Rule #2: Mimicry is the best form of flattery...

So, I have decided I need to give my son and my husband nicknames for this blog. My son's is easy - I'll just use the one I've used online elsewhere, "Little Lion", or "Little L" for short, a play on his middle name. My husband is harder... I'll think about it and let you know when I figure one out.

Rule #2: Mimicry is the best form of flattery

The other day, Little Lion (now 13 months old) and I were getting gas at the local Costco. As we drove away, I noticed that the car in front of me still had it's gas cap open. So, I rolled down my window and started honking, yelling and gesturing at the man in the driver's seat to try and get his attention. Eventually it worked, he got out, fixed it, and waved in appreciation, then we all drove on.

Suddenly, I hear Little L yelling in the back seat, mimicking my tone and volume (but not the words) exactly. I look in the rearview mirror and see that he's even waving his arms about (he's in a rear-facing seat with a little mirror installed above so I can see him while driving, but it works the other way, too). It was the cutest thing, watching him gleefully yell and gesture... though it got less adorable when he decided he needed to keep yelling all. the. way. home.

Mimicry is not new to Little L. His first "words" were "Om nom nom" repeated in the same tone that I had used when I tried to get him to eat his peas, saying "Peas! Om nom nom!" in a Cookie Monster voice. Of course, I was so proud that I immediately let everyone on Facebook know.

Each day, I notice Little L engaging in more and more mimicry. He'll do an adorable evil villain laugh ("Mwah ha ha!") in his cutest and deepest voice at our prompting, he claps his hands when we do, drinks from our glasses, plays peekaboo, blows kisses, etc., etc. It boggles my mind how much he is learning just by observing my husband and I, and doing what we are doing.

We, as parents, are the first and most important role models that our children will ever have. Even though it's fun to get Little L to laugh evilly or repeat silly words, I'm very cognizant of how I need to be careful to be a good example for my child. How I treat other people, the things that upset me, the tone and language I use when reacting to said things that upset me, the way I eat, the activities I do (or sometimes, in contrast, the activities I don't do) - all of these things will have a great impact on how he interacts with the world.

It's a huge responsibility. And I can only hope that I'm up to the task.

But, right now, I'm going to enjoy every second of playing peekaboo that I can get.

Rule #1: Nothing can ever prepare you...

Welcome to my new blog, Parenting Rules! With this blog, I am aiming to share my personal parenting experiences, both great and not so great, but also to provide a supportive platform for other parents as we enter into this world of sleepless nights, amazing cuddles, uncontrollable crying, flying food and so very, very much more.

And so, with no further ado, on with the Parenting Rules!

Rule #1: Nothing can ever prepare you

No, I'm not talking about getting the right gear or reading the right books. I'm talking about how you can never be prepared for the unconditional love that comes with having a child. It's awe-inspiring, it's wonderful, and it's all-encompassing.

There were complications with my son's delivery. I'll leave that story for another day, but for now, all you need to know was that he ended up being born via emergency c-section. Two respiratory therapists were on hand to suck meconium (the first bowel movement - my son had taken his in utero, most likely due to the stress of his birth, and there was concern that it would get sucked into his lungs with his first breath). I later learned that the therapist that did the sucking most likely saved my little guy's life, and I don't even know her name or what she looks like.

My husband was my hero. My lifeline. He was outwardly calm, and so very supportive and loving. The first time he left my side was when he went with our son to the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit), but only after asking me if it was okay if he went, and after he ensured that my mom and little sister (who were the other members of my support team and had been in the hospital with us all day and night) got to see our new little baby in the NICU.

My midwife, like my husband, stayed by my side for the entire procedure. She was amazing. She provided support and encouragement, held a bowl to my face when I was sick, and, most importantly of all, she brought my son to me as soon as she could, so that I could see him and kiss him before they whisked him away to the NICU.

That one moment was enough. I was in love. I only have recollections of a little tiny head with tufts of hair, and a huge bundle of blankets wrapped around his little body. But when I saw him being taken away, it was like a part of me was being torn from me. He was my baby and I loved him right then and there.

It came as a blinding flash, that love. I know for some it may take more time (pregnancy hormones are a bitch, aren't they?), but no matter how long it takes, you know that little baby loves you right back. It's humbling to know that you are responsible for the life of another human being, one that is completely dependent on you.

You become sleep-deprived and frustrated. Some days you spend most of your time crying. But that love is there, no matter how much you complain about your child not napping or how many hours you spend rocking an inconsolably crying little one, willing to give anything, or everything, to make him or her feel better.

The love is there when he first rolls over, when she sits up for the first time, when he takes off crawling or when she takes her first tentative steps.

It's there when he throws his food off his highchair tray in glee while you moan about cleaning it up. Or when she starts splashing away in the toilet you forgot to put the lid down on.

It's there when he says, "mom mom mom" or "dadee" for the first time and you feel like you could burst from pride at his intelligence.

Or when she cries in the middle of the night and you hold her in your arms until she falls asleep again.

It's there. And it's beautiful.

And I wouldn't give it up for the world.