20 Months with our Ray of Light

The Goose is 20 months old, and in a bleaker time for our country, she's this sharp burst of light for our household. She's the double dose of extravert, the showgirl of her mother and the comedian of her father, the dancer of all beats in the background, and a damn good time. She loves us almost as much as Ms. Rachel and definitely more than Elmo, as she now regularly pushes her sweet Elmo toy over and laughs. When we play in a group, she is the first to make friends, and in a room of toddlers still uncertain of one another, she's the hugger. Nestled inside the adorable smiling face is a bit of a chihuahua. You steal her sh*t and she'll snatch it back. Push her? Oh, snap. I'm not exactly opposed to this, as you may imagine. Raising a little girl with feist is my specialty.

This month we had a family trip with friends to Taos. The Goose got herself some special time with her Auntie Meg and Uncle James. For people who live far from family, these manufactured family units are beautiful. We collected a whole headful of memories of her grasping her tall Uncle James and giggling with Aunt Meggie. She also screamed at them, sure sure, but friendamily folks are the ones who laugh at the insanity of toddlers they love and bask in the light of their more cuddly moments. That dark little thought that lingers in the back of every parent's head doesn't weigh so heavy for us. If anything were to happen to Tim and me, she has a community who would raise her to be a brave, empathetic, and wonderful human.

Now that we've highlighted everything all rainbows and sunshine, there's some real bullsh*t going on in 19-month-old parentland, folks. I am very late to posting, but it's this compilation of world-crashing events that sent me into delay. You see, I've barely slept. (I mean, have you?)

The first reason I'm delayed is a sleep regression, nay THE sleep regression. Let's discuss the 18-month (or 19-20 month for us) sleep regression.

One day, we transitioned to 11-13 hours of sleep every night. We even have to wake this kid up at 9am because she'd sleep in. It is a state of living I'd never experienced (pre-baby life? never heard of it). There she is, 18/19/20ish months, and I am drinking, nay chugging, a rich elixir of rest and time for myself. Dude, I read a book. It's soft and heavenly, and I think "what an adorable little life I have and man, I love my family so, so much." I schedule photos of the three of us. We have dinner out with friends and even say yes to trips with her. My husband is cool and just lovely. Funniest guy in the room.

Then, one night, this little angel baby wakes from her slumber in a fit. Oh no! I think. And she is just not to be consoled. And then when she is consoled, she thanks me for my soothing powers and requests a middle-of-the-night dance party with blocks and snacks. I think "sure I've partied at 2am, but I don't care for this party at 2am." She throws a book at me. She laughs. She's insane. I assume my darling child, my little one, must be off.

Nay. She is not off. In fact, the universe has swooped into my blissful little life, pointed its fat middle finger, and pressed an on button. Electrodes fly through her brain and the concept of separation pierces her wee, little heart, causing a siren to blare every hour or two. MOMMY AND DADDY AREN'T HERE DEAR GOD WE MUST SCREAM.

And just as I've nestled into a life of blissful sleep, I sink back into the pit of sleep deprivation and (lovingly) accusing my partner of being a huge asshole for snoring in the precious segments of time for sleep. Our house reverts back to a disaster and the laundry, when it is done, piles onto a couch to be folded—never—because this is now our closet. When I do sleep, it's in bits and pieces, so it's super convenient. I can just grab sweatpants and a hoodie on the fly from the couch pile. I wear my husband's clothes a little more often. UGH.

This has been my life until about six days ago. I'm shaking as I write that and banging against my wood desk, hoping the universe and its middle finger stay far away. Because for the past six days she's slept for 11 hours. Like nothing happened. The actual F, my guy?

The second reason I'm delayed in my post, and the second reason I struggle to sleep, is something so many of us are wrestling with: Do I parent like I'm happy or parent like I'm mad? Because in the big scheme of this world, I'm mad. I was ready to hit publish on the 12th, but that day a mother's murder was all over national TV. I was ready again a few days later. And again. How can I be a happy parent? The answer, I think, is that I can do it without disconnecting. You can be happy and aware, happy and talking. Post information and speak to those who may only access one source. Correct wrong information with credible sources. I hope that the Goose sees a sense of confidence and happiness in supporting people, upholding the constitution, and caring for those different than us.

We take things day by day and cherish each second, especially when the world feels uncertain. We love this little girl so very much and we savor this age. I know I'm lucky. And I will do everything in my little power to give her and her generation a big, wonderful, lucky life.

If you'd like to donate to an organization to help those in Minneapolis, my friends and mom groupies all recommend Hope-community.org. They strengthen communities by strengthening schools, understand asset management, build better infrastructure for the disabled, and create safe neighborhoods in Minneapolis.

And to the many, many Minneapolis daycare and school teachers who have needed safe rides to work, thank you for loving the community's children. Thank you for adding another risk to your life for the sake of showing up for them. I'm proud to be associated with the parents who are giving you safe rides. Please know that you deserve so much more.