Category Archives: am I doing this right?

This ain’t the Boy Scouts. You will be prepared for nothing.

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I just overheard this conversation:

Man 1: are you going to Florida with the guys next weekend?
Man 2: (regretfully) No.  My wife is very pregnant and I am trying to limit the number of nights out of the house.

Clearly their first baby.

Six google-able words in that one simple sentence but three bold face lies.

Lie: my wife is very pregnant.  Truth: she is due in 7 weeks.  Which means she’ll deliver in 9.  An entire season of Survivor will begin and end before that baby comes.

Lie: I.  Truth: my wife.

Lie: limiting the number of nights out of the house.  Truth: my wife insists I suffer through every moment of this with her.

Bless his expectant dad heart, I know he is trying to do the right thing.  I wish someone could tell him “get out of the house as much as possible now because it will be entirely unacceptable for a year minimum after the baby is actually born”

I also wish I could hug his little first time pregnant wife.  I know pregnancy is hard.  Even an “easy pregnancy” involves, oh how do you describe it, CREATING LIFE.  It’s hard on your body, your back aches, you can’t sleep.  I’ve been there sister.  You know the only thing harder than creating life in your body for 10 months?  SUSTAINING it OUTSIDE your body for the next 12 months.

As you approach parenthood, you spend so much time reading books, creating a nursery, buying baby “gear” – all in an effort to prepare for the un-preparable.  And by 36 weeks you think you know – no – you are sure you know.  You know how you feel about breastfeeding, you know how you feel about co-sleeping, you know how you feel about pacifiers, crib bumpers, tummy time, TV, strollers, slings, solid food and swaddling.

But you don’t know.

You don’t know that all of that knowledge could fit in the thumbnail of the body that is shaking with fright over this new chapter in your life.  You don’t know how it is going to feel to see your baby, to hold your baby, to care for your baby.  You don’t know what it’s like to actually BE a parent, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

I can say all this because in hindsight I know how sure I thought I was and how clueless (read: scared) I ended up feeling.

With Gavin turning 3 this month and Chloe turning one, I am in a groove, a comfort zone.

But thanks to this amazing post, I now have foresight of how clueless (read: scared shirtless) I will be once again.

If a mother ran the Boy Scouts of America they would change their motto from ‘Be Prepared’ to ‘Always Be Armed with Snacks’.  It’s really the best you can do.

Tantrum diverted only by throwing an entire box of snacks her way

 

A tale of two Superbowls

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Superbowl XXXI (1997):  My 7 college roommates and 8 other friends threw an all girl Superbowl party – football fans need not attend.

We spent the night rotating through ‘Would you rather?’ variations involving the quarterbacks Tom Brady and Brett Favre (pre-junk texting scandal this was a win-win proposition, no matter how gross the details got).  The only time we stopped dancing to the Spice Girls’ ‘Wannabe’ was to check out the commercials.

Superbowl XLVI (last night):  Was the Superbowl last night?  Oh.

Ok, I knew it was happening but frankly I was too exhausted to watch.  We spent this weekend trapped inside our tiny cozy apartment as both kids attempted to raise their internal temperature to something closer to the surface of the sun (spoiler alert: Chloe won with a high of 104.1).

Like the Clint Eastwood movie, we experienced the good, bad and the ugly.

The Good

I know it’s wrong, but I enjoy don’t hate it when my kids are sick (so long as there is no vomit involved).  Here’s 3 reasons why:

  1. They are super cuddly.  Even when I can’t make it all better, they still want constant hugs and cuddles from mommy.  And I am only thrilled to oblige all the while knowing there will be a time when they won’t fit in my lap and they will wipe my kisses off their face in disgust.
  1. Sleep.  I am sure it’s part of my karma, but my kids don’t sleep.  Chloe is far more reasonable than her brother ever was but in Dr. Weissbluth’s spectrum of acceptable amounts of sleep she is still on the low side (Gavin just makes a mockery of it).

Except when they are sick.  There were naps, bedtimes without a peep of protest, and 12 hour stretches.  I know it’s wrong to rejoice but I did.

HALLELUJAH!

  1. Low energy.  I know its wrong to be happy about this too, but when they are sick these typically high maintenance, wired active kids take a break.  We watch a lot of TV (the HBO Classical Baby series to soothe the nerves) and read lots of books while cuddling on the couch.

The Bad

  1. The TV.  Once Classical Baby is over I am subjected to the same episodes of Team Umizoomi over and over until I quite literally begin to crazy shake.
  1. Whining.  Oh the whining.  I’m too hot.  My juice is too cold.  Pick me up.  Hug me closer.   It never ends.
  1. The pain.  Seeing my babies in pain, even if that pain is really only discomfort, is heart wrenching to me.  They look to me to make them feel better with every hug.  It is in your sick child’s eyes that you see the power and responsibility of being a mommy.

The Ugly

  1. Green snot.  Everywhere.  On shirt sleeves, pillowcases, my hands…oh yes and occasionally on a tissue.  Why do children hate having their noses wiped so much?  If I had cement quality green stuff hanging from my nose I would never dodge the person attempting to help.  Chloe is quick.  She ducks and leans all Neo-like.  And she’s never even seen the Matrix.  Gavin stands there and succumbs, but man does he cry and whine.
  1. Diarrhea.  Or as my son calls it “poopy juice”.  Yeah, I just wrote that.

The kids have a draw as to who is worse to deal with.  Gavin refuses to let me leave the room while he is on the potty.   The whole time.  A typical male, he could read Vanity Fair from cover to cover during a normal session.  It’s amazing I didn’t pass out from sustained exposure to the fumes.

Chloe usually goes off somewhere to be alone while she does her business, but then I am subjected to a UFC match to change her diaper.

And where does that smell come from???

  1. Did I mention the smells?  It’s worth another mention.

Superbowl XXXI Carinn and Superbowl XLVI Carinn might not agree on how to spend the night, but they do agree on one thing.  NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR VOGUE ANYMORE.  Ever.  Again.  Thanks Madonna.

Do you know the difference?

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My son has a real beef with the word ‘want’.  He doesn’t use it.  Instead, he uses the word ‘need’ exclusively.  Dramatic as he is, every request sounds like this ‘Mommy, I neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed.’

‘I neeeeeed something from the frigerator’ is how he asks for meals.

Potty time?  ‘I neeeeeed to go poopy’ (and apparently I need to stand watch).

‘I neeeeed to go to school’  (that one is borderline but since I am not homeschooling, I let it slide).

Then yesterday morning he crossed a line.

We were running errands when he told me ‘I neeeeeeeed to go to the playground’.  (I promised him we could go, since, you know – it’s 60 degrees in February!!)

“Ok, we’ll go after we are done at the store.”

“No, I neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed to go now!”  and proceeded to thrash around in his stroller like some lunatic being put in a straight jacket.

This little episode made me realize it was time to focus on the finer points of language, such as the proper uses of need and want.  Sort of a nuanced topic (even though he is exceptionally bright) so I thought hard about how to explain to him.  Then I remembered the best way to teach is to show by example.  Here are some of mine:

I want that hooded Montcler coat.  I need to stay warm in the cold winter.

I want a Mason Pearson hairbrush.  I need to not look such a mess all the GD time.

I want privacy in the bathroom.  I need privacy in the kitchen (cause if you see me eating those Dutch Cocoa cookies, you are going to want one.  And mommy does NOT share her cookies).

They are subtle points, I know, but I am sure you can relate.

Whining about weaning

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Chloe turns one next month and I assume I will wean.  Only because I know how quickly it goes from ‘sweet’ while you provide the sustenance your child needs to survive to ‘awkward’ as you become a walk up buffet.

But I’m not happy about it.  Not that I am one of those irrational breastfeeding advocates.  I advocate doing what works – and that’s different for every mother.  I have found it’s also different for every child.

Is that a Hershey kiss and an 8-year-old? Not particularly helpful.

When Gavin was born I had high hopes of sailing right up to his first birthday nursing exclusively.  Oh boy did we get off to a rocky start!  I was about to throw in the towel one week in.  It was so much harder than anyone let on.

Proper latching? positioning? engorgement WHAT?  Other moms made it seem like you just stick the kids on and go.

Then there were the undesirables not mentioned in baby books — the constant leaking, special bras, certain “accessible” clothes (pull down to expose boob or pull up to expose postpartum belly?  Oh the choices!) – it was a lot for me to handle at once.

I was certain that if it was this hard, I must be doing it all wrong.

The logistics settled in a few weeks later, we got a routine and things got much easier…until they got much worse.  Yes, I suffered with the entire Nursing Mother’s Encyclopedia of breastfeeding problems.  You name it, I had it.  Clogged ducts, mastitis, thrush, more clogged ducts and the worst of the worst – Raynards of the breast.  Imagine someone stabbing you with a penknife 1000 times in the breast.  Not awesome.

With troubleshooting and a lot of Tylenol I managed to hang in there a little over 10 months.  When I was done nursing it was more of a relief than anything since the Raynards continued.

So when Chloe was born I wasn’t sure what to expect.  People say breastfeeding is easier the second time around.  My doctor had a homeopathic plan to fend off the Raynards.  I was optimistic.

Turns out, she was a dream.  Every moment nursing her was easy and natural.  Nursing her went beyond simply providing the best source of nutrition (which is all it ever was with Gavin).  It was the beautiful bonding experience that those 1970s hippie dippy books promised it would be.

And now, I am thinking of ending it.  The thought barely registers in my brain, like I can’t get my head around it.

What will it be like when it’s over?

Will she continue to plead mmmmmh, mmmmmh, mmmmmmh as she waives her wrists excitedly every time she is hungry?

When she is tired, will she dive for comfort in the crook of my arm?

Will she miss me rubbing her back and singing as much as I will miss her num-num-num-num noshing, watching her eyes get heavy?

Will I know how to soothe her any other way?

With Gavin I was so proud of him as he crossed off every milestone in the book.  With Chloe I am sad.  I just want it all to slow down.  First it’s weaning, then it’s walking, talking, toddler beds and toilet training.  This time where she relies on me for every one of life’s necessities (a time that is both precious and maddening) – it will all be over in the blink of her pretty blue eye.

Please share your thoughts/advice on weaning – I need it!

You win some, you lose some.

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The game of motherhood is no different.  Yesterday morning was a stellar one.  Let me recount how it went down, with a rating of how remarkable each event was (scale of 1-10, one being as common as meltdowns and ten being as rare as Hailey’s Comet):

I woke up feeling refreshed (8)
Chloe woke up happy (3)
Gavin woke up happy (12)
Gavin was hungry (5)
Chloe was hungry (1)
I was inspired to make french toast (7)


Gavin thought it was a great idea! and did NOT throw himself on the floor at the tragedy that I could even suggest something so horrible, and instead couldn’t he just have some yogurt? (10)
Gavin helped me cook while Ian played with Chloe (3)
Both kids ate ALL their french toast (6)
And asked for MORE (8)

We ate, we danced, we laughed.  It was a regular day in the Brady Bunch household.  I’m not going to lie, that kind of morning sets you on cloud 9 for the rest of the day (or at least until dinnertime).

Lest you worry that my family has been taken over by pods, I assure you, breakfast was back to normal today.

 

If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em

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Last night was sleep training night in our house (boo hiss).  Here is how it went:

Everyone goes to bed without a peep or protest exactly at their designated bedtime.  We all wake for the first time at 7am refreshed and ready to start the day!!!!

OR, that’s pretty much the opposite of how it went.  First let me back up.  This night was designated for sleep re-re-re-training because Ian was out of town.  This meant Chloe would have our room to herself, Gavin would have his room and I would have the TV to drown out both of their cries.

10:30pm -   the plan is in action.  Both kids are asleep and I have made myself a cozy little bed on the couch.  I flip around for something mindless to leave on as I slowly drift off.  Kardashians on E! – don’t get more mindless than that!  Remote down, fluff my pillow, close my eyes…

What’s that?  Kim is going to go off birth control?  Kim and Kris still don’t live together?  Mason knows all his colors?  This is riveting.

Now it’s 11:30.  One false start, but no big deal.  I will be asleep in moments and will sleep through to 7am.  I fantasize about sleeping so late that Gavin misses school.  Seven hours is going to feel good.

It’s 1:30am.  Chloe coughs (or hacks up a lung, I can’t be sure because I’m in the living room) but it didn’t wake her.  Gavin is coughing too but no sounds of his footsteps follow.  Back to sleep.  Five hours is going to feel good.

It’s 3am.  No one is even making a noise.  What is wrong with me?????

It’s 430am.  Now I am kind of annoyed.  Why isn’t anyone waking up?  Where is Gavin creeping towards my room with huggie monkey in hand?  Why haven’t I had to brace myself against Chloe’s crying protests?  I mean, if everyone was just going to sleep I wish I was in my bed.  This couch is cold and uncomfortable.

It’s 445am.  Cuddled up in my own bed, it’s warm and the sheets are just the right amount of cool.  Chloe didn’t stir as the floorboards creaked and still no sign of Gavin.  I could get two solid hours now…

It’s 447.  Two hours, two minutes, same thing.  Chloe is standing in her crib screaming in my face two feet away.  I don’t even feign sleep training and swoop in to pick her up.  I can’t help but kiss her a thousand times.  She leans her head back with delight and I dive in to kiss her soft, baby-smelling neck.  Her head rests on my shoulder as I lean back on the pillows.  She finds her thumb to suck and in moments she is asleep.

I am wide awake and insanely in love.

Her other hand rubs my arm, tugging at my shirt, holding on and hugging.  I don’t dare move as I drink up this moment.

It’s 520.  I should really put her down and try to get some sleep.  Of course as soon as I lay her down in the crib, she starts crying.  She is clearly enjoying this as much as I am.  So I take her back in the bed.  She looks at me, climbs all over me, mocking my attempt to sleep.  I tease her and she sticks her fingers in my mouth.

It’s 545.  I nurse her and she is ready to go back to bed.

I slept for the next 90 minutes and today I am tired.  I know these hazy days of exhaustion will pass and I will recall them as one thick cloud, one day’s tired being indistinct from the next day’s.  But I also know that I will never forget the moments of cuddling and hugging I share with my daughter with no one else around, no husband to worry about waking, no big brother to demand equal expressions of love – just her and I, Chloe and me.

Hello world!

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I did a lot of mom blog research and despite what I found I decided to start my own.

Reading hundreds of other blogs made me cry, made me laugh, made me angry and gave me lots of thoughts about toilet-training.  Most importantly it inspired me to chronicle my own adventures, foibles, my ‘oh no’ and ‘aha’ moments, victories and outright missteps as a mom.

My biggest concern lies in the fact that all the blogs I read seem to have certain things in common, that, well, maybe I don’t.

Here are some examples:

1.  Other bloggers: love their kids but find the 24/7 care and feeding of them to be tedious (which is true).

Me:  I love being a mom and wife.  I secretly wish to spend several lifetimes doing nothing but watching my kids play on the playground, preparing cream cheese sandwiches (I said I love being a mom, not that I was good at it), and singing the Sesame Street theme song (without ever even wondering how you actually get to Sesame Street.  Though it is clearly in Brooklyn).

2.  Other bloggers:  hate Gwyneth Paltrow (especially the NYC ones).  Jennifer Garner too (her LA counterpart).  Like highly trained police dogs I think these mom bloggers can smell their 1950s housewife mentality from miles away and are on constant high alert from the mere mention of their names.

Me:   I worship Gwyneth Paltrow.  She can do no wrong in my book.  She loves to cook, she speaks spanish and she practices yoga.  She married a smart and sensitive rock star, she is best friends with Mario Batali and Jay-Z.  She beautifully reads my favorite poem on Classical Baby (All Grown Up…The Poetry Show).  All of this even gets her a pass for dumping Brad Pitt, Shallow Hal and yes, even trying to be a singer.  She’s my mommy inspiration.  Jennifer Garner too.

3.  Other bloggers:  are wildly successful

Me: only my mom will be embarrassed when this blog bombs

Which leads to me to wonder…for the first time on the interweb (though certainly not the last)…am I doing this right?