The Motherhood Index: 0-13

Parenthood in numbers & reasons to celebrate.

In celebration of my 20th newsletter (clocking in at somewhere around 50,000 words!) and the 13th birthday of my favorite person on the planet, I’ve written a Harper’s Index-inspired post.

But first:

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Without further ado…

MOTHERHOOD INDEX: Years 0-13

Number of times I Googled “How do I know if I’m in labor?”: 1

Percentage of search results that answered that question: 0

Number of my internal organs planted under trees in yards that now belong to a stranger: 1

Estimated number of hours spent trying to fix at-home haircuts gone awry: 11

Times those haircuts were captured in perpetuity for an official school photo: 2

Average daily visits to parks during the years of 2011 - 2016: 2

Times parents at the park yelled “Whose child is this!?!” and it was my child: 12

Times Cleo wandered back with an ice cream, popsicle, candy, or a baked good gifted to her by a stranger: 18

Number of cat funerals: 4. Actual cat bodies buried in the yard: 2

Likelihood that a newly discovered mystery rash was classifiable by an internet search: 0%

Times a pacifier was chucked out of a crib by a wildly flailing baby arm : 655

Times a pacifier was retrieved by army crawling silently across a floor, hooking it with a wire device Andy invented, and gingerly placing said pacifier back in the crib so as not to wake the slumbering baby: 655

Percentage of time the phrase” Please put your Ipad away” resulted in an Ipad being put away: 3%

Percentage of time the screamed threat “I’m going to throw your iPad out the window” resulted in an iPad being thrown out the window: 0%

Amount of money spent on new shoes that were immediately too small: $1,000,000

Times it took for me to realize that sticking your fingers in the back of a diaper like a “dip stick” to check if someone took a shit is a misguided course of action: 23

Times I tasted baby shit by accident: 2

Percentage of the time that I ugly cried during elementary school music, theater, and dance performances: 65%

Times I dropped the baby on her head: 2

Times the newly walking toddler hit her head so hard on concrete it sounded like a “watermelon dropped from a second-floor window”: 1

Times I said “I only want my child to play with wooden toys and natural objects”: 13

Hours spent picking up, sorting, and putting away small plastic toys: 8,098

Estimated number of hours spent visiting, admiring, feeding, and talking to chickens, goats, and llamas: 145

Number of packages of M&M’s and Nerds (I know) purchased to bribe Cleo into hiking between the ages of 5 and 11: 42

Average number of gelatos (gelati) purchased daily as a universal form of bribery while living in Italy: 2

Age at which I first introduced Cleo to Ice Cube’s “It Was a Good Day”: 4

Age that she learned all the lyrics and I realized I’d made a VERY big mistake: 5

Times an unidentifiable blue and sticky, and/or red and sticky substance ruined an important piece of paperwork that needed to be signed and returned to school immediately: 16

Average daily number of times we played two square on N. Curtis Street during the months of March, April, May, and June 2020: 8

Times we almost got hit by lightning: 2

Hours I spent actively monitoring sightings of a bear on the loose near her preschool: 6

Percentage of time making up endless iterations of a story about a magical unicorn that rode to school on a rainbow, pooped glitter, and sang such beautiful songs that all the other unicorns couldn’t help but love her resulted in an easy transition to bedtime: 78%

Number of times a viewing of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” video completely obliterated any viable pathways towards a peaceful bedtime routine: 1

Minimum number of pieces of requisitioned Halloween candy surreptitiously consumed under cover of darkness so that I wouldn’t get caught by a 6-year-old: 27

Hours spent watching “one more trick” on the trampoline: 13

Times Cleo convinced me to jump with her on the trampoline: 17

Times I subsequently peed myself: 17

Number of roses smelled on the walk home from Beach Elementary School: 892

Average yearly number of rain and winter jackets left on the playground or mysteriously disappeared: 4

Chance that pockets of clothing en route to the washing machine will be filled with candy, lip balm, shells, rocks, small plastic toys, money, or slime: 1 in 2

Hours spent reading The New Yorker, Cup of Jo, scrolling through IG, and internet shopping while waiting for a soccer practice, basketball practice, track practice, dance lesson, swim lesson, music lesson, or language lesson to end: 308,089

Number of miles driven, ridden, and walked to the aforementioned lessons: 3,908,089

Percentage of texts I receive that say: Mommmmmmmmmmmmmm or Mommmmmaaaaaaaa, or, Mom pleeeeaaaase: 32%

Minimum hours spent washing all linens in the house after head lice scares: 63

Number of visits to “Lice to Know You” head lice pickers: 2

Hours spent cutting vegetables into cute, kid-friendly pieces: 783

Portion of Cleo’s meals that I ate after they’d been thrown on the floor between the ages of 6 months and 5-years-old: 1/3

Times I was woken at 4:30 am by the book “Our Animal Friends at Maple Hill Farm” being slapped across my peacefully sleeping face: 17

Times I read “Our Animal Friends at Maple Hill Farm” at 4:30 am after being slapped across the face: 17

Number of enormous bowls of popcorn topped with nutritional yeast I’ve fed to Cleo and her friends as after-school snacks: 202

Likelihood that an application of sunblock would result in a wild chase and/or epic meltdown: 98 out of 100

Percentage of time that Cleo likes the music I play for her in the car: 71%

Percentage of time I currently get to DJ: 32%

Number of times trash was handed to me or stuffed in my pockets without consent: 457

Hours spent swimming together in lakes, pools, creeks, rivers, oceans, seas, hot tubs, and ponds: 2,047

Percentage of time that a glass of water, a bath, or submersion in a large body of water made everything better: 100%

Portion of preschool teachers that referred to Cleo at 3 as “punk rock” during a parent-teacher meeting: 2 out of 4

Portion of middle school teachers that referred to her as a “a pleasure to have in class” on a report card: 4 out of 7

Hours spent giggling and cuddling while watching Parks and Recreation, The Good Place, Brooklyn 99, and Community: 678

Hours spent begging her to read a book instead of watching TV or playing video games: 1,235

Probability that a feather would be picked up or a puddle would be jumped in: 100%

Number of eye infections contracted from said feathers: 3

Hours spent willing her to fall back asleep: 1,024

Number of Slurpees consumed by Cleo and her friends on the walk home from school this year: 17

Times I freaked out about the Slurpees: 12

Probability that I could find the missing shinguard, earring, t-shirt, Pokemon card, or homework assignment within 60 seconds of looking: 98%

Probability that finding that “definitely lost” item so quickly would enrage Cleo: 100%

Number of times we arrived at the bagel store before it opened at 6 am: 37

Portion of my body that was used as a Kleenex when Cleo was sick: 2/3

Times Cleo was referred to as: spirited, energetic, willful, and spicy! by strangers in grocery stores, airports, and on public transportation: 64

Times I restrained myself from telling those people to fuck off, but instead chuckled, sighed, and shared a knowing little smile: 63

Number of Mother’s Day cards I received this year that included the apology “I’m sorry I’m an asshole sometimes”: 1

Percentage of time I felt a sharp tug of future nostalgia as her vaporetto to school departed from our stop on Murano - watching as she waved goodbye to us from her spot by the captain, her hair blowing in the breeze: 100%

Number of times dancing together to “This Must Be the Place” by the Talking Heads in our living room made me so overwhelmed with bone-crushing, maternal love that I wept: 7

And that’s it for now, my friends. Short and sweet— a little like raising up a kid. As always, thank you for reading and supporting this newsletter.

xo,

Belle