Livi Rabbit, Explorer

I don't know if I told you, but I'm pretty good at this whole mom thing.

Months and months and never-ending months of colic, acid reflux and food allergies have given way to a sweet, feisty little girl that celebrated her nine month birthday this weekend with a special father/daughter adventure. Dad and babe ate lunch alone, in a booth, at an actual restaurant while mom got her hair done for a fancy event we attended last night. No one died, no cops were involved, there were no fire trucks, no meltdowns.

From daughter.

Or dad.

No, I opened the door to find my two love bugs merrily playing on the floor as dad looked up, "Little, she LOVES tortilla soup."

"What?!"

"I gave her some at the restaurant and she just kept saying 'mmmmm' and opening her mouth for more. She LOVES it!"

I know somewhere there is a mother that is going to either comment on all the ingredients in the tortilla soup that could kill my daughter, maim her, result in a tumor or hit up her mama's Facebook networking site to kvetch about how there is this mom in Vegas who lets her nine month old eat tortilla soup and didn't on the spot demand that the father be given a list of approved, organic and non-toxic substances his child may ingest. Or file for divorce with an immediate request for termination of paternal parental rights.

I just shook my head and smiled.

Again, no hospital bill, no freak outs, no bleeding?

Success.

I've been advised that I'm a "laid back" mom. The moms that are not so laid back are stressed out by me and my darling spawn. I see them fidgeting, their grabby hands flying out to protect their precious children at Gymboree when mine wants to hold hands, simply curious about other baby's fingers and how they look against her own. I hear them suck the breath back into their mouths when I let Livi cruise the furniture and fall on something that is not metal, travertine or a pit of crocodiles.

"Ohmygod, that was her head!"

"She's fine. She's learning to fall down safely so she can build confidence to walk."

They wrap their arms around their babies and slowly drift into a corner, away from the mom who picked her germ-infested darling up from school in stilettos. I am slightly certain they think that if I don't get it together soon my daughter will begin prying their children's eyeballs from their sockets to teeth upon.

Don't get me wrong. There are things I stress about furiously. I have checked, re-checked and obsessively checked once again every socket in our house to make sure it is covered and not-so-finger-friendly. I feel my chest get a little tight when Livi starts to pull herself up to stand on tile, realizing that she has to learn that falling down on this surface will hurt a little more than the carpet and that sucking in my breath and protecting her from a spill will just make her fearful. Oh, and I almost had a full-blown panic attack because a piece of plastic broke off my Kerastase hair spray and I can't find it. The house is on full crawl lockdown and Livi is not allowed to play on the floor while I get ready until I find that damn piece of plastic that could be her undoing.

I don't tell you that I picture the girl from the 90's movie Jawbreaker whenever she sticks something in her mouth. You know. When Rose McGowan opens her trunk to find her BFF dead with a jawbreaker caught in her windpipe? Yep, that's a mom-friendly image.

But, here is the other thing I don't tell you:

One of my favorite things about Livi is how curious she is and how she loves to explore, learn and touch. She wants to know everything, experience everything and I adore it. I don't want her to be scared like I was because my mother was convinced that if daddy took me scuba diving I would most certainly run out of air and drown. That every trip to the beach would result in a stingray debacle or a shark bite. That standing too near a lake would absolutely end in my drowning and dismemberment by an alligator or the razor sharp bite of a water moccasin. That all of the worries would make me cry fearful tears as an adult when trying to rock climb. That I would have a panic attack each time I was in water and that road biking would leave me clip clip clipping back to my house with my clippy shoes because I had fallen on a busy road and refused to get back on my bike.

That I would be a big ball of messy jangled nerves whenever I wasn't sitting on a couch.

That when I opened my door this morning after sleeping in and found Livi climbing the stairs with her daddy a few steps behind her I'd smile a big smile because she showed not an ounce of trepidation.

"What's all over her pj's?"

"Little, she LOVES ice cream sandwiches!"

Of course she does.