Yesterday it was a beautiful, sunny day in the Tennessee Valley so we decided to take a family trip to the park and let Nellie play. I think she had fun.
Despite a brief appearance from Nellie’s “what the hell are you looking at?” face…..
I’d say she had a blast. What do you think?
Now, this may come as a shock to you but… I like to drink. I’m not talking YES LUSHING EVERY NIGHT! ALL THE BEER FOREVER!
But I do enjoy beer, and I enjoy obtaining a buzz. Curiously since I’ve become a mom, I do not enjoy being drunk anymore. During my chorus retreat last month I got ridiculously drunk. Like, exclaiming to anyone who would listen to me how drunk I was drunk. Singing at the top of my lungs drunk. I’m surprised I didn’t vomit drunk.
I digress. Before I became a mom, I drank relatively frequently. I also – brace yourself – drank in bars before I was 21. I didn’t have a fake ID; I just knew people who knew people. When I was 20 years old, however, something happened that made me vow never to drink (in public) while underage ever again.
I got thrown out of a club and Joshua almost lost his driver’s license.
I was working at a restaurant at the time and one of my coworkers was participating in this “hot bikini contest” thing. I made plans to go to the 18+ club with two other coworkers, and Joshua. Since I “wouldn’t be able to drink at the club”, I decided to pregame at my apartment. I don’t remember what I drank or how much, but by the time my coworkers L and K got to my place I was pretty toasty. Josh and I loaded up into his truck (he was NOT drinking) and headed out to the club.
I had left my ID at home like an idiot, so when we got to the door we almost didn’t get in. I swore up and down that I was over 18 and the bouncer at the door gave me the stink eye. He grabbed my hands and drew big, fat black X’s on them with a permanent marker to signify that I wasn’t 21. Then he took Joshua’s driver license.
“If she leaves here drunk,” he gruffed, “It’s on you.”
I pranced inside, feeling good and ready to have fun. We found a high-top table to sit at. I eyeballed it for a second, because for one thing I was drunk and for another, I am a Hobbit. Shortest ever. So tall chair + drunk Hobbit = bad idea. But Josh helped me climb up onto the chair and I sat, feet swinging.
Things get foggy around this point. I do remember that I had convinced L and K (which wasn’t hard) to sneak me shots. Red-headed sluts. At one point, I thought that it would be a superb idea to join some hot girls out on the dance floor. I was, after all 20 years old and much thinner than I am now so I, too, was somewhat of a hottie. A dorky hottie with no fashion sense, but a hottie nonetheless. So I slid/fell off of my chair and strutted out onto the dance floor.
My dancing experience is a blur of hair, skirts, me rubbing my boobs in an attempt to be sexy and the song “Yeah”. I remember at one point trying to “get low, get low” and almost not being able to get back up, up again. Let’s just say that I’m thanking the gods that no one had a video camera trained on me and my drunken, writhing glory. I probably looked like I was having a drooling, boob-rubbing seizure.
Satisfied that I had properly convinced every man in the club that I was undeniably the sexiest lady in history, I made my way back to the table. I have absolutely no idea how long we were there but in my foggy memory it seems like it was approximately a month and a half. I vaguely remember the contest, maybe some more dancing and definitely some more shots. At one point I had to go to the bathroom, and Josh offered to go with me. I denied his company and headed toward the ladies’ room.
When I got into the stall, I noticed that the latch on the door was broken and swung both forward and backward. Not a big deal, I did one of those “sit and lean forward slightly to hold the door and pray to baby Jesus that no one comes barreling into your stall” things. I did my business, and after I’d stood back up and gotten my pants/skirt/whatever the hell I was wearing back up I stumbled forward and crashed into the door. It swung outward and I went flying with it, crashing against the wall in the process. I giggled a little bit, and a woman standing at the sink washing her hands turned to look at me. She eyeballed me second before her eyes fell on the big, black X’s drawn on the tops of my hands.
“You’re drunk,” she said somewhat accusingly. It was then that I noticed her server’s apron, and I realized that she was a waitress here.
“Uhhhh,” I argued.
The conversation gets a little fuzzy, but it involved her coming after me and bitching me out about drinking underage in the club. Did I realize that they could be fined for this, and lose their liquor license? I argued with her, saying that I was drunk when I got there and hadn’t been drinking. She called my bluff and continued her accusatory lecture. I then lamely said that it was cool, I was a server too.
*facepalm*
She led me out of the bathroom, telling me she wasn’t going to rat me out but I was to leave NOW. I told her I had to get my boyfriend because he was my ride. She dragged me over to Josh, who was sitting looking very bored. His expression turned to one of…….. Er. Well. I don’t really remember. The waitress explained the situation to him and told him that we both had to leave right then. I looked at him pitifully and he just kind of stared at me. He leaned me against him, put his arm around me and hissed,
“Lean against me and don’t. Say. Anything.”
We walked back to the door where the bouncer was waiting. We stopped and Josh told him he needed his ID back. The bouncer flipped through his collection of driver licenses, landed on Josh’s and held it out. His gaze found me and he furrowed his brow.
“Wait a minute. Is she-”
Josh cut him off by snatching his ID, saying a hasty “Thanks!” and ushering me out the door.
As soon as we were in his truck with the doors shut I burst out into sobbing, hiccupy tears. I apologized profusely for almost getting him in trouble between my drunken wails.
That’s where my memory of the evening ends. I don’t remember the drive home, going to bed, or anything else. All I know is that the next morning I awoke with a horrible hangover and a vow to never drink in a bar or club again until I was 21.
Interested in Daddy Green’s perspective of all of this? Read all about his side of the story here.
It’s no secret that we want more than one child. We’re not in any hurry, and I’ve decided to make a list of things that must happen and a list of things that I’d like to happen before we stop preventing and make Nellie a big sister!
Must Happen Before #2
Would Like to Happen Before #2:
Fun Stuff:
I’ve pasted this post into a page on my blog, so I can kind of look at it any time and reflect and plan for what needs to happen, or add to it as needed. I’m just now getting to the stage where I can wrap my brain around, and even feel excited about baby #2… Before, when someone would ask me, “When is Nellie going to become a big sister?” I’d feel like vomiting… Now I just kind of feel like smiling.
[ratings]
My friend Emily at Baby Dickey does a weekly meme called Pick Me Up Monday. We all need a little pick me up on Mondays, eh? I took this video of Nellie last night and knew it was perfect. Enjoy this video of her cuddling her lovey, “Fox”. Also, Sean Kingston.
My quartet, Route 41, is singing on the news in two weeks. We are also microphone testers for our regional Young Women in Harmony competition, which is in about three weeks, so today we decided to get together and practice a new song we’ve been working on. (If you have no idea what I’m talking about, read this post that explains my involvement with a women’s a capella barbershop harmony chorus)
Daddy Green is working today, so I packed up Nellie and headed to S (who sings lead)’s house. S has a 4.5 month old, L so I knew it would be interesting. Nellie hasn’t been around many babies who aren’t close to her age.
It started out well enough; I sat down with Nellie after she tromped all over L’s playmat and gave her a snack and a drink. Nellie was content exploring L’s toys, crawling around the living room and being inquisitive. She kept trying to crawl out of the room so S got her pack n’ play and we contained Nellie for a while that way. After a short time in the PnP, Nellie decided she’d had enough of that foolishness. We barricaded the way out of the living room with the pack n’ play, so Nellie had free reign of the living room.
As time marched on, Nellie got more and more restless. L had woken up from her nap and was content sitting in her Bumbo and watching the scene. In true toddler fashion, Nellie was not. She was crawling everywhere and getting into everything. I had to move everyone’s purses toward the back of the couch so she wouldn’t pull them down. The TV tray that had cups of water, pitch pipes, and a digital camera perched precariously atop it had to be monitored at all times. My three singing sisters sang beautifully, while my part sounded more like this:
Goody goodbye, bye bye, I’ll see you never.
Goody goodbye, bye bye, so you think you’re – NELLIE, PUT THAT DOWN.
While playing with my – NO! you overplayed your part
I must have been dumb, dumb as – NELLIE ROSE, THAT IS NOT YOUR PACIFIER. GET IT OUT OF YOUR MOUTH PLEASE.
To believe you from the start
Goody-good luck to you, and to the – NO, WE DON’T PULL ON BABY L’S FEET.
I think that my absolute favorite moment was when I had to make a mad dash to retrieve Nellie, who had suddenly taken off crawling at breakneck speed across the living room floor toward L’s baby bottle… Full of breastmilk.
We managed to get a decent practice in, but let me tell you what. To all of you moms whose babes haven’t made it to the toddler stage yet: you think your baby is difficult now?
You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.
One of my favorite TV shows is America’s Funniest Home Videos. DON’T JUDGE ME, the show is absolutely hysterical. How can you NOT laugh your ass off at people falling down the stairs or leaping off of trampolines and crashing into bushes? Maybe I’m just sadistic. Whatever.
My point. One night we were watching this show and we saw a series of videos in which the wife would lock her husband outside, and before she’d let him come back in she’d make him dance – videotaping him all the while. Kind of like this:
Well we, of course, thought it was terribly clever. We laughed and laughed and laughed.
I stopped laughing when my dear husband started doing it to me. When I’d get out to retrieve a lottery ticket or a soda from a gas station, I’d come back to find the car door locked, the window down and a song blaring while my husband grinned evilly at me from behind the wheel. He would not unlock the door until I made a spectacle of myself in the middle of the Golden Gallon.
This has been going on for years but for the first time yesterday… He caught me on camera.
Ahem. I’ll wait a second while you marvel at my dance skills your hysterical laughter subsides.
Daddy Green… The gauntlet has been thrown.
Someone passed on a link to Ashley Getting Dressed, who did a fun and cute dialect vlog. The point is to say a list of words, and answer a list of questions to see how different bloggers sound in different parts of the country. A few bloggers that I know and love have participated:
Pickles & Paisleys
Little BGCG
Haute Single Mama
She’s Mommafied
Million Dream Mom
Daddy Green’s Pride (my husband!)
Baby Dickey
Baby Gator’s Den
3 Kids and Us
Soleil Selene
Mama Dweeb
Mama & the Dudes
Here is my vlog. Enjoy!
Untitled from Natalie Green on Vimeo.
Here is the list of words, and also the list of questions :
I’ve learned a few things by watching my own vlog.
I should have done something with my hair and slapped on some damn concealer. Hope you enjoyed me in my spaztastic, tired-looking glory. If you create a dialect vlog, be sure to link up in the comments!
When we were struggling to conceive after our miscarriage, I would often dream of what it’d be like to be a mother. I imagined the day that I finally held my child – my flesh and blood – in my arms, and in my dreams it felt like heaven. Like utter peace. I would sit around and imagine rocking my sweet baby to sleep, singing that little bundle into a land of sweet dreams. I’d picture us strolling around the mall or taking a walk outside.
I assumed that the second my child entered the world screaming, I would feel like a mother.
But I was wrong. For me, there wasn’t some magic veil of motherhood that dropped over me as soon as Nellie was born. They pulled her from me and held her up and I cried once I saw her but after that I was so exhausted from labor and so loopy from the drugs, I honestly don’t remember much about the next few hours. I remember holding my tiny little burrito baby but I don’t remember what I was thinking.
I got to thinking this morning about motherhood and what defines it. I am a mother all of the time, but sometimes I don’t feel like one. When I’m standing with my quartet and singing in 4 part harmony with my sisters, the fact that I have a child isn’t at the front of my mind. When I’m engrossed in a movie at the theater on one of our rare trips, I’m not thinking about Nellie the entire time. When I drive home from work and I’m singing Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of my lungs, I look forward to reaching the daughter I’ve been away from all day but in that moment I don’t feel like a mother.
I feel most like a mother when I’m comforting my child. When she wakes up crying for whatever reason at 1 AM (which almost never happens anymore) and I go into her room and lift her from her crib, pulling her against my chest and kissing her forehead.. I feel like a mother. Sitting in her glider while she lay against me, her sleepy head in my neck.. That makes me feel like a mother. While I smooth her hair back from her forehead and hum softly to her while we rock… In those moments, I feel like a mother because she needs me. Maybe she is teething, maybe she had a bad dream.. It doesn’t matter. My daughter needs me, and I am giving her what she needs in comforting her. But what does “feeling like a mother” mean? How do you define that? Caretaker? Comforter? Protector? To me it’s all of the above. When I am making my daughter feel safe and secure, when I am soothing her tears away.. That’s what motherhood feels like to me.
When I have Nellie tipped upside-down tickling her neck and she is squealing and giggling with delight, I feel like a mother. When her musical, delicious laughter fills my ears I cannot help but grab her and hug her until she squirms from my embrace, ready to move on to her next adventure. Her laughter awakens something inside of my soul, an emotion that rushes through me and floods every corner of my body. I feel as though I might drown in that love, that it might just wash over me and suffocate me with its’ power.
When I am out in public with Nellie and someone says, “What a beautiful child. Where did you get that curly hair, little one?” I smile with pride because it’s obvious where she got her hair. When people exclaim about the dimple in her chin, I feel so happy because I gave that to her. It’s something that she and I share. She is the spitting image of her father but those dark curls and dimple.. That’s all me.
To me, motherhood is a sense of pride. Of duty. Of honor. It is simultaneously empowering and humbling, the weight you hold in your child’s life. Above all things, motherhood is a sense of unconditional, endless love. While I may not feel I fit the role of mother all the time, and Nellie sometimes isn’t always at the very front of my mind, that sense of overwhelming love is always, always there. If I am standing and singing with my quartet and I conjure an image of my chubby, laughing girl in my head that love instantly fills me. I feel calm and peaceful. I feel like a mother.
What is motherhood to you? How do you define it, and when do you feel most like a mom?
