This weekend.

One of JR’s best friends from high school has a bayhouse just outside of Kemah.  And, well, Ike’s a bitch.  THe structure is ok, but they had to tear out a lot of insulation and clean the HUGE rocks (from the embarkment) from the pool and yard, and remove all the carpet and knock holes in the walls so everything can dry out.  A large tree took the circuit box off the house, so they had to re-wire that.  This is a house that Carter (JR’s friend) and his brothers and dad fixed up from almost nothing.  To make matters a little more complicated, Carter’s parents are living in Rome for a few years and they sold their house.  So this is the one they live in when they come home.

JR’s been itching to get down there to help for three weeks.  But, we just couldn’t afford the gas.  This weekend, one of the brothers who lives in Austin is going down.  So, JR caught a ride with him last night.  They’ll be back Sunday.

Here’s the problem.  I haven’t spent a whole weekend alone with Claire since….last October? Maybe?  When we first moved back to Austin, last July, JR was gone a lot for work.  But, she was only a few months old and a lot less…movey.  She’s more demanding of my time and attention and I can’t even PEE without her walking in and trying to play in the toilet.  So, I did what any adult would do.

I called my mom and begged her to come stay with me tonight.

I know, I’m a mother now (which is weird, see below) and I should be able to entertain a 16 month old by myself.  But, I figure this is a perfect time for Grandmom to spend some good, quality time with Claire, while I spend some good quality time with some wine.

Kidding.  Kind of.

I had a conversation with someone I worked with this week about the difference between having a daughter and being a mother.  There is a difference.  I have no problem saying that I have a kid.  She’s adorable, and I love her to pieces.  I have a daughter and she’s 16 months old and she’s teething, and she loves to snuggle right before she goes to sleep, and dances a lot.

But, this phrase, “I’m a mother” gives me pause.  I’m not sure why.  I mean, you can’t really have a kid and NOT be a mother (You can be a BAD mother, but you’re still one).  Maybe I have a stigma attached to the word “Mother.”  Maybe I feel like mothers should act differently, BE different, than I am.  I don’t know what it is.  I can’t put my finger on what exactly makes that word catch in my throat.

I’m somebody’s mother.



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