Word.

I recently read that at my son's age (19 1/2 mo), he's adding a new word to his vocabulary every 90 minutes. Now, I don't know if that's just waking hours, or averaged based on a 24 hour day. What I do know is that, regardless, that's a lot of new stuff to say. I think it's referred to as the "language explosion". I love hearing him say new things. The only problem is that a lot of those newbies totally throw me for a loop. It took me about a week to realize, for instance, that "awahnee" means "I want it." In case you think he's referring to the famous lodge at Yosemite. And "iman" is not the supermodel from the 80s married to David Bowie. "Iman" means "Come on". Wyattese is a tricky language, but I have a team of translators on the job day and night.

This week has been rough. Wyatt's been great, but I've had a cold. It's hard to be on top of everything when your head is in a vice grip. And so, my kid has a few more freedoms than usual right now. Hey Wyatt, climb down from that 10' ladder. If you fall down, it could take me a while to remember how to dial 9-1-1. We're making it work, though. I thought about calling in sick, but figured leaving Wyatt in his crib all day would be asking for trouble. Out of pure hunger, he'd figure out how to climb out, and then my prison tactics would go the way of the dodo bird. Can't have that.

We're also prepping for more quality one-on-one mommy-kid time. That's glass half full code for single motherhood. Ryan's leaving again for South Dakota on Friday. The good news is that Wyatt and I get to fly out to see him on Tuesday and stay for a couple days for Thanksgiving. So it's only 4 days solo bookended by 2 more days solo. Ryan should be home by next Sunday sometime. And thanks to the same generous benefactor that allows us to use the SD ranch, we'll be flying private, so I won't have to do the airport security thing with a toddler. I'll admit it seriously weirds me out that my son's first flight will be on a private jet. I may need to get pics of him next to the plane in the hanger with sunglasses on, and start calling him Vinnie Chase. (I'm not sure. Is the mommy blog reading demographic the same as the Entourage demographic? Show of hands...) So anyway, the flight should be a lot easier than a typical traveling-with-toddler scenario. But lest you think he's being raised a spoiled brat, I hasten to remind you that he has a built-in humility regulator: i.e. we're raising him in humble Bakersfield. (Apologies to Bakersfield, which is actually a rad place to live. Sadly, a lot of people won't see it that way, because their only real education about Bakersfield has come from its freeway properties and it's non-LAness.)

So, anyway, to summarize: Wyatt talks. I'm sick. South Dakota for Thanksgiving. Bakersfield is rad.

Coping with Imperfection

My sister-in-law said it best when she told me being a new mom is like starting a new job with no experience and being expected to know what you're doing. She's right. And there's no warming up period. You're pregnant one day and thrown into the deep end of motherhood the next. I can honestly say that I'm not very good at this. And if I'm perfectly frank, there are days I wish this were a job I could just quit. I love my son. That's part of the problem. If I didn't love him so much, maybe I wouldn't feel so horrible about not being very good at this. But instead, all I want is to get it figured out, so I don't mess him up. So I don't mess my own life up in the process. I want him to be happy and content. And he seems pretty miserable half the time, which breaks my heart.

I've read enough to realize that I'm still floating through the "baby blues". I come up for air sometimes. Occasionally, when I get enough sleep, I feel almost human again. But eventually, even well-rested, the gray cloud comes back and I wish I could just run for the hills. I want to be good at this. I want to be one of those women who realize this is what they were born for. I'm praying that maybe I'll feel a little more like that once I get past the first 6 weeks... or maybe the first 3 months... depending on who I talk to.

Breastfeeding may be part of the problem, too. I'm doing it exclusively, and at the moment, it makes me feel like a prisoner. I hate feeding or changing him in public, so I dread all outings. My version of time to myself is running out to pick up some take-out for dinner while Ryan watches Wyatt as quickly after a feeding as possible so I get home in time to feed him again. I'm grateful for those little blocks of time, but until I can either pump enough to get more than an hour or two away (something I haven't figured out how to do, and in what time to do it in) or else put the little guy on formula (which I have in my head might make me a bad mother, since breast milk is so much better for him - how selfish of me to even want it, right? ...sigh), I don't think I'll really feel like much more than a glorified cow who doesn't speak the language of her calf.

So, yes, this is a little more of the storm. And while there are moments of sunshine - Wyatt has started smiling frequently, usually in his sleep or when he's starting to drift off, and he is still insanely adorable - the storm is still the point leader.