(2 Karats and a Kid) What can you do with a year?

Mommy-ism #18:  The success or failure of your goals can only fall squarely on your shoulders.  If you are a mother, or a wife, or a student, or...whatever, if you are not moving in the direction of your goals there is only one reason -- fear.

I'm not going to lie, I was very anxious during the weeks leading up to 2012.  It's in part because I watch too much effing History and Discover Channel and -- even when I don't want to -- I'm continuously pulled into the shows regarding the end of the world, global warming, and conspiracy theories.

Nostradamus, the Mayans, the I Ching -  it will truly screw your head up if you let it.  So when I started contemplating my escape route out of Chicago if there was an 10.0 magnitude earthquake, I realized that I had to boycott all television shows related to history, aliens, and endangered animals for a few months.

But then I started to think, what would I do if I only had a year to live?  And the answers actually surprised me.  My answer wasn't to rob a bank, or go to Paris, or stalk Oprah, or even sky drive.  As it turns out, I would want to spend my year saying thank you to everyone who has meant anything to me, I would want to perform random acts of kindness like Oprah but on a more economical scale, and I would want to apologize to everyone that I thought I may have hurt in my past.

I would stop bullshitting and to write a book
I would tell myself that it's okay to curse sometimes if its apart of the honest thoughts that are in my head
I would put as much effort into my sex life as I do cleaning the house and taking care of my child
I would forgive myself and others for friendships, jobs, and relationships that were supposed to be forever but ended much, much, sooner
I would tell my husband that I love him, every day, and to tell him that he has taught me more about love than I could ever teach him
I would not complain about being at home with my son because it's truly the only job I have ever really enjoyed
I would tell myself that it's okay to only have 3 pairs of jeans
I would tell myself that it's okay to refuse to pay more than $30 for a pair of jeans
I would call the three teachers who truly believed in me and to tell them thank you
I would apologize to my first love for almost screwing up both of our lives
I would tell myself that it's okay to prioritize myself as much as I prioritize everyone that I love
I would believe and act as if my dreams are just as important as anyone else.

While I understand the inclination to be lured into anxious thinking in regards to this upcoming year, I think it's a better use of time and energy to see this upcoming year for the opportunity that it presents to us all.  If there is something that you have always wanted to do then do it.  If there a relationship that you always wanted to repair then repair it.  We don't need the Mayans to tell us that life is short so let's instead see 2012 as our time to truly begin to live.

(2 Karats and a Kid) 2011 was a MUTHA...

I won't write much about 2011 but I will say that it was a muthaf______ and a son a b_____ rolled into one.  Whew!  It felt good just to get that out.  See, I consider myself a pretty devoted player for "Team Jesus" so I try to choose my words wisely and in a way that will make my husband, mother, and savior proud.  But as this year comes to an end, I'll give myself a break and let loose...at least for a bit.
The truth is, I have alot to be grateful for and I don't want that to go unacknowledged before I tell 2011 to go piss off.
For starters, my child's heart defect healed on its own which is a miracle akin to Moses parting the Red Sea in my eyes;

My husband and I made it through our first year as parents alive and still married;

I made it out of this year more happy than sad, more grateful than bitter, more determined than detoured.


On the downside of things, my life was affected by ninja-ery at an epidemic level as our apartment was broken into, my husband's car was broken into twice,  for a majority of the year I continued to work at a place where I thought I would get shot, and I am in the midst of a postponed quarter-life crisis - as I have turned 30 but don't have no effing idea what I want to do with the rest of my life.


Yet, as this year comes to a welcome end, I trust beyond all rationale that there is still an invisible hand guiding me along my way.  I trust that in the midst of this chaos that things are unfolding exactly the way that they should.


So, while I'm glad to say, "piss of 2011...you can kiss my a___," in the same breath I say thank you to the year that forced me to make some of the hardest decisions of my life, that has made me more courageous, and that reminded me that I write the book of my own life.

(2 Karats and a Kid) This da** kangaroo pouch....

Mommy-ism #17:  The only thing standing between you and the body that you want isn't your time or the baby, it's cupcakes.

Confession:  It seems as though I've let myself go.

There, I said it.

I can admit it because in 2012 - the year that is going to be the most kicka**stic year of them all - I am determined to change my healthy habits. Truth is, I tried to return back into my pre-pregnancy workout regime around 8 weeks post-partum.  I had always been a fit person. The most weight I had gained since college was four pounds during a cookie-eating binge phase while in graduate school.  So my point is, I usually could lose 5 pounds just by blinking my eyes twice and wishing for it to be gone.

So when I walked into my cardio kickbox class after my 10 month pregnancy, I was pumped and ready to sweat off the last ten pounds from my pregnancy in an hour's time.   The bass in the music pulsated throughout the room.  The other women were stretching.   My heart began to race before I had even began to move.

This is it, I thought.  Time to kick this baby fat's ass.

The instructor called us all to take our positions on the floor.  The cardio kickbox warmup has always been a piece of cake.  30 right hooks, 30 left hooks, 30 left leg neck-breakers, 30 right leg neck breakers...repeat.

Marky Mark's voice came over the speaker:

It's such a good vibration.
It's such a sweet sensation.
Feel the vibration.
Come on. Come on.

I started out strong.  I got the encouraging head nod from the instructor that indicated that she too, thought that I was kicking ass.

Then the right hooks started.  Suddenly out of breath, I began to wonder how much time had passed since the class had started.  15 minutes?  30 minutes? 

When I spotted the clock on the other side of the room, I couldn't believe that only 5 minutes had passed.  My heart was pounding outside of my chest.  By the time the neck breakers started, I was gripping my side looking for the water fountain and the nearest Starbucks because only a soy white chocolate mocha could cure the defeat I was experiencing.

Somehow, I made it through that first session back in the gym.  However, I haven't been back since. 

Initially my lack of physical activity hadn't been a problem because I was breastfeeding.  Whatever I ate - fruit, cookies, sushi, or chicken - went in through my mouth and out through my tit.  It was marvelous, until I started to begin to wean my son from the boobs around the time he was 8 months.

In the course of the one week (post-weening) I put on five pounds...and it didn't go anywhere.  Putting on 3-4 pounds over the course of a weekend wasn't unusual for me but the inability to loose that weight throughout the week was something that I wasn't prepared for.  So now I'm stuck with an extra 5 pounds of meat around my waist that no spanx, girdle, or tight jeans can hide.

So now I have this da*n kangaroo pouch and a fear of cardio kickboxing and I don't know what to do to get rid of it.  So I've tried to become far more accepting of my voluptuous curves.  Yes, my six pack of gloriousness has turned into a little Pillsbury roll of muffins around by tummy.  The upside is that I have alot more booty and an inch more of hips that seems to make my husband happy.

(2 Karats and a Kid) The Baby Sesame Street non-Halloween Costume Birthday Party Super Fiesta...

Mommy-ism #16:  One day, you may find yourself rueing the day that Sesame Street party favors were invented. 

I swore it wouldn't be me. 

Pizza.  Soda.  One cupcake and a candle.  That's how we were supposed to celebrate Roman's 1st birthday.

Don't get me wrong.  I love my child and I certainly feel that he is worth the celebration.  Yet, I recognized that since he doesn't distinguish one day over the next, orchestrating a large party to commemorate his 1st year of life would be more for me than for him.

I swore that I would never have an elaborate "Toy Story" or "Happy Feet" party where there would be Toy Story/Happy Feet balloons, forks, top hats, bubble makers, and harmonicas.

But that was before I began planning the party.  Our "no theme" party quickly turned into a Baby Sesame Street non-Halloween costume party super fiesta.  Sesame street plates, napkins, forks, and table clothes were a must.  Baby Sesame Street balloons were a dire necessity.  The five foot inflatable Elmo and super-sized Elmo birthday bib?  Add them to the cart. Oh, don't forget the Tiger Woods future-golfer outfit. I couldn't believe how quickly it all spiraled out of control.

My typically rational mind was replaced with the irritation fantasy of the birthday party that I think that I would have wanted as an infant.  It was insane.

It wasn't until I told my husband that I was on my way to purchase a disposable helium tank that I realized that I was out of control.  It's not that he told me that I couldn't...but his eyes simply said, "if you buy it, I will think you are nuts."

Hours later, the decorations were up, the menu was set, and the playroom was prepared.

But would anyone come?

Again, my mind knew that Roman wouldn't know if his birthday party was considered an epic failure.  I imagined him sitting on the window seal looking out onto the street, waiting for people to show up.   

Luckily, the party went on without a hitch.  He had plenty of friends there.  He ate his first cupcake. And eventually partied himself out and feel asleep in my mother's arms.

By the end of the day, when the last balloon was popped and the cupcakes were all given away, I wouldn't have changed a thing about his party.  The way I figure it, it's a parent's job to make their children feel extraordinary, and loved, and special in every way -- no matter how corny and ridiculously outlandish the methods may be.

(2 Karats and a Kid) 365 Days of Awesomeness...

Mommy-ism #15:  First birthdays are the most exciting because you realize that you've made it an entire year without breaking your child.  Celebrate all that you, your child, and your family have learned together!

Okay, so it hasn't been all awesome.  It's been great and difficult and joyful and 'effin insane all at the same time.  Kind of like when you are training for a marathon I suppose.  It's challenging but exhilarating and you curse and cry and feel proud simultaneously.  Your knees buckle and you don't know if you can go on but pushing yourself to put one foot in front of the other somehow makes the challenge worth while. 

This is how I feel as I celebrate my baby turning the big "0-1".
At the end of his first year I feel a mixture of emotions but I mostly feel grateful for being sustained for 365 days by people outside of myself.

I am thankful for 365 days with a child who is better than anything that I could have ever dreamed. I am thankful that in his first year of life, God gave him his own testimony to share one day. I am thankful for a partner who sacrifices to make this great insanity known as our life work. I am thankful for family who support us and lift us up when we grow weary. I am thankful for the countless hours of free mental healthcare, homemade cupcakes, and party planning assistance provided by my sister. I am thankful for friends who continue to love us more than we will ever deserve. I am thankful for confidants who offer unsolicited advice. I am thankful for drinking buddies who are always willing to share in alcohol when needed. I am thankful for those who encourage me. I am thankful for people who don't disown me when it takes me four months to call them back. I am thankful for the fried chicken my dad is cooking tomorrow. I am thankful for knowing ten different versions of "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" (ie.the r&b version, the acapella version, the rap version, etc).  I am thankful for a knowing how to change a dirty diaper in the dark.  And I am thankful to know that God is pretty awesome.

(2 Karats and a Kid) Far-Away From Here...(aka Just jump in a taxi cab, grab a bag, and getaway fast...)

Mommy-ism #14:  It's completely normal to contemplate abandoning your family...for a weekend.

Yeah, I said it.  Call me a bad mommy.  Call me a bad wife.

But you can't call me a liar.

One day a few months ago,  I had a thought that initially shook me to my core.  I was ashamed to repeat it to anyone else but because I have a twisted sense of humor, it actually made me laugh.  The truth is that one day, more like for about 15 mins one day, I contemplated how far across the world I could get with the $4,500 left on my credit card. 

Would it be an island in the Mediterranean?  Or would it be a small Italian village near Rome?  After paying for the airfare I knew I could afford a week in a luxury hotel or about three months in a student hostel.  Either option was feasible to consider because both would afford me a little space -- and a little quietness -- where I could distinguish my own thoughts from the barking of the dog or trying to figure out what to cook for dinner. 

I wouldn't even pack a bag.  I'd just grab seven pairs of panties out of the drawer, the three books I had been trying to complete for months, and a few packets of gummy bears that I kept stashed in the cookie jar before heading to the airport.

But just as fleeting as the thought came, my mind reminded me of all the reasons why my dreams of a martini in Santorini or a glass of wine in Rome could never be.

"Did you hear about Kirstin?  She went crazy, got on a plane, and went half way across the world?"  I imagined my family and friends saying.

Then I imagined Roman looking for me early in the morning and not finding me.  Then I imagined my husband thinking it was his fault and thinking maybe he should have offered to cook more.

And I thought about how nothing I could ever say would convince them that it wasn't them -- it was me.  I felt like I had run myself into the ground taking care of everybody but myself.

But I knew that nothing made me happier everyday than to see Roman smile and dance while I sang the R&B version of various nursery rhymes to him during bath-time.  And though my husband COULD cook more, he is still the person that I fantasize about more than anyone else.

So I put my purse and keys down and picked up my spatula and went back to making tacos.  Even if I would have successfully made it to that little village off of the coast of...whereever, I knew that I would miss my boys too much to enjoy it.

(2 Karats and a Kid) Who in the h*ll gets SHINGLES?!?!

Mommy-ism #13:  10 Gummy bears, coffee, and 5 french fries does not equal three square meals a day.

When your baby is a newborn, it is very difficult to find a moment to yourself.  Between feeding the baby/changing the baby/cleaning the baby/entertaining the baby - it is likely that your first 90 days will simply blur into each other like one long day where you kept trying to take a nap but couldn't because there was a Jaws or Rocky marathon on. 

Very quickly, you will find yourself distinguishing the time and space you are in by what bottle number you are on rather than how many hours past noon it is.  In those precious moments of stillness where the baby is fed and sleep - you have a decision to make.  Do you eat?  Do you clean?  Do you sleep?  Or do you go to mediatakeout.com and catch up on all of your celebrity gossip?

Time and time again, I found myself choosing to do everything BUT eat during my precious moments alone.  Whether it was adrenaline or delirium, in the earlier months of being a mother, it was completely feasible for me to get through my entire day having only eaten gummi bears, three cookies, and some apple sauce.

As a consequence of eating like an anorexic (no offense to anyone afflicted with the disease) it quickly became apparent that my immune system was...how should I say it?  Royally screwed up to say the least.

First I got the shingles, then I got my first cold sore, next I developed migraines, then I started seeing perfectly shaped five-point Stars of David everywhere.  I knew it was time for me to see the doctor.

Leading up to my appointment I was convinced I was dying.   "It must be a tumor or a parasite that I contracted from the dog," I secretly thought, "that would definitely explain why I lost my baby weight so fast."

When the day came for my check-up, I spilled my guts to the doctor.  For the first time ever, I confessed to many questions that I normally would lie about:

Drugs:  "Yes, I smoked alot of marijuana for one year, nine years ago.  Last time I smoked was in 2009 after I had an anxiety attack in one of the toilet stalls at my job."

Alcohol:   "Yes, I'm still nursing but yes, I do drink more than one glass of alcohol of week.  Sometimes I drink three glasses a night.  Yes, I pump and dump...most of the time"

Exercise:  No thank you.  But I will take a donut if you have one.

Soon, the questions were over and the checkup was complete.  After having my blood drawn, she sent me home to wait for the results which would arrive 3-5 long, nerve-wrecking days away.

Five days later, I received an email from my doctor.  With bated breath, I opened it and slowly read each line of her extensive reply.  Finally, when I came across the results from my blood lab, I was shocked to see my diagnosis.


Severe....

...Vitamin D and B-12 deficiency...

...due to unbalanced nutritional habits.

I've never been so happy to not be dying.  Yes, like all Black folks do - I turned on my church music and got down on my knees and prayed.  Instead of wine, I poured myself a glass of  100% Pure Tropicana Orange Juice and pledged from that day forth that I would take better care of myself, for myself, and my family.