toothless

My love, my sweet little boy, lost his front tooth today. It wasn't his first tooth to come out, but it was the one that I knew would change him. His face changed so much when he went from toothless baby to baby with teeth, and now it's changing again. I noticed tonight too, that he's getting a little more flesh on him, something that happens before a growth spurt. I'm anticipating those growing pains for him, but this time, too, I'm anticipating the growing pains for myself, as well.

The ground seems to be shifting under my feet, and I need to accomodate that. I'm not sure how that's going to happen, but I know I will need to brace myself for whatever the change will be. I feel really uncertain about everything right now. I don't know if that's hormones, or if it's something happening in my marriage. Maybe it's both. Wouldn't that just suck? Sometimes, I feel just plain crazy, but I also remember that saying "I may be paranoid, but it doesn't mean they're not out to get me."

I'm just going through an incredibly hard time right now. I don't lay it at the feet of my husband - I can claim much of the blame myself. I can also say with conviction, that this time of life with all it's blessings, leaves me feeling crazed and completely not myself. The only thing I can hang on to is that I know it won't last forever. And the one certainty in all of it is that I love the little light that's sleeping directly upstairs as I type this. I'll do my best not to put it all on him - my dad did that to me, and it was a lot of responsibility for a kid. But that said, I have a beautiful reason to figure this all out and do my best.

And he's missing his front tooth.

uncle

When I was just 12, I distinctly recall going from weeping to laughing in a nanosecond, and thought "that's weird". Turns out, I was going through puberty, and would be at the mercy of something called "hormones" for the next 45 or so years. I managed to be okay, to figure out my particular rhythms: Week one, normal. Week two emotional. Week three bitchy/in pain. Lather, rinse, repeat for a really, really looooong time.

Well, guess what. Those were the good old days. Now I'm in perimenopausal hell, where my periods come every two weeks, and some days I feel like I have to hold on to my head to keep it from flying off. My sleep is off, my moods are swinging like a monkey in a tree, and I can't remember my own name half the time. I've mentioned before that having a six year old during this time of life seems like a cruel trick, but in other ways, it's kind of a wild party. You never know who is going to show up next. Turns out, six is when boys get a huge influx of testosterone, add to that six year molars and you have yourself a recipe for monster stew. We've been mixin' it up pretty good lately, but we had a great week together. My husband was out of town for a trade show, and we survived being Dad-less and had our first snow day. But today my husband returned from San Francisco and told me he thought I could do a better job of parenting, I almost turned in my resignation.

But I can't. I'm signed on for life. I love my son, and my husband, (though right now I'd like to throw something at him), and so I'll try to listen to his criticism constructively. I'll work harder, try to be better, socialize my child more, win some, lose some and get up tomorrow to do it again. That's life in the big parenting city, and though today was a day I'd like to forget, tomorrow will get better. Or not. Chances are, we'll all live, but it might get ugly once in a while. But as Joe-Henry says in his most loving voice, repeating what he's heard from me, "that's just part of life."

I'm a great mom, and he's a great kid. And my husband is a great dad. But his timing is seriously off.

there's a word for what I am today

And luckily, my son doesn't know it. Yet. He'll learn it at school probably sooner than I think. And then, I'll get the full force of it. Deservedly so. I wish it weren't true, but dear readers, today I am a bitch. No, make that Bitch. I'm trying like crazy to keep it inside, and not let it come lashing out at my family, but sometimes, my hormones get the better of me, and I get too impatient. Of course, the fact that my son doesn't let me have a f*%$#n phone conversation, or the fact that he waits until I get all the way downstairs, settled into my chair at my computer to yell at the top of his lungs "MOM!" and when I think his yelling in that particular tone must mean that he's bleeding from his eyes, only to discover that all it really means is that I didn't get all the goddamn crust cut off his sandwich, well, I get a little pissy. But still. I hate this feeling, and I hate the way I act, not because it's not called for at times, but because it's so counterproductive. He won't remember that he's being a little terror, he'll remember that I was a great big nasty BEEEEAAAATCH. And more importantly, he won't learn to not do those things. He'll learn that it's okay to react in a way that's completely out of all proportion to what's going on.

So I'm a bitch. And I feel guilty about it. But it'll pass. It always does.

I have to say, having a six year old and being in the throes of perimenopause, it's just kind of a cruel trick of nature.