Dear Paxton,

We are less than a week to go before your first birthday.  That makes me almost throw up just to type that.  How did we get here?

I’ve had a few people ask me, after reading my posts or hearing me tell stories about how easy you are, “What am I doing wrong with my son/daughter/family?”  You see, we’ve been extremely lucky with an easy-going, happy, healthy baby.  I don’t take that for granted, but I do recognize that I’m quick to tell people how stinkin’ unbelievable you are.  Does it have a darn thing to do with my parenting… absolutely not.  Do I have any secrets… you know I couldn’t keep them if I did.  So, this post is for the people that I’ve led astray with my rainbow tinted sunglasses.  Life with you is incredible, I’m without-a-doubt living a dream, but life with you… is not always glamorous.

Like when I was doing the dishes tonight and turned around to see those cheeks.  Now, I talk about your cheeks all the time, but lately, at certain times, they reach new proportions.  It’s the kind of massivness you only get by shoving pieces of dog food in your mouth.  This was the 3rd time in a week I’ve pulled dog food out of your mouth.  It’s not always glamorous.

Like when I’m out and about with you and I realize I stupidly only have one diaper left in the diaper bag.  I wait until your diaper is bulging so much that your skinny jeans barely fit, and I change it.  And then you poop.  It’s not always glamorous.

Like when I turn my back on you for half a second, and somehow in that time you make it from one end of the house to the other, giggling as your conquer your goal and laughing in my face as you realize my defeat.  I’ve found you a bazilion times now either sitting in Jersey’s water bowl, playing in it, or on a really good day, you just dump it all over the floor and yourself.  It’s always immediately after I’ve dressed you for the day.  It’s not always glamorous.

Like when you shut the door to every room in the house repeatedly.  And every.single.time you shut the door, you cry because it shuts.  It’s not always glamorous.

Like when we drive to Springfield, which is about 15 minutes, and I hear the dreaded “uh oh.”  This is your new phrase when you drop something.  I think you are averaging 2 toys dropped per minute.  To make a successful trip, that means I’d have to pack 30 toys around you just to get you to Springfield before you run out.  Don’t think I haven’t tried this.  Speaking of your carseat, you really don’t sleep in it.  Most of the time you make indian war cries as loud as you can or blow raspberries.  On the rare occasion you fall asleep, it’s adorable, but most of the time, it’s just loud.  It’s not always glamorous.

Like when you pooped in the bathtub at Grammy and Pop’s house the other night.  It’s not always glamorous.

Like when you throw your arms back, get red in the face, and cuss me out in your baby words… because I think it’s appropriate to put a diaper on you instead of let you crawl all over the place naked.  I’ve had to put diapers on you in the craziest positions.  Sometimes you’re upside down, sometimes your halfway in your cozy coupe, sometimes I’m not even sure I have your legs through the holes.  In fact, I’m 100% convinced that the hospitals need to offer diaper wrestling 101 instead of parenting 101.  I learned how to take your temperature, give you a bath, tell when you’re hungry, and put you to sleep in a safe environment, but no one taught me how to wrestle a 25 pound alligator into a ridiculous contraption to hold in all the poops and pees. It’s not always glamorous.

Like when you are too busy to talk to me, because you have an important phone call.  It’s not always glamorous.

Like when I spend your entire nap time cleaning up the tornado that went through our living room, and the first thing you do when you wake up is dump your toy box, take out every puzzle piece, and scatter your farm animals around the house.  It’s like Where’s Waldo, only it’s where’d you put the cow this time?  And it’s not as much fun.  It’s not always glamorous.

Like when I ask you for a kiss, and you stick your tongue out and spit all over me.  It’s not always glamorous.

Like when I’m not sure the last time I showered, and I find pieces of your food in my hair, and I’m not sure if it’s from last week’s spaghetti dinner or last night’s. For the record, I do shower more often than this…it just seems like it’s 2 minutes showers here and there.  It’s not always glamorous.

Like when I am getting your towel laid out after your bath and I look over and see you sucking on the lid of your butt paste.  I swear I have one tube of that stuff in the whole house and it always ends up in your mouth no matter where I hide it.  If only you could lead me to your farm animals like you lead me to the dang butt paste.  It’s not always glamorous.

Like when you’re eating cottage cheese and you think it would make a good hair product. It’s not always glamorous.

Being a mom is a tough gig.  It doesn’t come with a one-size-fits-all approach or set of directions.  It’s anything but glamorous, but it’s just so much fun.  I look at my friends and wonder how they do it.  I spend negative minutes getting ready these days.  I am in awe of the moms with the freshly dried and curled hair, the cute clothes, and the perfectly painted faces.  Maybe it’s because I’m a bit lazy, or maybe I just don’t consider it a priority anymore.    I can’t imagine how ugly things might get if you weren’t such an easy-going, incredible little girl.  But for all of you wondering about my fairy tale life, it certainly has it’s moments.  Where would the fun be if every day I knew what to expect?  Life… it’s not always glamorous.

Now that we’ve talked about some of your moments, let me put my rainbow tinted sunglasses back on.  We just got back from almost 2 weeks in Colorado, and you were AMAZING.  You did awesome in the car, you adjusted well to sleeping at Grammy and Pop’s house.  You seemed to grow right before our eyes.  Each day you discovered new tricks and new words. You now can say, “Ho Ho Ho, Uh oh, Pop, Mama, Dada,” and a whole bunch of other sounds we’re starting to recognize. Grammy taught you how to go bumpity-bump down the stairs and climb back up.  You did this somewhere between 30 and 5,000 times.  You bely laughed with that deep chuckle, you smiled with those gapped front teeth that you could drive a small car through.  You shined, just like you always do, except for those other times. It usually is, but life’s not ALWAYS glamorous.

Love you,

Your mom.