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