WordPress just told informed me that this is my 100th blog post. Though that’s not a feat worthy of much celebration, I realize, I thought I’d take the opportunity to reflect a bit on the past 18 months of blog-life.

If anyone remembers my lofty aspirations upon starting this little blog, then you’ll remember my goal of posting three times a week. Oh, Danielle. Your pre-baby naivety was charming.

The reality is that, most weeks, we can barely keep up with the basic day-to-day responsibilities that accompany running a house, raising a toddler, maintaining a semi-functional marriage, having full-time jobs, a photography business, rabbits, cats–well, you get the idea. This is all to say that, often, blogging falls at the bottom of my priority list. And I’m okay with that. I’ve got to live my life, first, and then I can write about it.

“Self care” is all the rage, these days, what with most of the country wanting to jump off of the proverbial bridge and all. And when I’m lucky enough to get a little time to myself during the week–which happens pretty infrequently–sometimes I just want to binge watch episodes of The Chew and eat a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. (Not that’d I’d ever do those things. I swear.)

Still, this blog is still important to me–and for much the same reasons as it was when I first began this project. Here’s why:

1. I still want to connect with other parents, especially LGBT parents, as they are vastly underrepresented in the blog-o-sphere.
2. I’m (kind of) a writer. At least, that’s been a large part of my identity for most of my life. And, even if I don’t do it often, blogging exercises a muscle that craves exercising.
3. At least once a week, Finn pulls his (completely empty) baby book off of his bookshelf and hands it to me to read. Sorry, kid. A baby book is not in the cards for you. But, hopefully, he’ll be able to look back on this blog, one day, and read all about how fiercely we loved him–even when it was maddening.

Now, speaking of Finn, I’ve been meaning to catalog some random tidbits. (That was a clunky pivot. Sorry, folks.)

Way, way back when I was doing monthly photos and updates of Finn–before I got super lazy–I was doing a pretty good job of keeping track of his various milestones and developments. I’ve been kind of slacking on that, lately, but there are lots of tiny little things–things that are likely of little or no consequence to anyone but his mommas–that I want to remember.

Here are some of the things that I want to remember about 17-month-old Finnster:

• He currently has 10 teeth: 4 on top, 4 on bottom, and 2 molars. Also, as an aside: SCREW YOU, molars.
• Our pediatrician said that 18-22 months is when his vocabulary should explode. He was a little behind schedule with his first words, but he is saying about ten words pretty regularly: cat, momma, ball, truck, tree, car, baba (bottle), cheese, uh oh, and more. “More” is his favorite, of course. He also says “bye” when we leave his bedroom at bedtime. And he may or may not say “oh, shiiiiiiiiit” pretty regularly. (Don’t blame me for that one.)
• He has a fairly new obsession with his rocking chair, and he climbs in and out of it–and rocks himself–fairly often.
• He’s still obsessed with his lovies. He has a home monkey and a school monkey, which never leave his side. He also loves a few stuffed animals, now–his penguin and his whale.
• He uses a fork or spoon with all meals, and he drinks from big kid cups at school.
• He reallllly loves to “help.” He’ll do pretty much any task you ask, but he especially loves throwing things in the garbage, putting clothes in his hamper, and putting away groceries. He will also bring you a tissue, if you ask. But only after he’s emptied the tissue box completely.
• He finally “gets” TV, and he watches it probably more than he should. His favorite shows are Daniel the Tiger and Mickey Mouse Club. But really, all he wants to watch are The Grinch and Rio. We watch at least a little bit of Rio every single day of our lives. I’m guessing we have about 17 more days before the Rio DVD goes “oops.”
• He’s as willful and stubborn as ever, and he wants to do everything for himself. Good luck trying to get this kid to hold your hand as he walks down stairs.
• He loves school. He’s almost always happy to be there, and his teachers are convinced he’s an “angel at home.” We just smile and nod.
• He really only plays with toys that allow him put things together–or tear things apart. His Duplos, stacking cups, and stackable robots (“bot bots”) are his favorite.
• He also loves balls. Do with that what you must.

Hi, my name is Danielle, and my son is addicted to bread. I’ve been needing to get that off of my chest for a while, now.

The truth is, ever since Finn was stricken with a 9-day best of a stomach flu–which required us to restrict food, of course–he has been experiencing what I can only identify as food insecurity. I mean, really, folks. This kid is using bread a security blanket.

I MEAN THAT LITERALLY.

Sona and I have taken to hiding all forms of the white, soft stuff. Finn will spot a bag of bread from a mile away, and then there’s no distracting him. He will not stop until he has bread in both hands. Fistfuls of it.

In the mornings, he’s started asking for “buns.” It started with plain ole’ slider buns, but we’ve moved on to King’s Hawaiian Bread (which I think we can all agree must be derived from some kind of highly addictive substance).

Looking back, maybe this bread obsession started early.

Now, I drive him to daycare each morning, staring in the rear-view mirror at my son. The one who conned me into giving him at least TWO buns before we could leave the house. The one who either stuffs a full bun into his mouth, devouring it like someone who has been doing the Atkins diet for years. Or the one who clutches the buns in each hand, cuddling them to his chin like they are some kind of wonderfully carb-y lovie.

He has a problem, and we aren’t really helping him break it. “Pick your battles,” I always say. And I’m not particularly interested in taking on loaves of bread, just yet.

Other than that, though, Finn eats pretty well. I haven’t said much about his diet since I first talked about our doing baby-led weaning. Essentially, we never really gave Finn purees or baby food. We started “developing his palate” at about 8 weeks, giving him tastes of vinegar and peanut butter and prosciutto and Parmesan cheese and champagne.(Mom of the year! Right here!)

Then, at around 5 months, we started giving him softened bites of whatever we were eating. And I mean WHATEVER we were eating: sushi, Indian food, pasta, etc. He tried–and ate–it all.

In that first year, especially, I worked really hard to offer him as many different foods as possible. Of course, he ate a lot of the usual suspects, too: bananas, avocado, puffs. But for meals, he always ate whatever we had, which was almost always homemade. His nanny would complain that–on the days when I got lazy and sent him mac and cheese or something similar–he’d rather have “Momma’s food.”

And he has turned into a bit of a snob, that way.

Now, of course, things are a little trickier.

Finn is a toddler, and they are monsters. So, there’s really only a certain amount of control we can assert over anything, generally, but his diet, specifically.

He still has a pretty well-developed palate for a kiddo, we think. And he still eats whatever we eat for dinner 90% of the time. Every now and then, he rejects what we give him, but that’s usually because of texture–or crankiness–and not flavor aversions.

When he rejects what we’re eating, he gets peas and Earth’s Best frozen organic meatballs. This child would eat meatballs for every single meal, if we let him.

He prefers things that are saucy and strongly flavored. He loves anything he can “dip.”  He hates plain chicken, especially if it is dry. He loves peas and carrots and soup and Indian food and yogurt and applesauce and any kind of beans and eggs. AND BREAD.

He also loves whatever is on my plate–even if it’s exactly what is on his.

But we struggle with getting stuck in carb-heavy snack ruts. He doesn’t have many teeth, yet, and he can’t really chew raw veggies very well. He loves fruit, which he gets often, but our go-to snacks aren’t particularly healthy.

Let’s just say we keep (mostly organic) cracker and veggie straw businesses going strong.

He eats a lot of really healthy, diverse foods, but he also eats his fair share of Nilla Wafers and Fairlife chocolate milk (which is AWESOMELY delicious) and pastries, especially on the weekends.

But bread is his primary vice, right now. We’ll work on breaking it, eventually, but we just don’t have the energy to fight it, yet.

So, please don’t judge me when you me in the grocery store, offering my screaming child a “bun”–only because I know it will shut him up.

We have had a lot of not-so-great weekends, lately. In fact, the past 6 weeks or so have been–aside from some holiday goodness–pretty difficult.

I’ve kvetched about it a lot, but it has been a really trying time. Sona and I keep joking with one another. “Are we being tested?” we ask. And then we kind of nervously giggle, because we both know the truth: yes, yes we are. We are being tested by our one year old.

Finn is 17 months, and I shudder a bit to think about what two and three will be like. Those are supposed to be the tough years? How can anything possibly be more difficult than what we’ve been experiencing, lately?

I’m being a bit melodramatic, sure, but the other truth is this: we’ve felt like we are barely hanging on. Nonstop family visits. Holiday madness. Work stress. An ear infection. Erupting molars. A stomach-flu-from-hell that had the whole family out of commission for nearly a week and a half.

We also have a rabbit who is currently–but hopefully not permanently–severely disabled and on approximately 27 medications a day. But, I digress.

The point is, I’m functioning at the limits of my sanity.

However, there is a teeny tiny burst of light, glimmering at the end of a very narrow tunnel. Finn seems to be well, finally, and his behavior has turned a corner. He’s back to being his mostly-sweet self, and this was the first weekend that we’ve sincerely enjoyed family time in a long, long while.

It started off with breakfast at home on Saturday morning, followed by lots of a play time, a long nap (which let mommas get housework done), and a visit from Finn’s BFF, Veen.

They exchanged Christmas presents, which was totally adorable.

Finn was pretty taken by this little musical gadget.

Bro hugs.

We went to BBQ for dinner Saturday night, and the boys both behaved. We even felt confident enough to order a dessert that takes 20 minutes to prepare. That’s a parenting win, for sure! (Finn may or may not have eaten an entire hamburger bun, a half pound of cornbread, chips, mac & cheese, and ice cream. He’s having a carb moment, what can I say?)

Sunday, we got up, got dressed, and headed to our new favorite pastry spot, La Boulangerie. After even more carbs than I feel comfortable sharing with you, we headed to the Garfield Park Conservatory where, despite it being 30 degrees outside, was warm and balmy!

It actually proved a great spot for Finn. There are semi-guided paths, which meant that we could let him run wild, but he could only really go in one direction. Parenting win #2!

I do love this silly bug, despite everything.

We did have one small tantrum, which was the result of our refusing to let Finn swim with the fish. (I mean that literally, of course.) Mean mommas!

Still, we made it home just in time for everyone to take a long nap. Then we woke up, made a big pot of Sunday soup, played hard, watched Rio for the 47th time this week, and got the little one to bed on time.

If every weekend could be just like this one, my blood pressure may settle back in to something remotely resembling a functioning human. But even just this one weekend, if it’s all we get for a while, was enough to remind me that I actually do really love this little family of mine, after all.

Did I mention that we have leftover cupcakes and episodes of Outlanders, waiting to be binged?

Dear Finn:

You are sleeping, now, curled on your side–a crumpled fern waiting to unfurl. You have an already-worn sock monkey in one hand and a stuffed dog in the other. This is what you know.

Here is what I know: tonight, we have failed you.

I had so hoped that, as a boy with two moms, the first president you’d know would be a strong, capable women. I had hoped that, for just a little while longer, you would be shielded from the kind of hatred and anger that is, we now know, so pervasive in our country. I had hoped for you to have leaders who legitimize–not antagonize–our family. I had so hoped.

Instead, tonight, our country has legitimized bigotry, racism, homophobia, xenophobia, and misogyny. And, as your Momma, I will have to figure out a way explain this to you. Not tomorrow, of course. Probably not next year, either. But the day will come when I will have to tell you that, yes, sometimes the bad guy wins.

I’ll have to tell you this because you are a mixed race baby born into a same-sex family, because one of your mothers is brown, because the other is Jewish, and because we don’t have the luxury of pretending that these sorts of decisions don’t come with very real consequences. You will see and sense these consequences, I’m afraid. The reverberations of this decision will reach you, and I won’t be able to save you, as much as I wish I could.

So many moms won’t be able to save their babies from this, as much as they all wish that they could.

Yet, I will, I’m sure, muster the impossible strength to do what all moms must do: find a way to make the wolf look a little less scary. Remind you that though there is darkness, there is also light. Help you become strong enough to face a sometimes-ugly, often-scary world with grace and compassion and love. I will be there with you, through all of this, always.

But tonight, I’m having a hard time conjuring any fairytales. Tonight, I know that we should have done better by you.

You don’t know that yet, luckily, but I do.

Always and always and always,
Momma

If you’ve been paying attention, then you know that Finn was actually alive for Halloween last year, too. I mean, he’s nearly 15 months old, now.

But last year, he was just a cooing blob of a gumball machine–albeit a cute one. We didn’t really partake in any Halloween festivities, other than dressing him up and taking a gazillion pictures.

Remember?

This year, we decided to indulge in the full gamut of Halloween activities.

For starters, we carved pumpkins. And by “we,” I  mean Finn’s mommas. And by “Finn’s momma’s,” I mean me. Though the carving wasn’t exactly a baby-friendly endeavor, what with all of the jagged knives, Finn did get a kick out of taking pumpkin seeds and putting them in a bowl. And he was absolutely mesmerized by the flickering jack-o-lanterns, which he pretty much stalked for a week.

The weekend before Halloween, we took advantage of all of the stuff that our amazing neighborhood has to offer, starting with the fall fest at the garden center that is just a couple of blocks away.

Per usual, Finn just wanted to run around, independently, and explore. He wasn’t too interested in face-painting or the petting zoo. And he wasn’t afraid of ANYTHING, despite there being some pretty creepy masks/costumes.

This picture just KILLS me.

We even got him to ride a pony, which I was convinced would be a total shit-show. But he actually liked it, at first, and tolerated it, at the end.

A couple of months ago, my mom sent us three costumes that she scored for cheap: a dog, a monkey, and a dino. Originally, I got all fiesty, protesting that “I should be the one to choose his costume,” and we planned semi-elaborate family-coordinated costumes in what was, as it turned out, too lofty an attempt to win Halloween.

But then, after Finn ended up being in between baby and toddler sizes, and after we realized that he wasn’t going to keep a hood or a hat or a mask on for a single second, we did what all parents will learn to do, regularly: we gave in. “Screw it,” I said. “Just let him wear the costumes mom got him.”

And really, that’s a pretty valuable parenting lesson for me. We don’t always have to win. We don’t always have to spend the time and money and stress on a costume–or family photos or party decor or cupcakes for class–just to impress a bunch of people who we probably don’t like, anyway. Sometimes, we can just do what’s easy–and enjoying doing it a lot more.

Okay, rant is over.

So, yeah, he was a headless dog for the weekend. A headless monkey for his class Halloween party. And a headless dino, which everyone took for a turtle, for trick-or-treating.

We happen to live in one of the best neighborhoods, ever. Have you heard me say that before? Yeah, you probably have. But when it comes to trick-or-treating, it is really hard to beat our ‘hood, which makes national news with its Halloween awesomeness.

Each house was decorated, and everyone donned costumes. Whole families partied in their front yards or on their porches, handing out candy and chatting with neighbors. It made me feel really lucky to live where we do, and Finn had a blast.

We were worried that he wouldn’t understand trick-or-treating enough to tolerate it, but he totally got it. He was able to reach for a piece of candy, grab it, and toss it into his bucket like a pro. Then, he hate candy for the entire night like it was his job.

There are a few things that are more fun without kids–aimless wandering, fancy Sunday morning brunches, naps. But Halloween, like most things, is about a thousand times more fun now that Finn is in the picture.

And also, I now have an entire bucket of candy to eat. Because, you know, I’m trying to save my son from all the evils of sugar. 😉

I’m home with some kind of severe stomach funk. So, I thought I’d capitalize on the opportunity and get a blog post up. I haven’t exactly been a prolific blogger, lately.

Nonetheless, even though I haven’t been doing a lot of writing, we have been doing a lot of living, and that’s really more important, right?  It’s my favorite time of year, and we’ve been taking advantage of it as much as we can, despite a month of colds, Finn’s first bout of pink eye, and, now, a stomach bug.

Finn is full-on walking, now. I alluded to that in the last post, but I haven’t said too much about it. It happened SO quickly, but I guess it always does. Within a couple of weeks, he went from never having taken a step to refusing to crawl or hold a hand or seek any kind of assistance. My step-dad jokes that he’s like a drunk frat boy, stumbling around aimlessly, slapping helpful hands away, and running into walls.

The truth is, it is unbelievable how steady he’s become. Yet, his confidence still outweighs his ability. He’s a cocky little sucker like that.

Walking has made some things more challenging, yes, but it has also made a lot of stuff more fun. He can explore on his own. Parks are a whole new ballgame. He runs up the stairs and throws himself down the slide–and then does it all over again.

There are some downsides to his being fully mobile, too, as any parent knows. Of course, there’s the whole has-a-death-wish-and-must-be-watched-constantly thing,  but  what’s worse is that he has become even more fiercely independent. Finn has always been an independent little guy. If you’re feeling a little less charitable, you might even call him willful. (We all knows where he got that.)

Walking has only fanned that fire. He’s even more emboldened. Like, you can tell he’s thinking, “Screw you people! I don’t need your strollers or your hands or your wagons. I’m out of here!” And so, he absolutely refuses to be restrained. He’s pretty good, riding in the stroller. But try to hold him, cuddle with him, or grab his hand and he will arch his back, his body will go limp, and he’ll have a full-on temper tantrum.

Exhibit A:

What awful torture were we asking him to endure, here? We had the gall to request that he sit still for 20 seconds so that we could get a photo with his bestie, Veen. Oh, the humanity!

Speaking of Veen, we took the boys apple picking for the second year in a row. You may remember my post from last year’s apple-picking adventure.

CAN YOU EVEN HANDLE HOW MUCH THEY’VE CHANGED? I CAN’T.

That first trip was a little tricky because Finn absolutely refused to drink from a bottle, forcing Sona to whip out a boob in the middle of the orchard.

The good news is that no boobs made an appearance at the orchard, this year. The bad news is that tantrums did. Mostly, we had a great time, but Finn was his usual antsy, independent self. He didn’t want to linger at the animal pens in the petting zoo. He didn’t want to wait in line for the “Moo Choo” train. He wanted to run.

Bye, Felicia.

Luckily, he did pretty well in the wagon once we got out to the apples.

These boys. I love them so.

We tried, yet again, to do a couple quick family photos while in such a beautiful fall setting. Veen cooperated.

Finn? Not so much. #oneofthesethingsisnotliketheother

But even with all of the toddler antics introducing themselves, it’s more fun doing things with Finn, now. He understands what is going on, and he engages in our family activities. He’s like a little person–and not a little drooling blob. Granted, he’s a pretty cranky person, sometimes, but he’s our crank. And we love him.

And because we’re starting to lap Finn’s first year, there are lots of opportunities for side-by-side comparisons. So, here’s one more of our little cranky pants. Does it make your heart stop? Because mine sure does.

It’s a good thing I didn’t write this blog post last week, cause it would have been all “woe is me.” Actually, “screw you, world” more accurately describes last week’s mood.

Rock hits Sona’s windshield and it needs replaced? Screw you, world!

My fender bender, the following day, in which the man at fault fled the scene? Screw you, world!

Air conditioner on the fritz–but not on the fritz enough for our warranty to do anything about it? Screw you, world!

Having to explain to co-workers for the 20th time why I can’t/won’t just spontaneously stay late to have yet another meeting during the week? Screw you, world!

This blog crashed, and I had to have four chats with my hosting agent to get it back up? Screw you, world!

Having to walk away from a screaming Finn, whose separation anxiety has flared up in the midst of our first week back at daycare? Screw you, world!

Yeah, it was bad.

Finn’s first week of daycare actually went better than we’d expected, despite all of this hemming and hawing. Yes, the separation anxiety is rearing its ugly head, again, but we can’t really blame the little guy. He’s had a few childcare shake-ups in the past month, and it’s a lot of change for him. Daycare, we hope, will bring with it some consistency.

But for a while, he’s probably going to scream his head off when I drop him off. And for a while, I’ll probably carry around a lot of guilt and bitterness because of that.

The first day wasn’t so bad. Finn hadn’t yet realized that this place was his new version of prison. He was so shell-shocked by all the newness, he barely even noticed when I left.

It also helps that his daycare is super tech-forward, and there is an app where Sona and I can follow Finn’s daily routine. We know what he eats (or doesn’t eat), when he sleeps, and we even get photos.

When I got this picture of him napping. On the first day! On a cot! In a room full of other kids! I was SO relieved. He’s a spunky little guy, and we just couldn’t imagine him napping outside of his crib, in a new environment, without a bottle, or a sound machine. We just figured there’d be at least a week of missed naps before he got worn down.

Yet, his daycare teachers are miracle workers, and they’ve managed to get him to sleep–pretty effortlessly–each day.

Still, there have been some adjustments. He’s wearing shoes for the first time. He’s in a class full of kids 15+ months old, meaning he’s the youngest. He’s the only one who can’t walk. He’s not allowed to crawl, here. He’s drinking half as much milk as he’s accustomed to getting at home. He can’t have a snack whenever he wants. He’s not the center of attention. I could go on.

Those things have made for a bit of a bumpy transition, and we’ve had a cranky monkey on our hands. Oh, and a starving monkey. Lord help the soul who picks Finn up without a snack in hand. He DEVOURS his snack before I even put him in the car.

It’s also tough on mommies, as is any change. We worry and fret and wonder if we’re doing what’s best. I carry a lot of stress about those things, and being preoccupied by them makes it difficult for me not to be resentful about anything that comes between me and time that I could be having with my son.

All other obligations become that much more burdensome and frustrating in the context of my wishing I could be there for Finn all of the time. There’s so many feels.

I have a well-meaning co-worker who often asks me to stay late for a conversation or a short meeting, and it really is just a matter of time before he unleashes the Mom Monster. I will give him a tearful 30-minute lecture about how difficult it is to balance work and home life, especially with a toddler, before the semester ends. I see it coming.

And when, on the second day, I got this photo from the daycare, I seriously almost lost it:

I’ve obscured the faces of all the other kids, for obvious reasons. But let me paint you the picture: It’s daycare. There’s a birthday party. There are even cupcakes! All kids are smiling, in an ignorant icing-induced bliss. Enter: Finn. My son, who looks like he’s been tortured all day. Whose said face says, to me, only one thing: My momma makes me come to this horrible place because she would rather be at work.

I know how unreasonable that sounds, but that I how it feels. That is exactly how it feels 90% of the time.

On Friday, I took Finn to daycare, even though I was off. I had a lot to get done, and his teacher said he needed to come as much as possible at first–just to get settled in. I had a lot of guilt about taking him while I was at home, of course. So, excitedly, I went to pick him up early.

I practically ran to his classroom, only to find they had already left for the park. I went to my car, rushed to the park, and couldn’t find them. They were somewhere in transit. I knew what I needed to do: I needed to just take my happy ass to the grocery store, let him have some outside play time with his friends, and then come back in 30 minutes.

But I called Sona, sobbing, anyhow. All my guilt had bubbled to the surface, and I was just really, super bummed. It was silly and senseless, but I felt like I couldn’t give anything in my life the attention it deserved: not my wife, not my job, and definitely not my son. I felt so defeated.

Fast forward to today.

Finn’s teacher said he’s “improving immensely.” Hardly any crying. He’s playing with the other kids. He’s painting! And participating in music classes! And going on hunts for leaves! All things he’d never do at home.

It’s good for him. My logical brain knows this, my emotional brain resists it.

And guess what? He’s walking! That’s kind of huge, right?! His teachers have really been working with him, and he was walking after having been there for only three days.

So, yes. I know this will good for all of us. I know he’s happy, mostly, and he’s cared for. It’ll get a little easier each week.

And until then, I will just sit in meetings, pretending to pay attention to conversations about whether or not we should have attendance policies, when I’m really just obsessively refreshing my phone notifications, hoping to have an alert that Finn ate “NO broccoli.”

Shh–don’t tell, Mamas. I know you get it.