Mommy Must Have- Practical Magic

Ever since Evelyn really became interested in toys, I've become increasingly convinced that less is more.

The toy shelves at Target are stocked with countless rows of contraptions sporting lights, screens, sounds and hardware rivaling my cell phone. Don't get me wrong- she loves those too, but they can be a little difficult to transport, operate and wash.

Cue our favorite toy ever: Fisher-Price Stack and Roll Cups.

Last year when I was going stark-raving mad on my baby registry, this simple toy caught my eye. (Probably because I'm a sucker for anything and everything arranged in rainbow order.) They have since proven to be worth their weight in gold.

Evie never seems to get sick of playing with these. She can often be found carefully selecting two cups to bang together, and we recently started playing "hide the binky" underneath a cup and letting her find it. They also came with a yellow, rattly ball, as you can see in the picture. We lost it a long time ago, but I have a feeling that if I looked hard enough under my bed, I would see that little smiley face staring back at me.

On the practical side of the spectrum, these toys are easy throw in the diaper bag to take with us. We've even broken out a few at a restaurant dinner table before. Maybe it's the bright colors or the multitude of sizes, but my daughter loves these rainbow plastic cups.

Much to my delight, I've been able to run them through the dishwasher whenever necessary, which is usually about once a week since they see so much use. They haven't lost any color, cracked or melted. All in all, I give them a very positive rating.

A Separate Peace

From Day 1, Evelyn and I have been a team.

Not long after I discovered my pregnancy back in late 2010, "I" became "we." WE want Apple Jacks for dinner. WE are too tired to walk that far. WE are about to pee in our pants. You get the idea.

Since she was born, Evie and I have been nearly inseparable. Unless I am at work, on my way to work or coming from work, she's right there with me. Part of that just comes with being a single mom. I get things like laundry and dishes accomplished while Evie is sleeping or feeding herself a bottle, and my arms have become surprisingly buff from carrying her around so much.

I can recall in great detail the episodes of separation we've had throughout her lifetime. About a week after she left the womb, my mom scooped Evie out of my arms and told me to go somewhere- anywhere- by myself for a little while. Her father dragged me to the workout room at mom's apartment complex and I walked very slowly on the treadmill for 20 minutes before power walking back to my baby.

Five months later... New Year's Eve, 2011: Evelyn's first night away from Mommy. Since I had to work late anyway, Evie stayed overnight with her father. From 5-11:30, I was chin-deep in serving people a constant flow of martinis. The closer it got to midnight, however, the closer I got to a breakdown. I missed Evie terribly, but a couple gin and tonics dulled the pain while I watched the ball drop from a nearly-vacant bar at a nearby pizza place.

All of this said, now that Evie is almost 8 months old, it stands to reason that she suffers bouts of separation anxiety. More and more often, she has begun fussing because she wants Mommy to hold her.

I understand that this may sound a bit like I'm stroking my own ego, but as much as it thrills me to know that my daughter finds great comfort in my presence, I also want her to be happy independently. I think a lot of moms have that vision of dropping their children off for that first day of daycare or preschool- the one where their chubby, Oshkosh-clad toddler clings to their leg with every last shred of fortitude while tears of misery drip from big, glossy eyes staring up at them in desperation.

Though this scenario may play out in our minds, the truth is that we all hope our children will find the balance between independence and reliance, an unspoken love for their mothers that makes us indispensable above all others.

All of these musings beg the question: how do I squelch my baby's separation anxiety while still maintaining the close and essential bond we share? Is it possible to walk that tightrope at such a young age?

For now, I'm trying to let Evie play on her own more often while I'm not in a mad rush to get a bunch of things done. She sits and fiddles with toys in her playpen while I sip coffee and read in the next room. I've found that if I only force solitude on her while I'm busy, she senses that I'm only putting her down because I have to.

Though I'm picking up on more frequent comments that my baby may be a little too attached to me, I wouldn't trade what we share for anything. I've watched the last seven months go by in the blink of an eye, so yes, I'm going to hold my baby as much as I can and let her snooze in my lap while I blog.

My Little Valentine

Not wanting to miss a moment of her first Valentine's Day, my little girl woke up at exactly 4:56 this morning. After cursing under my breath at not wanting to get out of bed, I scooped Evelyn out of her crib and we played and snuggled for three hours until she went back to sleep.

I only lost my cool once when she made a game of pinching the backs of my arms.

I've enjoyed many fleeting moments today during which I find myself undeniably happy at the face of my valentine this year. Sometimes, while I'm at work, I see a couple holding hands at the dinner table and staring contentedly into one another's eyes while they wait on their entrees. I can't help but envy them for a brief minute.

But if there's one thing that both my life and my job have taught me, it's how to appreciate reality for what it is. When I tear my eyes away from those (few and far between) happy couples, I often wonder how much of their movie-quality affection is merely a manifestation of their need to feel like a night out together must be special. Am I sounding cynical yet?

I remember very well my favorite couple to wait on. They were easily in their 70s, but wily as ever. When the woman expressed difficulty in speaking to me due to a bout with laryngitis, I took her dinner order and suggested a cup of soup to make her feel better. "No thanks, but I will take a Maker's on the rocks, please."

Without her noticing, the gentleman across from her smiled at her and ordered a Woodford Reserve for himself. For almost two hours, they sipped bourbon and took nibbles of food off the other's plate. Seeing their level of comfort with one another as if they knew no other way to live made me enjoy being their server, and not just because they left a generous tip.

I feel that comfort with my daughter. And that's why she's my valentine. Memories from before she arrived are now hazy and incomplete. The times when I find myself frustrated by her are quickly eclipsed when she coos or brushes my face with her tiny cherub hand.

This very moment, Evie is deeply immersed in baby dreamland while she sleeps in my lap. My valentine gift to her was a tiny pot of Forget-Me-Nots that I'm hoping to grow in the window. I don't have to ask her to "Be Mine." She already is, and I am hers.

Back in the Saddle

In the last two months, I have mentally noted, "Today, I will blog" so many times that if I added up the time spent making that promise to myself, I could have written at least three posts. So after a two-month break/hiatus/manifestation of my procrastination, I'm happy to say that I'm back to blogging with more fervency than ever. As you may have noticed, I revamped the template this morning, (still not happy with it). I'm going to have to get my tech-savvy 12-year-old brother to help me get the background I really want...

I'm finding it rather disgraceful that my daughter is roughly 40% older than the last time I wrote. Now that my guilt is laid bare, I'm happy to report that she is amazing me more and more every day. She can now:

• Eat baby food! (I have lots to say about that.)
• Pull herself up from a sitting position.
• Not quite crawl, but rather scoot backwards and rotate herself.
• Sit on her own.
• Babble emphatically, much the same as I do.

As I type, Evelyn is perched on my lap watching my fingers swiftly peck the keyboard. Every 30 seconds or so, she throws her pacifier on the floor only to stare up at me with a look that says, "You gonna get that?" If I decline her unspoken request, she resorts to tugging at my shirt sleeve and stuffing as much of it as possible into her tiny trap.

Such is my life as a mother to a 7-month-old.

Back in December, I wrote a post about what happens to your hair post-pregnancy. (If you don't remember, it falls out!) You may find it entertaining to know that where I underwent a massive shedding episode last year, my hair has begun to regrow. Now I find myself with about 85% shoulder-length locks and 15% mousy-brown, inch-long peach fuzz that resembles Evie's hairstyle a little too much.

Though we're already halfway through February, I would like to make a new year's resolution here and now to get back to basics with this blog, aka actually writing on it. I started this collection of thoughts and experiences so that down the road, I would have a detailed account of my daughter's early life to share with her.

I'm not about to give up on that.