June 12, 2010 - Remote Control

I remember the days when my belly was round and protruding, blessed with the occasional outward dimples of a tiny kicking foot. I had a vision of the kind of mother I would be then. The things I would do with my daughter and the things I would not do. The lessons I would teach her. What my entire parenting plan would be.

And then, I had a baby - my sweet, sweet Georgia - and all those parenting theories went the way of all that baby fat I gained. They disappeared. I had a crash course in "until you're a parent you have no idea what it's like to be a parent." It's great to have ideas ahead of time, but I'm learning you don't truly become the parent you're going to be until you're in the throes of a shrieking child, up to your elbows in poop or calling the pedi in a panic with the latest scare.

So what am I getting at? Well, I started thinking about all of this the other day when I realized one of my daughter's favorite toys is this:

And that yes, she does watch the occasional TV. That's something big-bellied mama swore, S-W-O-R-E, she'd never let her child do. Then baby-weight-outside-the-belly mama learned sometimes you've got to get those bottles washed or your make up on or that shrieking to stop, and the only thing that will work at that moment is a little bit of Baby Einstein. Yep, and new mama wins the battle of parenting theories. Happy mama = happy baby and happy home.