I Am The Greatest Mommy Ever

My toddler has a small patch of carpet burn on his forehead.

Because, look, I tell him not to try to escape diaper changes. I calmly explain that unless he’s ready to potty-train, diaper changes are it for a while. I try to help him understand that it will actually go faster if he cooperates. But he squirmed on the office floor the other day, trying to kick off his skinny jeans, and it’s just impossible to kick off skinny jeans while you’re wearing shoes. So when he made a run for it, his denim shackles brought him down.

Last night, he fell asleep in a button-up shirt and jeans.

Because while I really enjoy our little bedtime routine, he is not as impressed with it as I was led to believe he would be. These past two evenings have not been the first that he passed out before bedtime, and maybe I should have risked rousing him to get a nighttime diaper and some pajamas on him, but I didn’t. I have work to do, and that extra hour is gold.

Yesterday was the first time he ate a measurable about of solid food in a month.

Because for some reason, his “totally normal ten-month food strike” is lasting longer than … normal. Whatever “normal” means. He was doing great. Loved anything and everything I put in front of him for four whole months – even if he did make hilarious faces. Now? It doesn’t matter if it’s mashed, cubed, sliced or whole – he’s generally not interested.

So ya, it’s quite possible that I’m completely failing at this whole Mommy thing.

Our nurse practitioner told me to start brushing his teeth at his nine month check-up, and I’m still not sure if I should be using (all-natural) toothpaste or not. We can’t decide when to stop co-sleeping, and so we keep pushing it back. He started hitting last week, and I’m not sure why or exactly how to deal with it. Nine times out of ten, when he drops a toy on the floor, I give it right back to him, and I’m pretty sure I’ve misplaced his Social Security card.

Please – hold your applause.

Still, I’m convinced I’m the greatest mommy ever because of mornings like this. 

Because on my better mornings I actually get up when the alarm goes off, make coffee, and enjoy a quiet moment with my Bible and a notebook in the front room. And on those mornings, eventually, there’s a stirring back in the bedroom, and some very manly daddy snuggles (I assume, since I’m not there to see them, of course), and some quiet conversation and cooing, and then the pat pat pat of little feet on the kitchen floor that immediately precedes the most beautiful bed-head and glowing smile that the world has ever known.

And that face, those smiles, that excited squeal and point when he finds me on the couch, reminds me that no matter what I laid awake worrying about the night before, he thinks I’m the greatest mommy ever, and that’s enough for me.