To my sweet boy, 

Two short years ago you were a delicate squish hooked up to a dozen wires. Today you’re a goofy toddler who loves to dance, play outside, “cheese” (aka take selfies), and read all the Arthur books. You’ve worked hard to learn your ABCs, numbers 1 to 11, shapes, colors, body parts, and 20+ animal sounds! You enjoy dancing to the ‘Letter of the Day’ song every day with your dada. You insist on closing every door in the house, and you’re quick to wipe every mess you make into your hair.

I hope you never lose your independent spirit — today you insist on putting on your own shoes, but I hope you learn to work hard and stand up for yourself. I hope you stay as silly as you are now, and never let anyone else dampen that giddy spirit. I hope you’re always as curious as you are today, and that you learn to explore the world in a way that allows you to see life from others’ perspectives. Today (and every day), I hope you feel how much you’re loved and how much Dada and I want the absolute best for you. 

The world is your canvas. Happy birthday, Leon Maddox <3

What a busy Christmas! We drove to Missouri to see my mom and her husband, my dad and his girlfriend, my brother, my grandparents, and a bunch of aunts, uncles, and cousins. The drive wasn’t as bad as I had predicted — with the help of Leon’s favorite books, snacks, and songs, we made it through 17 hours of driving relatively unscathed. He actually slept better in the hotel than he does at home — possibly knowing we were nearby helped him sleep until an unprecedented 7:40 on Saturday morning! 

He finally cut a lower canine a couple days before Christmas (we have a friend whose 15-month daughter has more teeth than Leon!). He’s getting much more articulate, and we can understand 95% of what he says. He puts two words together in almost all conversations, and will occasionally repeat words from longer phrases. He can sing his ABCs up until S, and loves singing and doing the hand motions to the songs he hears at daycare. His fine-motor skills are impressive — he can open yogurt containers by himself and once even twisted off the lid to his sippy cup! 

He’s been extra lovey-dovey lately, offering mouth kisses and saying “I love you” unprompted. I think that’s why Minh and I have both been sick the past couple days, but it won’t last forever so I’ll take it!

Me: *knows that offering toddlers a choice is a good way to establish independence and reduce tantrums*
“Ok buddy, do you want to eat with the green spoon or the red spoon?”
Leon: *takes both spoons and puts them in his mouth, then gives them both to the dog to lick*

Me: “Hey buddy, let’s put your plate closer to you so you don’t have to reach for it.”
Leon: “No mama.”
Me: “Yeah but that looks like you’re going to spill –“
Leon: “I SAID NO MAMA.”

😢😬😔

There was a question on Reddit recently: “What’s your ‘thank god that’s over with and I never have to do it again’ thing in your life?” It didn’t take long for me to work through an answer.

​Easily, t​he newborn phase of parenthood. I love ​Leon now and I loved him as a baby, and ​as this blog verifies ​he was​​ always 100% planned and 1​,​000% wanted, but looking back on it I had some ​pretty ​serious postpartum depression.

​It ​started out difficultly because ​Leon was in the NICU for several days. Instead of taking that time to rest and recover from a major abdominal surgery and trust ​my son in the care of great nurses, ​Minh and I woke up every ​three​ hours to visit and feed him, then come back and pump extra milk, then maybe sleep for an hour. We did that around the clock for four​-and-a-​half days. I remember laying on the couch in my recovery room ​after ​eating takeout, thinking ​This isn’t how ​my life is supposed to be. I should be home with my baby by now. It was ​definitely ​that night that the Baby Blues hit. I would consider it one of the ​Top 5 worst days of my life because of how hopeless I felt. When would we be able to go home? When would I feel normal again? Why do I feel this ​sad?

Once we got home, ​everything felt like a nonstop fire drill. ​Minh​ was a champ and took the night shift so I could recover, but I was still so stressed from the newness and not knowing what to do. ​I felt like I didn’t even have time to go to the bathroom, let alone eat or shower. ​Minh and I requested no visits from anyone including family for ​three weeks — a decision I don’t regret, as extra people ​in the house ​at that time would have just stressed me out more, but it meant that it was just us getting used to this new dynamic.

I felt like everything was different. Everything (aside from the new baby) was the same though, so ​I couldn’t articulate what was wrong. For example, it was like I came home from the hospital and all the furniture ​in the house ​was slightly misaligned — so much that everything seemed ​wrong and​ it wasn’t my house…but so slightly that I knew ​rationally​ that it was just in my head.

I was so delusional that at one point​ I hallucinated for a couple minutes and couldn’t figure out where I put ​Leon. He ended up being in his swing, but to this day I’m not sure how he got there. I honestly remembered him being in my arms. Scary ​stuff, and it should have been a red flag that I needed backup immediately, but I just assumed I was sleep deprived and that type of thing happens to everyone.

As I wrote in April of last year:

After Leon came home, I was so overwhelmed that I didn’t know if I’d ever feel that sort of love for him. I spent ​several nights ​Googling “when does having a newborn get easier” and ​​​poring over the forum threads in the ​search ​results. I knew I loved my baby based on my reaction to him spending time in the NICU; he was fragile and innocent and didn’t deserve to be sick. ​And part of me was excited that he was finally here. But​ there was definitely a part of me that was resentful of the fact that I ​now had just a few minutes to stuff a sandwich down with my left hand while bouncing and swaying him in the carrier. That after struggling through a painful feeding, I had limited time to pee, shower, nap, or do anything before we’d have to wrestle through it again. That I would be so sore — not just from my c-section, but from mastitis, cracked nipples, strained neck muscles, constipation, clogged ducts, ​etc.​ That I would go days without venturing outside, ​but the effort required to get Leon ready (combined with the fear of a public meltdown) made leaving the house completely unappealing.​​ That I would be so tired I would literally hallucinate and forget where I put my child.​

​I knew having a baby would be hard, but I didn’t realize how hard.

As I mentioned, it stressed me out to think about taking a newborn anywhere, but eventually ​I was able to load ​Leon in the stroller and take a walk around the block every afternoon. I looked forward to our daily walks because it was like a little reminder that outside the prison of my house, life goes on and things would be normal again soon.

I​’m a million times better now — sleeping through the night, a new psychiatrist, and going back to work works wonders — but it’s something I definitely never want to go through again. But hey, we made it through!

I got a tattoo a few weeks ago for Leon. I’m not posting pictures of it anywhere because I worked hard on the design of it, and it’s simple and easy to copy. The day after I got it, Leon noticed it and pointed at it, and I told him that it’s there because Mommy loves him. Which is true, but I wish I thought of something a little more meaningful to tell him about it. Then again, he’s like…a toddler…and likely forgot what I said as soon as he saw the snacks in my purse.

I got it because I figure, even if he becomes a lazy, Red Pill neckbeard who texts while driving and doesn’t brush his teeth regularly…he’ll still be my son and I’ll still love him for the kid he is right now.

When I was pregnant with him, I hoped to have a child who would one day be successful. Like a president or something. But not all presidents are created equal and not all “success” is the same. So since that time, I’ve been wondering…what is success, anyway?

Now is where I’d insert the Merriam-Webster definition of “success,” but I think we all have Google here so I’ll enter my own, very inaccurate definition of how I interpret success.

Up until my early 20s, I thought being successful meant excelling financially. Living well, being influential, retiring early. Owning a vacation home and renting it out most of the year. Having a 9-to-5 where you convince the C-suite that you’re really as awesome as everyone says. Having enough money to get your nails done and your hair blown out and get a massage once a week and get your eyebrows tattooed because doing your own makeup is so 2011.

Basically, fitting into the cookie-cutter mold of what society expects an upper- or upper-middle class person to do. Demerits if you have visible tattoos or facial piercings or don’t rotate your wardrobe at least once a year (all me, by the way).

But that definition doesn’t take into consideration much more than career success. What about those who have different life goals? What about someone who has a part-time “day job” but is an influential ally for LGBT rights? What about someone who can’t work but instead spends their time knitting sweaters for NICU babies? So there’s definitely more gray area than I previously considered.

Then I redefined success to mean being happy and healthy. But does that mean that people with mental and/or physical illnesses can’t be successful? I wouldn’t say so at all. Even the examples in my first definition of success might not be happy or healthy. Case in point: just consider how sad Melania always looks.

So success is something that I’m not sure how to define.

So does it even matter if Leon is successful? I know I’m not blowing anyone’s mind here, but I’d rather have him strive to help others, be a good citizen, and work hard to be happy. If doing all that means he’s sleeping on an air mattress in an unfurnished apartment when he’s 23, then so be it — I’ll still be proud of him and I’ll still have my little Leon tat. (But if I ever find out he reads Breitbart I’m getting a coverup.)

Leon’s been learning so much. He can now read most numbers 1-10, and he knows all basic body parts and animal sounds. His pronunciation of words is getting better (who knew that “effant” is such an efficient way of saying “elephant”). He can do 9-piece puzzles with ease. He can jump with both feet. He can correctly volunteer the names of some colors but when asked he still says that every color is “yellow.” He tidies his books several times a day when asked, and wipes down his high chair every night after dinner. He grabs a kitchen towel and cleans the front of the cupboards as soon as we sing the clean-up song.

I asked Minh what things Leon can do that I could write about, and he said, “Whine and tantrums. And eat all our food. Drain our bank account. Also he’s gotten really good at being a jerk, especially when he purposely gives no hugs. Like, dude I just cooked you the best meal you’ve ever had in your life. I was the one that introduced you to spaghetti. Your mom would have fed you rabbit food.”

None of which is false. Every evening when Leon and I get home, Minh cheerfully greets us at the door and asks Leon for a hug. And every evening, Leon whines “nooooo” and runs to give me a hug instead. And every evening, I see Minh’s heart break a little.

Minh can talk some talk, but when Leon woke up screaming the night before last, Minh bounced into his room to comfort him before I even rolled over to check the baby monitor. He comforted and rocked Leon until they both fell asleep on his big teddy bear.

And Minh regularly makes $20 pot roasts just for Leon’s lunches, in addition to cooking gourmet-style meals for us every night. And he takes Leon for walks and works with him on numbers and flips him around and dances with him. Minh worked with Leon on walking, climbing stairs, reading numbers, learning colors, cleaning his toys, etc. Minh even made me smoothies every morning while I was pregnant to ensure Leon would get as many nutrients as possible.

So Minh’s day will come eventually. In the meantime we’ll just deal with little strong-willed Leon.

Leon loves books.

I love that he loves books. I love reading to him and taking him to storytime at the library and witnessing him learn more every day.

Now that we’ve established that, his books have been the source of about three-quarters of his tantrums lately. When I tell him “you can’t take a book to daycare,” “please put your books away,” “I can’t read to you right now,” I’m met with what would be a comical display of defiance if it wasn’t ear-splitting.

When he wakes up, he’s typically in a finicky mood (which he probably got from me, if we’re being honest), so Minh and I carefully do our best to start the day off on the right foot. After Leon gives Elmo a hug, points out where the light is, and brushes his teeth, he runs to the upstairs living room and grabs a book. We tell him he can’t read his books there but can take a book downstairs, which is often met with either whining or a full-blown tantrum since he won’t be reading his books in that exact spot. This morning I was lucky and he calmed down once I hauled him downstairs and let him shut the baby gate. Sometimes Minh wakes up from the screaming and helps me calm him down.

At night, we read three books before he brushes his teeth and takes his sippy cup of water to his crib. If we hesitate too long after the third book, he picks out another one and throws a tantrum if we don’t read it. He could spend an hour at a time reading (and has, during some of our board game afternoons), so we’re adamant that he only reads three during our bedtime routine.

I don’t want to take the books away. It’s not like a pacifier — he needs to love to read. I also don’t want him to walk all over us. We’re at least consistent, but setting boundaries is harder than I thought it’d be. And it’s only the beginning.