My baby is almost thirteen months old. He walks. He runs. He climbs onto chairs. He does the signs for "more" and "all done." He's this close to being done with bottles, and eats real food over pulverized Gerber most days.
This means that it's time to get my groove back.
For the past year, I haven't been depressed. I think the correct term is "Batshit Crazy." I was juggling schedules and controlling tantrums, changing diapers and potty-training. I spent much the year isolated from friends, because Joel liked his sleeps. Paul and I were two ships in the night, trading off kids, tag-teaming, surviving.
And now, as Joel is getting older, I'm ready to shake off the cobwebs. Most movies of my teen and college years have the essential "Makeover Montage," where the ugly duckling is buffed and polished into a stunning beauty. Example:the makeover of the "tragically unhip" Tai Frasier by Cher Horowitz in the timeless film Clueless.
That's what I want, and the following is how it's going to happen: (When you read this list, keep a running loop of Pink's "I'm Coming Out" in your mind as the soundtrack.)
1. I'm going to tame the twin caterpillars that are growing above my eyes. Linda, the Vietnamese wonder with the tweezers, will subdue the beasts before they reach Andy Rooney proportions.
2. I'm going to go to Angel, the wonder colorist, and dye my hair a dramatic red. If I don't like it, the brown will grow back. If I do like it, you can call me Ginger Mom. Maybe if you're lucky, I'll wear a Union Jack bodysuit and screech "Girl Power!" in a bad English accent. But only if you're lucky.
3. I'm going to go to the gym at least three times a week, because it was a bit much to have the lady at the toy store ask me when I was due. It's called an empire waist sundress.
4. Paul and I are going to find a real babysitter--not a parent or a friend with kids---an actual teenager (with CPR training, natch), and we're going out. TWICE A MONTH. This is essential to the health of our marriage.
5. Travel---there are places to see, and adventures to be had. Some will be had with the boys, and they will learn to be flexible. Some will be had with just Paul and I, and the boys will become better acquainted with their grandparents.
Nobody is served by having unhappy or bored parents. The boys need to see parents that enjoy each other's company, suck the marrow out of life, and look fabulous along the way. Thus, begone, tragic unhippness. I'm coming out, so you better get the party started.