My Daughter Calls Me NayNay, and Other Adjusted Expectations

I had certain expectations about being a mom. I expected my children to say please and thank you. I expected to lose some sleep and gain some weight. I expected milestones: first steps, preschool, driver's license, "the talk," college.  I've had to adjust my expectations. We tell RJ he has to learn to deal with change; to "roll with it." I'm learning to roll with it too.

I expected that GiGi would call me Mommy, or mama, or mom.  But, she calls me NayNay. I was the mom who swore I'd never nurse a baby.  Or that I'd only nurse my babies while we were in the hospital. Or while I was on maternity leave. Or until they turned a year old. RJ got a reprieve at a year--he chipped a tooth and cried. So, he had num-num (each of my babies has a special name for me; makes me feel special). And suddenly he was 22 months old, and I was "that" mom. GiGi is 14 months old. And while she calls me mama every once in a while, most days she grins that gap-toothed smile at me and says, "NayNay?" And, I'm reminded that it's time to adjust my expectations.

I expected that I (my husband) would have to have "the talk" with RJ someday, probably sooner than we'd (he'd) like to. You know, THE talk. The "don't put your peep in weird places" talk. I did not expect to have to tell my four year old, "RJ! Don't put your peep in weird places!" But I did. Because he tried to put it through the windows in a Hot Wheels car. I've adjusted my expectations. But I'm still making my husband have "the talk" with him when it doesn't involve Hot Wheels.

I expected that I would go to work every morning, leave my babies, and love every minute of being a powerful woman in an office with a view. Yesterday, I left my babies, was grateful for sweet caregivers at school, and loved every moment of being in my office with a view. Except I was the girl whose refrigerator had gone dreadfully, woefully, spectacularly wrong. My assistant greeted me with her southern, "I had to spray your office with Lysol. Something went wrong in there." Indeed. A salad. An old one. After the power had been out in the building. I tripled bagged and walked my trash all the way outside. I adjusted my expectations, shortened my day,  and sprayed a lot of Febreeze.

I didn't expect to like trimming fingernails and bangs. To actually enjoy taking care of little sticky babies. But, we have mani/pedi/haircut night. RJ and I bond.  He calls me Mommy (except when he's really mad, and then he calls me Pooty and gets to go to timeout). And someday, GiGi will call me Mommy again. But until then, she calls me NayNay, and I'll keep adjusting my expectations.