Heartbreaker Hair

I’ve written a few times about learning how to do Buggy’s hair, and I have to say I am proud of how well I’ve been doing recently.  I try new styles about once a week and even if they’re not 100% successful (aka fuzzy by morning) it’s fun.  For the most part Buggy is patient with me.  I set her up with her i pad or put on Daniel Tiger and let her hold the baggie of elastics and hand them to me when I need them.  But sometimes, she’s not so patient.  Sometimes, she struggles with sitting still and  gets mad if there’s tangles in her hair.

Last night for the first time though, she said she hated her hair.  I was heartbroken.  I love her curls.  I love that her hair is so soft, and that it gets fuzzy when it’s humid out.  I think she looks adorable even when her hair is a hot mess and it made me sad to hear her say she hates her hair.  To make it worse, she started combing her hand through my hair and said “I like your hair mommy”.  I just hugged her close and said “And I love your hair.  We both have nice hair, baby”  We spent the next few minutes snuggled up on the couch with her small fingers wrapping their way through my hair and mine through hers.

When I went to tuck her in to bed she told me again that she likes my hair, and I said again that we both have beautiful hair.  I hope that she learns to love her hair like I do.  It is beautiful, and although I am sure it probably hurts when I try to comb the tangles out of it, it looks so cute when it’s all done up



I spy…

Buggy’s newest favorite game is I Spy and it usually goes something like this: Buggy: “I spy something green… A TREE!  Mom’s turn”  Me: “I spy something blue (spying a blue plate)”  Buggy: “THE SKY!  I spy something… something … WHITE!  It’s the clouds Mom!  I said WHITE!”

I don’t think she really gets that to play I spy you need to guess what the other person sees not just name something that is the color they said.  She also doesn’t get that you’re not supposed to SHOUT what you spy without letting the other person guess, but hey, for a 2 year old she’s doing great with her colors!

The other day, however, our daily game of I spy turned into her first acknowledgment of her skin color.  She said “I spy something brown… my person!  Mom!  I said MY PERSON!”  I was kind of shocked because she normally names really common objects like trees, grass, and anyone’s shirt color that she can see.  She’s never called herself brown, or talked about anyone’s skin color before so I just kind of sat there.  I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to reply or what.  But about 3 seconds later I heard “MOM!  Moooommmm!”  from the backseat.  “I said your turn” So I took my turn and continued playing I spy with my beautiful brown Buggy.

I’m still waiting until the day she recognizes and asks about the different skin tones in our family.  From her daddy’s dark brown to her medium brown, the baby’s light brown and my white skin we really are all different colors.  I love that we are so different yet there is so much of my husband and I in each kid, and I hope that she loves her beautiful brown person as much as I do!

Three Times the Hurt

I recently went to a social event with one of my co-workers.  We both have little boys, and thought it might be fun to take them out for a little playdate while we enjoyed free food and beer.  I brought Froggy, who at the time was 13 months, and her four month old son came along as well.

While at the event we were sitting around talking with other people, playing with our babies, and generally having a good time.  I was wearing Froggy on my back in our Tula carrier, and her son was in his stroller.  An older gentleman came over to talk with us, and asked if the boys were twins.  We both quickly said no, and I said my son was a little over a year and hers is only 4 months.  It was awkward, because he clearly thought both boys were my friends kids.   She and her son have a similar golden brown skin tone to Froggy’s, so to some extent I could see how one might think they were related, but at the same time I was literally wearing my baby, and had been interacting with him all afternoon long.  To me, it was clear he is my kid.  But I guess this man just saw his skin color and thought the three of them were related and I was just a random friend baby-wearing someone else’s kid.

Anyway, about 20 minutes later a woman came over and sat next to us.  At first she kept to herself but after a few minutes she asked to hold my friend’s son.  My friend agreed, and the lady cooed and smiled at the baby.  It was very cute and my friend was able to eat without tiny hands grabbing her food.  Meanwhile, my son was walking from chair to chair and eventually walked over to the lady.  She said “Oh, your big brother is coming to visit”  My friend rolled her eyes (to me, the lady couldn’t see her) and then politely said “That is actually her son” gesturing to me.  I just sat there.  What could I say?  I mean, it was the second time in one day someone clearly thought that my baby was my friend’s baby.

We needed a drink after that, so we went to get our free beer (Hello, pumpkin spice porter!!) and some other people started talking with us.  We exchanged pleasantries and then they turned to my friend and said “What’s the age difference between them?”  (gesturing towards the kids) She said “I don’t know.  My son is 4 months and hers is like a year…?”  One of the men apologized and said “Oh, sorry.  I thought they were both yours”  We both said no worries and went back to our table with our beers.

That third time of having someone mistake my son as my friend’s child really got to me.  I know none of those people were intentionally trying to hurt me, but they did.  It hurt me because I want so badly  for people to tell me my kids look like me, have my hair, my nose, or my smile.  And I know that will never happen.  I accepted that my children probably wouldn’t look like me before my husband and I even got married, and I do not for one moment wish that they look like anyone else, but it is hard feeling like the odd parent out.  I am working on having thicker skin when it comes to comments about my children because I know this is just the beginning, but it’s hard.  If I’m honest, it’s a lot harder then I realized it would be, and I know I’m going to have to be stronger as my kids get older.