When she goes to the nursery at church, the ladies taking care of her tell me she’s a perfect peach. She doesn’t fuss. She plays cheerfully. She’s happy to be there. She only pushes kids down when she wants their snack. Tea is just an easy going girl. 

Most of the time, I just can’t believe the report.  It has to be a lie. (Right in church!) My daughter just isn’t that chipper.

Today they told me Tea was rubbing her eyes a bit, but generally happy throughout the service. That should have been my first clue. I put her smiling self in the car for the 2 minute drive home expecting the same—and she LOST IT. The roller coaster went down, down, down. Way down.

Screaming and kicking and flopping persisted. I got her in the door, and she threw herself into the couch, sobbing her little eyes out. Thinking this display must be a combination of hunger and sleep deprivation, I snuck a few bites of yogurt into starving belly while distracting her with the wonder of apple cinnamon puffs. But when it was time to move on, the screaming intensified. Seven-fold.

I wrestled her to the ground. Managed to get the dirty diaper off. Kicking. Screaming. Throwing things. Clean diaper goes half on. Child wiggles free. Wrestle back down. Screaming. Sweat. Child stiffens and twists. Arms pinned down with my legs. Other half of diaper back on. More sweat. Body racking sobs. More screaming. Faces red. Skin raw. Tears plenty.

I got to the point where I couldn’t hold onto my daughter anymore—and not because of her flailing. I just had to put her down before anger replaced gentility. Frustration high, I set her in her crib and ran out of the room. The door shut behind me, I fell to my knees and let the teary sweat of stress fall from my eyes. Prayers to the Father for mercy whispered from my lips. A couple minutes passed, and my heart calmed. The crying in the room behind me ceased.

Tea was just laying there with eyes open, clearly exhausted. She let me turn her on her tummy and rub her back for a few minutes. My child—the one who can frustrate so much—was frustrated because of me. This was a battle of misidentified needs. She just wanted sleep. My mother instincts said, “Keep her on her schedule. Food first. Then sleep.”

Clearly, I was wrong.

I’ve got to figure out how to let my ideals and plans and schedules go and actually listen to my daughter. It’s not like she needed to eat before nap. She’d be fine. This was not one of those battles the parents have to win. Not a tantrum of will; her screams where her way of telling me she was too tired to function. This struggle was my own need for order. I’ve got to learn how to hear her needs behind the gibberish. I’ve got to read her body language better. She’s communicating, I just have to pay attention.

Sleep came quickly. Mother learns slowly.

While running with her yesterday, she dropped everything she could reach—bottle, toys, pacifier—out of the stroller. Then she decided that she didn’t want to be strapped in anymore, so she wriggled her way out of the belt and tried to stand up. After buckling her back in, she tried to do it 2 more times. Screaming and crying persisted the whole last mile.

That run was not my best.

Looks innocent, doesn't she?

At Ross this morning while I was trying on some shirts, she tore open my purse and managed to lose the lid of my lipstick somewhere when I wasn’t looking. And because we couldn’t find it, she pitched a fit, threw herself on the floor, and screamed for me to pick her up.

Then at the grocery store a little later, she grabbed a sweet pepper, bit the stem but didn’t like when I tried to fish it out of her mouth, so she threw the whole thing to the ground with enough force that the skin bruised and broke. In the next aisle, she picked up a can of enchilada sauce in our cart and dropped it directly on my bare, sandaled foot.

When we got home, she walked right out the front door, toddled down to the corner, and planted herself in the middle of the sidewalk. She started yelling gibberish at the other houses and the trees and the grass. When I tried to get her to come back to the house, she screamed and flopped like a noodle. She just wanted to stay right there. Sitting. Holding a rock. Yelling at things. Putting random things from the sidewalk in her mouth.

“No, no,” is the word of the day.

And this isn’t even half the stuff I stopped her from doing in the last 6 hours.

You guys, I don’t have a baby anymore. I have a fully cantankerous toddler. She knows what she wants and how she wants it. Fourteen months must be the new terrible two.

Pray for us.

I mostly want this year to be about finding joy in simplicity.

A couple of days ago, I had this really great moment. I was sitting on the cement of my open garage with a chilled Diet Pepsi in my hand, the breeze blowing and the sun warming my face. A chubby, naked Teadora was sitting a couple of feet away from me in her colorful blow up pool, chattering nonsense to nobody. Brandon was somewhere inside, cleaning up the Christmas clutter because he knew it would make me happy.

I remember clearly thinking, “Wow, this is such a nice moment.”

Because it was simple. None of the regular stresses. My family was together, the holidays had come and gone easily enough, and we were all rested, happy, and healthy. I really enjoyed it, and I think it’s because I wasn’t thinking about what we needed to get done or where we’re headed next. I was just letting the moment happen. Stifling the voices that tell me to worry or plan or overload.

It was peaceful.

God has whispered a lot of promises to me over the last month. Things that make me excited for what He’s going to do with our family this year. Life changing things. Adventuring things. Encouraging things. But what He continues to tell me most clearly is to keep things simple. Don’t over-complicate. Don’t try to work everything out ahead of time. Trust. Trust Him to do what He promises.

And I think that’s where the joy of this year will come. Trusting God to follow through on the things He’s promised me already. It’s not going to always be practical or easy or clean, but He is good. All the time. He has never failed me, and there is no reason to worry that He will now.

“Not a single one of all the good promises the Lord had given to the family of Israel was left unfulfilled; everything he had spoken came true.” (Joshua 21:45)

Trust. That’s a good enough resolution for me.

She’s doing a good job with walking lately. A little lack of confidence, but she can mostly do it by herself. She’s a big girl now, folks. And that independent streak is growing in her. The whole visit at the zoo was one battle after another. Don’t feed her; she’ll do it. Don’t hand her a toy; she’ll pick it. Don’t give her water; she’ll hold it. She’s stubborn and starting to throw fits when she doesn’t get what she wants.

You know what? She actually looked at the animals. She’s old enough now to focus on rhinos instead of rocks.

But maybe my favorite part was just the time spent with Brandon. The two of them had a good time looking and walking around. I felt my heart swelling a lot when I’d look at them playing together. Isn’t that nice?

Teadora’s favorite part? The playground. Not even the playground. The dirt at the playground. LOVES getting dirty, that one.

I haven’t blimped up or anything because I’ve been running for the last 3 months (3 miles, 3 times a week). But operation “lose that sticky baby weight” can’t progress with the way I’ve been eating. I only have 4 or 5 pounds to get to my pre-pregnancy weight! Plus 4 or 5 pounds to get to my goal weight.

And that’s where I’ve been for the last 3 months. Stuck.

So I started a Biggest Loser competition at work. To my delight, most of the department signed on to the idea (and agreed to put money toward a winner’s pot). We’ll do 5 weeks of rigorous weight loss with the promise of cold, hard cash at the end.

It starts today.

I feel more motivated than I have been in a long time. It’s so nice to be around people who are working toward the same goal: weight loss. And it’s getting competitive! Rumors of sabotage are spreading. Not by me.  Of course not. I’d never plant buttered-popcorn scented candles in the cubicles.

It’s going to be helpful to know that each extra cookie I eat will cost me $125 (the first place prize).

Here’s my plan:

1. Continue running 3 times a week and add some Zumba (Playstation Move) while my daughter is napping. Maybe throw in a hike or another run on the weekend.
2.  Cut down my snacking. (And get pickier about what I snack on, like fruit instead of granola bars. Cool whip instead of ice cream.)
3. Drink only water (and possibly tea). This one HURTS. But I think it will good to rid my body of diet soda for a month. I read somewhere recently that this has been a catalyst for some to lose weight. That’s right. Diet soda. Because even though it’s 0 calories, the chemicals cause the body to process nutrients differently, which can lead to poor absorption and more craving for things like sugar. You can Google it. I’m going to do my own test. If it’s true, fine. If it’s not, would you please pass me a can, please.
4. NO work candy. Meaning: no candy from the work candy bowl. Yikes.

But hey, got any unusual tips for me? Some trick you know for dropping weight? I know the major weight loss schools of thought, but I’m always game for a new idea.

I’d like to win, but I mostly just want to get to my fighting weight. We’re having a family reunion of sorts in early November on the mainland, and I’d like to look slim and trim for the family I haven’t seen in 6 years.

Think skinny, folks.

We decided on a color pallet: plumb, chocolate, sand, and silver. (Sophisticated. Calming. Not green. Finally.)

Our bedroom has been bare naked for the last 6ish years. Nothing on the walls. No window treatments. No bed set. Until recently, we didn’t even have nightstands (which is now two TV trays with a table cloths over them.) Everything is hand-me-downs in completely mismatching fashionlessness. We just can’t afford a super great furniture right now, so we have to be creative.

I found an idea on Pinterest to turn an old door into a headboard. It’s so neat and unique. So Brandon and I went to this place called “Re-use Hawaii,” which is an organization that recycles the goods they get from reconstruction and demolition projects. The warehouse is huge! It has everything, including an entire wall littered with old doors.

We picked out one for the headboard, but I’ll tell you about that later.

While we were looking through the doors, we found a full length mirror. Something I don’t have in my bedroom. And suddenly we had an additional project.

Um. Please excuse the mess that is my garage.

It needed a lot of work. The door had about 7 layers of paint in various shades that had to be stripped and sanded down. We took a painful amount of time at Home Depot debating about the color, but finally decided to let it pop with some plumb. (Teadora may have eaten a paint chip at some point during this episode as well. Then she choked on it. Then she threatened to throw up in the shopping cart. But we won’t talk about that parenting fail, okay?)

After about 2 coats of paint, the door was looking pretty good. But because it’s so beat-up, we needed to put a little more work into it. A little bit of sanding later, we came out with what they call “shabby-chic.” Here’s the final product:

Pretty color, right? But I like the shabby details. The mirror itself is old and showing discoloration, so it has a rustic look to it:

Also? Teadora approves. Kisses!

We set the mirror up against one of the walls in our bedroom, and I love it. It adds a lot to the atmosphere. It cost about $20 to buy the door and around $50 for the paint, supplies, and stripping agent (which we will use for the headboard and probably other projects as well). So maybe not a total steal, but certainly worth it in my opinion.

What do you think?

The headboard—our original project—has been stripped and sanded, but that’s about as far as it’s gotten. We just have to make the effort in our oodles of free-time to get it done. But I’ll update you when it happens so you can see the final product.

I came downstairs one morning a couple of weeks ago, and as I reached for Teadora’s morning banana, I noticed big, gaping bite marks in the whole bunch. “Could the cockroaches really be this big?” I thought to myself. But then I noticed plastic shavings underneath the garage door in our kitchen. And in the midst of those shavings? Poops.

I freaked out a little.

Then I decided to follow the poops. Through the kitchen. Into the dining room. Under the highchair. Back to the living room. To the front door. Back to the stairs. Up to the second story. Into the nursery. NEXT TO THE CRIB.

I’ve read stories online where tiny babies get bitten by rats because they smell like milk.

Panic. She slept with us the next 2 nights.

I scrubbed the whole house. Vacuumed everything. Lysoled everything. Cleaned out drawers. Cleaned out cabinets. Shoved every perishable item it could hold into our refrigerator. Changed sheets. I even called my mother to see if I should lysol the carpet. This kind of thing should not happen to me. I wipe down our counters every night. We are clean people.

The audacity of that mouse to come into my house and spread germs on my things.

That afternoon, we scoured the hardware store for the best option to get rid of our little friend. Glue traps with a dollop of peanut butter seemed like the best option. We bought two and set one up outside the nursery door and in the kitchen.

The problem is that the glue trap is big and our kitchen is small. Also, I don’t pay attention to where I’m going. Also, my daughter? She crawls. And she’s curious.

I stepped in it first. Then I yelled. Then I hollered about how it couldn’t be there. It took oil, acetone, and dish soap to get that sticky mess off my foot. Then I moved it.

The next day? I stepped in it again. More yelling. More hollering.

But what I didn’t count on is the fact that Teadora would want to explore its sticky delights (and maybe lick the peanut butter?). All I know is that she was sitting on her play mat 10 feet away in the garage, and when I turned around to look through the mail, she sprang for it. I don’t know how she got there so quickly. I dove across the kitchen, papers flying out of my hands, to scoop her up, but I was too late. All over her hand and a little in her hair.

The same thing happened in the nursery later on. I nearly broke my foot as I jumped to rescue her from herself. But she only managed to touch the side of it. No glue.

But would you believe? My husband was at home on the phone with me just a few hours ago and all I hear is a gasp and a “TEA!” Wouldn’t you know it? She got stuck in it again.

Fail.

In case you were wondering: not even a sign of a mouse. I think the sneaky bugger left the same night it came.

Teadora was scooting along the couch, trying to get to me. She’s been pulling up and side-stepping the furniture for the past 3 months, so we knew she’d take off soon. She reached the edge of recliner and could go no further. I was busy picking things up around the living room, but she wanted to come to me. After hearing a little whine, I bent down and stretched my arms out, saying, “Come, baby. Come here.” I thought she’d just sit and crawl.

Not today, mama.

She grinned, let go, and took a flying leap into my arms.

I was so surprised, I think I startled her with my squeals and praises. I called Brandon. I called my mom. I told my neighbor.

Later that night, I was explaining to my husband how she took a step toward me. Tea was in my lap, and when Brandon reached out his arms to mimic what I had done, she stood up, left me behind, and took four giant steps toward him.

More squeals. More excitement. More phone calls to my mom.

Another milestone. She did it. It’s done.

We did catch some of it on video, so I’ll work on posting that later. But can you believe it? 10 months old. Walking.

Fear mongering. That’s what it was. 

Totally not helpful for this obsessive compulsive, high anxiety mother.

I tried not to push Tea toward crawling too much. Many of you kept telling me, “it’s the golden age—enjoy it!” And I really did. She has been so delightful the past couple months. I’d sit her down, and she wouldn’t move. If a toy was out of reach, she just let it go. She was content to just stay put. But once all her friends started crawling months before her, I started getting comments about how she’d probably skip crawling and go straight to walking. Which was NOT OKAY with me.

Why?

Because my mother read some research about how babies are better readers if they crawl first. Something about the way the synapses in the brain fire when alternating hands and feet. It prepares them for later learning.

Sure, this may be just one article. But it made me crazy. Worry, worry, worry. That’s me.

I think the trigger (which I’m now learning was the same for a lot of your first-borns as well) was watching other babies crawl. Tea just needed to watch somebody else do it—somebody who is not her mother, because believe me, I was on my hands and knees, showing her the tricks of the trade. I’m “hands on” like that.

Then this Sunday, her little friend was booking it across the church floor. Back and forth. Here to there. Standing up. Sitting down. Crawling, crawling. And Tea was watching intently. I knew something was clicking behind those big, beautiful eyes. So when we got home from church, I set her down—away from her toys—and tantalized her with a shiny spoon (shiny objects are second only to grown-up food in motivating factor).

She took off! A little awkward, of course, but she crawled. Here is the video we took of the event (in case you missed it on Facebook or Twitter…I’m a proud mama):

I’ll leave you with 2 thoughts:

1. I love the way she keeps one leg under her instead of just crawling with her knees. She does that to make sure she can sit back up when she gets where she’s going (since she hasn’t figured out how to sit up on her own yet). This shows: thinking ahead. She’s a planner! Just like her mama.
2. My daughter now meets or exceeds every 9 month milestone on my doctor’s chart.