So my 30th year started off with a bang. Or more like a thud. This morning Cordy was in her normal Do I Have ADHD or Am I Just A Toddler hyperactive state, climbing on the sofa, standing up, then jumping and kicking her legs out to bounce on the cushions. She’s training for the circus, so she can support her parents in their old age.

But this morning something went wrong. She jumped, but she was too close to the edge of the sofa. Her legs kicked out, and she did bounce on the cushion, but it only served to propel her off the couch. I was sitting right next to her, but it happened so fast I wasn’t able to grab her. She turned in midair and landed hard on her neck and the back of her head, followed by the rest of her body.

I tossed the laptop aside and grabbed her. She started crying immediately, which is always a good sign. She calmed down after only a few minutes, resting her head against my chest. Legs moving? Check. Arms moving? Check. Still awake? Check. Everything seemed OK, so I set her down. She cried again, and her head flopped against me.

For the next half hour, she laid on me, her head on my lap, unwilling to sit up or lift her head. Aaron gave her some ibuprofen before he left – she didn’t even want to hug him goodbye, which is unlike her. If I touched her head, she whimpered. I finally got up and laid her back on the couch, her head on a pillow. She remained there for another half hour. She didn’t want to dance with the Wiggles. She didn’t want to follow me into the bathroom. I started to worry a little.

I spoke with my mom, who of course panicked and said I should take her to the hospital. I try hard to not be one of those “freaking out” moms – after all, she could still move all limbs, and she hadn’t passed out on me. But I agreed to call her pediatrician, who insisted I bring her in right away.

Cordy didn’t appreciate being lifted and put in the car, but she didn’t struggle either. In fact, she was fine until we walked into the exam room at the doctor’s office and then she had a post-traumatic flashback to past doctor’s visits and started crying. (She hates the doctor.)

I gave the nurse a full account of what happened. She asked if the long, thin bruise on Cordy’s forehead was from the fall. I explained that no, it was from yesterday’s fall, when the kid tried to climb the cat tree and fell, hitting her head on the lever to the recliner. (Which she bounced right back from.) Yeah, we’re experienced with head injuries.

The doctor came in, talked with me a few minutes, then checked Cordy. He listened to her lungs, he checked her heart. He looked in her ears, and in her mouth. (Which she fought the entire time.) He lightly brushed his hand over the back of her head. And he said she’s fine.

So, my daughter’s head and neck, which you didn’t even check, is fine. Good to know you have x-ray eyes, doc. Grrr.

I mean, I figured she was fine. But he could have at least felt her neck or the red area behind her ear. What if she had a mild concussion or a subdural hematoma?

I left with a handout on mild head injuries (stuff I already knew) and $20 less than I had an hour before. It was good to get a professional opinion, but I should have saved my money. I knew she was probably fine – she probably didn’t want to lift her head because of the throbbing headache she gave herself. But I may start looking for a new pediatrician.

After we got home, Cordy started to resume her normal activities. While she’s probably trying to act as normal as possible to avoid being taken to the doctor again, it’s good to know she’s getting back to normal now. In fact, she just tried to jump on the couch again. Sigh.

Oh, and thank you all for the birthday wishes! Yesterday was a quiet, rainy day, but it was nice to take the day off work and be with Cordy for my birthday. Aaron got me the cherry blossom necklace I have been coveting from Blend Creations, which totally surprised me.

Also, stay tuned for the winners of the contest! Yes, I said winnerS! You were all so creative that I decided to put a few different ideas together to come up with one fabulous idea – it’ll be coming in the next day, hopefully!

Today, 30 years ago, I was born around 11am. Mom woke up around 6am, her water broke, and I was born 5 hours later. (Wish we could all have labors like that, eh?)

It was a very happy day for her, having had a miscarriage a year and a half before that day, and having given birth just 10.5 months prior to her first daughter who died days later. She knew upon seeing me that I was the child who would make it. Born on the summer solstice, already full of strength and spirit.

(I have to laugh, because I used to think that life ends at 30. I was convinced that life wasn’t worth living anymore once you reached 30. Now, I’m 30, and thinking maybe I was just a little wrong.)

Looking back over the past 30 years, I ask myself what I have learned thus far in my life. I mean, I’m now officially an adult – there’s no denying it. The boisterous childhood is long past, the conflicted teen years are becoming more fuzzy everyday, and now the soul-searching 20’s have gone as well. I am an adult. Surely I have picked up some wisdom to share from my 30 years.

Probably like most people, I’ve survived a lot. Nearly drowning at 6 years old because I thought I had enough air to dive to the bottom of a 10 foot pool, enough teasing and ostracism from other kids for being different that I wanted to kill myself at times, breaking my arm, narrowly escaping being kidnapped by a stranger, being molested by my elderly babysitter’s high school grandson, etc. (Strangely enough, the worst things that have happened to me were mostly before high school.) I’m a big believer in what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

I’ve also had some amazing experiences. College was probably one of the best experiences. It gave me the chance to get out of my small hick-town and really experience everything life has to offer. I joined a sorority, partied with the best of them, and started to find the real me. I stepped out of my comfort zone and spent a summer in England. By the end of that summer I didn’t want to come home. I lost what religion I had while at college and began to explore my spirituality as if through the eyes of a child. I swept all that I was out of me and opened myself up to new experiences.

Would I want to change one experience? Not really. Even the bad ones shaped who I am today by giving me strength. Even my evil high school boyfriend, who broke my heart and left me with a scar on my arm (long story), taught me about taking care of myself in a relationship.

There are many moments where I wish I could change how I reacted, though. I’ve had so many times in life where I hesitated, played it safe, or chose not to do something because I was scared. I let my own fears hold me back from experiences that probably would have been amazing. And there were also many times I did things I didn’t want to do, just to go with the crowd or please someone else.

It’s taken me 30 years to realize that I am a strong person, and always have been. Having Cordelia really helped me to understand this. Before her I only had to worry about myself, which meant I often let my own needs go and got walked on by everyone. But now she’s here, and I am one of her protectors. I am her advocate, and she depends on me. My maternal instinct has kicked in, and in doing so I am aware of just what I’m capable of. I am willing to stand up to others now.

So where am I at currently? 30 is a turning point, at least biologically. No longer is the body’s focus on growth and development. The body at 30 is beginning to shift to maintenance – to fight off the effects of time. Like before, my skin is still sensitive, but now the wrinkles are starting to peek through. My light blonde hair of childhood has changed to a light chestnut brown, and new grey hairs are appearing each day. I’m heavier than I want to be, and that upsets me, but I plan to do something about it.

Mentally, 30 is a turning point. It’s a chance to take stock of how far you’ve come, and to think about where you want to go. I’m now ready at this point in my life to start caring for me. Because if I’m going to be the rock of strength my daughter can turn to in need, I must care for myself so that I can be there for her. Plus, I’m done making decisions out of my own fears. I want to try new things, I want to make myself a priority. I can’t wait to go to Blogher 06, because it’s something I never would have done when I was 20 or 25. I still lack career goals, but I don’t care anymore. Linda Hirshman be damned, I’ve never been happier than I am now. I love being a mom.

I’m totally ready to take on at least another 30 years with that strength. And now my life is going to be lived for me and my family, and not for others who don’t even care about me. I’m especially fond of this song, from the musical Jane Eyre. (Yes, they made a musical of Jane Eyre. It was actually a good musical. Stop laughing.) The song reminds me of me as a child, and me today.

Let the world forsake me
let them do their worst
I will withstand it all
they will not break me.

And finally, one more song. This is the one that has inspired me lately.

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Have a great day everyone. The winner of the contest will be coming late today or tomorrow. You’ve still got until 2pm to get an entry in. (And thanks to those who have submitted entries already! I’ve got some tough choices to make!)

Last night we visited with Aaron’s dad and stepmom, who had just come back from a trip to Israel. On the way to their house, Aaron asked me to stop and get some sodas.

Now, Aaron’s parents live in the inner-city of Columbus. Stop laughing, we really do have an inner-city. It’s certainly no Detroit, but this neighborhood has a high crime rate and you can still see the prostitutes walking the streets at dusk. It’s also still primarily a minority neighborhood, although it is currently undergoing a “revitalization” where people are buying these large Victorian houses and restoring them to their former glory. Aaron’s parents were some of the first to start this, years ago. Aaron would love to eventually move back to that neighborhood, but he’s getting a lot of resistance from me, the small-town girl.

When I stopped at the gas station near their house last night, I was reminded why I’m not ready to move there yet. I grabbed a few sodas and got in line to pay for them. A minute or so later, when there was only one man in front of me, a short, round African-American woman walked up next to me and looked me up and down with a gruff look on her face. Then, she stepped ahead of me in line, muttering something involving the word “white…” I didn’t hear the second word, so I have no idea what she referred to me as, other than white.

I was so shocked I didn’t say anything as she put her Combos on the counter to pay for them. I glanced around and realized I was the only white person in the store. I hadn’t even noticed until this woman made race such an issue. Why did she cut in front of me? Why did she think I was less of a person than her?

Even though I have a racist father (who I wasn’t raised by, thank goodness!), I’ve never thought much about the color of a person’s skin. Sure, I’m white as a ghost, but I certainly don’t think that makes me different somehow, other than needing to be in the sun less than others. Truthfully, I envy those who can stay in the sun longer! What the hell is up with people thinking skin color has anything to do with you as a person? We’re all people, right?

If I’m going to judge anyone, I do it based on what comes out of their mouth, not by what they look like. And I’m certainly not referring to what language or dialect a person speaks, either. I do categorize people based on whether I think they can rub two brain cells together and create a spark. (And I’m talking about a person’s intelligence, not education, which are two different things entirely.) Even then, I still think we all deserve to be treated with respect.

Racism is silly to me. Should I ever think I’m better than someone because of my race, I only need to think back to the history of my people: “Irish need not apply.”

To end this rant, I want to thank the other African-American lady I met yesterday as we were leaving Aaron’s parent’s house. I was still feeling hurt and stunned by the woman at the gas station, when this lady with a large smile walked by, took one look at Cordy and said, “Look at that beautiful baby! You are so blessed!” She stopped and we chatted for a minute about babies and laughed about Cordy’s temper while we put Cordy in the car. And I left thinking, “Maybe someday we can consider moving here.”

And, for those who wanted to see the JC Penney pictures, here are the good ones. Yes, I did send a complaint letter about the horrible service we had with them.

I think I need a weekend to recover from my weekend.

First, let me apologize to all my bloggy friends. The past week or so I’ve been horrible in keeping up with everyone’s blogs. Hopefully things will calm down and you’ll be seeing my smiling face on your comment section soon! (And if not, know I’m still there, reading the blog. I just don’t always have time to comment.)

It was a great few days, but now I’m totally exhausted. On Saturday Aaron had to be in Cincinnati for his final rehearsals for his stage combat class test. So Cordy and I went to the Festival Latino downtown for the morning. An entire festival that would have made some Republicans stammer and shake their fists at all the Spanish being spoken (and every social service booth that was there had materials in Spanish! as well as English). I only wish my Spanish-speaking abilities weren’t so rusty – I was a good student in school, but have forgotten a large amount over the years.

After that, we met up with Aaron in my hometown for dinner with my family to celebrate birthdays. Our family has three birthdays close together: Aaron’s on June 12, my mom’s on June 20, and mine on June 21. We had cake and cookies and opened gifts. The Aunt Dot crazy gift of the day this time was a cheap plastic hand-held fan (including two lone batteries in an already opened pack of 8), that she promptly broke when trying to put the batteries in it for us. My other relatives all pitched in to pay for three months of a YMCA membership for us, which was what I really wanted.

And, of course, as we left, we noticed the now-flat tire on the car. So we took our other car home. Aaron dropped me off again in the morning to get a new tire for the car since he was on his way to Cincinnati again for the actual stage combat test.

So Sunday started with driving a flat to the shop to get new tires. My mom came along with me to keep Cordy entertained. After that, it was an hour and a half drive to Oxford, OH, where we attended a birthday party. The guest of honor just turned 4 years old, and his parents are very good friends of ours – practically like siblings to us.

At the party, they had a pool set up. Last year, we tried to get Cordy into the pool, but she was terrified of the water. This year? Not so much.

Cordy actually allowed other children to dump water on her head! When the first cup of water was poured on her, I grabbed a towel and expected a shrieking toddler to come flying at me. But instead, she spit the water out of her mouth, shook her head, and laughed! I caught this on video, too, and will show her this video every time she throws a fit in the bathtub when it’s time to rinse her hair. No more fooling mama into thinking you’re being tortured with water on your head!

After the party, it was time for (yet another) long drive to Cincinnati. Aaron was finishing up his stage combat test, and we wanted to be there to support him. I dressed Cordy in her Father’s Day shirt:

Aaron loved seeing her in the shirt. And we had a reason to celebrate – he passed all of the weapons he tested for! A big party was held at his teacher’s house, and all the students and friends gathered there. Luckily, his teacher has children, so there were plenty of toys for Cordy to play with while we chatted with friends, grilled out and drank.

I forgot that I no longer have the alcohol tolerance I once had. A glass of wine, a Strongbow hard cider, a small sip of sparkling wine, and a shot of Captain Morgan’s private stock is too much for me now. In the past, it would have been an “appetizer”, but that selection of beverages left me rather tipsy. Apparently I passed all of my Irish blood on to my daughter and left none for myself. Once I was fit for the road again, we packed up Cordy, and I left for Columbus.

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One last call for entries for my contest! I will accept entries up until 2pm Eastern time on June 21. I’m looking for a new tagline, a new logo, or a t-shirt design.

Some entries so far include:

mothergoosemouse – “This ain’t no show on TLC – this is Real Life!”

Sandra – A lovely design that can be found here.

Mrs.Fortune – This woman is on a roll (and oh so pun-ny): “Happily Never After” “Nappy Ever After” “It was the breast of times, it was the worst of times” “A mom, a plan, a canal, baby girl”

Her Bad Mother – She didn’t give me a specific entry, but there is much that could be done with this statement about Cordelia: “if any child has the power to match the imperially ambitious WonderBaby, it is this warrior child.” Amazon warrior princess, anyone?

So please keep the ideas flowing! Yes, I fully admit I’m being lazy and not hiring someone to create a new logo or sitting down and thinking of my own fabulous tagline. But I’m broke, and I know I have a group of brilliant mommy (and a daddy or two) readers, so why not put our heads together, right?

I was raised by a divorced mom, with little involvement from my father. I saw him at major holidays – Christmas, Easter, birthday, etc. – but other than that he chose not to use his option for every other weekend visitation.

So when I was pregnant with Cordy I was a little nervous about how Aaron and I would parent her. I had been raised entirely by women, and I had never had a positive father-figure in my life. I didn’t know what to expect from Aaron, and I actually worried that I might not let him have a hand in the daily care of our child. I had a wonderful role model in my mother, and I was prepared to do anything for my child, just like she did for me.

Luckily, Aaron also had a strong role model in his father. His parents had separated when he was young, and then his mom moved away to Arizona. His father was left with the tremendous task of raising his two boys on his own. Aaron tells lovely tales of the three of them hanging out together, and how he could turn to his dad for anything. So Aaron had some examples of being a good father.

Today, I can say that I wouldn’t be able to do it without Aaron. He is a great daddy to Cordy. Being the early bird, he gets up with Cordy in the morning, they have breakfast together and they share a little daddy-daughter time together. In the evening, he is usually the one putting her to bed, giving her milk before bedtime, and then recounting her day in a soft voice as he carries her up to her crib. It’s a very relaxing routine for her.

When Cordy was born, Aaron was very adamant about being an involved father. Overnight feedings were handled by both of us – he would change her diaper and I would feed her. Of course, that was before we realized we were being stupid by having both of us get up with her instead of taking turns. During the day, he would carry her around in the sling, despite the strange looks from others. Real men wear slings, baby.

Aaron does have a busy schedule, which limits his time with Cordy, but that doesn’t mean he likes to be away from her. When we had to decide which of us was going to quit our full-time job and go to part-time to spend more time with Cordy, I thought we might come to blows over it. But Aaron saw how much I wanted to be home with our daughter, and he made that sacrifice to keep working full time. (In retrospect, he’s admitted that it was probably the best choice, as being with her all day on his own really wears him out. He now understands why I nap when she naps.)

His full time job is not just a sacrifice in time, but also in dreams. Along with his full-time job, which is really just a day job, he’s an actor, director, and stage combat choreographer pursuing a career in theatre. This means there are months where he’s involved with a show and gone from home many evenings and weekends. But even though he could easily be involved with one show or another year round, he takes breaks to make sure he gets time to spend with Cordy and me.

However, Aaron’s theatre career is also held back by his day job. He can’t do as much because he is limited by vacation days and the 8-5 grind. We need his health insurance benefits, though, and he provides them by working in a job that doesn’t interest him all that much. (Although the new job he will hopefully be getting will be more interesting, at least!)

Not only does he sacrifice his time with theatre, work in a day job to provide benefits, and still manages to create heartwarming rituals with our daughter, he also occasionally cooks, does the dishes and other chores. He joins us for outings when he can, and we often will meet for lunch on my days off, just to find a little more time together.

I love seeing Cordy playing with her daddy. She squeals and laughs when he picks her up and tosses her around. She runs away from him giggling when he pretends to be a monster and chases her with a large “Rawwwwrrr!”, only to run right back to him when he stops. And each day when he has to leave for work, he kneels down and holds out his arms, and she runs to him to give him a big hug and say “bye-bye”.

I do consider myself lucky to have Aaron as Cordy’s father and as my husband. Yes, he’s not perfect by any means, but neither am I. And while there are always things I think he could do better, I am amazed by the bond he has with Cordy. She adores her daddy, and he does a lot to make sure that adoration will remain. Well, at least until she’s a teenager.

So, happy Father’s Day dear. I love you.