Here’s a few questions you may be asking yourself (probably not but just go with it): What is this place? Where am I? Why am I here? Who’s Pi and what’s the deal with that anyway? You named your kid a number? And finally, who the hell are you? Hmm, good questions hypothetical reader person. Let me address these concerns of yours.
What is this place? Where am I?
Welcome to My Life with Pi. Pi is my kid and this is my life with him. I like to imagine the homepage as the white door of my crappy, whirlpool refrigerator that likes to stop working every now and then. My fridge is where I stick pictures and thoughts, letters, lists and doodads. It’s a chill, no-big-deal kinda place where I discuss real life when it comes to parenthood. Just a heads up, this is probably not going to be the place to go to check out kid friendly frittata recipes, how to organize and disinfect your kids’ toy box, or how to cut coupons and spend only $17.52 on a weeks’ worth of groceries. My focus here is laughter with a good dose of reality. No, parenthood isn’t digging a ditch hard, but it’s challenging AF and sometimes it’s nice to just relate to someone and chuckle or cry along in agreement.
Why am I here?
Well, you just may be a mom. Or a dad. Or both (no judgement here gurlfrand). Or maybe you’re my grandmother who’s the coolest lady in the world, and you just want to swing by and check on me. Whatever the case, hopefully you’re here to laugh, cry, and just relate. A couple years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to relate to my new self. Back before I decided to hang up my corporate employee hat and become one of those Stay-at-Home-Mom people (or SAHM if you’re up on the lingo), I sat a cubicle away from adults, who formed complete sentences. If I wanted to share a laugh about how ridiculous Bob’s 13 back to back sneezes sounded, I could. If I wanted to whine about how annoyingly slow the server was acting and how the stupid spinning beach ball had taken over my Mac, I could. But here in the cold lonely SAHM world, you’re kinda in a vacuum. If a tree falls, there’s nobody but your nap-fighting 6-word vocab toting infant around to see it. And what a thick forest this is. It’s chock full of giant, meaty, ‘omg I have to tell someone about this’, redwood trees, timbering on your head all day long. See, with Bob and his sneezy broken record, it was no big deal to wheel your office chair over to Sallys cube, and give her a silent “wtf” look. But calling up your friends or saving the baby equivalent of the sneeze fest for your baby daddy’s arrival at 6pm is kinda silly. So, I’m here because I’ve kinda compiled all the silly things that go unnoticed and unloved; the stuff we deal with day in and day out, that eventually become as natural as blinking our bloodshot, baggy mom eyes. Maybe like me, you’ve wanted a place where you feel a part of a community. An office space if you will, for those who clock in at the first “wah” or “mama?” every morning, and for those who habitually work through their lunch hour. A place where you can TELL SOMEBODY about how you have an unrealistic fear that your toddler is going to bolt into the 450 degree oven when you pull the sweet potato fries out. A space where you can TELL SOMEBODY about how you wanted to close your eyes for 40 seconds but couldn’t because you’re in charge of a real, this is not a drill, person and you almost cried over it. Maybe every post won’t resonate with you, but if it does you can tell me about your seemingly insignificant baby event, because I care. I care because this new SAHM has been there too.
Who’s Pi and what’s the deal with that anyway? You named your kid a number?
Ahh, my favorite question. My kid does have a real name that his father and I settled on, but for this blog I’ve decided to refer to him as Pi, and here’s why. My little boy was born early, at the end of week 35. Not too early, but just early enough to be considered premature. The reasoning behind his premature birth is kinda a long story (one I’ll probably get to in another post), but the ‘cool story bro’ part, is his birth weight. He was born three little pounds and fourteen ounces. He was a beautiful miniature person, teeny, fragile, and well, beautiful. Word spread through my family that he was earthside, and by the time I spoke to my mother’s father, I was in for a wonderful surprise. My grandfather congratulated me on the birth of his great grandson, and then informed me that my mother, who was also born premature, shared the exact same birth weight of three pounds fourteen ounces. I couldn’t believe it. This was the coincidence I was desperately waiting for, proof that my mother, who passed away 5 years prior from colon cancer, was connected to my son in some way. I knew my foray into motherhood would sting a little (actually it stung a lot) without my mom by my side. I had so many questions. I wanted to ask her ‘oh my goodness how did you do it’ and simultaneously thank her for all the zillion sacrifices you make as a mom while your oblivious children just reap the benefits. Luckily though, I got answers here and there from my dear family and friends, and I sent my mother thank you’s via prayer. I know she’s with me everyday, and I’m so grateful to have that little birth weight link as a reminder of their connection.
Are any of you parenting without your parent(s)? What gets you through?
Who the hell are you?
I’m just a girl, in the world… that’s all that you’ll let me beeeee. (Sorry not sorry for my 90s ska punk rock No Doubt reference). Well as of today (it’s early 2018) I’m a 34 year old stay at home mama. I used to be a graphic designer but I’m not sure when the career police will come knocking on my door and revoke my right to claim my pre-SAHM profession. So, I’m a mother (I’m sure you’ve gathered that by now), I’m a wife to a really stand up guy (what does that even mean?) and a step-mom to a beautiful 12 year old girl. Quick sidenote, my husband is amazingly supportive and just wonderful all around (he came up with the name of my blog for Pete’s sake!), so I just wanted to point that out. Yay him! Ok enough of him, back to me. So I pretty much loathe labels but in an effort to speed things along in a sort of speed dating style of getting to know me (if you’re a parent, you’re probably short on free time here anyway), I’ll check some boxes for you. I’m kinda ‘crunchy/granola’ when it comes to my viewpoint on how to raise a child, but I’m also kinda “ain’t nobody got time for that, here’s some microwave popcorn with added GMO’s and some high fructose corn syrup” too. I’m realistic, but also a foo foo follow your heart nut too. I’m in touch with my feelings and say hello to the trees and enjoy Eckart Tolle, but also spend an unhealthy amount of time in front of my phone scrolling thru useless brain numbing memes or watching the equally brain numbing, Real Housewives on TV. Sometimes I curse. But sometimes my grandma reads this s*** and I’m really close with her so imma keep the f-bombs to a minimum. Sometimes I might appear to be cynical, ungrateful and unimpressed with the gifts I’ve been given but trust me when I say, I am so incredibly lucky. I feel like Oprah. No I don’t enjoy cleaning a sink full of dishes up to my now less then perky boobs, and I don’t like picking up the same collection of toys and cookware (now transformed into toys) like I’m stuck inside that Groundhog Day movie, but gosh darnit I still know, without a doubt that I am the luckiest girl on the planet for all that I’ve been given. Sometimes things suck but I find happiness in the humor it brings.
I hope the blurbs above helped to answer my made-up questions. To conclude, I really just wanted to create a space to share and commiserate through the daily joys and pains of raising a tiny person. Woowee what a responsibility it is. How exhausting and amazing at the same time.