It’s official. Peanut is no longer a baby. I’m devastated and excited by this latest development. In the last week he’s decided:

• Who needs nursing? Milk is where it’s at. He’s pretty much weaned himself. A few months ago, I was so ready for the whole breastfeeding thing to be over. Now that it seems to be, I’m kind of sad it wasn’t my decision…although I know it went a lot easier because he was the one to say “um, mom, it’s not you, it’s me. I hope we can still be friends — now hand over the sippy cup!”
• Walking is way more fun than crawling. Not always faster, but definitely worth trying out…A LOT.
• Testing mommy’s limits is funny!
• Pointing is a very effective form of communication.
• Bananas are still my favorite food…unless there is a toaster waffle next to it.
• Mommy won’t let me watch TV yet, but it seriously can’t be better than watching the front-load washing machine fill with water and then start spinning. I mean, wow. Who needs hi-def?

So, yes, I miss my snugly little bundle of baby smell. But this little comedian cracks me up so much and fills me with such wonder at each of his little discoveries that it’s usually a short-lived wistful ‘what happened to my little baby moment?’ and then we’re off to the next thing. And chances are that thing is something we’re not supposed to be playing with anyway (see “testing mommy’s limits is funny”).

First of all, the party. How is it that I said I wasn’t going to make a big deal about it and then there I was, making a big deal about it? I know he won’t remember it all, but darned if he didn’t have a good time. We did a bug theme with cute little bug cakelets decorated by the family, hung some crafty bug decorations and yes, peanut even wore a little t-shirt with little bugs on it. He loved the decorations and hugging all his little friends. He even showed off his walking skills, getting bolder and bolder in front of all the company. He loved his first taste of cake and behaved through the whole thing!

Some of our artistic bug cakes. Yum!

Keep your fly-swatters in check, these bugs were invited!

Follow the ants…they know where the party’s at!

I’m amazed at how easily peanut adjusts to a roomful of people fighting for his attention. He seems to recognize his grandparents and aunts and uncles after awhile. With our family living far away, he only sees them about once every month or two. But it doesn’t take him long to warm up to someone — really, as long as you show interest in him and get down and play, he’s all yours. Play with him enough and he’ll crawl right on up and give you a great big old hug.

But, of course, I’m bragging on my son a bit too much. With all the attention peanut and therefore the hubby and my parenting skills were getting this weekend, it made me stop and think at age one, how much of peanut’s behavior is nature versus nurture?

Peanut is a totally laid back baby. He is great at going with the flow, will eat just about anything I put in front of him, loves people, “behaves.” And we get lots of compliments on our parenting skills for having such a great baby. But can I really take credit? Not completely. I know a lot of it is his personality. He was totally nonplussed in the hospital, never really cried much in the early days (only when he was naked) and has always been a flirt.

At the same time, I know the hubby and I work really hard to get him out and about, try to keep to a routine that isn’t so strict that he freaks out if we don’t keep it, but is structured enough to keep the little guy secure (and this mama’s sanity intact). We keep him well fed and play with him and read to him. But don’t most parents do the same?

So just when I think that I can take credit for the nurture side, I deduce that I can’t and vice versa.

Although…they are my hubby and my genes that make up his personality, so I guess we can take credit no matter whether it’s nature or nurture, right? Bonus!

Since I’ve been keeping track of the bazillion babies arriving this summer to folks I know, I must take a moment to welcome sweet baby James to the world! I hear your mama is just a-glowin’, so keep up that chill attitude. Can’t wait to meet you. Congrats mama L.

So Ms. Amy Jo, you’re next! (Sorry I got your due dates mixed up – my bad!)

At first you measure in hours (30 hours of labor), then days (first doctor’s appointment at 4 days old), then weeks (first smile at 6 weeks to the day), then months (first tooth finally arrived at 10 months) and now years.

Today marks peanut’s first birthday. 1 year. 12 months. 365 days. 525,600 minutes.

A year ago today I didn’t think I’d make it through delivery. I was exhausted and not in control. And then he was there, screaming on my chest, slimy and firm, loud, pouting and absolutely perfect.

In the months that have passed, I am struck by how much he’s changed and how much he hasn’t. Of course he’s grown and acquired new skills. He’s eating real food, babbling in sentences, pointing, laughing, walking (sort of). And some days I still feel exhausted and not in control. But he so much resembles the little boy behind the screaming bundle that I first held onto in the delivery room.

It must be how Michelangelo felt when he said he saw his figures in the stone, he just had to chisel away the excess. I feel like peanut becomes more and more of what the hubby and I have always seen in him. He’s an active kid with a very mischievous sense of humor and a fabulous giggle. He likes to observe a situation before diving in. He is a wonderful cuddler. He enjoys a bit of roughhousing but could also sit and look at a book for minutes on end (hey, for a 12 month old, that’s an eternity). Every day he surprises me and at the same time, he seems so familiar with each new trick.

I can’t believe how much and how fast he’s changed.

As I’ve marveled at all this growing in the last few days and played the “a year ago today” game, I wonder how much I’ve changed.

I’ve got a new name, mommy. The wardrobe is definitely more casual. The days are most certainly a bit more routine and the pay has taken some getting used to. Priorities have shifted as have my natural circadian rhythms. But strangely, I think I am simply becoming more of myself, just like peanut is. As our family grows, so do its individual members.

Meanwhile, today I will marvel at my little one and continue to fall more and more in love.

Happy Birthday, baby!

Maybe it’s the years of working and always being on the lookout for the next best thing.

Maybe it’s seeing some working moms I know look like rock stars when they balance family and work life.

Or maybe it’s so darn hot outside I’ve gone delirious.

I saw a job opening today that piqued my interest. It fit my qualifications and would certainly take my skills in communications and media relations to the next level.

But then I had to take a step back. I know the organization that’s hiring and how bureaucratic it is. I know the travel requirement was a turn-off. I know I’m not ready to go back to work. I don’t know that I want to go back to doing what I was doing before. But there it is, gnawing at the back of my brain today.

Of course maybe that’s because I spent the better part of a trip to Target trying to get my peanut to stay in the cart (how did he figure out how to stand up in the shopping cart seat WITH the seat belt on? Does this make him a genius, a Houdini or a stunt man?). That adventure made nearly any professional communications job seem easier than trying to communicate with an almost 12-month-old on the importance of safety restraints.

Peanut’s first birthday is a week away and I’m panicked.

Not about the party (that’s worthy of a whole other post), but that something is going to go wrong with peanut. It’s almost like his warranty is about to run out (because you know as soon as your car/stereo/computer/whatever warranty ends, the damn thing breaks the next day). Every scratch, bruise, heat rash, diaper deposit has been cause for intense inspection this week.

I have applauded myself so far this year for not needing to call the pediatrician all that often. I admit to doing it a few times in the beginning for non-issues. After all, he’s my first and they freak you out with all the counting of the poops and pee and temperature taking. But after a few middle of the night moments and reassuring words from the nurse on call, I felt pretty confident that the little peanut was doing okay and learned what the important things were to call about. Oh, what a laid back mom I am. I can totally handle this mom thing.

WHATEVER!

All of a sudden I’m convinced that everything is an indication of some horrible problem. And it doesn’t help that the kid is trying to figure out how to walk and is bumping into things left and right (usually with his head), and his knees are rubbed raw from tearing down the hardwood hallways at warp speed on his knees, or that it’s the summer in the South and so of course he has a bit of a heat rash in the folds behind his knees.

I realized I have a problem when I found myself wondering if his feet are too small.

Seriously.

I thought about this for a good half-hour.

I almost wrote it down on the list of questions for the next doctor’s appointment. Right behind “tell me straight, doc, am I good mom?”

Because I think that’s what it boils down to. The first year is all about survival. I kept him fed, clothed, cuddled, well-rested. He seems to be happy. He smiles a lot. He giggles. He gives great hugs. But all of a sudden, as I realize he’s about to enter toddlerhood, I’m as nervous as I was when we brought the peanut home and didn’t have a nurse on-hand 24 hours a day.

Soon he’ll be talking back and I’ll need to make sure he understands concepts like sharing and compassion and empathy and that it’s not good to drink the toilet water. What if I stink at this part of mothering? What if he likes the taste of cat food better than my cooking? What if his feet really are too small?

But then I figure I didn’t know what the heck I was doing a year ago this time when I was sitting around, eating ice cream and just waiting to go into labor. I’ve got a whole year of mothering under my belt, a ton of great role model moms with fabulous toddlers and a terrific partner in crime (aka the hubby).

And I’ll try to keep in mind that they don’t include feet measurements on the growth chart, so peanut’s little piggies are probably fine…right?

Another member of the club has arrived. Little Lila joined us yesterday! Welcome to the world and A., welcome to mommyhood.

Our “veteran” member welcoming number two is next with mama-to-be L. not too far behind. Good luck, ladies!

I ran across this article on the ever present mommy guilt issue for working moms. I’ve known enough working moms to know that daycare drop-off can be the worst part of every day and the fear of missing a milestone moment can be demoralizing.

But ladies, the grass isn’t always greener. Don’t we all have mommy guilt no matter what our work situation? Maybe it’s just me, but some days when I’m watching peanut take out his blocks, throw them around the room, then put them back in their basket just to take them out and throw them around the room for the fifth time that hour, I feel guilty. Guilty that I’m bored out of my mind! I mean, I chose this stay-at-home-mom gig and isn’t it supposed to be the best job in the world? How could I possibly be bored?

I do love it most of the time, just like I’m sure working moms are probably happy most of the time. But we all have our moments and some days are going to have more moments than others. I just wish that when a woman wants to act on or express a personal need (whether that’s the need to work, the need to take a break from the kids, the need to pick up their peanut a little early that day for an extra snuggle, the need to express themselves apart from their families) we didn’t have to feel guilty about it.

While filling out the new patient paperwork at a new eye doctor’s office today, I came to a halt at “Occupation.”

I had a hard enough time writing down “sales” while at my previous position. Technically, that’s what I did, but I felt more like a communications consultant. Semantics…maybe. But that’s how I approached the job, not by trying to meet a quota. It worked for me and I developed lasting relationships with clients, some of whom are still friendly acquaintances. Regardless of how I felt about the word, “sales” was the best one-word description for what I did.

But today, I didn’t know what to write. I could put down mom, but those women who work and have kids certainly don’t write down “working mother” or “paralegal and mom.” After all, a mother is a mother no matter what she does from 9 to 5.

I guess I’m a big old N/A in the occupation category until someone starts paying me for this mom gig. Any volunteers?!

I admit to being a little behind in my reading, so it was only Monday night that I read last week’s My Turn column in Newsweek. Tuesday, Mojo Mom reacted to the same piece. Since this kept coming back to mind at random times over the last several days, I felt compelled to offer my two cents.

To begin with, I do have a problem with Ms. Friedman generalizing and stereotyping mothers. Many of her comments only perpetuate a negative image of motherhood that certainly isn’t the norm. I know many fabulous moms who are raising great, polite kids while following their passions, working in fantastic jobs, contributing to the community and mixing a mean cocktail. I think it is entirely possible that Ms. Friedman needs to expand her circle of mom friends to include a more balanced cross-section of motherhood.

However, she does hit on an unfortunate truth — when it comes to kids (having them, naming them, raising them), many people feel the need to impart unwanted advice as absolute truths. Why is it okay in this society to judge women about when/whether they have children and once they do, whether they continue working once they arrive?

While reading this particular column, I was reminded of all the thoughts/reactions/advice I received before and after having peanut about whether I should return to work or stay home.

Before the hubby and I even started trying to get pregnant, someone asked me, “well of course you’ll stay home when you have kids, right?” I was so thrown by the question and tone of the subsequent conversation. How could I possibly know what I would do in such a personal situation that comes with so many new experiences that I could not even pretend to imagine how I would react to any of them? Not to mention not knowing what kind of financial situation the hubby and I would be in whenever that moment arrived. But this person seemed adamant that I should stay home and would of course want to, insinuating that if I didn’t, something was surely wrong with me.

After I became pregnant, the closer the due date approached, the more people asked. The strange thing, to me, was that my husband was just finishing up grad school and still had not found a job. Of course I was going to return to work after maternity leave — if I didn’t, we were going to have BIG problems.

When the hubby did get a job (ironically receiving the offer the same day as peanut was born), I thought long and hard about whether to stick with my plan to go back to work or to stay home. This was an issue that was also a topic of much discussion in the media this year based on this book and this one and this one (all of which I admit to not reading…YET! They are on my to-do list, I promise.).

Of course not all the voices out there are critical ones. I received the best advice and support from family, friends who have been there and experienced moms who had the benefit of perspective on their own choices.

I do still find myself defending my decision to people in both camps, fearful of being judged. I realize that a lot of this is my own internal conflict as I grow into this new “mom” person while still struggling to hold onto my unique self. But perhaps if as a society we all redirected our questions and judgements to corporate America and our culture, women could grow in a more flexible environment, would have careers to come back to after an absence and wouldn’t feel so obligated to choose between career OR family (this certainly only applying to those of us lucky enough to have a choice).

In the meantime, I remind myself that the column is labeled “My Turn” and this is just one woman’s opinion and she is entitled to it. I respect her decision to not have children right now, after all, I don’t know her. I would hope that she could extend me, and the rest of us moms, the same respect. That, I believe, will create the best role models not only for other new moms but for our children as well.