Where Did The Baby Go?

When I was a little girl I was a big fan of the Golden Books. Those are the hard cover children's books with the shiny gold binding. Sadly, I can now find many of my favorite titles in a dusty bin at a neighborhood antique store. One of my favorites was "Where Did The Baby Go?" This book features an adorable little girl who stumbles upon photographs of a baby who appears to inhabit her home. The girl sets off on a mission to find the missing baby. She checks in closets and under furniture until the mystery is solved when she discovers the baby in the pictures is really her, years earlier. I used to be delighted that like the main character, I too was once a tiny baby, and I liked nothing more than to pour over my own baby photos, admiring myself in my cute little outfits.

The story of course has new meaning to the mommy-me. Now I look at my own child and think "Where did the baby go?" Where did the helpless newborn who liked to sleep on my chest run off to? What about the little one who stood up in his crib, arms outstretched reaching for me every morning? And what happened to the silly toddler who clutched a maraca in his chubby hands in music class, making me feel so proud? (He's a musical genius!). Who is this skinny, inquisitve energizer bunny who took his place?

Don't get me wrong, of course I love my child. But there is a part of me screaming IM NOT READY to be the mom of a four year old. It is one thing to be a young mommy of babies, and an entirley different thing to be come a MOTHER to CHILDREN. The time has gone so fast. I know it has been a period of years, but in some ways it feels like it happened in the blink of an eye. In one moment I was holding a squishy little baby on my hip, and the next he is hiking up a "mountain" on a family outing. At this rate he will be an akward teenager with acne and wet dreams in no time. I will become the parent who annoys my child and enjoys such attrocities as museums, botanical gardens and quiet nights at home.

Perhaps this is why some women keep having babies. As a way to keep themselves from becoming that mom. To stay young, to stay in the baby center.com culture. In anycase, I am going to watch Evan like a hawk to make sure he doesn't get away so fast....

So not about me

When I was a kid there was absolutely NOTHING in the world better than my birthday. Birthdays meant waking up to a pile of presents on the kitchen table, it meant running to the mailbox and grabbing a rainbow colored, fistful of envelopes with my name on each one. It meant a cake with ballerina's, Shirlee temples and probably homemade pizza. It was my day.

I have not given up on this idea as the numbers of candles on the cake have increased. It is still ALL ABOUT ME. Granted, there is usually no table full of presents, no pinata, and maybe not cake, but usually I expect some first-class spoiling from the husband and family.

Today is my birthday, and so far it has been a world-class flop. Not to any fault of the people I love, but because tragically, it is so not all about me. Today we received some information that could hugely impact our day-to-day life. I must be cryptic at the moment, and be assured nobody is sick or dying, and I am 100% not pregnant. This information is, (can you imagine?) bigger than Rachel-Fest 2009. Go figure. And now I wish I could schedule a due-over birthday.

All in and all it has been a difficult day.

Anyone out there?

My hubby asked me a few days ago if I had lost interest in blogging. (Is that a real word now?). He said that he had noticed that I have not posted anything new for a while, and that this was true death for a blog. I told him no, in fact I have just been busy, and that nothing has inspired me to write over the past week. I immediately felt the need to post SOMETHING (So what, I don't lose my HUGE following-ha!). I am new to the world of blog. I have read some, and many are like a daily diary, show-casing fitness accomplishments (of which I have none), or commenting on the day to day life of the author, as a mother/worker-bee/activist/addict/comic- whatever it may be. For me I have found that blogging is more of an opportunity to be expressive, a hobby that allows me to try writing again, and to pick out and explore topics that interest me, a little less diary like, and more essay like. But my husband's question motivated me to write, and to inquire- is anyone actually reading this? If so, please respond by commenting, or emailing me at rkargas@hotmail.com. I would be interested and perhaps motivated by knowing you are out there. Thank you!

Love Letter

Ten years. Ten years is a long time. Think of what can happen in ten years. Lives change, careers are built, children are born, and loved ones die. On August 14 Dave and I had our ten year wedding anniversary. I could say it is hard to believe, but honestly it is not. It feels like ten years, but not in a bad – oh my gosh I have been with this guy forever and I am bored kind of way. More in an amazing, we have lived through so much and had so many wonderful experiences kind of way. In the past ten years we have lived in two cities. We have made strong friendships and built a life here in Denver that I adore. We have struggled through infertility and ultimately brought two amazing little boys into the world. We have learned how difficult it is to parent, and how to juggle the competing demands of our lives. We have buried our grandparents and have accepted the true role of adults. We have fought about money and laundry and a host of other common marital challenges. We have remained best friends. Last night we got a sitter and went out to dinner to celebrate the milestone. We had cocktails and chatted and laughed and it was so much fun. When I told my mother about it, she responded with “I am so glad you had fun that can sometimes be hard after ten years”, and my thought was, no- not true. Dave and I always have fun. That is the sincere reality. There is nobody in the world I would rather raise children with, vacation with, build a life with. I am a lucky lady