Who Me? Yes... I am.

Theta Mom {I mentioned her a few days ago, and in case you didn't run over to her page to see what she's all about (you can still do that here), "THETA Mom" stands for The True Authentic Mom which is not exclusive to her. Really, you should go see for yourself!} tagged me this week in an interesting 'meme'.

List 5 experiences that make you a THETA mom.

1. When Bucket was a baby, he had horrible horrible gas. He would scream in pain for hours at night, there seemed to be nothing we could do to help him out. Then one night, we were at a friend's house and he was having troubles, and she started pushing his legs into his tummy to "push 'em out", and within minutes he was calm again. So, for the next 4 months, whenever Bucket would scream at 3 am, I would lay him on my bed, push his little chubby legs into his tummy and giggle at each little toot (and big toot!) that would push out. So many times this 'exercise' would wake Rockstar up and he would just laugh and laugh. The only thing that would cause Rockstar humor about being woken up at 3 am... farts of course. Yes, I'm a Theta Mom b/c I helped push my own kid's farts out. That's me. *aside-Gripe water also worked WONDERS for us... if that helps any of you!*

2. One Sunday, waaaaay back when Ironman was a baby, we were walking around the mall killing time before a lunch appointment and I was snuggling Ironman, and then, like any mom of a child who spits up constantly, I held him above my head and stared lovingly up at him, and then... he vomited in my hair. I couldn't handle the thought of it, so we had to go back home and I had to wash my hair before we met our lunch date. I have also caught the stuff in my mouth before *gag* but I actually totally blocked that instance out, and I have no recollection of the details. Thank goodness for that!

3. Earlier this year we went through some really difficult stuff w/ Ironman. I'm not going to go into detail, but suffice it to say, it took months of play therapy for us to gain control over the circumstances. Months of me having panic attacks, falling back into many unhealthy nervous habits (that I have yet to break. What do we need finger nails for anyway?), constantly questioning my son, suddenly hyper aware of things that never phased me before. I suddenly found out that, though I constantly find myself in "Kathleen Kelly's" shoes from "You've Got Mail", where she can never quite say what she wants to when confronted with a "b-o-t-t-o-m-d-w-e-l-l-e-r", when it comes to my kids, I can become a roaring lion (a post worth reading). Yup, pretty sure this whole scenario makes me a Theta Mom. I wish it on no one though. NO ONE. To this day I am still very uneasy in certain situations, and there are certain place we just won't go b/c I can't keep a close enough eye on what is going on around us.

4. Theta Mom at her *best*: Flying home from Canada alone w/ just Ironman when he was about 2 years old. We had to be at the airport at 4 am to fly out at 6am. Don't they know how ridiculous it is to schedule flights that early? Seriously. Add to that the fact that the trip *should* only take 5 hours, but "they" feel the need to show you two entire countries on your way back home, so the whole trip takes about 15 hours from start to finish. I gave Ironman some gravol (dramamean) to help him sleep. But wouldn't ya know? He was wired until the last 30 minutes of that flight. This particular trip had been the one I had taken w/ Ironman to go help my divorcing parents get their house in shape to sell. I spent most of the trip painting the entire house and trying to compartmentalize the facts that a.) my parents were divorcing and b.) this was no longer my home. So, I was already a basket case, plus sleep deprivation and a beautiful baby boy who just wouldn't stop, the plane ride was far from enjoyable, especially when in a few moments of blissful airplane sleep, Ironman started kicking the seat in front of him and the woman in that seat *very rudely* turned around and yelled at me about it. I bawled, and I mean, sobbed for the rest of that flight, until Ironman finally fell asleep, and so did I. After that trip, I vowed never ever ever to fly alone with my children again. Ever. Much to my mama's disappointment (Rockstars schedule doesn't allow for long vacations and she always wants me and the kids to be able to stay longer).

5. Every day, I wake up upon the sounds of Bucket's cries, drag myself out of bed, and find a way to function, with or without coffee, find a way to feed my children, with or without bananas, cereal and milk (the day we run out of banana's {Saturday} is a really hard day.). I change diapers, clean up spills, get head-butt related migraines, get bit, get irritated, get snuggled with, I change (sometimes daily) soiled bed sheets, I get creative with the leftover ingredients in the fridge to come up with a verynot-so exciting lunch, I nearly die daily from stepping on random 'transformer guys' or hotwheels cars, tripping on whatever my kids have tired of playing with... and I sit at the end of the night with a glass of wine in my hands and remember the good ol' days before kids, even before marriage, when my bed was my own and my time was my own, my snacks were my own, my money was my own, and while there are days when I would love to back to that single bedroom basement apartment, I know that even with all the screaming and shouting and biting and hitting (between children*ahem*), with all the bills that loom and all the money that isn't around to pay them... I wouldn't change a thing. I wouldn't do anything differently (Oh, except maybe not let my birth control run out that one time.)