In the Attic

Tuesdays nights are our nights. Dan has poker - or is jamming away on some art deadline. Ingrid and I have been known to watch movies, have a frozen yogurt for dinner or make a stop into Target on Tuesday nights.

Last night, laundry was on the agenda. Ingrid was happily watching Bubble Guppies and I let her know that I was headed to the basement for a few minutes. As I came upstairs a few minutes later, I was greeted by our dog Harper on the stairs. The doorway to the back staircase had been opened by Harper and I didn't think anything of it - she can push the door open if not closed tightly.

I went back to preparing dinner and checked on Ingrid a minute later.

I couldn't find her in the living room and immediately panicked.

Then, I heard the worst sound imaginable. Ingrid crying, hard and loud.She had wandered upstairs and was at the top of the attic stairs.

The whole "search and rescue" had taken about twenty seconds but we were both hot messes. Tears and questions started pouring out. We had a discussion about going upstairs without Mom or Dad. She understands not to leave. I couldn't believe my ignorance - I left her unattended for a few minutes. She's two - what was I thinking? I felt like an idiot. An idiot mother. The worst feeling in the world.

In the large scheme of things, we're alright and lessons were learned but, nothing is worse than hearing your daughter say, "I up in attic. I so scared. Mama scared too." 

We'll go back to indulging on treats and Target trips and save the laundry for weekends.

In other slightly-less-dramatic, only-mom-cares news: Ingrid loves drinking out of an open cup. Those little beer sample cups from brewery tours are really coming in handy:

So proud!

Lesson Learned

Dan and I were both out of the house last week for work and had, max, a few hours to discuss our upcoming camping trip to Wildcat Mountain State Park. Dan etched a veteran's memorial near the park and booked the site last year. Over the phone and by email, we discussed gear, food and drink, but never really talked about our expectations for the weekend. 

After a long four hour drive, we unloaded the gear, set up camp and soon discovered that camping with a one-year-old isn't like camping with a 3 month old. Sure, there were a few sweet moments, like when Ingrid and I watched four caterpillars shuffle around the picnic table. But, as we avoided the windy, chilly weather in our tent and Ingrid became increasingly tired and fussy, it became clear that the weekend would be tolerable at best. 

After four hours at the campsite, we decided to pack it up and head on home, tail between our legs. It was a bummer - we were defeated. 

Maybe if the weather was better, it would have been fine. We both felt like idiots - but lesson learned, camping with a one-year-old isn't fun for anyone.  

As if you need evidence, here I am during a high-point, Ingrid had just fallen asleep and I was "happily" reading Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Can't you just feel the joy in the air?  

And here's Ingrid after she woke up from her too-short nap. She couldn't stop crawling all over me. She was sort-of happy, sort-of hungry and completely insane. 

On the ride home, we decided to numb our pain with doughnuts and coffee. After missing the exit for Dunkin' Donuts and nearly missing one of the last Kwik Trip exits, Dan sighed "It's just that kind of day." And thankfully, we took it in stride. No one was laughing, but no one was placing blame or bitching (ok, we bitched for about three minutes). 

On Saturday, I woke up to Dan questioning, "Did yesterday even happen?" 

It did and I was over talking about it before the subject even cam up. So I ran, grabbed a kiddie pool at Target and packed a bag for a little picnic and walk around Doctor's Park. 

At least we got some use out of this backpack hiker. 

Ingrid was in love. She stood on the beach and yelled at the waves. She couldn't believe what she was seeing and didn't mind that the water was a little on the cold side. 

However ideal our camping situation could have been, it didn't make sense for Ingrid. Any lingering doubts were washed away as she cautiously wobbled around the beach, mouth open in complete joy. 

She sat here for about two minutes (equal to 30 minutes in adult minutes) gazing out at the waves.

We arrived home to a pseudo-warm kiddie pool and a cooler of mixers. Camping smamping, we had swimsuits, access to ice, iPod speakers and a happy Ingrid. 

I completely understand that camping with a one-year-old sounds insane and dumb. A year ago, it made sense, to us both, to camp with Ingrid. We love the outdoors and wanted to share this experience. Dan wanted to start a family tradition and visit the memorial he created. A year ago, we had no idea what life with a one-year old would look like, feel like or be like. She's in a constant state of transition and exploration. Camping made sense when she was little and unaware. Now, she's aware enough to enjoy crawling caterpillars but not aware enough to understand that we're sleeping together in a tent. Or even to comprehend what a tent is. 

I'm thankful we had two days to turn the weekend around and the time to create new traditions that work with our family, right now. I know there will be plenty of weekends to camp, (and years when Ingrid will think camping is the lamest thing ever) and there will be plenty of visits to the beach - but there's only one first visit to the beach. And that visit was met with screams of delight and wonder, and it was pretty great.  

Current State

Tonight, Ingrid was a rock-star. She was crawling back and fourth on the couch, giggling the entire time. She had a bath, then a bottle and was fast asleep within minutes. As husband and I settled in with our takeout Chinese, we let out dramatic sighs. He then declared, "Can't she just stay the same for one second." 


Seriously.

From laying on her back to rolling over to scooting to crawling to pulling herself up. From crying to smiling to babbling to da-da. From hitting herself in the face with her hands, to rapidly waving arms, to pointing to clapping to sort-of signing "all done" - the girl is constantly changing.

It's all common baby knowledge, but it's completely surreal to experience it first-hand.

This constant state of transition is difficult to fully communicate as it's not really "constant." It feels as if the second we, the parents, get a grip on her stage, mood or cues, she's onto the next. One night she's sleeping soundly, the next she's crying-out in pain. Oh yeah, she's probably teething.

It all sounds so cliche, but it's so true, these first ten-and-a-half months have flown by and she'll never be swaddled, fit in a little swing, be toted around in an infant car seat, or laugh at the simple phrase "Ah, bless you." ever again.

While in these transitional times, I want to push her over the fence to the next stage. Then, I'm on the fence knowing that the stage of swaddling, crawling or even growling will someday be over.

Another motherhood-cliche - kids help you live in the moment. Babies need you to be in the moment. When she's tired she sleeps, when she's hungry she eats and when she's playful she play. The emotions are honest, raw and real. Tears break your heart - even if they are the cause of a seven inch fall. Smiles will melt your heart even faster - especially if they are because you put a book on your head (hilarious). 


Pre-kids, I didn't like when people talked about their kids being "teachers." My gut always told me they gave their kids too much credit and needed to remove the blinders because - how could kids be that wise?

No matter the transitional state, Ingrid has kindly-demanded that we be in the moment, be present and be mindful of what's going on. As much as I want her to remain the same, or move onto the next developmental stage - she's a solid reminder to be mindful and present in the moment. And then, just as I start to see her as a little Buddha, she shoves a puppet in her mouth and I'm happily reminded that she's still little tiny baby Ingrid.