Graduating from college, working the 8 to 5, getting engaged, having a 9 month old son!  Where did you come from?  Well, the baby part need not be explained, I was there for that.  But I could of sworn just yesterday I was having an estate sale, sleeping on a blow-up mattress in my living room, and drinking wine with Roth at 10am.  And I could have sworn just last week sleeping in my car in Blythe’s courthouse parking lot.  Or maybe trying to find Desert Ridge for the first time with Alyssa.  So many memories that are so fresh, yet happened so long ago.  Sometimes  I make the mistake or thinking I graduated from Ridge 8 years ago.  Sometimes I think it’s been 3.  The correct answer?  Only after some quick math can I figure out it’s been 5.  Five years of craziness.  Five years of different nicknames. (Why must everyone feel the need to rename me, btw?)

In ‘05-06.. when I became LCB.  Camping out in Tucson for the hell of it, classic rock on 24/7 and Sunday “Family” dinners at Applebees.  Then in ‘06-07.. when I became Leny.  The Mcarthy house and my dog, Rusty.  Getting robbed and getting Champ back.  And in ‘07-08.. when I was Nette.  Rodeos and Mexico.  Dance parties.  Every night like a scene from “Just Dance”.  ‘08-09… when I became Momma.  Finding out I had pretty much no real friends but wasn’t too surprised by the realization.  More importantly finding out I was going to have a baby.  And finally ‘09-10.. when I became.. Net.  “Net, like the internet,” my boss says.  Ha. Ha.  Working for the man and being an adult.  Baking cakes on Friday nights and buying house plants.

Even typed out like that I still wonder how I did all that living in those 5 years.  And I guess I’ll probably never know.

Let me repeat that. MY. SON’S. FIRST. BIRTHday was a week ago.

Can you feel the incredulity in my voice?

Is this why he can no longer wear the cute tiny outfits from Target’s Newborn section?

My son was born 3 months early. When he arrived so impatiently, he weighed 1 pound, 9 ounces; that’s 711 grams for any metric-based readers. Just over a pound and a half. He was the size of a shoe, about the weight of a loaf of bread. I realize newborns are small, but they’re not supposed to be that small.

Given the daily prayers for growth, the celebratory texts and eMails going out to family and friends announcing every gram put on, and the steak dinner in honor of reaching the two pound mark, I thought I would be immune to a Mom’s wish for her child to stay small. The Carter’s tagline on some hand-me-down outfits was, in fact, “If they could just stay little.” When I first read it, I snorted. I literally snorted with contempt for those moms who *don’t* want their child to grow.

He grew. He continues to grow. On his first birthday, he weighed 20 pounds, 12 ounces. He is now the weight of a car tire, an obese cat or a record-breaking fish. HE’S HUGE!

I recently, carefully and thoughtfully, went through Ollie’s wardrobe. It was a daunting process. We waited for two months for him to be BIG ENOUGH to wear a PREEMIE onesie, and now that same outfit looks like it would clothe a cross-dressing Barbie doll. I unfolded a favorite froggy outfit from his first days at home and thought, “AWWW….where did my little tiny baby go?”

I wander through the Newborn department and sigh with mixed emotions. I couldn’t wait for Ollie to fit in Newborn clothes. When he graduated to 3 month size, we celebrated; another happy text to update those who were there for the NICU journey. Now I miss the cuddles of a newborn, the tiny mittens he wore, the being able to lift him without a groan and “putting my back into it.”

It brought tears to my eyes. I cried because my son has grown.

I’m getting like a regular mommy now, aren’t I?

No

I do.

Why?

I don’t know?

Well, how do you know? Where is he?

I don’t know – I think he lives with poor people…

Two days ago, the monster lay in waiting for James. Lying still, it knew he would come -and he did. I was in the hall as James went flying past me laughing hysterically at his sister who was chasing him. In an instant, but almost as if in slow motion it happened, James leapt at the moment he saw it. His blood curdling scream gave him wings to fly over the top of the monster – it’s claws outstretched – reaching for him. I saw it happening and yet could not move fast enough to stop it, to help James before the beast pierced his fun with an arrow of terror. I ran into the room and scooped James up, I knew I had to hide his face, keep him from seeing the grotesque creature. But he was kicking, crying, trying to get farther into the corner away from the beast. I dropped him onto the bed and like a mother bear went after the monster.

I grabbed this thing with a fierceness that only a mother could do, it fought back. He flew out of my grasp and tried to run. I grabbed it again and took it down the hall. Looking around frantically for anything that I could use to send it back to it’s own world. Where is the portal, the magic box that once shut cannot be opened from the other side to let them into our world… I looked around frantically and then I saw it. The gateway portal to this thing’s world, I had to send it away, I had to keep it from terrorizing my son. I grabbed the golden handle and swung open the box, with a rush of part adrenaline, part “don’t mess with this momma” attitude I flung the creature high and far and slammed the portal shut.

My knees were weak, I slid down to the ground as my high from adrenaline dropped and left me drained. I realized that there seemed to be peace in the house, I had done it. My son was going to be free from the terror this horrific creature brought to him. My son was free, I was free.

Hailey, my 5-year old ran to me. I knew she was going to see me as fierce and brave; her mom, the hero. Her mouth opening I waited to hear her give me the praise I deserved;

“Uh, Mom, why did you put my singing dog in the closet?”

Giveaway: $50 Picaboo Photo Books Gift Card!

Cyler has always been active.  From the time he was still in utero.  I remember during an ultrasound the technician was having a difficult time getting a good shot because he was moving around too much or blocking with his hands.  I remember nights when I would toss and turn because the little guy was doing back flips in my belly.  Once he was born, it continued.  He was always extremely alert.  Always staring intensely at whatever he was studying in that moment.  As he became more mobile, his energy levels were through the roof.  The kid never stopped moving.  And still doesn’t.  He loves to jump and can sit and bounce in his jumperoo for more than an hour straight.  If he’s on your lap, you had better hang on tight.  Diaper changes have become nearly impossible as he twists and rolls in acrobatic poses as I beg him to “hold still for 2 seconds”.  I find myself constantly having to distract him with a new toy or activity.  He will not sit contently with one object for more than a minute, before he’s onto the next.

He is intensely aware of all of his surroundings.  When we are somewhere new, his head is on a swivel taking in every little detail.    He cranes his neck to see the person around the corner, or practically jumps out of my arms to get a better view of something colorful or flashy.  But while this intensity and energy has left me exhausted and at times a little frustrated, I can’t help but giggle to myself on occasion at his blossoming personality.  I have a feeling that there are many silly moments ahead.  I smile to myself to think of the cute little Cyler-isms yet to be.  I know he’s going to be an entertaining little guy.  I look forward to those moments, but in the back of my head I just know, I’m in for it!

My last ex was/is a really amazing guy.   I would never trade my Fiance for any other person in the world, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other great men out there.  Nor does that mean any of my exes were not great, they just were not for me.  So why is it seem so wrong that I care that his life is going well?

I just don’t understand it.  After a serious relationship, how do you just cast the other person aside like they never existed?  How are you not supposed to remember their birthday or hope they’re doing well?

Yes, I decided our relationship was over.  Yes, I thought we should go our separate ways.  But where in there does the love we had just disappear to?

I hope he’s doing well.  I hope he likes his job, has fun with friends, is dating around or has a great girlfriend/fiance/wife.  I hope things are running smoothy and that he’s happy.  And damnit, there is nothing wrong with that!

So why is so hard to write a email, “Happy birthday, hope all is well.”?  Why do I feel like the only socially acceptable thing is to pretend like he never existed and pray I never randomly see him out in public?

Who knows.. The fact of that matter is I’ve never cared what is or isn’t socially acceptable and that’s why that email is in his inbox right now.  Because I do care and there is nothing wrong with wishing someone well.

These are the moments I cherish.

Elope.

That one word makes me giddy, makes me feel alive and makes it all fun again. We are going  to go to Hawaii and pay someone else to make our wedding everything we want it to be. Simple yet elegant. Stress free. Wedded bliss. We will have a lot of pictures and a video to show off to everyone else and plenty of memories for just the two of us.

So now we are planning to not plan.. and if it all falls thru there’s still a court house right down the street!

The reason for this lightbulb flash? Three of them are now in school. This means I get 3 sets of instructions from at least 6 sets of teachers; 3 sets of homework; 3 sets of e-mails with sometimes harmless content and sometimes nail-biting, jaw-dropping, teeth-gnashing stories.

These e-mails are new. I never got e-mails until this year. Why am I getting e-mails now? In a word: Buffy.

She is 5- precocious, sassy, smart, funny and hell-bent on giving me a full-on anxiety attack. Last month’s sassiness morphed into outright stubbornness and rude behavior followed by punching, kicking and the oft-heard “I don’t understand what you’re saying!” We have been e-mailed at least once a week. We have been called by the assistant principal.

I have talked, begged, bribed. Each day she gets on the bus I eye my inbox with trepidation…