 p.m.  Back to work. I'm writing a quick brief today, and it's taking every ounce of willpower I have to stay focused long enough to write it. I'm so ridiculously scatterbrained.

4:45 p.m.  The brief's almost done, when I hear one of my work friends coming down the hall. She has been out of town, so we haven't gotten to process together the fact that our other good friend is leaving the firm. It has been a hard couple of days for both of us, but it's so good to be reminded of the wonderful relationships I have with the people I work with. It truly is a blessing, and we will greatly miss our musketeer.

5:15 p.m.  I grab my laptop and head out the door. On the way home, I call a girl who has been recommended as a replacement for our cleaning lady (who just up and moved to Waco without even telling me). We arrange to meet tomorrow to discuss logistics and details.

5:50 p.m.  I walk through the door and hear music playing.  Micah and Grace are having a dance party, and it's adorable. Micah already fed Grace her dinner, so I start pulling out the things I need to make what's on the menu tonight: shrimp salad. Ha. I grab the shrimp I cooked the night before, plus the dressing I made earlier in the week. I chop the tomatoes and avocado, throw it all together in the bowl, and tell Micah that dinner is served.

For the first time in awhile, we eat dinner on the couch while Grace plays with her toys on the rug in front of us.

Grace and I all walk out and grab the mail, and then we come inside and read for a little while.

I truly have no idea why she's wearing two bows.

6:50 p.m.  It's bath time! I run the water and wrestle Grace's clothes and shoes off. I plop her in the water and Micah comes in, and we both spend this time with our sweet girl.

We try and do most things with her together because she prefers it that way. And so do we.

After bath time is over, we wrap her up in a fluffy towel and attempt to get her diaper and PJs on. We have to bribe her with a book.

It's time to start winding down for bed. Micah brings in her milk, and I smile because I know it's my night to put her to sleep. We usually fight over who gets to do this part because it's so sweet.

We crawl into her rocker, and she drinks her milk. Then she wants to wrap her arms around me and snuggle.

She points out my eyes and ears and nose and mouth. She talks and giggles, and I have to tell her several times to lay back down so that she'll snuggle up close again.

7:30 p.m.  I see her eyes getting heavy, so I pick her up and lay her down in her crib. I cover her with her favorite blanket (the one my mom made her) and rub her back for a minute. As she begins to close her eyes, I tiptoe out of the room.

I walk into the kitchen and see that Micah has finished picking up dinner and the debris from the tornado Grace created during their dance party. He's such a wonderful man, and I'm so thankful he's so willing to pick up my slack when work gets crazy on days like today.

I throw six eggs in a pot and start them to boil for breakfast the next couple of days. I start my computer up, just as Micah does the same. We don't usually have to work in the evenings, but tonight we're both in for another hour or so of clicking away at our computers. I finish my brief and send it to the partner I'm working with, while Micah does something water- or soil-related. When we finish, we finally get to sit together for a minute and talk about the day. Mine was hard. So was his.

8:50 p.m.  The bathtub beckons. So I run the water and grab the Pottery Barn catalog that has been sitting on the counter for the last few days. It was probably driving Micah crazy.

I relish these moments. Being alone for just a little while, washing away the day. Micah comes in after a little while, and we laugh about the funny things Grace did that day. She's so hilarious. And dramatic.

9:30 p.m.  After I'm sufficiently relaxed and sleepy, I dry off, slip on an old t-shirt, comb out my hair, and go through my skincare routine. Micah's already in bed because we're old. I plug in my phone in. Then I crawl into bed, kiss Micah goodnight, and shut my eyes.

It was a good day.

A bedtime disaster...

I wore my hair in a side braid on Sunday.

Micah called me "Katnip."  And then I swooned and kissed him like I meant it.  #hellotheregale

This weekend was also noteworthy because I did something I never do.

I went to Walmart.

I gagged a little just typing that, but we needed some oversized plastic bins to store all of Gracie's STUFF, and they're just significantly cheaper at Walmart.  Thankfully, we had this little cutie to keep us entertained.

The cuteness.  I almost can't take it.

She wasn't quite as cute on Sunday night when, for the first time ever, she refused to go to bed.  Like, just flat-out screamed her head off for the better part of an hour because she refused to sleep without being held.

We were blessed with a decent sleeper, y'all, so I know I can't really complain.  But we rocked and laid her down three separate times, and each time, she woke up as soon as we attempted to put her in her crib and screamed until we came to pick her up.  (And, for the record, we did let her cry it out for awhile, but after nearly 20 minutes, this momma couldn't take it anymore.)

I'm thinking now it was a combination of daylight savings, teething, and the fact that we've dropped a bottle feeding.  Whatever it was, she eventually passed out in her crib, and I nearly collapsed on the couch with a face full of tears.

This parenting thing isn't for the faint of heart, friends.

Thankfully, the tough moments are usually bookended by moments like these:



We've been unusually boring lately.  Mostly because I've been working like a crazy lady.  I promise to bring my A-game again soon, you guys.  Pinkie promise.