There's this mom I know. She makes some of the worst parenting decisions ever. I can't even believe it sometimes. Some of the things she does--how she can think of herself as a good mom at all??
Think I'm being harsh? Here are just a few of the terrible things she has done:
* She wasn't happy when she found out she was having a baby. In fact, she cried. A lot. And not happy tears, either!
* She didn't put her baby on a schedule at all. She was up every hour or two hours all night until her baby was like, 10 months old!
* This one time, she took her baby on a flight across the country, and it screamed the ENTIRE FLIGHT. Ugh--how annoying, right?
* I hear she lets her daughter watch TV EVERY DAY. Sometimes, more than one show a day!
* She gives her daughter the BAD mac-n-cheese.
* She uses canned baby food.
* This mom lets her kid run around the park and she doesn't even watch her every second.
* She left her baby in the car one time while she ran into the gas station.
* Once, she even forgot to strap her baby into the car seat, and then took the FREEWAY HOME. *shudder* Who forgets to strap in the baby??
* Oh my gosh, she lets her kids eat off of the floor, too!
* This one time, her kids were outside in 50-degree weather, and she didn't even have coats for them. Her little baby had blue lips!
* I'm pretty sure she has "heat and serve" dinners pretty much every night of the week. Sometimes, she even goes to TACO BELL for dinner. They have Grade D beef there!
* There have been several times she has said that she doesn't like her kids. Did you hear that? She doesn't like her OWN KIDS sometimes!
* Her daughter will ask, "Mommy, will you play with me?" and she doesn't always say yes. Sometimes, she gets frustrated by the question.
* She has spanked her daughter. In anger!
* Most of the time she looks like a hot mess. She went so long without doing her hair it just stayed put when she took her ponytail holder out.
* She leaves her daughter screaming in the childcare while she works out for an hour.
* Her daughter is 2.5 and STILL not potty trained. And she doesn't even care!
* She says that her favorite time of day is when both her girls are asleep.
* She has non-organic food in the house. And I know she cheats on her diet!
* She let the baby sleep in the bed with her and her husband.
* The baby doesn't have any idea how to put herself to sleep--she has to be rocked to sleep, even at 8 months old!
* She plays music in the car that has bad words and/or bad messages in them.
* Sometimes, she puts her older kid to bed just because she doesn't want to hear her voice anymore.
I mean, seriously. This mom has got a lock on the Bad Mom title. Look at that huge list! And I know there's more. Thank goodness I'm a better mom than her.
Only I'm not. Because, if you might have guessed, the mom "deserving of the Bad Mom title" is ME. I have done all those things above, and countless others. I'm firmly on the "don't" side of the "do's and don't's of parenting" sign.
I fail all the time. All. The. Time. Sometimes, it's an unconscious fail, but often, it's a fully-realized, I-know-this-isn't-the-best-thing kind of fail.
The one that kills me the most is near the end of the list. Lately, Avonlea (who is a very independent girl, and happy to play solo) has been asking "Mommy, will you play with me?" nearly 35 times a day. And every single time she asks me it feels like it is one of those Important Moments. Do I really want to be the mom that says "no" when my 2-year old asks me to play with her? Of course not.
But...
What if it's the 30th time she's asked you, and you have been playing with her for the last hour, and the load of laundry needs to be switched out? Or the ants are invading the kitchen (again) because the dirty dishes from last night are still on the counter? Or you really need to take a shower? Or, for just this next 20 minutes, you just don't want to? You just want to sit and veg on the couch with a book or a project or an email or a blog post (or yes, Instagram), and have her play by herself. WHY do I feel like if I choose "me" over "her" once or twice or three times a day (or some days more, if I'm honest), that she's going to end up in therapy because "I remember asking my mom to play with me and she chose to be on her phone instead."
That list above *is* me. I'm going to own it. I screw up. I make mistakes. But I'm also an awesome mom. I have to remind myself a lot, because I screw up a lot. I have to try to not be an awesome* mom, with the asterisk pointing to a footnote that says, "*sometimes."
* I'm REALLY good with reading. We can read the same book 5 times in a row, and I don't get tired of it.
* I'm also good at making up stories on the fly. Today it was about a little girl who wished for adventure and so a magic butterfly came and granted her one wish and turned her house into a rocketship that went to the moon.
* We do amazing karaoke together. And I know every Disney song and I have excellent melody/harmony skills, so we never go off key, and we never start too high or too low. We always have music with us wherever we go, and we love to sing together.
* I am excellent at documenting. Pictures, notes, blogs, baby books--mine are all updated and beautiful. Yes, Aria, too.
* We explore new places together. We have zoo passes and go as often as we can when it's not 8000 degrees. We have been to all the Children's museums in the area and plan to visit a couple more I just heard about. We go to local parks and playgrounds together. We have gone to baseball games and soccer games and theater shows and concerts. We have gone to the pool and to the beach. We have been to Hollywood and to Philadelphia.
* I'm not great, but I'm getting better at making whole food for the kids. I'm reading labels and making better choices.
* I'm conscious about making sure my girls see me interacting with their Daddy in a positive way, and see me interacting with friends and neighbors in a polite way. I want them also to see me taking care of my body, which is why I take them to the gym 3x a week (even when Aria is losing her mind).
* I can ALWAYS make the girls laugh. And unless it's an unusual circumstance, I can always calm them down from a tantrum.
* Avonlea loves green beans and peas and carrots and celery. She loves natural peanut butter and greek yogurt. She loves turkey and ham. I'm trying to have her be as well-rounded as possible so that she makes healthy choices for herself someday.
I guess more than anything, though, is that I try. I WANT to do well. I want to be a good mom, to have my girls turn out mostly okay. I can't do it all on my own, and it certainly isn't easy when the mom guilt kicks in. But I'm trying.
Edited to add: After I published this, an article popped up in my newsfeed from Scary Mommy, and I realized that this sounds very similar to that article. I will link to it here, and say that I did read that article such a long time ago, and its format must have stuck with me. So I guess I was inspired by it, be it extremely unconsciously!
Showing posts with label feelings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label feelings. Show all posts
Friday, October 16, 2015
Thursday, September 24, 2015
Giggling in the Rearview...
****
I'm going to not try to pretend I'm good at keeping up with blogging anymore. I'm still good with pictures. But blogging, not so much. Every once in a while I'll be struck by something, and so I'll attempt to get it out "on paper", but then the baby will wake and start crying, or I'll feel just guilty enough to do the dishes, or I'll just be so tired I need to go to sleep, and the writing will get postponed until I forget about it.
Aah, well. It's a season.
****
I grew up just down the street from one of my best friends. We grew up in church together, and ended up living across the street and 5 houses down from each other through middle and high school. We would spend an afternoon together, and then spend an hour or more "walking each other home" back and forth, back and forth between our homes.
I don't remember a lot of specifics of our conversations. I'm sure a lot of it revolved around our completely innocent crushes, church, school, friends, and other things, but a lot of our conversations were full of silliness. We grew up in Midwestern, middle-class comfort, with not a lot of baggage or trouble. We had very little knowledge of scandal or drama; most of our struggles were how to get our hair sprayed just the right way, or how to peg our jeans (and I NEVER got those things right, anyway). We spent the majority of time making up silly stories or laughing over games of M.A.S.H.Y. We had a very elaborate ongoing story that kept getting continued by the phrase, "and that was the beginning of pig snorting!" We had a habit of reading all street and business signs backwards, cracking up at trying to pronounce azziP tuH over and over again.
Ingrained in my memory is the sound of my friend's laughter, something I always recall when I think of her. It's an incredibly happy memory.
As with many aspects of the middle schoolers' existence, I recall sharing a lot of these laughing fits while in the presence of my parents. They would drive us to the mall, or to Kings Island amusement park, or to church and back again, all while we cackled and giggled and told completely nonsensical stories in the car. They would watch us in bemused wonderment, and probably ask us more than once, "What in the world are you girls talking about?" to which we would crack up again.
I read a story tonight about a local 12-year old who was talked off of a bridge by a police officer. Without going into too much about the story (because oh. my. God. It breaks my heart into a million pieces.--you can read about it here), it just made me reflect on what I was like as a 12-year old--and I was instantly taken back to those times with my friend, laughing and cackling in the back of my parent's station wagon. I have zero instances of moments where I wanted to take my life. None. And this is coming from someone who had a pretty terrible middle school experience. There were definitely days I never wanted to go back to school. I wanted to transfer. I wanted to melt into the pavement and never see certain people ever again. But end my life? Not once. It would never have even entered my mind.
The life of my 12-year old existence and the life of the 12-year old in the news seem so diametrically opposed to each other. So much so that it actually makes me worry.
Is this what I have to prepare myself for? I am raising two girls. In Los Angeles. In the social media-driven, celebrity-obsessed culture for which I am immersed but also well-prepared for. HOW IN THE WORLD am I supposed to get my girls ready to handle it while they're also up to their necks surrounded by it?
I picture myself now, not as the kid laughing with her friend in the backseat. That careless abandon and whimsy seems almost weird now that I'm immersed in "adult land", full of bills and responsibilities and mothering. I now picture myself as the parent, and it is a much more wistful scenario. I now see myself as my mom probably saw me--hearing laughter, looking in my rear-view mirror. And where she saw my friend and I, I *hope* that I get to see my girls laughing together with their girlfriends in the backseat. That they're laughing over silly stories and songs, and not laughing at others' expense. On a more basic level, that they're *laughing* together, and not crying over boys or their bodies or (God forbid) their existence.
God, I need your help in raising my girls! Help me to protect their innocence to the world while also preparing them for the reality of it. Help me to instill in them a love of laughter and friendship and staying young. Help me to be an example to them of silliness and loud songs and climbing and dancing wildly. Lead them to friends like I had: friends that smile and laugh and joke and act their age. Give me grace to make mistakes and not feel too guilty about "screwing them up totally." Bestow upon them courage to make mistakes and live boldly and serve humbly and make this world better than it was when they came into it.
It's gonna be a wild and crazy ride. I hope to see them giggling in the rearview.
I'm going to not try to pretend I'm good at keeping up with blogging anymore. I'm still good with pictures. But blogging, not so much. Every once in a while I'll be struck by something, and so I'll attempt to get it out "on paper", but then the baby will wake and start crying, or I'll feel just guilty enough to do the dishes, or I'll just be so tired I need to go to sleep, and the writing will get postponed until I forget about it.
Aah, well. It's a season.
****
I grew up just down the street from one of my best friends. We grew up in church together, and ended up living across the street and 5 houses down from each other through middle and high school. We would spend an afternoon together, and then spend an hour or more "walking each other home" back and forth, back and forth between our homes.
I don't remember a lot of specifics of our conversations. I'm sure a lot of it revolved around our completely innocent crushes, church, school, friends, and other things, but a lot of our conversations were full of silliness. We grew up in Midwestern, middle-class comfort, with not a lot of baggage or trouble. We had very little knowledge of scandal or drama; most of our struggles were how to get our hair sprayed just the right way, or how to peg our jeans (and I NEVER got those things right, anyway). We spent the majority of time making up silly stories or laughing over games of M.A.S.H.Y. We had a very elaborate ongoing story that kept getting continued by the phrase, "and that was the beginning of pig snorting!" We had a habit of reading all street and business signs backwards, cracking up at trying to pronounce azziP tuH over and over again.
Ingrained in my memory is the sound of my friend's laughter, something I always recall when I think of her. It's an incredibly happy memory.
As with many aspects of the middle schoolers' existence, I recall sharing a lot of these laughing fits while in the presence of my parents. They would drive us to the mall, or to Kings Island amusement park, or to church and back again, all while we cackled and giggled and told completely nonsensical stories in the car. They would watch us in bemused wonderment, and probably ask us more than once, "What in the world are you girls talking about?" to which we would crack up again.
I read a story tonight about a local 12-year old who was talked off of a bridge by a police officer. Without going into too much about the story (because oh. my. God. It breaks my heart into a million pieces.--you can read about it here), it just made me reflect on what I was like as a 12-year old--and I was instantly taken back to those times with my friend, laughing and cackling in the back of my parent's station wagon. I have zero instances of moments where I wanted to take my life. None. And this is coming from someone who had a pretty terrible middle school experience. There were definitely days I never wanted to go back to school. I wanted to transfer. I wanted to melt into the pavement and never see certain people ever again. But end my life? Not once. It would never have even entered my mind.
The life of my 12-year old existence and the life of the 12-year old in the news seem so diametrically opposed to each other. So much so that it actually makes me worry.
Is this what I have to prepare myself for? I am raising two girls. In Los Angeles. In the social media-driven, celebrity-obsessed culture for which I am immersed but also well-prepared for. HOW IN THE WORLD am I supposed to get my girls ready to handle it while they're also up to their necks surrounded by it?
I picture myself now, not as the kid laughing with her friend in the backseat. That careless abandon and whimsy seems almost weird now that I'm immersed in "adult land", full of bills and responsibilities and mothering. I now picture myself as the parent, and it is a much more wistful scenario. I now see myself as my mom probably saw me--hearing laughter, looking in my rear-view mirror. And where she saw my friend and I, I *hope* that I get to see my girls laughing together with their girlfriends in the backseat. That they're laughing over silly stories and songs, and not laughing at others' expense. On a more basic level, that they're *laughing* together, and not crying over boys or their bodies or (God forbid) their existence.
God, I need your help in raising my girls! Help me to protect their innocence to the world while also preparing them for the reality of it. Help me to instill in them a love of laughter and friendship and staying young. Help me to be an example to them of silliness and loud songs and climbing and dancing wildly. Lead them to friends like I had: friends that smile and laugh and joke and act their age. Give me grace to make mistakes and not feel too guilty about "screwing them up totally." Bestow upon them courage to make mistakes and live boldly and serve humbly and make this world better than it was when they came into it.
It's gonna be a wild and crazy ride. I hope to see them giggling in the rearview.
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
You Are Two
Dear Avonlea,
It's official: you are TWO years old. We celebrated on your actual birthday, which was on a Saturday this year, with a Mickey Mouse Clubhouse party and your best friends.
I am amazed that you are two. It seemed like your first year was so long, and this year, time just flew by. I think it was faster because I was pregnant through a lot of it, but also because you are so much busier now!
You have grown by leaps and bounds this year. I look at pictures of you from April of last year, and look at you today, and it's just amazing to think of how much has changed. At this time last year, you were just barely walking. In fact, you took your first steps about 6 days after your first birthday, so you weren't really even walking at this time. In the picture on the left, we were at a farm a few days after your birthday, and I had to hold your hands to help you walk anywhere.
And NOW...well, now you are a champion walker and runner and climber! You frequently amaze me with all you are able to accomplish, and all the places you are able to get to.
You are so smart. You can count objects, you know your colors, you know all the Disney characters and all the superheroes. You are able to do puzzles of a higher difficulty--ones without "helps". You got this one for your birthday (http://www.amazon.com/Frozen-28871-Floor-Puzzles-46-Piece/dp/B00J9S2SH2), and you were able to put the characters' pieces together, which just amazed Mommy (and Aunt Sunni!).
You're definitely starting to test limits. We are working on teaching you what obedience is--how it pleases God, and how it helps Mommy and Daddy keep you safe. It's going to be a long battle to learn! You are independent and bold and STUBBORN, so this is a hard lesson to learn.
You are super independent--you can play on your own for long periods of time. You're starting to do imaginative play more and more--you like your Little People sets, and you'll often have them act things out together. You have a Little People Little Mermaid set, and you have them recreate scenes from the movie. You LOVE water. You could stay in the bath all night. I bought a hard-sided baby pool for you to play in when it is warm out--you could stay in it for HOURS. The first day we had the pool, you stayed in it so long that the water got cold and your lips turned purple! We had to come inside and change your clothes and wrap you up in a bunch of blankets to try to get you warmed up!
Because you are so independent, we do have some trouble with you not being concerned about where Mommy and Daddy are--you'll often wander off in the park, or in a store (where they don't have kid-containers, I mean CARTS), and not have any care about where we are. You also have trouble with obedience, so when you wander off, or climb to the top of a play structure and Mommy asks you to come back or get down, you choose not to listen. We're having to implement more and more consequences! Mommy is doing research on how to manage negative consequences with positive consequences...being a Mommy is hard work sometimes!
You have some great friends--Wyatt is the one we play with the most. You love to boss him around, poor kid! We are working on being kind. Bossy is okay, as long as you are being kind!
You have some trouble when friends your age come over to our house--you haven't figured out how to share your toys with your friends with grace. You love older kids--you are constantly watching them when we are in the park, and you're always trying to do what they do. You love hanging out with Lily Neal (who is 12).
A lot of people have asked how you are doing with a new sister in the house. The truth is, you are doing a lot better than I thought you were going to do. When I was pregnant and I would hold a baby, you did NOT like it. You whined and cried and pulled on my pants leg. Another mom friend said I was in for some trouble because of how you behaved. But since Aria's arrival, you have done really well. We have had some moments here and there (including once in the hospital and our first day home), but for the most part, you have done really well having a little one invade our home and take half of Mommy and Daddy's attention. We are working hard to make sure you still feel loved and secure, and you have done a good job being a helper for Mommy. You like to get the baby's diapers, and you like to give her hugs. You have wanted to hold her once or twice, but for the most part, you leave her alone--Miss Independent at it again.
It's official: you are TWO years old. We celebrated on your actual birthday, which was on a Saturday this year, with a Mickey Mouse Clubhouse party and your best friends.
I am amazed that you are two. It seemed like your first year was so long, and this year, time just flew by. I think it was faster because I was pregnant through a lot of it, but also because you are so much busier now!
You have grown by leaps and bounds this year. I look at pictures of you from April of last year, and look at you today, and it's just amazing to think of how much has changed. At this time last year, you were just barely walking. In fact, you took your first steps about 6 days after your first birthday, so you weren't really even walking at this time. In the picture on the left, we were at a farm a few days after your birthday, and I had to hold your hands to help you walk anywhere.
And NOW...well, now you are a champion walker and runner and climber! You frequently amaze me with all you are able to accomplish, and all the places you are able to get to.
You are so smart. You can count objects, you know your colors, you know all the Disney characters and all the superheroes. You are able to do puzzles of a higher difficulty--ones without "helps". You got this one for your birthday (http://www.amazon.com/Frozen-28871-Floor-Puzzles-46-Piece/dp/B00J9S2SH2), and you were able to put the characters' pieces together, which just amazed Mommy (and Aunt Sunni!).
You're definitely starting to test limits. We are working on teaching you what obedience is--how it pleases God, and how it helps Mommy and Daddy keep you safe. It's going to be a long battle to learn! You are independent and bold and STUBBORN, so this is a hard lesson to learn.
You are super independent--you can play on your own for long periods of time. You're starting to do imaginative play more and more--you like your Little People sets, and you'll often have them act things out together. You have a Little People Little Mermaid set, and you have them recreate scenes from the movie. You LOVE water. You could stay in the bath all night. I bought a hard-sided baby pool for you to play in when it is warm out--you could stay in it for HOURS. The first day we had the pool, you stayed in it so long that the water got cold and your lips turned purple! We had to come inside and change your clothes and wrap you up in a bunch of blankets to try to get you warmed up!
Because you are so independent, we do have some trouble with you not being concerned about where Mommy and Daddy are--you'll often wander off in the park, or in a store (where they don't have kid-containers, I mean CARTS), and not have any care about where we are. You also have trouble with obedience, so when you wander off, or climb to the top of a play structure and Mommy asks you to come back or get down, you choose not to listen. We're having to implement more and more consequences! Mommy is doing research on how to manage negative consequences with positive consequences...being a Mommy is hard work sometimes!
You have some great friends--Wyatt is the one we play with the most. You love to boss him around, poor kid! We are working on being kind. Bossy is okay, as long as you are being kind!
A lot of people have asked how you are doing with a new sister in the house. The truth is, you are doing a lot better than I thought you were going to do. When I was pregnant and I would hold a baby, you did NOT like it. You whined and cried and pulled on my pants leg. Another mom friend said I was in for some trouble because of how you behaved. But since Aria's arrival, you have done really well. We have had some moments here and there (including once in the hospital and our first day home), but for the most part, you have done really well having a little one invade our home and take half of Mommy and Daddy's attention. We are working hard to make sure you still feel loved and secure, and you have done a good job being a helper for Mommy. You like to get the baby's diapers, and you like to give her hugs. You have wanted to hold her once or twice, but for the most part, you leave her alone--Miss Independent at it again.
LOVES:
* music
* Mickey Mouse Clubhouse
* watching movies
* bubbles
* balloons
* going to the zoo
* playing on the playground
* puzzles
* painting with a brush
* Nemo
* climbing up on things
* pointing out things in the car, or when we're out and about
* water
* stickers
* opening packages and presents
* running
* playing with whatever someone else is playing with
* grapes, hot dogs, guacamole, rice, pasta, corn on the cob, "cake" (aka muffins), milk, food pouches, M&Ms
* mimicking words and phrases (which means we have to be careful now!)
* doing whatever you like whenever you like
* swallowing your toothpaste instead of brushing your teeth with it
* Aunt Sunni's house
* Aunt Attey and Uncle Bubby (ESPECIALLY Uncle Bubby)
* hiking
* cracking eggs
* wearing bows
DISLIKES:
* having your hands dirty/sticky/sandy, etc.
* fingerpainting (see above)
* going to bed
* loud noises
* bubble wrap
* brushing your teeth
* going down the slide and getting static-y
* eating things with weird texture, or a texture you aren't expecting
* wearing any shoes other than your Elsa shoes (thankfully they are gym shoes)
* being told what to do
* wearing headbands *sniff*
* riding in the seat in a shopping cart
* getting out of the bath
We have been singing this song a lot lately--I love looking at you in the rear-view mirror when we sing it together in the car. You get this grin on your face, and it makes me grin, too. You are the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world to me.
Love you bunches,
Mommy
Monday, January 12, 2015
To Know or Not To Know...
...that has been the question.
I haven't been diligent about writing through this pregnancy, but we decided a while ago that we weren't going to find out the gender of this baby.
We didn't want to find out with Avonlea--but due to an over-eager nurse, we were told early. So, we decided that with this one, we would try again.
And it has been fun not knowing. To be able to anticipate and wonder, to thrill in the unknown. I wasn't worried about the "things" aspect. We registered for mostly gender-neutral gifts with Avonlea, and I wasn't worried about clothes, because some of our really great friends have had boys, and so I knew we would have clothes. Plus--who cares if you dress a newborn in a wrong-color onesie? You have to tell strangers what it is anyway!
There *has* been a problem with not knowing, though, and it relates to this post I wrote in December. I have found it hard to connect with this baby. Not that gender has a huge effect on that, but I think it definitely would help me to be able to connect. To get ready, to get closet space filled up, to settle on a name, to start calling the baby by something other than "Biscuit".
I mentioned this disconnect several times to Nick, and he asked if finding out the gender would be helpful for me. After thinking about it, I decided that yes, it would.
Fun fact: Did you know that we have had the ultrasound result on our refrigerator since I was 19 weeks pregnant?
And NO we didn't peek once! We decided at my 19-week ultrasound to have them put the results into an envelope--at that point, I was gung-ho about NOT looking, and Nick was 50/50 about it. We put it on the fridge, and if we decided we wanted to look, then we could.
People couldn't BELIEVE we hadn't looked at it when we told them it was on the fridge! My neighbor, Sunni, actually said she was going to come and look when we weren't there, because she wanted to know so badly! It just wasn't a temptation. With Avonlea, I found out what we were having when Nick was at work, and I didn't want to find out again without him; and when he was home, we didn't really talk about it. It honestly didn't come up.
At our 19-week appointment, the doctor saw that I had a low-lying placenta, so we had to come back at 26 weeks for another ultrasound to check on it. At the 26-week appointment, he saw that the placenta had moved up to where it should be (yay), and then checked over the rest of the baby. He moved it to the "find out" area, and then pulled the wand away--but had it there long enough that both of us thought we had seen something definitive!
Of course, a couple of hours later, I was able to talk myself out of what I had thought I had seen. :)
But anyways, because of the disconnect, we decided that we would look on Christmas Day.
Want to know what we're having?
Well, you'll just have to wait until February 3rd to find out! 'Cause we're not telling! Feel free to leave your guesses in the comments!
(For the record, one of us guessed correctly, and one of us was surprised.)
I haven't been diligent about writing through this pregnancy, but we decided a while ago that we weren't going to find out the gender of this baby.
We didn't want to find out with Avonlea--but due to an over-eager nurse, we were told early. So, we decided that with this one, we would try again.
And it has been fun not knowing. To be able to anticipate and wonder, to thrill in the unknown. I wasn't worried about the "things" aspect. We registered for mostly gender-neutral gifts with Avonlea, and I wasn't worried about clothes, because some of our really great friends have had boys, and so I knew we would have clothes. Plus--who cares if you dress a newborn in a wrong-color onesie? You have to tell strangers what it is anyway!
There *has* been a problem with not knowing, though, and it relates to this post I wrote in December. I have found it hard to connect with this baby. Not that gender has a huge effect on that, but I think it definitely would help me to be able to connect. To get ready, to get closet space filled up, to settle on a name, to start calling the baby by something other than "Biscuit".
I mentioned this disconnect several times to Nick, and he asked if finding out the gender would be helpful for me. After thinking about it, I decided that yes, it would.
Fun fact: Did you know that we have had the ultrasound result on our refrigerator since I was 19 weeks pregnant?
And NO we didn't peek once! We decided at my 19-week ultrasound to have them put the results into an envelope--at that point, I was gung-ho about NOT looking, and Nick was 50/50 about it. We put it on the fridge, and if we decided we wanted to look, then we could.
People couldn't BELIEVE we hadn't looked at it when we told them it was on the fridge! My neighbor, Sunni, actually said she was going to come and look when we weren't there, because she wanted to know so badly! It just wasn't a temptation. With Avonlea, I found out what we were having when Nick was at work, and I didn't want to find out again without him; and when he was home, we didn't really talk about it. It honestly didn't come up.
At our 19-week appointment, the doctor saw that I had a low-lying placenta, so we had to come back at 26 weeks for another ultrasound to check on it. At the 26-week appointment, he saw that the placenta had moved up to where it should be (yay), and then checked over the rest of the baby. He moved it to the "find out" area, and then pulled the wand away--but had it there long enough that both of us thought we had seen something definitive!
Of course, a couple of hours later, I was able to talk myself out of what I had thought I had seen. :)
But anyways, because of the disconnect, we decided that we would look on Christmas Day.
Want to know what we're having?
Well, you'll just have to wait until February 3rd to find out! 'Cause we're not telling! Feel free to leave your guesses in the comments!
(For the record, one of us guessed correctly, and one of us was surprised.)
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
2 Months To Go...
I haven't written for a while.
It's not because I don't have anything to write. I usually fall asleep thinking of all the things I could write about. Maybe I just have too many things to write about, and I get overwhelmed thinking how to condense it all into a blog post. And why sit down to write for 45 minutes when I could zone out to an episode of "Buffy", or (better yet) take a nap??
But here I am, writing a long-overdue post.
Only 2 months to go in this pregnancy. It's like a freight train that is coming, non-stop, and I am so unprepared.
As I reminisce over my last pregnancy with Avonlea, I realize how similarly I went into motherhood as my journey into becoming a wife. It was all romance and rose-colored glasses. I knew parts of it would be "hard", but I had NO idea what that meant until I was deep into it. And yes, it WAS hard. In fact, "hard" isn't an adequate enough word. I felt overwhelmed and anxious and in-over-my-head, and seriously wanted to give up and drop the baby off at an orphanage and take back my precious "me time".
It all stemmed from being completely, wholly, over-the-top 1000% afraid. Not only did I feel like I had no idea what I was doing (and, let's be honest--I really didn't have any idea what I was doing), but because I felt like ANYONE would do better than I could possibly do at raising this tiny human.
As I am faced with this new baby, I realize I have more experience and am better equipped this time around. Practically, I am much more prepared. I know better how to feed and dress the baby. I have been through the drama and struggle of delivery. The drama and struggle of breastfeeding. The drama and struggle of a baby who wants to eat every hour. The drama and....well, you get the idea.
But I guess the problem is that there are so many MORE things to be scared about this time around. So I sit here, 2 months out, and I am just completely, wholly, over-the-top 1000% afraid...again.
So many unknowns. So many questions. So many worries. So many fears. And this time, I left the rose-colored glasses off. There's no more romanticism going into life with a newborn this time around. I'm prepared for the worst. The crying, the lack of sleep, the searing pain from being sliced open and taped back together. I'm prepared for that. What I am not prepared for is all of those things added to the fact that I have a TODDLER. A very needy toddler. A toddler that, I might add, HATES when I hold other babies (like, claws my pants legs and whines and cries and throws a fit hates).
I don't know how to do this. I don't do well in situations where I don't have even a slight grasp on how to handle it. I tend towards avoidance or complete shutdown. But this? I can't avoid. I can't shut down. I have to put on my big girl pants and take it head-on.
I hear from a lot of moms that have already done it. I know it can be done. It might not be pretty, or graceful, or worthy of my own parenting handbook, but it can be done. It has to be.
That said, in a couple of months, if you see me walking around with my yoga pants on and mismatched socks, hopefully you'll extend me some grace.
It's not because I don't have anything to write. I usually fall asleep thinking of all the things I could write about. Maybe I just have too many things to write about, and I get overwhelmed thinking how to condense it all into a blog post. And why sit down to write for 45 minutes when I could zone out to an episode of "Buffy", or (better yet) take a nap??
But here I am, writing a long-overdue post.
Only 2 months to go in this pregnancy. It's like a freight train that is coming, non-stop, and I am so unprepared.
As I reminisce over my last pregnancy with Avonlea, I realize how similarly I went into motherhood as my journey into becoming a wife. It was all romance and rose-colored glasses. I knew parts of it would be "hard", but I had NO idea what that meant until I was deep into it. And yes, it WAS hard. In fact, "hard" isn't an adequate enough word. I felt overwhelmed and anxious and in-over-my-head, and seriously wanted to give up and drop the baby off at an orphanage and take back my precious "me time".
It all stemmed from being completely, wholly, over-the-top 1000% afraid. Not only did I feel like I had no idea what I was doing (and, let's be honest--I really didn't have any idea what I was doing), but because I felt like ANYONE would do better than I could possibly do at raising this tiny human.
As I am faced with this new baby, I realize I have more experience and am better equipped this time around. Practically, I am much more prepared. I know better how to feed and dress the baby. I have been through the drama and struggle of delivery. The drama and struggle of breastfeeding. The drama and struggle of a baby who wants to eat every hour. The drama and....well, you get the idea.
But I guess the problem is that there are so many MORE things to be scared about this time around. So I sit here, 2 months out, and I am just completely, wholly, over-the-top 1000% afraid...again.
So many unknowns. So many questions. So many worries. So many fears. And this time, I left the rose-colored glasses off. There's no more romanticism going into life with a newborn this time around. I'm prepared for the worst. The crying, the lack of sleep, the searing pain from being sliced open and taped back together. I'm prepared for that. What I am not prepared for is all of those things added to the fact that I have a TODDLER. A very needy toddler. A toddler that, I might add, HATES when I hold other babies (like, claws my pants legs and whines and cries and throws a fit hates).
I don't know how to do this. I don't do well in situations where I don't have even a slight grasp on how to handle it. I tend towards avoidance or complete shutdown. But this? I can't avoid. I can't shut down. I have to put on my big girl pants and take it head-on.
I hear from a lot of moms that have already done it. I know it can be done. It might not be pretty, or graceful, or worthy of my own parenting handbook, but it can be done. It has to be.
That said, in a couple of months, if you see me walking around with my yoga pants on and mismatched socks, hopefully you'll extend me some grace.
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Unhinged by the UnGame
Nick and I recently returned from vacation. Actually, I should probably call it a "vacation", as it was a LOT of work, and not a lot of rest, or escape from my daily reality, as often a vacation purports to be.
But I can write about that (and about how Avonlea did with it) at another time.
In this post, I'm going to write about the sad realization I came to on vacation (and, in the days since our return, have continued to dwell upon).
In the car, whenever we have long drives, Nick and I play the "UnGame".
This isn't really a game (hence, the name UNgame). It's a box of two sets of cards. Each card has a question or a statement on it, and you take turns answering the questions or responding to the statements. For example:
We got the game as a gift from my friend Jenn for our wedding, and it is one that we carry with us on all of our trips. It's good to pull out when someone is getting tired, or we have a long distance to travel.
Well, for the first time since we have had this game, a question really stumped me. It's a question that, prior to maybe 9 months ago, I would have had a ready answer for. Definitely one I could have answered 3 or 5 or 7 years ago. That question was,
What are 3 things you would like to be doing in three years?
Now, perhaps I am being overly dramatic. Perhaps pregnancy hormones are getting the better of me, and making me all down and dreary. Perhaps I just had a brain fart. But I could not, for the life of me, think of 3 things.
Even now, a few weeks later, I can't think of anything. Why is that??
I've been dwelling on the "why" of this situation for weeks. Why am I having so much trouble thinking of what I would like to be doing? It's not like this is a life or death question. There isn't any money on the line. No one is going to be recording my answers--after all, how I would have answered this question 1 or 4 or 10 years ago is no longer relevant.
But the fact that I have trouble answering the question disturbs me.
I guess it is because every time I think of what I would LIKE to be doing in three years, a little voice (or block, or hiccup) in my brain says, "Yeah, but you're going to have a 5 year old and a 3 year old in 3 years--what are you REALLY going to be doing for yourself?"
I think over the 16 months I have spent as a mom, and consider how dramatically my life has changed--the infrequent nights away, the slow loss of personal time during the day (less time to do things for me--more time doing things to just get by), less and less ability to do hobbies that interest me. I have lost myself as I have become a mom, and I guess I don't see that changing at all now that we're having another one--in fact, I only see it becoming worse.
I guess I kept waiting for "the moment" when I would be able to become "me" again. Maybe it was when Avonlea would sleep through the night (still hasn't happened), or when she stopped breastfeeding (still hasn't happened)--I would be able to do some of the things that I loved before I had a baby. I would be able to devote more time to it, instead of squeezing it in during nap time or after she goes to bed, when I'm too tired to do what I love. But, that "moment" hasn't arrived, and now that we're having another one, that moment seems to have moved so far down my life timeline I can't even see it anymore.
I guess I need to pause and clarify--I love my daughter. I love staying home with her. I love that I have been able to breastfeed her and take care of her daily. Please, in light of everything else I am writing, let that be very firmly said.
I just wish I didn't feel like I have lost myself along the journey. I look 3 years down the road, and I can see myself staying up until 11pm--but I am not watching a movie, or having date night, or having friends over to play games, or reading, or going for a run--all things that I used to love. Instead, I see an exhausted mom, cleaning the kitchen, scrubbing a high chair, scruffy hair and no shower, and wiping down the bathroom counters for the first time in weeks because this is the first chance I've gotten to do it. I see many years of jiggly belly and peeling nails and much-delayed haircuts and gray hairs, and it's discouraging.
I so much want to have an answer to the question--What would I LIKE to be doing in three years?--but right now, my life is getting in the way of being able to answer it.
But I can write about that (and about how Avonlea did with it) at another time.
In this post, I'm going to write about the sad realization I came to on vacation (and, in the days since our return, have continued to dwell upon).
In the car, whenever we have long drives, Nick and I play the "UnGame".
We got the game as a gift from my friend Jenn for our wedding, and it is one that we carry with us on all of our trips. It's good to pull out when someone is getting tired, or we have a long distance to travel.
Well, for the first time since we have had this game, a question really stumped me. It's a question that, prior to maybe 9 months ago, I would have had a ready answer for. Definitely one I could have answered 3 or 5 or 7 years ago. That question was,
What are 3 things you would like to be doing in three years?
Now, perhaps I am being overly dramatic. Perhaps pregnancy hormones are getting the better of me, and making me all down and dreary. Perhaps I just had a brain fart. But I could not, for the life of me, think of 3 things.
Even now, a few weeks later, I can't think of anything. Why is that??
I've been dwelling on the "why" of this situation for weeks. Why am I having so much trouble thinking of what I would like to be doing? It's not like this is a life or death question. There isn't any money on the line. No one is going to be recording my answers--after all, how I would have answered this question 1 or 4 or 10 years ago is no longer relevant.
But the fact that I have trouble answering the question disturbs me.
I guess it is because every time I think of what I would LIKE to be doing in three years, a little voice (or block, or hiccup) in my brain says, "Yeah, but you're going to have a 5 year old and a 3 year old in 3 years--what are you REALLY going to be doing for yourself?"
I think over the 16 months I have spent as a mom, and consider how dramatically my life has changed--the infrequent nights away, the slow loss of personal time during the day (less time to do things for me--more time doing things to just get by), less and less ability to do hobbies that interest me. I have lost myself as I have become a mom, and I guess I don't see that changing at all now that we're having another one--in fact, I only see it becoming worse.
I guess I kept waiting for "the moment" when I would be able to become "me" again. Maybe it was when Avonlea would sleep through the night (still hasn't happened), or when she stopped breastfeeding (still hasn't happened)--I would be able to do some of the things that I loved before I had a baby. I would be able to devote more time to it, instead of squeezing it in during nap time or after she goes to bed, when I'm too tired to do what I love. But, that "moment" hasn't arrived, and now that we're having another one, that moment seems to have moved so far down my life timeline I can't even see it anymore.
I guess I need to pause and clarify--I love my daughter. I love staying home with her. I love that I have been able to breastfeed her and take care of her daily. Please, in light of everything else I am writing, let that be very firmly said.
I just wish I didn't feel like I have lost myself along the journey. I look 3 years down the road, and I can see myself staying up until 11pm--but I am not watching a movie, or having date night, or having friends over to play games, or reading, or going for a run--all things that I used to love. Instead, I see an exhausted mom, cleaning the kitchen, scrubbing a high chair, scruffy hair and no shower, and wiping down the bathroom counters for the first time in weeks because this is the first chance I've gotten to do it. I see many years of jiggly belly and peeling nails and much-delayed haircuts and gray hairs, and it's discouraging.
I so much want to have an answer to the question--What would I LIKE to be doing in three years?--but right now, my life is getting in the way of being able to answer it.
Thursday, June 12, 2014
Pee Stick and Telling Nick
(Written on June 11, 2014)
So, I've had a few days to process.
I am pregnant.
I am going to have another baby.
I am going to have another baby.
I am going to have another baby.
I am going to have another baby!
(Say those sentences in a progressively louder and more hyper-sounding voice, and you'll have my inflection down perfectly.)
To say I was surprised would be an understatement.
I'm not sure why. I mean, we were having unprotected sex. Hello, that's how babies are made! I'm not sure what we were thinking on that one, other than figuring it took us so long last time that it probably wouldn't happen so easily. Honestly, with Nick and I, we tend to just not think about it.
Wanna know a secret? We have never used a condom. Seriously. Almost 9 years of marriage, not once. No sex before marriage, so no possibility there. First 5 years of our marriage I was on birth control, and the next 3 years we were trying to have a baby. I've never opened one of those foil packets. We've never even bought any. I wouldn't have any idea where to start. I probably could've sent Nick to go get some (he would have a better idea than me, I'm guessing), but honestly, I didn't even think to ask him to. So, over the last 14 months since Avonlea has been born, we've just been....well, au naturel, as they say.
That's probably irresponsible, especially since I was so freaked out to have a baby. But I genuinely, honestly, had NO IDEA we would have any success again. It's like the little part of my brain that remembers how babies are made just inconveniently forgot about it. And it's not like I frequent the condom aisle at the drug store, either, so as to be subtly reminded.
Over the last few weeks, I have had weird moments of thinking, "I'm pregnant." I took the pregnancy test after a couple of days of thinking, "I think I'm late." When I clipped coupons this month, I clipped some pregnancy test coupons. I was having nightmares about being pregnant. I was daydreaming about if people would think I was crazy if I called adoption agencies to give up the baby I was dreaming I had. I was relieved when feeling what I thought was my pre-period cramping, and wore a pad one night, just in case (that was a waste). When I took the test, a little voice in the back of my head said, "It's going to be positive."
I took the test while Nick was out re-enrolling in AAA for the year, and left it in the bathroom for a while, forgotten, while I looked after Avonlea. I only remembered to go in and look at it because Nick arrived home, and I didn't want to freak him out with a used pregnancy test in the bathroom.
Last time, immediately after finding that little blue line, I was a smidge disappointed (which I detailed in this post).
This time, I was downright freaked. out. Full on, horror movie levels of scared. Approximately one million and one thoughts screamed through my head at the same time: "I can't do this. I still have a baby--how can I possibly be prepared to take on another one! I've seen my friends who have a toddler and a newborn--they look like they want to go into fetal position at any moment. I can't handle that! I'm not back to my pre-baby weight! I'm going to get so incredibly fat! I can't do this. I can't DO this!"
After the fear, came the shock (and irritation): "Seriously? Again? STUPID Allison. WHY didn't you go and buy some freaking condoms?!?"
To top it off, Nick and I weren't really talking to each other very much. We were in a "fight", though we don't really have knock-down, drag-out fights. We just kind of do the silent treatment. (Nick will probably read this later and say, "We were in a fight?" That's how well we fight.)
When he got home, and I checked the test, I thought for a split second about waiting to tell him the news. Last time, I had such a cute way of telling him. But now, I was just so upset that we were in a fight that I wanted to resolve it as soon as possible.
Nick started to tell me something about the AAA thing, and all I could do was start to cry. Nick, of course, wondered what was wrong, and I apologized for my part of the fight. And then I said, "I think we have a huge problem."
I got up off the couch to go get the pregnancy test, and Nick followed me. I brought it back out to him in the hallway, and he got a huge smile on his face, and said, "Uh-oh! What does that mean?" (in a sly, I-already-know-what-it-means kind of way). I'm really glad he was smiling and happy, because I was bawling by this point.
I probably should've waited to tell him in a more fun way, but I just couldn't think of how I would get excited about it enough to be creative and happy when I told him, so I blurted it out to him over a laundry basket of dirty socks.
That sounds terrible to say. I really hope that Biscuit doesn't hate me later in life for knowing that I wasn't initially excited about his/her presence in my womb.
But above all the emotions; the fear, the worry, the shock--I never once thought that we should get rid of it. I never thought we should abort, or put it up for adoption. This is OUR BABY. And whether or not we were ready for its creation is a moot point (or, a moo point). And deep down, I was happy. Definitely not outrageously happy, but I was at least minutely pleased. In the midst of my tears on Nick's shirt, I was able to smile about the new life we had created.
Now that a few days have passed, it still hits me like a ton of bricks when I remember, again, that I am pregnant. But I also realize a little bit more each day that it really is going to be okay. God would not have given us this life if it was not meant for us. If we would not be able to handle it. It might take me a while to be 100% gung-ho about it, but that's okay.
We're going to have another baby.
And it's going to be great.
So, I've had a few days to process.
I am pregnant.
I am going to have another baby.
I am going to have another baby.
I am going to have another baby.
I am going to have another baby!
(Say those sentences in a progressively louder and more hyper-sounding voice, and you'll have my inflection down perfectly.)
To say I was surprised would be an understatement.
I'm not sure why. I mean, we were having unprotected sex. Hello, that's how babies are made! I'm not sure what we were thinking on that one, other than figuring it took us so long last time that it probably wouldn't happen so easily. Honestly, with Nick and I, we tend to just not think about it.
Wanna know a secret? We have never used a condom. Seriously. Almost 9 years of marriage, not once. No sex before marriage, so no possibility there. First 5 years of our marriage I was on birth control, and the next 3 years we were trying to have a baby. I've never opened one of those foil packets. We've never even bought any. I wouldn't have any idea where to start. I probably could've sent Nick to go get some (he would have a better idea than me, I'm guessing), but honestly, I didn't even think to ask him to. So, over the last 14 months since Avonlea has been born, we've just been....well, au naturel, as they say.
That's probably irresponsible, especially since I was so freaked out to have a baby. But I genuinely, honestly, had NO IDEA we would have any success again. It's like the little part of my brain that remembers how babies are made just inconveniently forgot about it. And it's not like I frequent the condom aisle at the drug store, either, so as to be subtly reminded.
Over the last few weeks, I have had weird moments of thinking, "I'm pregnant." I took the pregnancy test after a couple of days of thinking, "I think I'm late." When I clipped coupons this month, I clipped some pregnancy test coupons. I was having nightmares about being pregnant. I was daydreaming about if people would think I was crazy if I called adoption agencies to give up the baby I was dreaming I had. I was relieved when feeling what I thought was my pre-period cramping, and wore a pad one night, just in case (that was a waste). When I took the test, a little voice in the back of my head said, "It's going to be positive."
I took the test while Nick was out re-enrolling in AAA for the year, and left it in the bathroom for a while, forgotten, while I looked after Avonlea. I only remembered to go in and look at it because Nick arrived home, and I didn't want to freak him out with a used pregnancy test in the bathroom.
Last time, immediately after finding that little blue line, I was a smidge disappointed (which I detailed in this post).
This time, I was downright freaked. out. Full on, horror movie levels of scared. Approximately one million and one thoughts screamed through my head at the same time: "I can't do this. I still have a baby--how can I possibly be prepared to take on another one! I've seen my friends who have a toddler and a newborn--they look like they want to go into fetal position at any moment. I can't handle that! I'm not back to my pre-baby weight! I'm going to get so incredibly fat! I can't do this. I can't DO this!"
After the fear, came the shock (and irritation): "Seriously? Again? STUPID Allison. WHY didn't you go and buy some freaking condoms?!?"
To top it off, Nick and I weren't really talking to each other very much. We were in a "fight", though we don't really have knock-down, drag-out fights. We just kind of do the silent treatment. (Nick will probably read this later and say, "We were in a fight?" That's how well we fight.)
When he got home, and I checked the test, I thought for a split second about waiting to tell him the news. Last time, I had such a cute way of telling him. But now, I was just so upset that we were in a fight that I wanted to resolve it as soon as possible.
Nick started to tell me something about the AAA thing, and all I could do was start to cry. Nick, of course, wondered what was wrong, and I apologized for my part of the fight. And then I said, "I think we have a huge problem."
I got up off the couch to go get the pregnancy test, and Nick followed me. I brought it back out to him in the hallway, and he got a huge smile on his face, and said, "Uh-oh! What does that mean?" (in a sly, I-already-know-what-it-means kind of way). I'm really glad he was smiling and happy, because I was bawling by this point.
I probably should've waited to tell him in a more fun way, but I just couldn't think of how I would get excited about it enough to be creative and happy when I told him, so I blurted it out to him over a laundry basket of dirty socks.
That sounds terrible to say. I really hope that Biscuit doesn't hate me later in life for knowing that I wasn't initially excited about his/her presence in my womb.
But above all the emotions; the fear, the worry, the shock--I never once thought that we should get rid of it. I never thought we should abort, or put it up for adoption. This is OUR BABY. And whether or not we were ready for its creation is a moot point (or, a moo point). And deep down, I was happy. Definitely not outrageously happy, but I was at least minutely pleased. In the midst of my tears on Nick's shirt, I was able to smile about the new life we had created.
Now that a few days have passed, it still hits me like a ton of bricks when I remember, again, that I am pregnant. But I also realize a little bit more each day that it really is going to be okay. God would not have given us this life if it was not meant for us. If we would not be able to handle it. It might take me a while to be 100% gung-ho about it, but that's okay.
We're going to have another baby.
And it's going to be great.
Saturday, June 7, 2014
A Second Kid? Are you CRAZY??
(this post was written June 7, 2014)
I heard that after you have your first kid, people started asking you when you were going to have another one. I experienced this a little bit, but really only from people I didn't know (or my mother-in-law). See, I think it was that the people close to me knew what a traumatic experience Avonlea's babyhood was, and so they knew better than to ask me.
As time went on, among other people and among other mommies, the baby question would come up, and people would be surprised at my emphatic "NO!" when asked if we were going to have another kid.
I don't think it is a permanent "no". I just say that I need more time to recover from the trauma of the last kid. It's not the birth that traumatized me. It's the having a BABY thing that traumatized me. I love looking at babies. I love it when friends have babies. I really liked being pregnant and growing a baby. I learned that I do NOT like babies.
I also can't imagine having another kid right now, with Avonlea still so young. I imagine a 3-4 year spread between my kids. I like the 3 or 4 year spread, because they'll have one or two years together in middle and high school, but not too close together. They also won't be too far apart and grow up hating each other, like Ashley and I did with our 6.5 year spread.
I am also seeing what it is like to have a toddler and a baby first-hand. Several of my mom friends are on baby #2 with their first being around 16-20 months old. And while it's exciting in theory, I see what a toll it takes. The energy you needed for one baby is now multiplied, but the energy you're given isn't. My friends are doing an amazing job--but I spent one afternoon with one of them, and I came home saying, "We canNOT have another baby anytime soon." Just watching what it was like terrified me.
I don't do well in situations where I am overwhelmed. I tend to lose my balance mentally, and I constantly feel like I am underwater. I just don't do well. I mean, one of my extended family members told me she was going to fly to California to help me after I had Avonlea because I sounded like I was doing so badly. Did I also mention I'm not good at concealing how I really feel?
I guess you have some things figured out with your second kid that make some aspects of it a little easier. You're not dealing with the first-time Mom thing, which is huge. But on the flip-side, you're dealing with the new thing of raising another kid AND a baby.
And to be honest, I'm kind of content with our little 3-person family. I really would be completely happy if we never had another kid of our own. I did the pregnant thing. I did the baby thing. I'm happy to move on with my life. I would love to consider adoption, but that's not something Nick is interested in right now. Maybe I can work on him in that regard, but it's not something we would pursue even in the next 5 years.
All that being said, I took these pictures today:
Oh, shit.
I heard that after you have your first kid, people started asking you when you were going to have another one. I experienced this a little bit, but really only from people I didn't know (or my mother-in-law). See, I think it was that the people close to me knew what a traumatic experience Avonlea's babyhood was, and so they knew better than to ask me.
As time went on, among other people and among other mommies, the baby question would come up, and people would be surprised at my emphatic "NO!" when asked if we were going to have another kid.
I don't think it is a permanent "no". I just say that I need more time to recover from the trauma of the last kid. It's not the birth that traumatized me. It's the having a BABY thing that traumatized me. I love looking at babies. I love it when friends have babies. I really liked being pregnant and growing a baby. I learned that I do NOT like babies.
I also can't imagine having another kid right now, with Avonlea still so young. I imagine a 3-4 year spread between my kids. I like the 3 or 4 year spread, because they'll have one or two years together in middle and high school, but not too close together. They also won't be too far apart and grow up hating each other, like Ashley and I did with our 6.5 year spread.
I am also seeing what it is like to have a toddler and a baby first-hand. Several of my mom friends are on baby #2 with their first being around 16-20 months old. And while it's exciting in theory, I see what a toll it takes. The energy you needed for one baby is now multiplied, but the energy you're given isn't. My friends are doing an amazing job--but I spent one afternoon with one of them, and I came home saying, "We canNOT have another baby anytime soon." Just watching what it was like terrified me.
I don't do well in situations where I am overwhelmed. I tend to lose my balance mentally, and I constantly feel like I am underwater. I just don't do well. I mean, one of my extended family members told me she was going to fly to California to help me after I had Avonlea because I sounded like I was doing so badly. Did I also mention I'm not good at concealing how I really feel?
I guess you have some things figured out with your second kid that make some aspects of it a little easier. You're not dealing with the first-time Mom thing, which is huge. But on the flip-side, you're dealing with the new thing of raising another kid AND a baby.
And to be honest, I'm kind of content with our little 3-person family. I really would be completely happy if we never had another kid of our own. I did the pregnant thing. I did the baby thing. I'm happy to move on with my life. I would love to consider adoption, but that's not something Nick is interested in right now. Maybe I can work on him in that regard, but it's not something we would pursue even in the next 5 years.
All that being said, I took these pictures today:
Oh, shit.
Saturday, May 31, 2014
Contentment? As a Mom?
Do you ever feel like you were meant for something...else?
90 percent of the time, I love my life. I live in a great city, with tons of opportunities. I have an amazing husband, who works hard to provide for our family. I have a beautiful daughter, who fills my days with joy. I have a nice home and a place to exercise and health and a great church community. I am able to sing and run and read and exercise my creativity in different ways.
But.
I still struggle with contentment. That 10 percent just eats away at me. I wish things for my life that aren't possible right now, and I find myself frustrated that I'm not able to do those things. I wonder where this stems from. Is it some weird effect of the feminist movement, to make me feel like my being a stay-at-home mom is unfulfilling in some way? If I had stayed in my career, would I feel better about things? Would I be more content? It's almost like I see the grass as greener on the other side of the fence.
But see, here's the rub: I don't think I would like it any more if I were on the other side of the fence. Because I was there. I have experienced the other side of so many things. I was single until I was 26, and didn't date a lot, and I just wanted to be married. I had a marriage with no kids for 8 years, and I just wanted to add kids to the mix. I had a job as a teacher, and I never felt completely comfortable in it enough to enjoy it all the time. Same with being a photographer--I always felt like I knew just enough to get by, but not enough to really excel. And now, as a mom, I feel similarly--I'm doing an okay job, but I'm not doing an exceptional job.
Is it a lack of confidence that causes this discontent? I have noticed a pattern in my life--I get involved with something, and then after a while I get bored, or I realize I am inadequate in some way, and I move on. I was 100% into sports growing up. Then I did some theater in college, but not enough to really consider that a career (even though I majored in it). Then I was a teacher for 8 years, but never felt comfortable in it, and then I did photography for 3 years, and now I'm a mom. I've dabbled in sewing and scrapbooking and baking and aerobics and acting and blogging and gardening and so many other things, but have never stayed with anything for too long. And is it because of this dabbling, this bouncing back-and-forth between interests and passions--that has caused me to develop this weird discontentment? That I essentially have "life passion ADD"?
Or am I just setting myself up with expectations that are too high? Can anyone really feel 100% like they're doing their life's work? They choose a career when they're 19 or 20 and stick with that education and training and then every day they do that chosen career they feel like they're exactly where they belong? Because to me, that seems completely foreign. People have asked me, "What do you want to do?" and I have never felt comfortable giving a solid answer. Because the true, honest answer is, "I don't know." I feel like so many of the choices that I have made in my life have been by default.
I chose a communications major because there were classes I could actually pass.
I went to China because my friend convinced me.
I started teaching because I couldn't find a theater job anywhere, and it was something I could do in the meantime.
I'm staying at home with Avonlea because teaching here isn't really an option (and I probably couldn't find a job anyway).
I kind of wonder, when Avonlea gets to the age where she starts deciding what she wants to do, what will she learn from me? I don't ever want Avonlea to think that choosing to stay at home with her was a "default" choice--but how do I tell her that I never expected to stay home? I grew up in the household of an amazing career woman, and always expected to follow in those footsteps, and now I'm going back on everything I ever said I wanted. I want to give Avonlea a strong sense of self to stand on, but my track record for advising her isn't so great, since my "sense of self foundation" is wobbly at best. And what about after that? When she does decide what she wants and moves out of the house--what will be left for me? I'll be one of those weird women who takes up underwater basket weaving because she has nothing to do with her time after her kids moved out of the house.
I guess, in the end, it's about transition. I had a really hard time after Nick and I got married. About a year into the marriage, I realized how much had changed for me. I had to "report to someone" (for lack of a better word) about how I spent my time, how I spent my money, where I went on vacation, what I wanted the house to look like, etc. I didn't even get to keep my own name! I felt like my identity had shifted so dramatically, and it took me a while to get used to "the new me". To get a feeling of how a marriage worked, and how to be a partner in life to someone else. I wasn't just me anymore. I was now "wife".
And now, I'm at another transition. Now I'm a "mom". I'm a year into it, and I'm realizing how hard it is for me to come to grips with it. That this, this mom thing that I'm in right now is what I am doing, and that maybe it isn't what I thought it would be. When I became a "mom", did I leave everything else behind? All my goals? All my wishes? I didn't think about the sacrifices I would have to make, or the changes I would have to make to my expectations. I didn't realize what I would lose.
But I also didn't realize what I would gain.
I'm still trying to figure it out.
90 percent of the time, I love my life. I live in a great city, with tons of opportunities. I have an amazing husband, who works hard to provide for our family. I have a beautiful daughter, who fills my days with joy. I have a nice home and a place to exercise and health and a great church community. I am able to sing and run and read and exercise my creativity in different ways.
But.
I still struggle with contentment. That 10 percent just eats away at me. I wish things for my life that aren't possible right now, and I find myself frustrated that I'm not able to do those things. I wonder where this stems from. Is it some weird effect of the feminist movement, to make me feel like my being a stay-at-home mom is unfulfilling in some way? If I had stayed in my career, would I feel better about things? Would I be more content? It's almost like I see the grass as greener on the other side of the fence.
But see, here's the rub: I don't think I would like it any more if I were on the other side of the fence. Because I was there. I have experienced the other side of so many things. I was single until I was 26, and didn't date a lot, and I just wanted to be married. I had a marriage with no kids for 8 years, and I just wanted to add kids to the mix. I had a job as a teacher, and I never felt completely comfortable in it enough to enjoy it all the time. Same with being a photographer--I always felt like I knew just enough to get by, but not enough to really excel. And now, as a mom, I feel similarly--I'm doing an okay job, but I'm not doing an exceptional job.
Is it a lack of confidence that causes this discontent? I have noticed a pattern in my life--I get involved with something, and then after a while I get bored, or I realize I am inadequate in some way, and I move on. I was 100% into sports growing up. Then I did some theater in college, but not enough to really consider that a career (even though I majored in it). Then I was a teacher for 8 years, but never felt comfortable in it, and then I did photography for 3 years, and now I'm a mom. I've dabbled in sewing and scrapbooking and baking and aerobics and acting and blogging and gardening and so many other things, but have never stayed with anything for too long. And is it because of this dabbling, this bouncing back-and-forth between interests and passions--that has caused me to develop this weird discontentment? That I essentially have "life passion ADD"?
Or am I just setting myself up with expectations that are too high? Can anyone really feel 100% like they're doing their life's work? They choose a career when they're 19 or 20 and stick with that education and training and then every day they do that chosen career they feel like they're exactly where they belong? Because to me, that seems completely foreign. People have asked me, "What do you want to do?" and I have never felt comfortable giving a solid answer. Because the true, honest answer is, "I don't know." I feel like so many of the choices that I have made in my life have been by default.
I chose a communications major because there were classes I could actually pass.
I went to China because my friend convinced me.
I started teaching because I couldn't find a theater job anywhere, and it was something I could do in the meantime.
I'm staying at home with Avonlea because teaching here isn't really an option (and I probably couldn't find a job anyway).
I kind of wonder, when Avonlea gets to the age where she starts deciding what she wants to do, what will she learn from me? I don't ever want Avonlea to think that choosing to stay at home with her was a "default" choice--but how do I tell her that I never expected to stay home? I grew up in the household of an amazing career woman, and always expected to follow in those footsteps, and now I'm going back on everything I ever said I wanted. I want to give Avonlea a strong sense of self to stand on, but my track record for advising her isn't so great, since my "sense of self foundation" is wobbly at best. And what about after that? When she does decide what she wants and moves out of the house--what will be left for me? I'll be one of those weird women who takes up underwater basket weaving because she has nothing to do with her time after her kids moved out of the house.
I guess, in the end, it's about transition. I had a really hard time after Nick and I got married. About a year into the marriage, I realized how much had changed for me. I had to "report to someone" (for lack of a better word) about how I spent my time, how I spent my money, where I went on vacation, what I wanted the house to look like, etc. I didn't even get to keep my own name! I felt like my identity had shifted so dramatically, and it took me a while to get used to "the new me". To get a feeling of how a marriage worked, and how to be a partner in life to someone else. I wasn't just me anymore. I was now "wife".
And now, I'm at another transition. Now I'm a "mom". I'm a year into it, and I'm realizing how hard it is for me to come to grips with it. That this, this mom thing that I'm in right now is what I am doing, and that maybe it isn't what I thought it would be. When I became a "mom", did I leave everything else behind? All my goals? All my wishes? I didn't think about the sacrifices I would have to make, or the changes I would have to make to my expectations. I didn't realize what I would lose.
But I also didn't realize what I would gain.
I'm still trying to figure it out.
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
"What a Big Brain You Have!"
It really feels like one day I had a baby, who only observed and sat by as things happened around her or to her, and then the next day I had a little girl who interacts and develops more every day.
I keep meaning to write, but life just gets in the way. I need to stop apologizing for it, after all, I'm not making money on this blog--it's just for me. I keep documenting our lives in photos, so that's an important thing.
Avonlea just gets more and more interesting. It always surprises me whenever she exhibits some new skill, or shows me new things that she has learned.
I mean, she is pointing at things when we read! I know it's something little, but it's just seeing those brain connections that didn't exist prior, and are now getting stronger and stronger. I read a lot of books with her. She used to have no attention span whatsoever, and now she goes to the book box and picks a book out and brings it back to me to read. She'll sit on my lap, turn all the pages, and point to pictures as I ask her questions. She can identify "ball", "balloons", "zebra", "fish", "eyes", "mouth", "elephant", "Elmo", "Cookie", and "monkey". I love asking her, "Where is the monkey?" and waiting while she scans the page and then makes a quick point at the monkey on the page. Today, she gave me an additional highlight: when I asked her where the monkey was, before pointing to it, she said, "ooh ooh ooh!"
The other day, Nick was blowing bubbles inside, and just for fun I said, "Bubbles, bubbles, everywhere!" a line from one of Avonlea's favorite stories. She toddled away from the bubbles, over to the book box, and grabbed the bubble book and brought it back to me to read.
She's not saying too many identifiable phrases, but she talks all the time and uses lots of inflection when she speaks. You can tell she is asking for certain things. She loves to drink out of my water bottle, and loves to munch on whatever I am eating--she'll point at my bottle or my plate and say, "oissssh?" She's also good at saying goodbye when people are leaving. It's really funny to look up in the window and see the top of her little head and her eyes peeking over the ledge, with her little arm pumping up and down in a wave. :) She also loves to wave at Waldo in the window.
As she gets more independent, we're also dealing with more temperament and strong-willed issues. Tonight we had a particularly cranky fight about leaving her bib on while she eats. She's been trying to pull them off each meal (velcro--urgh), and I haven't been letting her. Well, tonight that really made her mad. She threw a fit, and kept fighting me on it, but I tried to be calm and collected but continue to stand my ground. Nick observed and said I did a good job riding the storm, which was nice of him to notice.
Avonlea also loves to go places and do things by herself. She doesn't like to hold my hand--she likes to walk around by herself and explore things on her own. Today that meant finding her several steps into the kitchen in the Asian restaurant we were in. Thankfully the staff thought it was funny instead of annoying, but I have to keep a closer eye on her now.
She also likes to eat by herself. If I put any food in her mouth, even if it's something she likes, she will spit it into her hand and then put it into her mouth herself. She also takes spoons away from me to put things into her mouth herself. Basically I have to make sure that whatever is in the spoon won't fall out--I really only do avocado--otherwise I spear things with forks for her or mash them into a pouch or let her pick them up with her hands.
She's becoming crazy-obsessed with her stuffed Boo. She already loved Boo--but now, she wants to carry Boo wherever we go, and she is always asking for him. I think I'm going to have to put the kabosh on that--Boo is already a little worse for wear, and he hasn't left her bedroom (except when we traveled to Ohio).
She's also better at playing with her friends. I noticed her sharing with her friend Ava today, and while I know that won't always be the case, it was nice to see her interacting with kids around her own age, since she's been mostly ignoring them up until now.
She is starting to recognize humor. She laughs at videos of herself doing funny things, and at puppets doing silly dances. She also does things to make us laugh. She blows these amazing raspberries that always make us giggle.
I also love watching her figure things out. We have a shape sorter, and she'll try the shapes out in the different openings, trying to see which one it will go in. She'll manipulate the piece in multiple angles now, instead of just trying to force it in a certain hole without moving it around.
Easter was a great example of her burgeoning cognitive abilities. She totally "got" the Easter egg hunt idea!
I keep meaning to write, but life just gets in the way. I need to stop apologizing for it, after all, I'm not making money on this blog--it's just for me. I keep documenting our lives in photos, so that's an important thing.
Avonlea just gets more and more interesting. It always surprises me whenever she exhibits some new skill, or shows me new things that she has learned.
I mean, she is pointing at things when we read! I know it's something little, but it's just seeing those brain connections that didn't exist prior, and are now getting stronger and stronger. I read a lot of books with her. She used to have no attention span whatsoever, and now she goes to the book box and picks a book out and brings it back to me to read. She'll sit on my lap, turn all the pages, and point to pictures as I ask her questions. She can identify "ball", "balloons", "zebra", "fish", "eyes", "mouth", "elephant", "Elmo", "Cookie", and "monkey". I love asking her, "Where is the monkey?" and waiting while she scans the page and then makes a quick point at the monkey on the page. Today, she gave me an additional highlight: when I asked her where the monkey was, before pointing to it, she said, "ooh ooh ooh!"
The other day, Nick was blowing bubbles inside, and just for fun I said, "Bubbles, bubbles, everywhere!" a line from one of Avonlea's favorite stories. She toddled away from the bubbles, over to the book box, and grabbed the bubble book and brought it back to me to read.
She's not saying too many identifiable phrases, but she talks all the time and uses lots of inflection when she speaks. You can tell she is asking for certain things. She loves to drink out of my water bottle, and loves to munch on whatever I am eating--she'll point at my bottle or my plate and say, "oissssh?" She's also good at saying goodbye when people are leaving. It's really funny to look up in the window and see the top of her little head and her eyes peeking over the ledge, with her little arm pumping up and down in a wave. :) She also loves to wave at Waldo in the window.
As she gets more independent, we're also dealing with more temperament and strong-willed issues. Tonight we had a particularly cranky fight about leaving her bib on while she eats. She's been trying to pull them off each meal (velcro--urgh), and I haven't been letting her. Well, tonight that really made her mad. She threw a fit, and kept fighting me on it, but I tried to be calm and collected but continue to stand my ground. Nick observed and said I did a good job riding the storm, which was nice of him to notice.
Avonlea also loves to go places and do things by herself. She doesn't like to hold my hand--she likes to walk around by herself and explore things on her own. Today that meant finding her several steps into the kitchen in the Asian restaurant we were in. Thankfully the staff thought it was funny instead of annoying, but I have to keep a closer eye on her now.
She also likes to eat by herself. If I put any food in her mouth, even if it's something she likes, she will spit it into her hand and then put it into her mouth herself. She also takes spoons away from me to put things into her mouth herself. Basically I have to make sure that whatever is in the spoon won't fall out--I really only do avocado--otherwise I spear things with forks for her or mash them into a pouch or let her pick them up with her hands.
She's becoming crazy-obsessed with her stuffed Boo. She already loved Boo--but now, she wants to carry Boo wherever we go, and she is always asking for him. I think I'm going to have to put the kabosh on that--Boo is already a little worse for wear, and he hasn't left her bedroom (except when we traveled to Ohio).
She's also better at playing with her friends. I noticed her sharing with her friend Ava today, and while I know that won't always be the case, it was nice to see her interacting with kids around her own age, since she's been mostly ignoring them up until now.
She is starting to recognize humor. She laughs at videos of herself doing funny things, and at puppets doing silly dances. She also does things to make us laugh. She blows these amazing raspberries that always make us giggle.
I also love watching her figure things out. We have a shape sorter, and she'll try the shapes out in the different openings, trying to see which one it will go in. She'll manipulate the piece in multiple angles now, instead of just trying to force it in a certain hole without moving it around.
Easter was a great example of her burgeoning cognitive abilities. She totally "got" the Easter egg hunt idea!
I love watching her grow. It's to the point now where pictures don't do her justice. My memory card on my phone is filling up much quicker now, because I'm taking videos all the time!
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Memories....of Birth
In thinking back on Avonlea's birth, I find it amazing the things I remember strongly, and the things I seem to have forgotten. I went back and read my birth story, and I found myself thinking, "Wow! I don't remember that at all!"
Some things about Avonlea's birth that have stuck with me through the year (warning: some of these are maybe a little gross for those of you unfamiliar with the birth and after-birth processes):
1. I remember very specifically when I was coming out of my epidural meds, and how I was so shaky I thought I was going to drop Avonlea. I made Nick take her, even though I was supposed to be doing skin-to-skin time (something I, of course, felt guilty for later).
2. Speaking of guilt, it took all of 5 minutes for the mom guilt to set in. I felt guilty for everything! I didn't do enough skin-to-skin in the first 2 hours of her life (even though for the first hour I couldn't because I was coming out of major surgery), she cried the whole way from recovery to our new room so I must be a bad mom because what mom can't get her own baby to stop crying?, I couldn't change her diapers without getting someone to help me lift her out of her bed (again, major surgery), I was so exhausted I didn't want to hold her and risk dropping her (again, major surgery), and the big one: I didn't go to the hospital when my water broke, which then pushed everything back, ultimately causing her to be born almost 36 hours afterwards, and thus probably causing her to get the infection that made her have to go to the NICU. That's the one that still haunts me.
3. I HATED those leg compression socks that they put on you after surgery! Ugh. The Worst.
4. I was super itchy after the epidural wore off.
5. I cried through the whole surgery. It was just the most overwhelmed I have ever been in my whole life. The combination of my dad and my sister missing the birth, plus the ALL DAY drama that was my non-labor and non-contractions and stretching my cervix manually and the doctor basically wearing horse gyno gloves to work on me, plus the constant "birth plan" concessions--all of it just made me a blubbering mess. When they finally turned the epidural up and laid me on my back and wheeled me out of the room, I had this overwhelming feeling of mom floating angel-like above my bed the whole way into the delivery, and I just lost it. Nick asked me if I was okay at one point, probably because I was crying so much. When they brought Avonlea over to me, I couldn't see her very well through the tears.
6. I got chastised by the overnight nurse my second night after surgery, for using the wheelchair to get down to the NICU to see Avonlea. She told me I should not need it anymore. Umm...excuse me? 36 hours ago, I had my stomach sliced open, and a nearly-9-pound baby wrangled out of it, and then the incision stitched and taped--TAPED!!--back together! I wanted to take her stethoscope and shove it...somewhere unpleasant.
7. I was right by the nurse's station, which was a blessing and a curse. Blessing, because I was right by the nurse's station! I could push my little buzzer, and someone would attend to my needs nearly immediately. Curse because, again, right by the nurse's station! 7am and 7pm were the worst, because the shift changes were SO LOUD. I mean, irritatingly so.
8. I was completely exhausted after the birth, and there is this picture of me sleeping next to Avonlea. But I was totally faking, just for the picture. I did not sleep. Like, at all. I just couldn't, for some reason. The whole first night I basically stayed up most of the night, until about 2am, when I finally drifted off.
9. I also got chastised by another nurse, and by the NICU people because when I finally did sleep, both Avonlea and I slept for 6 hours--which, is a huge no-no. I was supposed to be trying to nurse her every 3 hours. But no one was in the room with me, and I finally slept, people! The next morning, when I was supposed to have written down her poops and feeds, and they saw nothing on the chart for the last 6 hours, they talked to me like I was the worst dumb mom ever. I felt terrible. Oh, did I mention this happened right after they told me they were going to have to take her down to the NICU? Yeah. Icing on proverbial cake.
10. After I gave birth, I feel like I was essentially a very large bag of water. If I left any part of my body lower than my heart for more than 5 minutes, all the excess water went and hung out in that part--most often, my feet. I can't even express how completely grotesque and awkward that is--I really should've gotten a picture of it.
11. A C-Section is one of the most out-of-body, weird experiences I have ever had. I mean, you're completely numb--but you can still feel things, mostly when the things that are happening affect another part of your body that is not numb. I felt tugging and pulling during the surgery, which was gnarly. But the most weird thing was when they transferred me from the surgery gurney to the rolling bed. I could tell they were rolling me one way and another, I could tell because my head was moving around--but I couldn't feel anything! I wish there were adequate words to explain what that is like.
12. The nice thing about being so numb is that you don't feel the lovely (read: horrible) uterine massages they give you after birth. At least, you don't feel the first few. If, however, you're like me, and you just don't seem to stop having things flow out of you, then they will continue to do them over and over, even after the epidural has started to wear off. Whoa. Not fun.
I realize now that most of these things have to do with having a C-Section. I don't feel like there is adequate information out there about what you should do if you have a C-Section. In our childbirth class, there was about a 15 minute blurb about it from our teacher. I was totally unprepared, physically, mentally, and emotionally for the C-Section. I felt like I had failed Avonlea by not being able to birth her naturally (d*&n cervix!), and by having to do things in this "unnatural" way.
Some things about Avonlea's birth that have stuck with me through the year (warning: some of these are maybe a little gross for those of you unfamiliar with the birth and after-birth processes):
1. I remember very specifically when I was coming out of my epidural meds, and how I was so shaky I thought I was going to drop Avonlea. I made Nick take her, even though I was supposed to be doing skin-to-skin time (something I, of course, felt guilty for later).
2. Speaking of guilt, it took all of 5 minutes for the mom guilt to set in. I felt guilty for everything! I didn't do enough skin-to-skin in the first 2 hours of her life (even though for the first hour I couldn't because I was coming out of major surgery), she cried the whole way from recovery to our new room so I must be a bad mom because what mom can't get her own baby to stop crying?, I couldn't change her diapers without getting someone to help me lift her out of her bed (again, major surgery), I was so exhausted I didn't want to hold her and risk dropping her (again, major surgery), and the big one: I didn't go to the hospital when my water broke, which then pushed everything back, ultimately causing her to be born almost 36 hours afterwards, and thus probably causing her to get the infection that made her have to go to the NICU. That's the one that still haunts me.
3. I HATED those leg compression socks that they put on you after surgery! Ugh. The Worst.
4. I was super itchy after the epidural wore off.
5. I cried through the whole surgery. It was just the most overwhelmed I have ever been in my whole life. The combination of my dad and my sister missing the birth, plus the ALL DAY drama that was my non-labor and non-contractions and stretching my cervix manually and the doctor basically wearing horse gyno gloves to work on me, plus the constant "birth plan" concessions--all of it just made me a blubbering mess. When they finally turned the epidural up and laid me on my back and wheeled me out of the room, I had this overwhelming feeling of mom floating angel-like above my bed the whole way into the delivery, and I just lost it. Nick asked me if I was okay at one point, probably because I was crying so much. When they brought Avonlea over to me, I couldn't see her very well through the tears.
6. I got chastised by the overnight nurse my second night after surgery, for using the wheelchair to get down to the NICU to see Avonlea. She told me I should not need it anymore. Umm...excuse me? 36 hours ago, I had my stomach sliced open, and a nearly-9-pound baby wrangled out of it, and then the incision stitched and taped--TAPED!!--back together! I wanted to take her stethoscope and shove it...somewhere unpleasant.
7. I was right by the nurse's station, which was a blessing and a curse. Blessing, because I was right by the nurse's station! I could push my little buzzer, and someone would attend to my needs nearly immediately. Curse because, again, right by the nurse's station! 7am and 7pm were the worst, because the shift changes were SO LOUD. I mean, irritatingly so.
8. I was completely exhausted after the birth, and there is this picture of me sleeping next to Avonlea. But I was totally faking, just for the picture. I did not sleep. Like, at all. I just couldn't, for some reason. The whole first night I basically stayed up most of the night, until about 2am, when I finally drifted off.
9. I also got chastised by another nurse, and by the NICU people because when I finally did sleep, both Avonlea and I slept for 6 hours--which, is a huge no-no. I was supposed to be trying to nurse her every 3 hours. But no one was in the room with me, and I finally slept, people! The next morning, when I was supposed to have written down her poops and feeds, and they saw nothing on the chart for the last 6 hours, they talked to me like I was the worst dumb mom ever. I felt terrible. Oh, did I mention this happened right after they told me they were going to have to take her down to the NICU? Yeah. Icing on proverbial cake.
10. After I gave birth, I feel like I was essentially a very large bag of water. If I left any part of my body lower than my heart for more than 5 minutes, all the excess water went and hung out in that part--most often, my feet. I can't even express how completely grotesque and awkward that is--I really should've gotten a picture of it.
11. A C-Section is one of the most out-of-body, weird experiences I have ever had. I mean, you're completely numb--but you can still feel things, mostly when the things that are happening affect another part of your body that is not numb. I felt tugging and pulling during the surgery, which was gnarly. But the most weird thing was when they transferred me from the surgery gurney to the rolling bed. I could tell they were rolling me one way and another, I could tell because my head was moving around--but I couldn't feel anything! I wish there were adequate words to explain what that is like.
12. The nice thing about being so numb is that you don't feel the lovely (read: horrible) uterine massages they give you after birth. At least, you don't feel the first few. If, however, you're like me, and you just don't seem to stop having things flow out of you, then they will continue to do them over and over, even after the epidural has started to wear off. Whoa. Not fun.
I realize now that most of these things have to do with having a C-Section. I don't feel like there is adequate information out there about what you should do if you have a C-Section. In our childbirth class, there was about a 15 minute blurb about it from our teacher. I was totally unprepared, physically, mentally, and emotionally for the C-Section. I felt like I had failed Avonlea by not being able to birth her naturally (d*&n cervix!), and by having to do things in this "unnatural" way.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
On Turning One
We celebrated Avonlea's birthday yesterday. She turned one on Friday. It is really surreal to look back at this year and to see how much she has changed--and how much she has changed me.
Many people shed tears on the first birthday, but I didn't. To be honest, I am glad she is one. I am glad she is getting older. I really didn't do well with her as a baby. Many people pine for the babies, and say, "Oh, I wish my baby was teeny tiny again!" I might smile at those people, but on the inside, I am thinking, "You are crazy. Do you REMEMBER what it was like with a newborn baby?"
Babies are No. Fun. As a mom, you're sleep-deprived, you're totally confused as to what you should be doing, you're paralyzingly lonely while simultaneously surrounded by people wanting to help you, sometimes you're in extreme pain from surgery, other times in extreme pain from pushing a child through your lady bits. The kid you've waited so long for is all wrinkly and kinda deformed-looking. When you look back at baby pictures later, you think, "I really thought *that thing* was cute?" because honestly, 99.9% of newborns are uhg-ly. And yes, mine is included in that. Avonlea had weird tufts of hair, and super skinny legs and arms, and terrible baby acne for the first several weeks that made strangers ask what was wrong with her. I, of course, was so hopped up on drugs and natural love-inducing hormones that I thought she was the most beautiful baby I'd ever seen.
I took this kinda weird-looking newborn home, and spent the next 4 months trying to figure out why it wouldn't stop crying non-stop. Or throwing up non-stop. Or pooping out of these ridiculously expensive diapers that are meant to hold poop. (I mean, seriously. It's the diaper's ONLY JOB. We can send people to the moon, but we can't figure out how to contain baby poop in a diaper? Someone figure this out already!)
All of this to say, I was thrilled when she grew out of her incessant crying. That shark was making me cray-cray. I was overjoyed when she figured out how to stop throwing up everything she ate. I breathed sighs of relief when she could hold her head up by herself, so I didn't feel like I was going to snap off her head all the time. I loved the day she could follow a toy around with her eyes, and then the day when I could sit her down under a play mat and do something without holding her for 10 minutes. The day that she sat up on her own, I had a dance party for myself. (No, really, I did. I danced to Disney music. It was great.) When I realized she could go 3 hours between feedings instead of an hour and a half, I rejoiced.
Basically, she went from a baby I could barely tolerate, to a baby I could figure out and truly appreciate. Believe me, it's not that I didn't love my baby. It might sound that way, but that is not the case at all. I just don't do well in situations where I have no control--and having a newborn baby is precisely that kind of situation. So I didn't do well.
But over the last few months, we have really come into our own, and I am really enjoying her. And as she gets older, and starts to be able to communicate even more, it will just get better. I love the stage she is in right now, and I don't wish to go back at all.
Now, I might not want to go forward after this...but that's another blog. :)
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Visiting Family
A whole month without writing?? Egads!
I have a couple of posts that I started, but have just "saved" for later. There are just some things I want to brew for a little while longer before blasting them out.
We just got back from a wonderful weekend in San Diego. We met up with Ashley, who was in town for the weekend for a conference. We were able to stay together in the hotel one night, and then our friends graciously hosted us for the rest of the weekend, so we could be together as much as possible.
It's hard to believe that Ashley has only been able to see Avonlea three times so far. Growing up as we did in Ohio, surrounded by family all the time, I never thought I would raise my little one so far away from others in my extended family, especially not her immediate family.
I know that we are supposed to be here in LA. And I really do love it. But I do *not* love that Avonlea is growing up without them. It sucks, to put it mildly.
I have a couple of posts that I started, but have just "saved" for later. There are just some things I want to brew for a little while longer before blasting them out.
We just got back from a wonderful weekend in San Diego. We met up with Ashley, who was in town for the weekend for a conference. We were able to stay together in the hotel one night, and then our friends graciously hosted us for the rest of the weekend, so we could be together as much as possible.
It's hard to believe that Ashley has only been able to see Avonlea three times so far. Growing up as we did in Ohio, surrounded by family all the time, I never thought I would raise my little one so far away from others in my extended family, especially not her immediate family.
I know that we are supposed to be here in LA. And I really do love it. But I do *not* love that Avonlea is growing up without them. It sucks, to put it mildly.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Before I had a kid, I was an idiot.
Before I had a kid, I was an idiot.
I wasn't stupid. After all, I got a decent score on my ACTs. I graduated with an acceptable GPA from my high school and college. I graduated from grad school with a 4.0. I have fun impressing people with my Jeopardy! knowledge. I'm a smart girl.
But I was an idiot.
That's the only way I can figure how I would think I had any reasonable idea as to what to expect when I had my own living, breathing human being to take care of day in and day out. "I'm not going to do that." "My kid won't do that." "My baby will be doing this." Blah, blah, blah, fishcakes.
I wrote recently about how I don't feel like I will ever really have the parenting thing down. I get one thing together, and something else inevitably falls apart.
But these days, I feel like every. single. thing. I am doing is screwed up in some way...and it is my fault.
See, I thought that in order to be a "good mom", I had to do it all. Well, maybe not do it all, but try to do it all right. Keep the house clean, keep the kid clean, breastfeed exclusively, get her on a schedule, make sure she sleeps in her own bed, don't worry about giving her solid foods until she's 6 months, get dinner on the table every night, yadda, yadda, yadda. Every single thing I was doing I was doing it as well as I could, but also simultaneously feeling like I was doing it wrong.
We have 2 dogs, and one saying that we tried to maintain throughout the puppy years was, "If you don't want the dog doing _____ when they're 150 pounds, don't let them do it when they're 15 pounds." So, Waldo and Gus don't get on the couch. They get in and out of the car and the bathtub without help. They sit when they come in the house if it's raining, so that I can wipe off their paws.
I feel like with Avonlea, I've screwed up so much, and I've made things so hard on myself. She's a figurative 150lb dog that I didn't train right when she was 15lbs.
I worked so hard on breastfeeding that now, she will only eat from me. She spits out anything with texture, so she doesn't get any nutrients from "real food", and I am wasting tons of money on baby food that she eats one or two bites from. I also feed her before putting her down for a nap, or down for bed at night, so now she will scream if she doesn't get fed before bed. Know who that messes up? Definitely not the little munchkin happily fed and sleeping in her bed.
I was lazy in the beginning, and once I found out she wasn't going to take a bottle anymore, I didn't press the issue. I didn't work with her to take a bottle. So now she doesn't take one. She does do a sippy cup and a cup with a straw, but I have never tried feeding her with that before putting her to bed. I never tried to have Nick feed her before putting her to bed. So now I am the one who has to put her to bed every night.
Avonlea still only sleeps in 2-3 hour stretches at night. I know I should sleep train her. I do. I have all of this guilt that she's keeping Nick up and he has to work and I get mad because I just want to stinking sleep already, but my boobs hurt if she goes really long between feedings because she eats every 2 hours at night that I just get up and feed her and she goes right back to sleep. And if I don't feed her then she screams for 1.5 hours, or maybe more but I don't know because by that time I lose my mind and just get up and feed her. So now I have a 10.5 month old who gets up at least 3 times every night and so I can't go do anything past 10pm because my kid will wake up and want to eat. Nick and I have tickets to see my favorite musical group on Sunday, and it's going to be a train wreck (pretty sure I can't convince them to only have the concert between 7 and 10pm).
My baby is a sweet, adorable, snuggly pair of handcuffs, and it is all my fault.
I'm already saying, "Oh, I'm going to do things so differently with the next kid," and then I stop myself and think, "Next kid? Oh, #*#& no!"
I wasn't stupid. After all, I got a decent score on my ACTs. I graduated with an acceptable GPA from my high school and college. I graduated from grad school with a 4.0. I have fun impressing people with my Jeopardy! knowledge. I'm a smart girl.
But I was an idiot.
That's the only way I can figure how I would think I had any reasonable idea as to what to expect when I had my own living, breathing human being to take care of day in and day out. "I'm not going to do that." "My kid won't do that." "My baby will be doing this." Blah, blah, blah, fishcakes.
I wrote recently about how I don't feel like I will ever really have the parenting thing down. I get one thing together, and something else inevitably falls apart.
But these days, I feel like every. single. thing. I am doing is screwed up in some way...and it is my fault.
See, I thought that in order to be a "good mom", I had to do it all. Well, maybe not do it all, but try to do it all right. Keep the house clean, keep the kid clean, breastfeed exclusively, get her on a schedule, make sure she sleeps in her own bed, don't worry about giving her solid foods until she's 6 months, get dinner on the table every night, yadda, yadda, yadda. Every single thing I was doing I was doing it as well as I could, but also simultaneously feeling like I was doing it wrong.
We have 2 dogs, and one saying that we tried to maintain throughout the puppy years was, "If you don't want the dog doing _____ when they're 150 pounds, don't let them do it when they're 15 pounds." So, Waldo and Gus don't get on the couch. They get in and out of the car and the bathtub without help. They sit when they come in the house if it's raining, so that I can wipe off their paws.
I feel like with Avonlea, I've screwed up so much, and I've made things so hard on myself. She's a figurative 150lb dog that I didn't train right when she was 15lbs.
I worked so hard on breastfeeding that now, she will only eat from me. She spits out anything with texture, so she doesn't get any nutrients from "real food", and I am wasting tons of money on baby food that she eats one or two bites from. I also feed her before putting her down for a nap, or down for bed at night, so now she will scream if she doesn't get fed before bed. Know who that messes up? Definitely not the little munchkin happily fed and sleeping in her bed.
I was lazy in the beginning, and once I found out she wasn't going to take a bottle anymore, I didn't press the issue. I didn't work with her to take a bottle. So now she doesn't take one. She does do a sippy cup and a cup with a straw, but I have never tried feeding her with that before putting her to bed. I never tried to have Nick feed her before putting her to bed. So now I am the one who has to put her to bed every night.
Avonlea still only sleeps in 2-3 hour stretches at night. I know I should sleep train her. I do. I have all of this guilt that she's keeping Nick up and he has to work and I get mad because I just want to stinking sleep already, but my boobs hurt if she goes really long between feedings because she eats every 2 hours at night that I just get up and feed her and she goes right back to sleep. And if I don't feed her then she screams for 1.5 hours, or maybe more but I don't know because by that time I lose my mind and just get up and feed her. So now I have a 10.5 month old who gets up at least 3 times every night and so I can't go do anything past 10pm because my kid will wake up and want to eat. Nick and I have tickets to see my favorite musical group on Sunday, and it's going to be a train wreck (pretty sure I can't convince them to only have the concert between 7 and 10pm).
My baby is a sweet, adorable, snuggly pair of handcuffs, and it is all my fault.
I'm already saying, "Oh, I'm going to do things so differently with the next kid," and then I stop myself and think, "Next kid? Oh, #*#& no!"
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Rage Against the Minivan...er, Machine
Want to get everyone on Facebook riled up?
Say you're never going to get a minivan.
Last week, I watched "Parenthood" (are you watching that show? If not, you should. SO good.), and on it, Jasmine was trying to convince Crosby that they needed to get a minivan. Crosby, who I have identified with more often this season than I'd like to admit, was repulsed by the idea, and spent most of the episode vehemently against it. That is, until the very end of the episode, when he was able to drive an entire band home after a drunken night out, wherein he decided the minivan was a great purchase.
I went onto Facebook and declared Crosby a traitor.
See, in our house, we will NEVER have a minivan. And I am proud to announce that declaration to the public. I will stand on a pedestal, shout it from the rooftops, whatever it takes to show how serious I am about it.
Every time I happen to mention we will never have one, someone says, "oh, just wait" (there's that phrase again). "Don't go saying things like that until you have 2-3 more kids." or "Ha. We'll see."
What these poor, misguided people don't fully comprehend is who they are talking to. When I say I will never get one, I really and truly mean I will NEVER. GET. ONE.
I stand by my principles. I do not waver. I do not yield. Especially when my pride is on the line. Let me give you an example.
When we moved into our newly built home in the summer between my 2nd and 3rd grade year, I was so excited to be able to pick out the carpet and wallpaper colors for my room. After going through books upon books of wallpaper samples (does anyone else remember getting to take those home from the store?), my mom basically declared all my choices too juvenile, saying that I would grow out of what I had chosen really quickly. She thought I should go with a more "mature" color palette and pattern for the floor and the walls. Now, when I was a kid, I was 1000% pure tomboy. I lived in my knockoff Umbros and my imitation Adidas Sambas. My favorite colors were blue and green. I would rather have been caught dead than wear a dress--which made Sundays pretty much the worst ever in terms of wardrobe when you go to a dresses-on-Sunday kind of church. So when my mom picked out rose-colored carpet and large variations-of-pink posies wallpaper, I cried and wailed. I'm pretty sure there was gnashing of teeth involved. The wallpaper looked like a hideous Laura Ashley print from the early 90s--or at least something that you would find on a tapestry in some creepy Sister Wives house in Utah. It was pretty much the most awful option that I could have ever been given for a room. I vowed then and there that I would NEVER forgive my mom for that one.
She said, "Just wait." She said, "You'll love it one day soon, I promise." But by George, I had my righteous, holy anger, and there was no way on God's green Earth I was ever going to like that wallpaper and nasty carpet.
It was always funny when friends would come over and ask to see my room, because they were taken aback when they saw all the pink. "*This* is your room?" they would ask, with a sense of wonder. By the time middle school came around, I started taking to covering as much of the walls as possible with various posters (the 1992 US Men's Basketball Team, Steven Curtis Chapman, and a huge soccer poster were 3 that I remember specifically) and as much other stuff as possible. And though I couldn't do anything about the carpet, I rebelled by keeping my floor as covered with crap as possible so that I couldn't see the awful Pepto-Bismol color.
I moved to college still hating that darn wallpaper. Only when I lived in China after graduation, and my parents decided to convert my old room into a guest room, did the wallpaper come down. Did you catch that? They only changed the paper after I moved away! Grr.... Anyways, I hated that wallpaper abomination every single day that it existed in my room, and I never once wavered in my undying detestation of it.
That whole story is a perfect illustration of why I will never get a minivan, and why all those people who tell me that I'll change my mind about it will just have to understand that it will never be so.
So why all the hate? After all, it's just a car, right? Yes, it's just a car. But everyone has something like this, right? A stance on an issue that you will not budge from. For some people, they are staunch about their nutrition. For some, it's politics. For some, it's a moral standard, or a conspiracy theory, or scientific truth, or Mac vs. PC. My point is, everyone has something that they have a super-strong opinion about. This is mine. Silly? Probably. But it is what it is.
So without further ado, here is my list. My (non-exhaustive, and in no particular order) list of:
Say you're never going to get a minivan.
Last week, I watched "Parenthood" (are you watching that show? If not, you should. SO good.), and on it, Jasmine was trying to convince Crosby that they needed to get a minivan. Crosby, who I have identified with more often this season than I'd like to admit, was repulsed by the idea, and spent most of the episode vehemently against it. That is, until the very end of the episode, when he was able to drive an entire band home after a drunken night out, wherein he decided the minivan was a great purchase.
I went onto Facebook and declared Crosby a traitor.
See, in our house, we will NEVER have a minivan. And I am proud to announce that declaration to the public. I will stand on a pedestal, shout it from the rooftops, whatever it takes to show how serious I am about it.
Every time I happen to mention we will never have one, someone says, "oh, just wait" (there's that phrase again). "Don't go saying things like that until you have 2-3 more kids." or "Ha. We'll see."
What these poor, misguided people don't fully comprehend is who they are talking to. When I say I will never get one, I really and truly mean I will NEVER. GET. ONE.
I stand by my principles. I do not waver. I do not yield. Especially when my pride is on the line. Let me give you an example.
When we moved into our newly built home in the summer between my 2nd and 3rd grade year, I was so excited to be able to pick out the carpet and wallpaper colors for my room. After going through books upon books of wallpaper samples (does anyone else remember getting to take those home from the store?), my mom basically declared all my choices too juvenile, saying that I would grow out of what I had chosen really quickly. She thought I should go with a more "mature" color palette and pattern for the floor and the walls. Now, when I was a kid, I was 1000% pure tomboy. I lived in my knockoff Umbros and my imitation Adidas Sambas. My favorite colors were blue and green. I would rather have been caught dead than wear a dress--which made Sundays pretty much the worst ever in terms of wardrobe when you go to a dresses-on-Sunday kind of church. So when my mom picked out rose-colored carpet and large variations-of-pink posies wallpaper, I cried and wailed. I'm pretty sure there was gnashing of teeth involved. The wallpaper looked like a hideous Laura Ashley print from the early 90s--or at least something that you would find on a tapestry in some creepy Sister Wives house in Utah. It was pretty much the most awful option that I could have ever been given for a room. I vowed then and there that I would NEVER forgive my mom for that one.
She said, "Just wait." She said, "You'll love it one day soon, I promise." But by George, I had my righteous, holy anger, and there was no way on God's green Earth I was ever going to like that wallpaper and nasty carpet.
It was always funny when friends would come over and ask to see my room, because they were taken aback when they saw all the pink. "*This* is your room?" they would ask, with a sense of wonder. By the time middle school came around, I started taking to covering as much of the walls as possible with various posters (the 1992 US Men's Basketball Team, Steven Curtis Chapman, and a huge soccer poster were 3 that I remember specifically) and as much other stuff as possible. And though I couldn't do anything about the carpet, I rebelled by keeping my floor as covered with crap as possible so that I couldn't see the awful Pepto-Bismol color.
I moved to college still hating that darn wallpaper. Only when I lived in China after graduation, and my parents decided to convert my old room into a guest room, did the wallpaper come down. Did you catch that? They only changed the paper after I moved away! Grr.... Anyways, I hated that wallpaper abomination every single day that it existed in my room, and I never once wavered in my undying detestation of it.
That whole story is a perfect illustration of why I will never get a minivan, and why all those people who tell me that I'll change my mind about it will just have to understand that it will never be so.
So why all the hate? After all, it's just a car, right? Yes, it's just a car. But everyone has something like this, right? A stance on an issue that you will not budge from. For some people, they are staunch about their nutrition. For some, it's politics. For some, it's a moral standard, or a conspiracy theory, or scientific truth, or Mac vs. PC. My point is, everyone has something that they have a super-strong opinion about. This is mine. Silly? Probably. But it is what it is.
So without further ado, here is my list. My (non-exhaustive, and in no particular order) list of:
Why I Will Never Get A Minivan
- I will never have trouble finding which car is mine when picking up my kids at school.
- My kids will have to learn to consolidate and organize their crap, just like I have to.
- They rent portable DVD players for the car. I don't need them magically built in for everyday use. Vacations, yes. Zombify those kids for the 18-hour drive to Disney. But other than that, they'll be fine.
- I survived my whole childhood without a minivan, why can't my kids?
- I will NOT have a dirty car all the time, with crap spilling out of the doors every time they open. This is my #1 pet peeve of minivans. Have you ever, other than in a showroom, seen a clean minivan??
- No matter how many swagger wagon videos you make, minivans have never been, nor will they ever be cool to anyone other than other parents. I have a very short list of requirements for a vehicle. "Cool looking" is one of them.
- The minivan is just a step down from an RV. An RV is way more cool. So why not just get an RV?
- In Los Angeles, minivan owners have to park really far away from their destination, because you can't get anyone in or out of the car because the parking spaces are extremely narrow. Our friend Link has to put the nose of the van in the parking space, let his kids out, then pull in the rest of the way, otherwise his kids can't get out of the van.
- If you have so much extra space in your car that you are able to misplace entire cups filled with milk, which then curdle in the heat and make your entire car smell for months like someone has died in it, then you have too much space.
- Because I have my principles.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
The Inconvenient Truth
Avonlea is 5 1/2 months old now. She's sitting up all by herself, she's smiley and giggly and overall a lot of fun.
But there are 2 things about her that are really inconvenient.
1. She only sleeps in 4-hour stretches. I'm working on this, trying to sleep-train, but I am convinced that "sleep training" is loosely translated as "baby is fine and mommy gets no sleep". Last night, she fussed for an hour before I just got so sick of it, I went in and fed her. I didn't feed her very long--I cut her off after just a minute or two on each side--but I still fed her. I was just tired of trying to get her to go back to sleep! But of course, after feeding her, she fell asleep immediately, and I was wide awake.
2. She won't take a bottle. I've tried. I've done different bottles, different nipples, warm milk, cool milk, from a straw...nothing. She gnaws on the bottle and gets a little bit, but there's no sucking at all. Which means, she is handcuffed to me as her primary source of nutrition. It makes "date night" a non-concept in our household. Even me going out and doing anything by myself is a thing of the past. I am limited to sub-3-hour excursions.
Both of these things are frustrating and inconvenient.
But, really, in the scheme of life, is it really that big of a deal? Yes, it's inconvenient. But, at most, it is a year. A year in the life of my sweet girl who is learning how to sleep and eat and, you know, live. Aren't there worse things to be handcuffed to than the life of the little one you birthed and are committed to help grow and mature and learn to do things in this crazy world? Yes, breastfeeding in public is inconvenient, and carrying around an increasingly heavy baby is cumbersome, but when you compare it to the next 35 years when you'll be wishing you were able to control exactly where they go and what they eat, isn't it worth it to just suck it up for a year?
A year is nothing. It goes by so quickly, it can seem like it is a vapor. You look back and realize that the years have vanished, and you wonder what happened. I just think of the lyrics to the Trace Adkins song:
So while it is inconvenient, I do not regret it. I choose not to be angry or frustrated by it. I choose to embrace it, and hold my little girl for as long as she'll let me.
But there are 2 things about her that are really inconvenient.
1. She only sleeps in 4-hour stretches. I'm working on this, trying to sleep-train, but I am convinced that "sleep training" is loosely translated as "baby is fine and mommy gets no sleep". Last night, she fussed for an hour before I just got so sick of it, I went in and fed her. I didn't feed her very long--I cut her off after just a minute or two on each side--but I still fed her. I was just tired of trying to get her to go back to sleep! But of course, after feeding her, she fell asleep immediately, and I was wide awake.
2. She won't take a bottle. I've tried. I've done different bottles, different nipples, warm milk, cool milk, from a straw...nothing. She gnaws on the bottle and gets a little bit, but there's no sucking at all. Which means, she is handcuffed to me as her primary source of nutrition. It makes "date night" a non-concept in our household. Even me going out and doing anything by myself is a thing of the past. I am limited to sub-3-hour excursions.
Both of these things are frustrating and inconvenient.
But, really, in the scheme of life, is it really that big of a deal? Yes, it's inconvenient. But, at most, it is a year. A year in the life of my sweet girl who is learning how to sleep and eat and, you know, live. Aren't there worse things to be handcuffed to than the life of the little one you birthed and are committed to help grow and mature and learn to do things in this crazy world? Yes, breastfeeding in public is inconvenient, and carrying around an increasingly heavy baby is cumbersome, but when you compare it to the next 35 years when you'll be wishing you were able to control exactly where they go and what they eat, isn't it worth it to just suck it up for a year?
A year is nothing. It goes by so quickly, it can seem like it is a vapor. You look back and realize that the years have vanished, and you wonder what happened. I just think of the lyrics to the Trace Adkins song:
You're gonna miss this.There are so many things that I will look back on and wish I could do over again--and getting to snuggle with my baby is definitely one of them.
You're gonna want this back.
You're gonna wish these days hadn't gone by so fast.
These are some good times,
So take a good look around.
You may not know it now,
But you're gonna miss this.
So while it is inconvenient, I do not regret it. I choose not to be angry or frustrated by it. I choose to embrace it, and hold my little girl for as long as she'll let me.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Chiming in...
I'm not one to comment on social or political happenings--at least, not on my blog. Go ahead and look back--I usually write about what's happening with Avonlea, or how I'm feeling about being a mom.
It just so happens that the whole "Miley Cyrus debacle" hits on one of those areas.
There have been SO many posts about Miley, condemning her actions and calling her all manner of names. I was disgusted by the whole situation, as well. I, however, was not only disgusted by Miley's actions, but by Robin Thicke's. He is singing a song that has a repeated lyric of, "I know you want it." He is a married man, onstage doing inappropriate things with another woman. There are double standards of sexuality on display that rankled my sense of morality. So, yes, the whole situation bothered me.
But mainly, it made me worried.
This isn't the first time in my lifetime that the standards of sexuality have been lowered in the public eye. When I was growing up, it was Madonna who was setting the standards. I remember a huge brou-haha when her "Erotica" video was released. When I was a little older, it was Madonna and Christina and Britney and their kissing fiasco. Later still was Janet and her "wardrobe malfunction." And even on the show with the Miley issue was another superstar pop icon wearing a seashell bra and thong throughout the telecast (no one comments on that, however).
I don't think we're going to have a culture that stops any of these actions anytime soon. Sadly, it's what happens when we live in a fallen world.
My worry comes from the fact that I'm raising a little girl in a culture that accepts and values warped views of the female body. A culture that hails "women's rights" as an equal exchange for a distorted view of sexuality. A culture that turns a blind eye to the sexual deviancy that is prevalent in every single American city (see my friend's blog for a great post about this).
I grew up in a culture completely different than the one Avonlea is going to be exposed to. Even though I grew up in the Madonna zeitgeist, I was pretty sheltered in my little Baptist house and church. I remember sitting on the bus when I was in middle school, looking at the boys and girls sitting around me holding hands and snuggling up to each other, and being fascinated with it. Thank God He kept me just on the ugly side of the "ugly duckling syndrome" long enough to not get caught up in the physicality of relationships too early. Even though I wasn't holding hands with anyone, I desired it so greatly. I wanted someone to cherish me. From the pictures I see of some of my former students on social media, I know that those same things happen still--only they are even further down "the line of sexual progression" than we were.
While my growing up was sheltered (and yes, there are negatives to that, too), there were also a lot more days of childhood innocence. While I spent my middle school years yearning for a boyfriend, I was also saved from dealing with physical pressures too early. While I spent 3.95 of my high school years without a boyfriend, I spent that time in school activities and sports with friends (both guy and girl), not wrapped around a guy in the hallway 24/7.
And I worry that Avonlea won't get to experience that. I live in the 2nd largest city in the United States. The opportunities here are endless for both good and bad. I also live in one of the most image-conscious cities in the world. Everyone here is so obsessed with health, fitness (not bad things in moderation), fashion, and being thin, it is like a god. There are ads everywhere for liposuction and plastic surgery. The photoshopped images shout at you from every corner. I want to keep my little girl sheltered from all that.
At the same time, being sheltered from all of it doesn't teach you how to process it, either. How many stories are there of "good girl gone bad" when released on their own to college life? Even for myself, I did some things I'm not proud of after I was out of my parent's eye, because I wasn't taught how to engage in culture without compromising.
I think at the heart of so many of these things is what my pastor taught about a couple of weeks ago. If you have the chance, I would encourage you to listen to the podcast on Proverbs 22:6:
The crux of Joseph's message was that as parents, we have to do what we can (with God's help) to give our children a strong moral base for their lives--and that beyond that, God will fill in the gaps. I can't hold Avonlea's hand through every step of her life. I can't guarantee that she will make the choices that I think she should make--in fact, she might go the opposite of all my hopes. But I *can* do the best I can to raise a daughter that has a strong sense of self, and a strong desire to love God fully. I can't guarantee that Avonlea will remain a virgin until she gets married (like her ugly duckling mom was blessed to do), but I can do my best (with God's help) to help Avonlea know truth:
The real be-all-end-all in life--the real adventure comes in living your life for someone else--and that someone is Jesus. Because in reality, boys will let you down. Dating will let you down. Marriage will let you down. Sex will let you down. But God--my dear, sweet girl--GOD will NEVER let you down. He cares about every single morsel of your life. He knows how you will yearn for companionship. He knows how your heart will desire a boyfriend and a husband. He knows how you feel, because He desires US in the exact same way.
I wish I could tell Miley this. That living her life for herself isn't going to fill any gaps. That giving more away isn't going to bring her any satisfaction. It isn't going to make anyone respect her more.
I wish I could tell Robin this. That singing about desire and power over women isn't going to help him feel more in control. That the power this world gives in money and fame and sex isn't enough to fill a void. It's a drug that simply needs more and more from you, but gives nothing to you.
I worry for my daughter. I worry for her innocence and her little mind. I worry for her heart. After this weekend, I won't just pray for her. I will pray for US.
It just so happens that the whole "Miley Cyrus debacle" hits on one of those areas.
There have been SO many posts about Miley, condemning her actions and calling her all manner of names. I was disgusted by the whole situation, as well. I, however, was not only disgusted by Miley's actions, but by Robin Thicke's. He is singing a song that has a repeated lyric of, "I know you want it." He is a married man, onstage doing inappropriate things with another woman. There are double standards of sexuality on display that rankled my sense of morality. So, yes, the whole situation bothered me.
But mainly, it made me worried.
This isn't the first time in my lifetime that the standards of sexuality have been lowered in the public eye. When I was growing up, it was Madonna who was setting the standards. I remember a huge brou-haha when her "Erotica" video was released. When I was a little older, it was Madonna and Christina and Britney and their kissing fiasco. Later still was Janet and her "wardrobe malfunction." And even on the show with the Miley issue was another superstar pop icon wearing a seashell bra and thong throughout the telecast (no one comments on that, however).
I don't think we're going to have a culture that stops any of these actions anytime soon. Sadly, it's what happens when we live in a fallen world.
My worry comes from the fact that I'm raising a little girl in a culture that accepts and values warped views of the female body. A culture that hails "women's rights" as an equal exchange for a distorted view of sexuality. A culture that turns a blind eye to the sexual deviancy that is prevalent in every single American city (see my friend's blog for a great post about this).
I grew up in a culture completely different than the one Avonlea is going to be exposed to. Even though I grew up in the Madonna zeitgeist, I was pretty sheltered in my little Baptist house and church. I remember sitting on the bus when I was in middle school, looking at the boys and girls sitting around me holding hands and snuggling up to each other, and being fascinated with it. Thank God He kept me just on the ugly side of the "ugly duckling syndrome" long enough to not get caught up in the physicality of relationships too early. Even though I wasn't holding hands with anyone, I desired it so greatly. I wanted someone to cherish me. From the pictures I see of some of my former students on social media, I know that those same things happen still--only they are even further down "the line of sexual progression" than we were.
While my growing up was sheltered (and yes, there are negatives to that, too), there were also a lot more days of childhood innocence. While I spent my middle school years yearning for a boyfriend, I was also saved from dealing with physical pressures too early. While I spent 3.95 of my high school years without a boyfriend, I spent that time in school activities and sports with friends (both guy and girl), not wrapped around a guy in the hallway 24/7.
And I worry that Avonlea won't get to experience that. I live in the 2nd largest city in the United States. The opportunities here are endless for both good and bad. I also live in one of the most image-conscious cities in the world. Everyone here is so obsessed with health, fitness (not bad things in moderation), fashion, and being thin, it is like a god. There are ads everywhere for liposuction and plastic surgery. The photoshopped images shout at you from every corner. I want to keep my little girl sheltered from all that.
At the same time, being sheltered from all of it doesn't teach you how to process it, either. How many stories are there of "good girl gone bad" when released on their own to college life? Even for myself, I did some things I'm not proud of after I was out of my parent's eye, because I wasn't taught how to engage in culture without compromising.
I think at the heart of so many of these things is what my pastor taught about a couple of weeks ago. If you have the chance, I would encourage you to listen to the podcast on Proverbs 22:6:
"Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it."(There is a link to the podcasts here. Look for the 8/18/13 message.)
The crux of Joseph's message was that as parents, we have to do what we can (with God's help) to give our children a strong moral base for their lives--and that beyond that, God will fill in the gaps. I can't hold Avonlea's hand through every step of her life. I can't guarantee that she will make the choices that I think she should make--in fact, she might go the opposite of all my hopes. But I *can* do the best I can to raise a daughter that has a strong sense of self, and a strong desire to love God fully. I can't guarantee that Avonlea will remain a virgin until she gets married (like her ugly duckling mom was blessed to do), but I can do my best (with God's help) to help Avonlea know truth:
- God loves her with an uncontrollable, unquenchable fire.
- God wants us to seek after Him with every fiber of our being--and he is waiting for us at the end of every search.
- God's plan for love isn't self-serving, the way that our culture views it. The love that God has for you is self-sacrificing. Putting the needs of the other person above your own needs. The love that God has for you looks like the love that Jesus had for you.
- God wants us to have a love that consumes us. God wants you to have the passionate love story that you've always dreamed of. Think of Jesus--he loved us so much that he died for us. It would have felt better for himself to stay off of that cross. But He put himself at the mercy of others because He loved us.
- (and now I'm crying)
- A boyfriend is not the be-all-end-all. Most boys are just that--boys. They aren't mature enough to put your needs above theirs.
- A marriage isn't a guarantee. It is WORK. It is TIME. It is HARD. Unlike the movies, the credits don't roll on a happy ending when the boy tells you he loves you. In real life, that's where the movie starts. Sometimes your movie is a comedy, sometimes it is a tragedy, sometimes it is a farce, or a romance, or an adventure.
What I want Avonlea to know above everything else is this:
I wish I could tell Miley this. That living her life for herself isn't going to fill any gaps. That giving more away isn't going to bring her any satisfaction. It isn't going to make anyone respect her more.
I wish I could tell Robin this. That singing about desire and power over women isn't going to help him feel more in control. That the power this world gives in money and fame and sex isn't enough to fill a void. It's a drug that simply needs more and more from you, but gives nothing to you.
I worry for my daughter. I worry for her innocence and her little mind. I worry for her heart. After this weekend, I won't just pray for her. I will pray for US.
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