Do Not Put that Phone in the Toilet: And Other Truths About Toddler Life

My little angel turned 14 months the other day – and I’d like to pause for a moment and reflect on all that has transpired since we celebrated turning one.

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14 months old. I never thought I’d be one of those people celebrating in months until forever, but, c’est la vie – I promise to stop when she’s 2. Maybe.

Since I was still deep in 1st-birthday-party-recovery-mode last month when this nugget turned 13 months, I forgot to take a pause and reflect on all the changes that have come about since my daughter propelled herself out of infancy and into another stratosphere of growing, learning, loving … and exerting her independence/destroying my house.

It’s true – I have loved motherhood more deeply than I have ever imagined. I have cherished each moment, become infatuated with each milestone and smile and learning experience. But if I had to sum up my feelings about toddler life, a stage I know I have only just recenly entered, the expression would be:

“Holy Shit.”

As in, “Holy sh$%. Bella! Don’t touch that!”

or

“Holy shhhhhhh-OMG Bella, DO NOT put Daddy’s iPhone in the toilet!”

and sometimes

“Holy shhh-aww – these hugs are better than anything in the world.”

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But really – this whole time since someone sent the memo to my daughter that she has passed the innocent, cooperative, infant stage and started wreaking havoc on my home and the rate at which my hair turns gray, has felt like someone hit the target on the dunk tank – and I was the one on the plank.

Sure, I knew that once this princess was on two feet I’d need a bit a more energy.

Of course, I was aware of the rapidly-fluctuating emotions.

No, I had no clue, my home would become Ground Zero for my toddler tornado and I would need to contemplate purchasing a crash helmet for my child. But it has, so here I am, in my unmade bed covered in baby socks and puzzle pieces telling you all about it.

This weekend, instead of posting the typical, “Aw, my daughter is 14-months-old post and loves to give high-fives and say lots of words” post, I decided to keep it real.

So yes, while she’s smart (she already says over 10 words!), engaging (she smiles at, says “Hi!” to, and waves at everyone she sees), and extremely loving (the hugs are strong, intentional, and filled with gratitude) – she is inevitably, a toddler on a mission.

Here is what is really going on in this toddler world of mine, and all of the toddler homes around you – quite possibly with details no one else is sharing:

My Toilets are Now Entertainment

Yes, we put on toilet locks once we discovered our daughter’s penchant for splashing toilet water about, but fear not, she’s figured them out. She not only sticks her hands in there, she’ll throw anything in her sight into the bowl, including, but not limited to, expensive shampoos, makeup brushes, shoes, and an entire trashcan.

My Beautiful Coffee Tables and Couches are Now a Jungle Gym

Hell, so is my bed, my dining chairs, and the dryer. Now that she’s walking more steadily, climbing has become her party trick. I turn my back for 20 seconds only to find she’s made her way to the top of the coffee table, TV remotes in hand, and ready to cause serious harm. She’ll leverage a dining chair and battle her way to the top of the dining room table, knocking over flower vases and stopping my heart. My couches need cleaning, since these are her new trampolines, my bed has led to the need for multiple ice packs, and taking clothes out of the dryer turns into an all-out battle to try and remove chickadee from inside the machine.

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Food is the Enemy

And so is the high chair. I have been kicked in my stomach, a boob, and my lip trying to prevent this little monster from weaseling her way out of the chair – which is so shocking considering how much she loved this damn thing 3 months ago. All food that I try to feed her ends up on the floor or in my hair, since we’re currently on a quest to feed ourselves. I waste countless hours and endless amounts of money on food she’ll eat one day but not the next, and my dog has gained 15 pounds.

Car Rides are also the Enemy

Which sucks considering this used to be a time of peace and quiet, back when each car ride produced the miracle of sleep and a break for me to answer calls, listen to voicemails, or listen to anything other than Elmo. Yea, this is no longer the case. Cue Elmo’s songs and bring along a baggie full of goldfish because this is going to be one hell of a ride.

Independence is her middle name

If she can’t do it herself, she’s not doing it at all. This goes for much more than just meal time. This goes for putting shoes on and taking them off, washing her hair in the tub, pushing elevator buttons, removing diapers, and oh so much more. Who needs a mom when you have a control-freak for a kid and a weak personality.

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I wouldn’t have it any other way

Yes, with all of this, my very-involved job and mamapreneur goals, and a husband and dog to care for, I am exhausted. Yes, I find myself wondering what the hell I did with all my free time when this kid spend 90% of her days on a tummy time mat staring at the ceiling and kicking her feet. But yes, with every “Mama!!!!!,” big strong hug, hilarious kiss on the cheek/mouth/arm, and giggle that touches my soul, it is all so, so worth it. My toddler boss is my best friend, and I too, am learning everyday right along with her – and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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What I Will Teach My Daughter About Feminsm

I’d be lying if I said that I did not become that much more of a feminist after bringing a daughter into this world.

I’d also be lying if I said that I didn’t become much more aware of the impact my woman-brain could make on the world after birthing this little powerhouse of a daughter I now call mine.

It’s because of the womanly-powers of my body that I have embraced all things “feminism” and my hopes are that my daughter will one day follow in these high-heeled, successful-lady footsteps that I’ve put forth for her, with her, and because of her.

There ARE a few things I’d teach her though – just to minimize any confusion on what it means to actually be a feminist.

You do not need to toss your bra into a burning bonfire in the middle of the street to be considered a feminist.

You do not need to trash your razor and let your lady parts grow over with hair to be considered a feminist.

You do not need to walk forth into the world screaming, “F*ck the man,” to prove a point – or be considered a feminist.

Hilariously, these are some of the misconceptions about feminism that still hold true today. That us feminists are man-hating, no-bra wearing, angry little bitches who want to be taken really, really seriously.

Ok, that’s not ALL a misconception – because we DO want to be taken seriously. Who doesn’t?

But if you’re anything like me, you’re probably of the belief that feminism is more about your actions than what you look like, what you wear, or whether or not you shave your legs. Feminism is being able to be successful in whateverthehell you’d like to do with your life, because after all, it’s YOUR life and you don’t need anyone to determine where you find your success or happiness. Feminism is so many things to so many different people – and here are the top 3 things my daughter DOES need to know about being a feminist. A good, respectful, and respectable one at that.

  1. Feminism is believing in the power of your abilities and putting them into action.

Have an idea, a plan, a goal, or a cause you’re fighting for? Hell yes, I support that, and you should too. There is no reason you cannot follow through with any of these things simply because you’re of the female gender. Mama knew, from the moment you made your loud and proud debut into this world, that you’d be capable of great things. Go for it, my girl. Be a feminist in the sense that you are confident in your capabilities, you have a cause worth fighting for, and NOTHING will stand in your way.

  1. Feminism is learning to stand up for yourself and to say no without apology.

One other major misconception about feminism (and womanhood in general)? That standing up for yourself makes you a bitch. That using the word, “no” should always be followed by an apology and long-winded explanation.

No, no, no, my dear – the opposite is true. To be taken seriously, to have your opinions and ideas hold weight, and to gain any respect at all, you MUST hold strong to all of the above. You can still be a “lady” without giving in to the expectations of others. You can still be so much of a woman without needing to please others simply for their approval. Stand up for yourself. Say no when you need to. It will all fall in line, under your terms and conditions, after you’ve learned to set guidelines and lay boundaries.

  1. Feminism is knowing that kindness always wins.

As I mentioned above, bitchiness and feminism do NOT need to go hand in hand. It is my belief that anything can be done with just the right amount of kindness – as this is exactly how your mother has chosen to live her life and achieve her dreams as well. Use your womanly intuition and tap into just how much kindness will get the job done in any situation, and you’re halfway there. Be kind to those you love, be kind to those you don’t, be kind to those who can help you on your path, and kind to those who cannot. Kindness always wins, my dear. You’ll lay your head down each night with pride if you follow this rule, and goddammit, you’ll make mama really, really proud.

 

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Guest Post! A Brief Tale of Disaster: Mom-Style

For all the money in the world, I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried…

The morning that I have just barely survived needs to be turned into a movie called:

“I am not in my right mind, and this is why” or “Wine is for Mommies” or  EVEN

“A fist full of crap”…

Basically, my morning with my two children was a literal SHIT show.

First I MUST tell you that I have a cold, of course I do, why wouldn’t I? My cell phone and iPad are a petri dish of bacteria thanks to these kids (I swear I must have the cure for at least one disease sitting on my screen) but I digress.

Ever hear the expression: don’t count your chickens before they hatch? Yep – never did I know this to be more true than it was this morning.

I started my morning unusually optimistic and punctual today. My 2-year-old son and my 5-year-old daughter and I are actually making good time this morning. We are all set for school, on our way out the door and I’m even carrying everything we need without breaking a sweat. We head downstairs to the parking lot, the birds are singing, the sun is shining, life is good and as I proceed to strap my son into his car seat I catch a whiff of something so pungent that actually penetrates my air tight, 100% no getting through, severely congested nostrils.

This was bad.

I proceed to do the  CIA-status “diaper peep” which is usually highly insulting to my 2-year-old when he is “clean” but this time, when my index finger barely brushed the top of his diaper, I found that was already knuckle deep in what can only be described as the most heinous explosion of shit ever.
At this point I have shit on my hand but my hopes and dreams have not yet been shitted on. I still believe that we can make it to school on time, because I am a MOM goddammit and I have pushed through worse! I decided to lay my kid inside the trunk to change his diaper and keep it moving. (Come on, you know you’ve done it too). My daughter is completely oblivious to what is going on, she has no idea that this morning is slowly deteriorating in the worst way – because as long as she has the iPad the world can legit crumble around her but make no mistake, she will know how to do an Elsa braid and Monster High makeup like nobody’s business.
So back to the trunk, I proceed to assess the “shituation”, he has shit all the way up to his uniform shirt, his shorts are completely compromised, and as I try to clean him up to the best of my ability,  I realize I am now running out of wipes and he has smeared shit all over my trunk. I use my last wipe, and bare hand to get him mostly clean but at this point I have no choice but to confess to my daughter that I am taking him upstairs to change and wash up. Don’t worry, she barely flinched.

I turn around to get my son and he is riding his scooter naked in the parking lot of my condo, swear to god. You see, in order to lay him in the trunk I had to take his scooter out to make room, so when I pulled him out of the trunk he was face to face with his scooter and because why not?

HE RODE NAKED THROUGH THE PARKING LOT OF MY SOUTH FLORIDA CONDO.
So I grabbed him by the shirt, almost flung him up the stairs to our second floor condo with very little tact or grace. I placed him on the hallway floor to fish  my keys out of my pocket and unlock the door on to turn around and find that he is peeing in my building hallway. PEEING! 😩 WTF!!  Seriously?

Oh my god. Okay, lets get this over with Adrian. Let’s get you cleaned up, dressed all over again and back in the car so that we can MAYBE get to school on time. I wash him from head to toe, put a new uniform shirt on, shorts, socks and we are out the door, yes! Finally! We are late but not embarrassingly late…except I just locked myself out of the apartment.

MIC DROP.

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AS TOLD, VERBATIM, BY CONTRIBUTING WRITER PATRICIA PACHECO VILLAZON. Patricia is a full-time mama and lives a much less shitty life than described. She calls Miami her home and Colombia her roots. She’s got a passion for all things “creative”.

Check her out on Instagram @pattyp444

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How Having A Baby Completely Ruined My Idea Of Marriage

Where Does Happiness Come From?

“You look SO happy now!”

Really? So what did I look before? Don’t answer that.

I’ve become desensitized to this, “you look so happy,” observation because frankly- I’ve heard it enough times for the word “happy” to sound like white noise at this point. Just another word in my overly verbose life.

But when I really think about it, like, stand-in-the-shower-lost-in-thought think about it, I totally get why this comment is consistently being thrown in my direction.
For me, life was not always as, “figured out*” as it is today. For so long, I was aboard the hot-mess-express to nowhere, always lost in my overly-analytical and anxious brain.

I was painfully indecisive, unsure, and unable to advocate for myself or my opinions. I didn’t know what I wanted, where I was going, or even worse, what even made me happy.

I was, essentially, the quintessential “little girl lost”.

Okay, well, I worked past all that, landed myself a damn good man, an incredible daughter, a home to call my own, and a life that just “works”.

Maybe it’s the shock from people who knew me from “before” feel when they bump into the new and improved version of myself that I’ve unknowingly created. Or maybe, just maybe, this “happiness” I now radiate so strongly is more just the appreciation of learning what life really is all about.

Yes, it’s definitely that.

Acquiring this husband/child/life of mine was NOT the elimination of all things “unhappy”. I didn’t pop out a baby and push out all my anxiety with her. Quite honestly, the stress of this new life is more overwhelming than ever. More bills, more responsibility, more to argue about, blah blah blah.

But that’s because there’s so much realness in my life now. So much at stake. So much to be thankful for. And that’s where you learn that you’ve got so much more than you ever dreamed possible – and you better just SHUT UP and be happy.

It’s the realization that I am somebody’s everything now. There is a little one-year-old life depending on me for literally everything, and my heart is so full at the the thought of that. It’s FINALLY coming to the realization that tomorrow is not promised, and it could all be gone in an instant – and that would really, really suck. It’s having two lives living under this roof with me that make life worth living for. That make putting myself through the stress of everyday life worth every ounce of hard work and sacrifice. It’s finally learning, after 32 years, what makes ME happy, and that I have to make each moment count, forget the bullshit, focus on what really matters and keep things totally in perspective.

And that, my friends, is where happiness comes from.

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