I am not a particularly “girly” woman. I’m feminine and all woman baby, but dainty and foofoo and precious? Nope. I’m more Katherine Hepburn than Marilyn Monroe. So it totally makes sense that my daughter, fruit of my loins, would be a complete, pinkified, tutu-ed with a pair of glittery fairy wings, PRINCESS.

Hold me.

I never pushed the princess culture on her. Hell, I don’t even remember introducing her to it. I think the first Disney movie I played for her was Cars. But little by little, her royal DNA has taken over. If it’s pink, she likes it. If it has sparkles, Jesus, she wants to live in it. She notices shoes. Makeup. Clothes. Anyone in a skirt is a “pweeeeety pwincess”. She can recognize and name several Disney princesses, despite having never seen their respective movies. She talks all day about wanting to hug and kiss Pwincess Tinana and Awiel. And lately, the first thing she asks for after the boob and some breakfast in the morning, is her pink tutu and fairy wings. And she wears them. ALL DAY LONG.

I thought it would bother me a little, this obsession with all things pretty. But truth be told, I find it absolutely freaking adorable. It brings me such joy that she’s identified and embraced this part of her ever changing personality. I may not understand it, and the thought of the makeovers in my future is enough to make me shiver, but it’s her. And if she wants to prance around in a tutu and feather boa while she sings her ABC’s, well, who am I to judge? She’s the most perfect prettypretty princess that ever there was. Who also happens to be Asian smart, and tough as a Roller Derby broad.

Plus, she has showed quite the interest in bugs lately. Which, gross. But not pink.

It hit me as I was putting groceries into the car. I looked over at her, sitting in the cart with her sunglasses on, hair in a ponytail, laughing at airplanes and talking a mile a minute about God knows what, and suddenly my breath caught in the back of my throat, and the backs of my knees got cold, and the rushing in my ears drowned out all other noise, and I realized:

My baby is GONE.

And in her place, is this new little person. With her own mind and personality and heart. I don’t know when it happened. It felt sudden, like a flip was switched somewhere while we were sleeping, and we woke up in a new frame in the slide show. In reality, it’s been happening, slowly, in tiny pieces, everyday since that day almost 2 years ago. But when days fly by in a blur, it’s hard to pinpoint the subtlety of growing up. The silent changes go unnoticed, until they’re not silent, until they’re singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star all by herself without any help from mama (SOB).

I’m ready for this new person, and all the light she brings. But I’m not ready to not have a baby anymore. Which is confusing to me, because I thought I was. Would be. It’s hard to have someone so dependent on you, but not as hard, as it turns out, as giving that someone their independence, letting go a little, tiny bit at a time. My heart swells with pride when I see her playing by herself, or with little friends. But the ache that comes when I’m rebuffed when I attempt to join her, oh, the ache. I want her to do it herself, but I want her to need me. I need her to need me still.

So maybe I hold her a little longer, a little tighter, when she asks for a hug. Maybe I bring her, half asleep, to lay next to me in bed in the mornings, so I’m the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes, the first she lights her smile on. Maybe weaning has slowed down and taken a back seat to embracing the quiet time we share, that only we can share. Thousands of little moments that make up the big ones. Little moments that mean so much.

Exact moments are big. Huge. But so are the little ones, the ones that fly by in a blur. Those moments are the ones I try to catch and hold close. They’re the ones that I want to remember. I can’t take pictures of them, or write them all down, but I have them, inside. They help me keep my baby close, as she walks farther away from me.

I know how much she loves me. I do. She tells me now, all the time, even at her age. I know by how tightly she holds onto to me when I hold her, by how big she smiles when I walk into the room. I know, because I am the first person she looks for, asks for, needs. I KNOW how much she loves me, because I do.

But she never smiles and runs to me like she does her daddy. At the end of the day, when his key turns in the door and he walks in, jacket folded over his arm, briefcase swinging by his side, she almost bursts with happiness. She doesn’t laugh like that with me. She doesn’t run that fast to me.

She loves me, but she doesn’t ever miss me. I’m never gone.

I was gone this evening, for a few hours. When I got home, and my key turned in the door, I heard her. I heard the squeal, the pounding of tiny toddler feet running to the door, to me. I opened the door to the biggest smile I’ve ever seen, the tightest embrace, the best kisses. Her little fingers prodded my face, her head rested on my shoulder, her voice whispered “mama” in my ear. She was bursting with happiness. For me.

She missed me when I was gone. I know how much she loves me.

We’ve been to Disneyland 3 times in the last 2 weeks (thank you, annual passes!). You’d think I would be tired of it by now. But you would be wrong. In fact, I’m probably singing my way through It’s a Small World for the 5th time as you read this. And, as you can see by the look of crazed excitement on my childs face in these pictures from her first time (technically, her second time, but she was only 1 when we took her for the first time, so it didn’t really count), it’s shocking we haven’t moved down the street from the place by now.

There is nothing like seeing your child see Disneyland for the first time. It was one of the most amazing moments I’ve had as her mom so far. I am so, so lucky.

Two weeks. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve been here. Two weeks. That’s a long time, in blog time. I’ve missed it, have missed you all, but can I be honest? It’s been…nice. Quiet (ish) (I do still have the Queen D running around at full steam, natch). I’ve been ridiculously busy and crazed and stressed on more days than not in the last 14, but I feel at peace. Let me tell you why…

I’ve decided to cut myself some slack. Let myself off the hook. Stop expecting so much of myself. I have a child, a husband, a home, and a job, all of which require 100% of my time and attention and energy and effort. And that is where I want to put it. Which is not to say that I DON’T want to put as much love and time into my writing, but right now, I don’t have it to give. I was posting 3 times a week, every week, and I don’t think I can keep that up. I’m going to try, to write and share as much as I can, but when it comes down to hunkering down with my laptop to write, or playing Fairy Princess Parade with her, well, I can’t put my tutu and wings on fast enough, friends.

So I made a deal, with myself, to not be so hard on me. To cut me some slack, let out the line a little. I write down everything, and have weeks of posts scribbled all over the place, so when I get the time to share it here, I will. I have no intention of going away, or stopping what I do here, because I love it and need it and it’s a part of me now. But it’s a smaller part than my other parts, and that’s ok, and that’s how it should be. I am a writer, yes, but only because I am a wife and mother. They are my inspiration, my reason, my heart. And I need to nurture them now.

And I need them to nurture me.

Sigh.

It’s been over a week since I’ve been here, in this place I love so much. Over a week since I’ve been able to stop and listen to the words in my brain, and have enough time to put them down. It’s been a blur of toddlers and work and comings and goings and meals and cleaning and barely seeing the husband and and and and and.

Sigh.

Things have changed quite a bit in the last month. I started working, which is GOOD, but it’s a lot. Husband got a new job, which is AMAZING, but takes him away now, instead of letting him be here a lot. So husband is gone all day, all week, and I am here, and the kid is here, and it’s me and her all day. Every day. And into the evening. And during the night. And in the morning. And all day again. Every day. My job is in there, not the kid one, but the paying one, and while I love that I have it, it is a weight. It’s all weighted. And heavy on my shoulders. And my arms are getting tired.

Sigh.

I miss rest. I miss having time, even just an hour or two, to myself. I miss my husband. I miss writing. Life is here, and it is moving, and I’m caught in the tide, and I feel like I’m missing everything. But I am going to stop swimming, and relax, and go with the current. I’ll circle back around when I catch a calm spot.

Sigh.

My job is pretty boring. Not boring, in the “oh my god snooooooooooooze” kinda way, but in the repetitive, brain on auto-pilot, kinda way. So most nights, I tend to zone out and my mind wanders and when my mind wanders I come up with some really weird shit. Hence, this post.

{Side note: I read some really disheartening stuff for work, so the zone out is part unintentional, part necessity, because if I allowed myself to fully process the crazy that people spew, I would curl up in a fetal position and cry for days}

So, the other night, I started thinking about what I would want to be able to do if I could do anything in the world. Not like a job, but like a natural talent. I think I had watched The Voice earlier that evening, and whenever I watch singing or dancing shows, I spend an inordinate amount of time afterwards imagining how awesome it would be to have that much talent. Or, in my case, ANY talent. I can dance pretty well (for a white girl), but holy mother of god, I should not be allowed to sing. Even Dylan gives me side-eye when I do, and she eats lint from the floor.

Sometimes I think I would LOVE to be able to sing or dance like they do on So You Think You Can Dance or The Voice (not American Idol, because apparently you can only be on that show now if you’re prepubescent). I mean, who wouldn’t want to entertain the world with their beautiful talent? But then I think about ALL THE PEOPLE who can sing and dance, and how very, very few of them actually get to entertain anyone else but their mom and grandparents. And honestly, I don’t want to be able to sing or dance if the world isn’t watching. My family has to love me, I don’t need to impress them.

Then I thought about how cool it would be to be able to draw or paint something other than slightly embellished stick figures. But Jesus, that must take a ridiculous amount of time to practice and hone and what have you. And really, I want a low maintenance talent.

Know what I eventually settled on? After hours of thinking about it? Math. I would love LOVE to be able to do math. Not basic math (I can do THAT. Kind of.). I’m talking long, complicated problems. I want to be able to do that in my head. I don’t know why, since one, I don’t have a job that requires any math skills whatsoever, and two, have a phone that does whatever little math I need. But man, how cool would that be, to just bust that shit out at a party or something? “What’s that? You need to know what 8374648293747 divided by 3858593927264 is right this second? Oh, no worries, let me just BUST OUT MY BRAIN.” I realize that the odds of anyone, ever, anywhere needing to know anything like that are slim to none, but I’m not worried about that. Whatever time wasn’t spent doing math shit in my head would be dedicated to coming up with scenarios in which my incredible super power would come up ORGANICALLY. Plus! Oh my god, it just occurred to me: Dylan could take me to school for Show N Tell! As the thing she’s showing and telling! Can someone say best mother ever?

So, yeah. That’s what I do when I’m bored and zoning out. Well, that’s one thing, anyway. You know what I DON’T do when I’m bored and zoning out? Complicated math problems. How unfortunate. For us all.

We found these sunglasses for her in the dollar bin at Target. These are her car glasses, and every time I buckle her in her seat, she asks for them. “Suglasses? Suglasses mama?” At first, she just played with them, and occasionally aimed well enough to get them close to her head. And then one day, she figured it out, and now she wears them all the time. 99% of the time, she puts them on right. But some days, a girl just needs to wear her shit upside down for a car nap. Amirite?

I made a quasi resolution in the beginning of year that I didn’t share with anyone, because I was absolutely positive that it would be broken, like, later that day. The resolution was to go the entire year without buying anything NEW for me and the girl child. Meaning, not paying retail for clothes and such, with a few notable exceptions: underwear/lingerie (because EWW), shoes (also, eww, and I realize that many people buy perfectly good shoes secondhand but let me assure you that I cannot be one of them {this one applies only to me, because kids shoes are freaking expensive, yo}, work out clothes (too much…personal sweating), and a bathing suit (again, this applies to me, not the diaper clad small). The shoe rule will work in my favor very, very soon, when I get my grubby little hands on the most adorable pair of crocheted Toms. For me. And I guess one for the kid too.

A little background: I worked in retail for a very long time (12ish years?), and working in retail is the quickest way to develop a little, ahem, problem with shopping. You see it first! Brand new! At a discount! It’s hard to resist the siren call of the perfect boyfriend jean or LBD, even if you already have both hanging in your closet at home. When I got pregnant, my husband made me promise I wouldn’t go overboard on buying baby stuff, and I didn’t, for the most part. I knew that buying tons of cute and expensive clothes for a newborn was literally throwing money down the drain, since we probably wouldn’t be leaving the house for quite some time, and when we did, it wouldn’t be to anywhere that a onesie and bloomers wouldn’t be appropriate. And I was lucky enough to have a lot of awesome moms who gave me tons of clothes and gear, which is the way to go. So I stayed in control with baby stuff. And being pregnant and then postpartum makes clothes buying excruciatingly nightmarish, so my own consumption has slowed quite a bit. But the last time I cleaned out my closet, I found so much stuff with tags still attached, it really got me thinking. Why am I buying stuff that I may never wear, and paying full price?

Hence, the Nothing New Resolution. About a month ago, I participated in a clothing swap with some other women and moms, and I scored some great pieces (and got rid of quite a bit of excess in my own closet). And today, my lovely friend Tessa and I attended the presale day for LA Kids Consignment Sale. It’s a giant sale that happens about 6 times a year, where anyone who wants to can register and sell their baby gear, clothes, furniture, toys, etc. We did not participate as consigners (oh my god the time involved in that), but we did purchase passes to shop the sale a day before it opened to the public (consigners and volunteers also get the shop early, for free). I didn’t really know what to expect, so when I walked into the WAREHOUSE, I started hyperventilating a bit at the sheer magnitude of what was before me. It. Was. MASSIVE. Rows and rows and rows (and rows and rows and rows) of clothes, books, toys, strollers, swings, bouncers, cribs, gliders, potty seats, and on and on and on (seemingly into infinity). Anything that anyone can possibly even think of wanting for their baby or kid, was there. The best part? It was there, in (mostly) great condition, for a fraction of what you’d pay retail. Bouncers for $20. Books for .50. High end strollers like Quinnys and B.O.Bs for $80. It was a bargain oasis.

Since it was my first time, I went in without a game plan, and that’s what you need for this kind of shopping. You need a list of must gets, you need shopping partners, comfy shoes, and time. I had an awesome (but equally flummoxed) partner in Tessa, but nothing else. Hell, I even brought the kid. We did browse some, and I did end up scoring some good stuff: 2 pairs of shorts, a skirt, a tank, a pair of sandals, and 8 books for $20. That alone is reason enough to hit up the next sale, which incidentally, is only a month away!

So I’m starting my list now, in preparation for the April sale. I want to get most of her summer wardrobe, a lot more books, and I really want a jogging stroller so she can go on runs with me. And I’m sure I’ll find a few extra goodies too. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to go the whole year without buying anything new, but the LA Kids Consignment Sale will make it pretty much a cinch for the girl. I don’t know if I can swallow paying full price for stuff anymore, knowing that I can get it for $2. I’m a smart girl.

Now, if only they had this sale for grown ups. I want to start thrifting, but am clueless as to where to begin. So if you’re a thrifting mama (and I know some of you are masters, judging from my Instagram feed), I would love some tips/advice/pointers. I’m willing to pay more than $2 for my stuff. But not much. Like I said, I’m a smart girl.

People, I’ve been drawing stuff. You may have heard of a little app making the rounds called Draw Something! It’s basically Pictionary for iPhone or iPad and Android devices, and it is like CRACK. Of course, never having smoked crack, I can’t exactly verify its addictiveness, but I’ve heard it’s whack. Draw Something! is addicting, but so totally not whack.

I’m not an artistic person. Like, at all. My handwriting is atrocious, I don’t have any sort of vision, and even my stick people look like they all suffer from elephantiasis. So I was initially hesitant to start playing and showcase my abysmal skills to my opponents. Until I played. And realized that EVERYONE is terrible. It’s kind of designed that way. I mean, who can draw a legible picture of Rza from Wutang Clan using their finger and an iPhone? (Incidentally, NOT ME ::shudder::)

Here are some of my finer (i.e. recognizable) moments. I’ve gotten much better, which should give you an idea of what I was like when I first started playing.

Vampire. Duh.

One of my finer pieces.

Celebrities are kinda my thing.

I mean, it’s just a little guitar, right?

This is one my husband played. He knows me very well.

So, as you can see, drawing isn’t really my thing. But, it IS really fun, and seriously addicting. So if you’re in the market for a new time suck, get thee the Draw Something! app, and look me up: Littlebabyblog1. I promise, I am good for hours of entertainment.

Just ask Arnold.