Parenting me (part II of Parenting Upstream)

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Posted on May 10, 2012 by welcometothemotherhood

A few weeks ago many of you shared your experiences with what I called parenting upstream. You know, my futile attempts to nurture against nature. With each new visitor comment I had a new theory.

Maybe all first-borns are CZD (“comfort zone dwellers”) and all second-borns are “daredevils”? Nope, my own siblings negate that one. Maybe all boys are the CZD and all girls are the daredevils. Nope, we’ve got some boy daredevils in the mix. Can’t really chalk it up to astrology, since my kids are the same sign.

So I have no theories as to why our kids are like this and definitely no answers as to how to parent either group.

However I did notice something really interesting. Everyone seems to worry more about the one who is like them. Are you a daredevil wild child? I bet you sigh and wonder how you are going to ever get a handle this crazy mini-me. Or are you the reserved one? I bet you spend more time wondering how to pull this little one out of her shell more than you worry about the wild one. In fact you might even celebrate the wild one’s exuberance.

Ian worries a lot about our son. He loves how smart Gavin is, but he doesn’t want him to always dwell in his head, to miss out on life in the ways Ian thinks he did. “Go for it,” he telepathically tries to encourage Gavin, “the world isn’t going to bite.”

I worry about Chloe. I love how bold and fearless she is, but I don’t want her to just power through life and possibly make the same mistakes I did, especially believing you can do it all with no sacrifice. “Slow down and enjoy the quiet moments,” I wish when I look at her.

If you worry about the one who is “like you”, it is because we know so intimately the struggles they will have to endure. It’s a parent’s instinct to protect their child from harm. It’s an adult’s perspective that gives us the experience of a hard lesson learned. The balance between the two is the biggest challenge. We can teach, we can show, we can warn but in the end each person – mother, daughter, father or son – has their own path and we need to respect that.

I was the wild child and I can already see Chloe doing this in a few years:

This is me in the 80s jumping off a Central Park playground

Playgrounds, the gateway drug to cliff jumping…

This is me jumping off a cliff in Maui. Twenty years later and all that's changed is the height of the things of which I jump off. Seriously, I pretty much have the same exact pose, don't I?

Instead of worrying about the lessons I know both my children will have to learn, I know I need to support them just being them. To gently guide without forcing a specific direction or result.

So I anticipate a lot of holding my breath as she explores the playground, a lot of sleepless nights as she navigates the teen years, and a lot of tears as she struggles with her identity. And I forever wish that her path in life is smoother than mine…

The best consolation about her following in my footsteps is knowing she'll meet a man as awesome as her dad

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Parenting upstream

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Posted on April 4, 2012 by welcometothemotherhood

When Gavin was born, my ass was quickly kicked by Motherhood. Breastfeeding gave me the one, two punch. Attempt to implement a schedule? Uppercut. Colic was the roundhouse kick to the face, just for good measure. I waved my white flag of surrender a few long weeks in, gave up all the baby books and vowed to learn as I go.

When the second child came around I thought “surely my experience over the past two years has left me with some shred of useful information.” A practical, if not hard earned “What to Expect.”

“WRONG AGAIN” taunted Motherhood. Bitch.

Obvious gender differences aside, Gavin and Chloe are different in every way. Their sleeping habits, their eating habits, their playing preferences, their dispositions, their methods of communicating – complete opposites.

Different kids call for different parenting techniques, right? Absolutely. Or maybe not?

Gavin has learned that everything has the potential to cause hurt. When first learning to walk his forehead was always black and blue, his hands perpetually scraped. At two, he got stitches in his lip after slipping on his own pants. The simple act of walking or jumping up and down in the wrong pants = pain.

He's too young to think this now, but I'd be surprised if this poster isn't on his teenage walls

Chloe has no idea of the dangers the world holds. She gets herself into a dangerous situation no less than eighteen times a day, but I am always there to dive onto the concrete to cushion her fall or juggle the glassware she topples before she cuts herself. She has never even heard the word boo-boo. Blissfully oblivious.

No problem, I'll get that. You just keep on walking.

I silently push Gavin. I stand far away while he plays. If he shows interest in something new, I offer tons of support and instruction. He still refuses to step out of his comfort zone.

I am Chloe’s shadow. I constantly remind her that slides are not for running up, or for licking, or for diving down face first. I discourage her from doing most of what she wants to do. Her comfort zone is everything she’s never tried before.

So by pushing Gavin, letting him fall in an effort to show him life goes on, am I only reinforcing his caution and concern that he is never safe? If so, I am getting the opposite of my desired result: to foster confidence and autonomy. Should I hold his hand every step of the way instead? Wait until he is decidedly ready to move away?

Or by protecting Chloe from the tornado that she is, leaving her with only a warning, am I reinforcing her oblivion and wild child antics? If so, I am getting the opposite of my desired result: to foster awareness and caution. Should I let her try things I know she can’t do? Even if that means injury?

Some traits are present from birth (nature) while some traits are learned from our childhood environments (nurture). It seems I am trying to nurture what goes against their nature. It also seems that my efforts are only reinforcing their DNA.

What do you think? Am I fighting the current, swimming upstream, and getting nowhere? Or should I stay the course, confident they will get there with time?

If you are free tonight, God, I have a favor to ask

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Posted on March 20, 2012 by welcometothemotherhood

Dear god:

I am so very sorry for laughing at moms who told tales of children over a year not sleeping through the night. Please ask your fiery torture administrator (aka my daughter) to back off. She not only doesn’t sleep through the night, she doesn’t sleep more than two hours at a time. That’s not true, she has one four hour stretch when I put her down at 730. THEN it’s every two hours. Sometimes every hour. You must really think I was particularly cruel to these complaining women. For this I apologize profusely.

As of late you seem to have engaged my son in your efforts as well. I must report he is working superbly with your primary torture administrator. They never wake at the same time, alternating seamlessly. Some of your best work was Friday night. Remember, when Chloe woke at 11:30pm and then again at 1230am? Gavin shrieked about a wet bed at 2am. Chloe up again at 3am. At 4am, for the love of screaming at the top of your lungs, Gavin COULD NOT FIND FINN MCMISSILE. That woke everyone. Except daddy of course. This torture is designed specifically for mommy and like a dog to his human, he cannot hear these cries.

I am wondering if you were busy with March Madness on Sunday night because Chloe only woke at 2am and 4am and Gavin slept until 630. My bleary eyes were thankful that Kansas needed that much help beating Purdue on their way to the Sweet Sixteen. Two night wakings after my own 4 hour stretch of sleep barely registered on my sleep deprivation meter. It remained steady at “SEVERE” without crossing into “tomorrow you might be arrested for CHILD ENDANGERMENT.”

Despite thinking I was in a comfort zone as a mother, you have sufficiently humbled me. I don’t know what to do about Chloe’s inability to sleep through the night. I admit it! I nurse, I refuse to nurse, I soothe, I let her cry. I am at a loss. There is no quicker and easier way to have a mommy call mercy than to render her sleep deprived…for over three years (what? no one sleeps during their third trimester).

You win dear god. Consider me Daniel Plainview in church at the hands of Eli. I will say whatever you need to hear. Please just let my children learn to sleep a whole night through.

Eternally yours,

Carinn

PS – Don’t get all warm and fuzzy at this family cuddle. It’s a survival technique.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

PSS – note the offending Finn McMissile in the photo. I wonder if he is the one behind all this torture. He is a spy after all…

What I lost during March Madness

Posted on March 15, 2012 by welcometothemotherhood

Today is the first (real) day of March Madness. Oh, how my former self LOVED March Madness. The gluttony of competition. The plethora of hope. Rooting for the underdogs. Keeping score, talking smack, spending your day at a sports bar. It’s the most wonderful time of the year. Or it was.

2007. You can see the games on the screen behind me. And yes, the photographer (Ian) was drunk and yes, that's why it looks like this.

2008. A particularly memorable blowout I wanted to capture.

which probably seemed funnier at the time because of all of this...

2009 – I kept the tradition alive even after my son was born. He was days old when the brackets came out. Without regard for sleep (silly, silly girl) I completed mine in the middle of the night during a long stretch of feedings, trusty laptop by my side for research. Do I have enough upsets? Where are my Cinderellas? My favorites? My unbeatables? I looked at records, strength of divisions, seniority. And sometimes I just loved the mascot. It was a fun game and I was in it to win it.

2010 – I lost a little steam. I had been sleep deprived for over a year and it just didn’t seem as fun. But I filled out a bracket before the deadline. Ian and I enjoyed taunting each other at home, if not at a sports bar.

2011 - I had a daughter who was days old. No way in hell I had the time or the energy to put into a bracket. We watched a few of the games. I was sad that I had nothing invested.

2012 – I am going on 3 years of sleep deprivation. I didn’t even have a pang of regret when I saw the brackets come out this past weekend. I am fine with sitting these out. For now.

Though it got me thinking about the other things I have given up in ‘my life with kids.’ I mean, we all openly mourn the loss of privacy in the bathroom. Or the ability to nurse a hangover.

But what about those things we gave up with little fanfare? Here’s my top 5:

1. March Madness. RIP. 1980s-2010s

2. Grooming. When did I stop shaving my legs? When I was pregnant? First or second? Definitely before I let weeks go by without a visit to my local threading salon but after I gave up on highlighting my hair.

3. Snoozing. As in your alarm clock. In college I hit the snooze bar for hours (sorry Liz!). I don’t even own one anymore. My kids are my alarm clock now, and I still haven’t found their snooze button.

4. Travel. I don’t mean the air plane kind. I mean the completely unnecessary kind. Like, ‘let’s travel through 17 neighborhoods to get that apple sausage bacon you love.’ Now it’s ‘what’s close, has no wait and customers that won’t spit on our stroller?’

5. Doing whatever the hell you wanted, whenever the hell you wanted. Without having to plan ahead, make arrangements for strollers and naps, or bringing a weeks worth of snacks for every 4 hours you’d be gone.

At times like March Madness, I miss the freer times of my pre-children days. I do. But don’t tell them (you think it would spoil their fun?).

Gavin's look says it all. "MOM, you aren't talking about when you used to have FUN, are you?"

Flapjack Redemption

Posted on March 12, 2012 by welcometothemotherhood

I love pancakes. Light, fluffy, buttery pancakes. Buttermilk. Multi-grain. Stuffed with berries or bananas. Definitely chocolate chips. When I was pregnant with Gavin I ate them for every single meal during my first trimester. Sadly they were all delivered from the Starburst Diner.

You see, I cannot cook a pancake to save my life. Though I am not sure the scenario where my life would be in jeopardy and the only way to recover would be cooking a pancake. But if that were the case, I’d be toast.

They stick to the pan. They crumble. Forget if I try to add something to them. Battered covered raspberries are not delicious.

This weekend I was a mom on a mission. Armed with a few new pointers and a refrigerator full of goodies, I was going to make some damn pancakes!

the game changer

“A griddle will make all the difference,” I was told by a friend late on Friday. My first thought, “where the hell am I going to get a griddle for Saturday morning pancakes?” Thanks Ian, for reminding me that we in fact already had a griddle. A fancy one purchased for our wedding. Seven years ago.

In my defense, this is where it was hiding. Way above the cabinets.

Saturday morning, bright and early. I was pumped!

The goods

The gang was excited too.

Assistant #1 already banging her tray

Assistant #2 actually helping

started off well

Warning: the following images are graphic.

the box and I have a difference of opinion as to what constitutes 'medium-high heat',

So I turned the flame down to something I would call ‘low’.

victory was found in the 2nd batch

Ok, so they weren’t from scratch. Or very pretty. And they weren’t going to get me added to the Top 10 Places to Eat Pancakes. But they got a reaction that made my heart sing. I wasn’t able to capture it with my camera but it looked a lot like this:

Happiness!!

the book thief (wordless wednesday)

Posted on March 7, 2012 by welcometothemotherhood

Innocently sleeping with his favorite reading material

Until baby sister comes along

"Hmmmm what's this?"

Interesting

"I'll take two"

the book thief

Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)

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Posted on March 5, 2012 by welcometothemotherhood

I was on the fence about posting my son’s birth story. It’s not as fast-paced or sweet as my daughter’s. In fact, all 16 hours were entirely uneventful as far as labor goes. Textbook delivery.

It was after he was born that shit got hectic. But I never want to put that on him. He carries enough weight on his tiny shoulders.

So this is not his birth story. This is my story and the lessons we can both take away from that day.

——————————————————————————————————————–

Dear baby boy,

We checked into the hospital early on a unseasonably warm Friday in February, nine days after the first time they told me I would be induced. I resisted as long as I could. I knew you weren’t quite ready (even if I was!). But as my due date passed and my fluid level decreased to alarming levels, I could no longer demand more time.

After 16 hours of pitocin induced labor and 4 hours of pushing, you arrived. 3:46am on Saturday.

Immediately I began to hemorrhage.

355am. I lose consciousness. Daddy tells me my eyes roll back in my head and I go limp. With some oxygen they revive me as they call for the crash cart. Your nana, who is with you in the nursery, hears the code blue call to maternity but cannot imagine that it is her baby that might be dying.

4am. They wheel me to an operating room. I am crying and confused but mostly terrified. Your daddy’s face is white even though his voice is strong. He is willing me to stay with him.

408am. The doctor is trying to explain. The placenta. They can’t deliver the placenta. It has grown into the uterus. She needs to perform a D&C. Here, sign these forms. We may have to remove your uterus entirely. Yes, I was asked to consent to a hysterectomy twenty seven minutes after giving birth for the first time. “Hope you enjoyed that experience because it will probably be your last,” the universe taunted.

411am. Your nana left you in the nursery to come check on me. When she enters the delivery room it is empty of people but covered in blood. What looks like buckets and buckets of blood.

418am. My doctor is working. Working to save my life. There are no less than eight nurses and doctors around me. The room is full but I feel so alone. No one is talking to me. Staring up at the glaring white lights I bark questions into the air. No one answers. So I listen. We need blood. What’s her count? 2 units. Look at her tongue. It’s white. Four units. Carinn, you are going to need a transfusion.

420am. I am crying. What is going on? Everything is a blur. Suddenly I realize you are not there. “I miss my baby. I want to see my baby. When can I see my baby?” My pleas are ignored.

422am. They won’t let daddy in the OR. He receives the cold shoulder from the nurses going in and out of the room. At best, a vague update. “We are doing everything we can.”

5am. The D&C was successful and the blood transfusion complete. I am wheeled to a recovery room. I STILL HAVE NOT HELD YOU. Thankfully it is only me that is deprived. Your daddy and your nana are loving you every second that I am gone. And they are making damned sure you don’t get a bottle. The doctor agrees. You can wait.

6am. After my incessant begging, they bring you to me. With a warning. “Do not sit up, do not stand, do not feed. You may hold him and nothing else.”

As I hold you for the first time I am starry eyed and breathless. You return the look. What has this experience been little smoosh?

We meet again

Three years later you are a serious and sensitive soul. You are reserved. You take your time and you don’t like change. You are deliberate. Everything needs to make sense to you. You ask a lot of questions. You soak up the answers like a solar panel, stored, to be used later.

You seem to carry the weight of the world.

I wonder if the way you came into this world made you that way or whether it was you who dictated the way you were born. Either way, my lessons to you will always be about letting go. They are my lessons as well.

When I checked into the hospital, I had my birth plan printed and in tow. It involved my feelings on epidurals (no), episiotomy (no), immediate physical contact upon delivery (yes), breastfeeding (yes). I scored 50% on the plan that applied. I scored a zero on the rest of the days events. Because my birth plan never contemplated most of what actually happened.

Life is not perfect. It surely does not always go according to plan. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t make plans. You should make plans. Big ones, small ones, practical ones, grand ones. But don’t lose it when life gets in the way. Just roll with it.

In the mess that life can make of your plans, it’s your job to find the beauty. Not to try to make sense of it all or to try to make it perfect. Instead, it’s your job to find the humor (like when I tried in earnest to convince everyone that I didn’t need surgery, that a little oxygen would do just fine). To find the good (like how you stayed strong through the trauma of 4 hours of travel down the birth canal, how your heart rate never even so much as dipped with the stress). To find the positive aspects of the outcome (like the fact that you were born completely healthy, with a perfect APGAR score no less!).

In the mess of a mother I am at times, I always see the beauty in you.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————

Before you go to sleep
Say a little prayer
Every day in every way
It’s getting better and better

Snuggle time - February 2009

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy

Snuggle time - February 2012

Before you cross the street
Take my hand

Life is what happens to you
While you’re busy making other plans

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy

-John Lennon

Watching them grow (happy birthday)

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Posted on February 27, 2012 by welcometothemotherhood

Aside from the day my children were born, yesterday was the most amazing day of my life. Gavin’s first real birthday party.

I want to tell you all how wonderful it was, I want to transport you to the festivities, I want to share the experience with you all. But I can’t. I have no words.

How do you describe the feeling you get when you see your baby turn 3? When you see him with 20 of his classmates and friends dancing and laughing, sharing and playing?

His legs are a dancing blur!

When you see him get kissed for the very first time, by a little girl, the one in his class that he has been saying for weeks is ‘so pretty’, and he looks directly at you mommy, with stars in his eyes? In that instant you see him at 15 with his first of many broken hearts. I make note to remind him of the bruises on his legs at 3, they hurt when you get them but fade with time. Don’t stop playing. Never stop loving. Keep that open heart baby boy.

How do you describe the humbling feeling you get when his eyes sparkle and you ask if he is having fun and he says, ‘yes, mommy! this is awesome!’ in that breathless way that you praise him and are excited by every new discovery and every new experience you have together?

How do you describe the feeling of pride you get when you really see your child for the first time? When you know he belongs to others in this world besides just you. When your heart hurts with pride more than nostalgia until the musician plays the Beatles song you sang to him every single day he had colic and then the pride and nostalgia are equal and produce tears in your eyes.

How do you describe the feeling of bittersweet love when all you want to do is kiss him and hold him and tell him you are amazed by him and the boy he is becoming but you don’t and you can’t because you need to let him play, let him dance, let him practice being that phenomenal boy that he is?

Star of the party -- and my heart

There is only one word to describe all these feelings: motherhood.

Hey, what about me?!?!

Oh yes! I forgot, it was Chloe’s party too.

Don’t worry, she had fun. She always does.

All for me!!!!

Are they sick? Are they French? Or are they just sick of the French?

Posted on February 13, 2012 by welcometothemotherhood

Yesterday, Ian and I watched not one but two movies without interruption while the kids played by themselves for hours and slept through the night.

They played for hours without a peep...or medication, I swear!!

I thought they were sick but maybe they are just French.

In any event, these bebes have birthdays later this month so I am throwing them a joint birthday party.

What’s that? How efficient you say? (shyly) I know.

You want me to share my event planning skills? I’m blushing.

Here ya go –

Five easy steps to throwing an awesome birthday party for your kids:

1. Give birth to each in the same month, preferably only a few days apart. {February 20-something, 2009 and 2011 — check!}

2. Have your husband work in a great open loft space perfect for throwing parties. {Check! And it’s close to home – Bonus points!}

3. Design and order joint party invitations. {Check!}

4. Buy adorable outfits for both children to wear on this special day. {Check!}

5. Show up on the day of the party — looking fantastic — without having hired the entertainment promised by said invitations, prepared food and cupcakes also promised by said invitations, obtained balloons, decorations, drinks, paper products or compiled favor bags. Enjoy!

That’s it! Right? Why do you have that look on your face?