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In the movie Lost in Translation there is a scene in which Bill Murray's character explains that, upon having your first child, "your life as you know it is gone...never to return." The movie has been one of my favorites for years. I just wish that I had known he meant my life.

In early 2010, I gave birth to the world's most perfect child. (Is there a parent who doesn't think his/her child is the world's most perfect?) In addition to being beautiful, he is brilliant and sweet and funny and hands-down the best thing that will ever happen to me. This kid is my entire world. I had somehow suspected through most of my life that he would be, which is why I fought very hard to have him. But about the post-childbirth apocalypse, I had absolutely no clue.

To say things have changed would be misleading. EVERYTHING has changed. Most of it has been good--some not so great--but everything is without a doubt different. And now the world changes once again. My little family and I find ourselves journeying from the big city to beautiful, calm Montana. Will the change be for the better? As with anything, the answer is sometimes "yes," sometimes "no," and always sought with massive quantities of hope. Come with me as I navigate the roads from fast-paced, big-city lawyer to Montana Momhood. Is there a line that can be walked? We'll see. But I can guarantee, at a minimum, it will be an adventurous road trip....

Monday, July 18, 2011

Too Soon?

Reprinted from
http://www.elisemyers.wordpress.com/
And I am sorry if this photo
offends you.  It makes me
feel better about my parenting.
As you are likely aware, I am a huge sports fan.  There are very few sports that I have come across that I don't like, love, or at least tolerate enough to have on TV during the day (perhaps curling...).  For example, this weekend I was in heaven watching the British Open golf, the World Cup soccer ("football" to some of you), and, well, watching the Cubs suck.  Pretty standard, really.  All I needed was some football (sorry, "American football") and I would have been set.  It was great.

I spent many hours when I was pregnant worrying that my son would not like sports.  It wasn't that I was worried that he wouldn't want to play--I will absolutely pretend to support him if that is his decision.  But I was afraid that he wouldn't tolerate them.  And, as they are almost always on in my house, that could be a huge problem.  I still worry about it.  But now I'm also starting to worry another way....

I am starting to become afraid because of my kid's obsession with sports.  He says a few choice words these days, but the biggies are:  "hi," "up," "ball" and "go, Cubs, go."  No, really.  And "ball" means any and every round, possibly bouncy object AND basketball hoops.  When we go for a walk, it's all I hear, because there are so many hoops in my neighborhood.  He got so excited this morning at finding a new hoop in the hood, I thought I was going to have to tackle him.  At which point he probably would have bounced up and yelled "touchdown." 

The other night, we were reading his formerly favorite book, "Boy of Mine."  It's about how awesome he is and how much I love him.  But he literally smacked it out of my hand and made me pick up a book his aunt Kate gave him called "Chicago Cubs, 101."  Thanks Kate.  It teaches the history of the Cubs, as well as the basics (bat, ball, Ron Santo, etc).  He made me read it over and over and over again.  And by the fourth time, I sort of started to freak out.  Really?  You don't want to read "Goodnight Moon"?  Should we watch The Wiggles?  How about a nice game of peek-a-boo?  Nope.  The kid wants to read sports books.

Don't get me wrong--I love this.  I will tell anyone and everyone around that he is a sports nut with a pride that really should be reserved for actual accomplishments.  I'm thinking of having him sing the Bears fight song into a recording, so that we can be rich and famous.  BUT...isn't it a bit...much?  The kid is one.  I don't want him to burn out.  He'll be hating all things "ball" by the time he's in preschool. 

So what do you think, public?  Do I have a budding first baseman, or a kid who will never talk to his mother again because he hates all things sports by the age of 5?  And am I Mother of the Year (though I have no control over his likes) or is child services coming for me soon?  Don't answer that last one.
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