Author: Gena Golas

“I love you too, Momma.”

“I love you too, Momma.” We’re sitting quietly at bedtime when he says it. He says it like he’s answering me, but I didn’t say, “I love you.”  Not out loud, anyway. It’s like he knows I say it over and over in my head, and he’s answering me anyway. I love you, I love you, I love you.  Maybe he feels it in the way I hug him. Maybe he knows when I give in to one more book at bedtime. Maybe he can tell when I tolerantly wipe peanut butter off the television. I love you, I love you, I love you, my sweet boy. I love you.  He knows anyway, even if I do tell him a lot.  Only recently is he able to say it back. But I know, too. I know by the smile he gives me when I’m helping him try to pee on the potty. By how excited he gets when I’m the one to wake him up in the morning. I know when he dances along to the radio with me in the car.  I’ve always known. He loves me, he loves me, he loves me. I love you too,...

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The little things

Last week was my 35th birthday. It was a Monday like any other—I woke up.  I went to work. I came home. I went grocery shopping. We had dinner.  I spent a little time with my husband.  I went to bed. All the little things that make up a day—pretty unordinary for a birthday, but it was a Monday, after all.   Except, there’s more to it than just that.   I woke up and got my son up. The two of us enjoyed some alone time together before daddy got up, a time of day I always look forward to. I went to work, to a job I love, one that feels challenging and rewarding and satisfying. I came home to a bouquet of yellow roses from my guys. My husband took over the bedtime routine, so that I had time to myself. I went grocery shopping, a chore I honestly enjoy, and I got to go by myself, which was heavenly. When I got home, I took a long, hot shower, which was also heavenly. After my son was asleep, my husband and I cooked a late dinner, and enjoyed it together, just the two of us. We spent time snuggling on the couch before going to bed.   Yes, it was a Monday like any other, but those little things that made up the day are actually...

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Taking time

After two years, one month and nine days, Lenny has weaned.   To say that the weaning process has taken a lot of time could be an understatement. First, there was the decision to actually start weaning. I had wanted to for a while, but couldn’t figure out how (or maybe, couldn’t muster the courage?) to do it. Then, once we started the weaning process, we took it slowly—cutting out the naptime session; then, months later, stopping the before-bed session and, finally, the morning session a month after that. We took our time, and I think that worked well for us.   Bedtime seems to take more time these days. Lenny still has to figure out how to fall asleep with me, without nursing himself to sleep. He does better with my husband at bedtime, but it looks like we’ll need to take more time for Lenny and I to figure this one out together.   Without nursing as a way to connect, I have found myself wanting to take more time, just me and Lenny. There are days when I crave some alone time with him, which we often get on the weekends while my husband is at work. One of my favorite things to do with Lenny is to go to those bounce house gyms—we jump and play together, and he still needs me to help him...

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Taking “my” time

Lenny’s birthday was last month, and The Two’s have officially hit us full-force. He is discovering his two-year old world faster and more thoroughly than before and, along with an exploding vocabulary and personality, Lenny has fully transitioned from baby to toddler. With these new developments, Lenny is also more independent than ever before, and the words “no,” “mine,” and even a vehement, stubborn “yes” are commonly heard in our household.   While his world is expanding with the my’s, mine’s and my-do-it’s, mine has seemed to shrink a little. Simple tasks take much longer with an eager little helper. Tantrums are more frequent and exhausting if, heaven forbid, my husband and I are the ones to say “no.” I even have to share the food off of my dinner plate with a curious toddler most nights. So, I’m going to take a page from Lenny’s book and reclaim something that is mine. “My” time.   I haven’t been very good at this since Lenny has been born. I can recall three specific times in the last two years when I’ve gotten out of the house—by myself, to do something that didn’t involve groceries or errands—particularly at night after Lenny has gone to bed. My husband claims there have been more, but do they count if I don’t remember them (and I don’t mean in the wild-night-out sort of...

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Frazzled mom moments

Frazzled mom moment #35979573: I dropped my son off at daycare with my pants unzipped and unbuttoned. I had absolutely no idea until I was getting back into the car.   Frazzled mom moment #35979574: I did it again a few weeks later.   Frazzled mom moment #86940385: I can somehow remember to pack 3 lunch containers, 3 sippy cups, a sheet, a blanket, winter coat, hat, gloves, diapers, wipes, and seasonally-appropriate change of clothes to send to daycare on a Monday morning, yet I question myself if I’ve brushed my own teeth or hair.   Frazzled mom moment #27485069: I toted around a pair of Lenny’s pajama pants in my work bag for days.   Frazzled mom moment #27485069 ½: I have no idea how they got in there.   Frazzled mom moment #47598697: I dropped my son off at daycare with eye shadow somehow smeared down my cheek. Thankfully I noticed before walking into work (a full hour and 15 minute commute later—I guess I don’t look in the mirror much?). His daycare teachers must really think I have my sh*t together.   Frazzled mom moment #18694509: Not packing diapers in the diaper bag so that I have to make a stop while we’re out to buy some. You’d think this means we have a surplus of diapers at the house, but we always seem to be...

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