BOO! (hoo)

I feel the need to get Theo a Halloween costume, if for no other reason than to dress him up in it for five minutes and take his picture so we’ll have it to look at 10 or 42 years from now.  Obviously he is not going Trick-or-Treating this year, so is there even a point? 

I feel like a bad mom because some of my mommy friends have had their babies’ costumes for weeks and perhaps even (gasp) MONTHS!  I have looked for them at a couple of different stores and I must be a slacker because the costumes are already pretty picked through.  I just can’t find anything that screams “THEO!”

Am I a loser of a parent for not being on top of this a month ago and for not wanting to spend more than $10 or $20 bucks on such junk? 

Sigh.  I’ll let you know what we decide on. 

~C~

Despite the fact that we’ve had record-breaking highs in the 90s this week, the fact that Fall is here makes me a little sad.  Things are changing so fast.  And there’s barely a “Fall” anyway…we have about two weeks of refreshingly Fall-ish weather, then it’s on to Winter.  Ew.

Wait…technically, Theo was born in the Winter, if only by 2 weeks.  This is the fourth season of his life already.  Besides Theo’s birthday being a part of it, I hate Winter and nearly everything about it.

To some people, Fall means comfy sweaters, cozy boots, and huddling over a bonfire with a hot toddy.  To me, Fall = Pre-Winter.  It means it won’t be long until my purse is perpetually falling off of my shoulder because my bulky coat is too poofy to keep it in place.  It means itchy scarves and seeing my own breath.  It means slipping and sliding all over the road when I hit a patch of ice.  It means having to wear icky socks and shoes that tie up.  And don’t forget about the toes that don’t thaw out til mid-April.  It means back-breaking leaf-raking.  It means all of the color drains out of my world for 5 long, cold months as the leaves die and sadly float away from their branches.  The sky turns an ominous shade of gray that won’t go away.  It means doing a delicate balancing act like an elephant on a tightrope down the long, icy driveway just to check the mail.  It means I lose my husband to the NFL Sunday Ticket on DirecTV for the next 5 months.  Don’t forget about the sun setting at 5:30pm.  What could be worse than that?  I’m dreading having to bundle Theo up in God-knows-what to keep him warm.

Even though it’s still Summer-hot here, I’m getting the Fall/Winter blues already.

The only good thing about Winter is when it’s over, which you can easily detect by the little things.  They really are the highs of life for me.  Like the first flip-flop day.  The first daffodil I see.  The first windows-open/cleaning-while-listening-to-loud-music kind of day.  The first buds on the Bradford Pear trees and that horrible smell that comes with them.  Peeps.  Kids on Spring break.  The only good thing about Winter…is that it alway turns into Spring. 

And that is a real good thing.

~C~

Before I had my sweet little baby boy, I called my cats my kids.  I knew they weren’t human, don’t worry.  But I loved them, looked forward to seeing them, and invited them onto my lap whenever I sat down on the couch.  We’ve had the gray female cat, Sylvie, for 6 years and the orange male, Niko, for almost 2. 

Now that Theo is here, when I get a chance to lie down in bed or on the couch baby-free, I don’t want another 6 or 14 pound creature smothering me (yes, our male cat is a hefty one).  I feel so guilty.  They are surely jealous of all the time and attention Theo gets and I should spend extra time with them when I can, but now it just seems like they get in the way.  What kinda life is that?

Actually, it’s pretty good, I guess…they sleep all day, pretty much eat all they want, and they do get love every day (just not as much as before).  But the problem is not only that I feel guilty for not spending more time with them or seeing them as my babies anymore.  Now I see them as work.  Litterbox. Food.  Brushing.  Clipping claws.  Cleaning up fur.  Lint-rolling my clothes.  Not sitting on the couch if I have on a black shirt.

Don’t get me wrong, I do still love them.  I love them enough that the thought of giving them away makes me too sad to ever go through with it.  They brought me a lot of joy in the years before I had a real baby.  See, what’s troublesome, is that Sylvie, who’s 6 now (come on!), can’t clean her own litterbox.  She still can’t fix her own plate.  She can’t even get her own water out of the sink.  Neither can Niko, but Sylvie’s needier than he is.  She can’t be independent and do her own thing.  If I am home, she has to follow me everywhere I go like a dog.  I just don’t know if I’m going to have the time and love to give to her as my life gets busier.  She has made some compromises and sat on Theo’s boppy while I’m feeding him so I can pet her.  She’s even humored me by letting Theo pet her and pull her fur, which I found pretty sweet and endearing.  Nonetheless, she’s work. 

I can’t imagine having a dog. 
It’s sad, I feel guilty, and I wish I could be a better cat-mom.

Ugh.