Mom of the year

     My first born child, my only son, and a wonderful person was born 15 years ago this month. Gage was 21 inches long, and 7lbs, 4oz, the same weight his sister would be born at 13 years later. What a trip this birthday is for me! I mean, think about YOUR life 15 years ago! It was 1998. While I was still in the hospital after having him, I was watching President Clinton lie to America during his testimony about his relationship with Monica Lewinski. Gas was $1.06 a gallon. I had long, dyed black hair and Betty bangs. I was married to his father. It was a different time.      Gage is the light of my life, truly. He is empathetic and socially conscious. He has great taste in music. He's smart. He doesn't argue with me about chores or anything else. He is helpful and generous. We crack each other up. We like being together. He's disgusting and funny and I love it. He can tell me when I'm being an ass and I know he's being honest and can take him seriously. We have

     We play a game with Bug where we ask her, "Where is Mommy's nose?", "Where are Bug's hands?" and so on down the list of major body parts. We clap and give high fives when she gets them right, which is pretty much all the time. One of her favorite parts of the game is, "Where is your belly button, Bug?". She loves to lift up her shirt and show everybody the teeny little indent on her round, full of mac & cheese belly.  And then, just like if we had asked her about noses, or ears, she wants to find everybody else's belly button after she found her own. That's when I get a little nervous.      I don't want to show ANYBODY my belly button. Not my kids or my husband, and especially not anyone outside my immediate family. It is also round from too much mac & cheese, or beer, or from being pregnant at 35 and not trying hard enough to recover my pre-pregnancy weight, and I hate it. It makes me too nervous to wear certain shirts o

     For a few days, Bug wasn't sleeping well, waking up every hour or two screaming or just calling out for attention. Nothing calmed her down enough to sleep for very long. Not rocking her, or singing, or even a bottle of milk. I just had to keep getting up and going to her, over and over, until I was mad with sleep deprivation and ready to throw her out a window. This went on for 3 days. The last day I was so fed up that I let her cry it out when she didn't want to nap. It worked, but that night she made me pay. She screamed so loud when she woke up that she woke up the whole house, calling for Daddy, and screeching like a pterodactyl. I tried to let her cry it out. That made it worse. So I went through the motions...Rocked her... Changed her... Fed her.... More screaming, and now Husband is trying to stop her. No luck. Finally I went into her room, asked her in my snottiest voice, "Oh do you want to get out and play?", and she said, "YES". Oh HELL no.