Yes, I'm adding entries twice in one day. My last entry was dour, I do acknowledge. But it's where my head is. And yet, after I published it, I realized I never blogged about Saturday, despite taking notes in my iPhone at the time.
Saturday evening, J went fishing, so I took Mabel out for a girls' dinner at the gourmet hot- spot of Panera. :) They've got a good kids' menu and happen to offer a mac n' cheese dish (for adults!) that I was craving like a bee wants honey.
Before we left the house, I had been stressing and was upset about a million and one things. I got Mabel up from her nap and brought her downstairs, only to have the sweetest thing I can imagine happen. I should backtrack and report that Mabel loves giving kisses-- she is not very discerning in whom she chooses for recipients either. But we usually have to ask: "Can you give Nana a kiss goodbye?" That sort of thing.
On Saturday, however, as Mabel sat on my lap, she peered into my eyes for a solid three seconds. And then, on her own whim, she planted a ginormous wet one on my face-- partially right on my mouth, and partially on my cheek. And then when I gave her one back, she gave me another. Mabel cuddles up to us all the time, and will give hugs freely, but the unrequested kiss made my moment, my day, my week, my month-- possibly my year. It was, in my mind, as if she thought, "Here I am sitting with Mama. I should show her some affection." Pure delight. Times like a hundred.
The second event in the trio of things that made me melt in that two- hour time span was her making raspberry sounds in the backseat the whole way to Panera. Sure, she's made that sound before, but she usually hunts for a reaction from one of us. This was, instead, unadulterated, pure fun in her car seat-- just cracking herself up over and over. She didn't need an audience. I can't express the second- hand joy I feel when I see Mabel experiencing joy.
And the most goofy but awesome part of this trio happened at Panera. It's a tall order bringing a toddler to a place where she just wants to run freely when I don't have J or anyone else with me to fetter her to us. She kicked and squirmed the whole time I held her-- in a long line to boot. Mabel annoyed me with her wanting to run to the kitchen in back, and initial refusal to sit still. But once the food came out and she could chomp on that coveted grilled cheese, all was good again. Mabel looked up at the bright lights above her head while she chewed, and I gave her neck a slight tickle. After hearing her roar laughing, I did it again. And then she starting nearly ASKING to be tickled. She would look at me, very strategically and dramatically look up, and wait for me to attack. Each time we would see how long she could stand it before breaking. I've never had so much fun at Panera, or probably out for any meal, for that matter.
When I put Mabel to bed that night, I didn't feel the exhausted relief I sometimes feel at her bedtime. I wanted her to stay up. I knew she couldn't of course, but I felt like a kid whose pal had to go home.
The little trio made me smile for a while. I scurried to enter the events into my iPhone and shortly fell asleep watching Bridesmaids, into the slumber of a content mom.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Can't Compartmentalize
Lately I have been thinking about gravity. Not the scientific concept but the word-- how very grave so many things are in the world around me. I know that I've written a few blogs that have talked about the going getting tough, or about worry, and have ended those entries with some sort of sentiment about being more mindful or meditative or acknowledging a Human Sunrise. Today I don't have sunshiny answers, if I'm being totally honest with myself, which I said I would always be in this blogging venture. Instead I have questions-- with which I will end this entry. If anyone knows any of the answers, please advise.
The other day, a very dear friend of mine told me an absolutely horrific piece of news: her cousins- in- law (with whom my friend is very close) lost their 11- week old son. I don't know the details yet, but this very gloomily curious part of my brain always exhorts me to look up obituaries online any time I hear of a passing. I have no idea what seeing the obituary sates in me or even accomplishes, but I always feel a pull to see the story. And so today I googled the baby's name, and, bam, the obit instantly came up. When I clicked on it, the sweet child's smiling face was at the top of the screen. He looks like a typical infant-- endearing, gorgeous, loving and lovable, and just plain cheery. What an ironic juxtaposition-- this picture coupled with the dark news below it.
I can't get his beautiful image out of my head, nor can I release the idea of what his parents must be going through. I simply don't understand a world that allows such a thing to happen. I don't mean to insult anyone's religious sensibilities or faith, but how can these two parents in any way accept this death? How can they ever say, "God needed him"? Around the time of Newtown, I wrote about how things that we call "unthinkable" actually ARE thinkable-- we just don't want to imagine them. The pain is too sharp. But I tend to do this thing where I take other people's-- even strangers'-- worries or dealings upon myself and I obsess over how the people must be coping.
News like this is jarring and horrific, but the news on the TV every night has nearly become ineffectual. It's so sad, so dismal every single night, that it's hard to react anymore. But somewhere, the family of the guy who was driving the car that collided with a dumptruck yesterday is grieving. And somewhere else, the loved ones of the tortured and murdered girl are bawling their eyes out too.
When I come to work, I like to think I can leave behind my sullen obsessions, but they're there, too. The nonverbal autistic boy down the hall who shrieks all day long, the colleague whose 36- year- old brother died last week of a rare Sarcoma, the front office receptionist with ovarian cancer. When you reach a certain age, and the invincibility complex disappears, you notice and breathe in every tragedy within a mile of you. And then you start to wonder how and when it will befall you. Maybe I shouldn't write in second- person point- of- view there, because maybe not everyone does all this. Maybe I have some sick neurosis.
And while I'm being honest, on some days, my feelings get so desperate that I wonder why so many people keep going, keep having kids, keep at it-- when there is so damn much to lose. Now that I am a mom, there are types of loss that I know that, if I were to experience, I would not want to live any longer. I haven't really felt that way before and it's friggin' scary. Not only do I no longer have a bubble to live inside, but I don't even see bubbles in my adult radius.
I was reminded me of this whole facing- the- cruelties- of- life concept the other day when I was previewing an interview with Arthur Miller to show one of my classes, as they are reading Death of a Salesman. Miller expounds on the notion of life being sadness-- he says that "life IS catastrophe" ultimately. He wrote his works largely to expose his views of how average people cope when the worst happenings of humanity emerge in the lives of everyday folks. Miller's silver lining is that in between all the tragedy and the rubble from it, humans accomplish great things. Hmmm-- is this enough, dear Arthur? Argh, it still just sounds so forlorn.
So, I am not going to tie everything up in a neat bow today because I don't see the need. I don't have a way to do it anyway. When the gifts and wonderful things in life can so quickly and easily bring you your worst nightmare realized, how do we REALLY go through life cherishing people and keeping an optimistic perspective? Are there adults who see or hear awful news and compartmentalize it and then still say life is wonderful? I'd love to live in a more positive state of mind.. I just can't get there.
When for every great happening I witness in a month I can name four horrendous ones, how do you keep your eye on the great? It's true that youth is wasted on the young, because many of the kids I teach seem unfazed-- or, no, that's unfair-- they seem unscathed by other people's terrible events. I know it's the age they're at, but even all through my 20s I think I could do that compartmentalizing thing pretty well. Is this the curse of middle age? Living in fear?
I can't end an entry on that sentence-- I just can't. So I WILL say that I know that there is a lot of good in the world-- I do see it with my very eyes. The problem is that it's the good we so profoundly fear losing.
The other day, a very dear friend of mine told me an absolutely horrific piece of news: her cousins- in- law (with whom my friend is very close) lost their 11- week old son. I don't know the details yet, but this very gloomily curious part of my brain always exhorts me to look up obituaries online any time I hear of a passing. I have no idea what seeing the obituary sates in me or even accomplishes, but I always feel a pull to see the story. And so today I googled the baby's name, and, bam, the obit instantly came up. When I clicked on it, the sweet child's smiling face was at the top of the screen. He looks like a typical infant-- endearing, gorgeous, loving and lovable, and just plain cheery. What an ironic juxtaposition-- this picture coupled with the dark news below it.
I can't get his beautiful image out of my head, nor can I release the idea of what his parents must be going through. I simply don't understand a world that allows such a thing to happen. I don't mean to insult anyone's religious sensibilities or faith, but how can these two parents in any way accept this death? How can they ever say, "God needed him"? Around the time of Newtown, I wrote about how things that we call "unthinkable" actually ARE thinkable-- we just don't want to imagine them. The pain is too sharp. But I tend to do this thing where I take other people's-- even strangers'-- worries or dealings upon myself and I obsess over how the people must be coping.
News like this is jarring and horrific, but the news on the TV every night has nearly become ineffectual. It's so sad, so dismal every single night, that it's hard to react anymore. But somewhere, the family of the guy who was driving the car that collided with a dumptruck yesterday is grieving. And somewhere else, the loved ones of the tortured and murdered girl are bawling their eyes out too.
When I come to work, I like to think I can leave behind my sullen obsessions, but they're there, too. The nonverbal autistic boy down the hall who shrieks all day long, the colleague whose 36- year- old brother died last week of a rare Sarcoma, the front office receptionist with ovarian cancer. When you reach a certain age, and the invincibility complex disappears, you notice and breathe in every tragedy within a mile of you. And then you start to wonder how and when it will befall you. Maybe I shouldn't write in second- person point- of- view there, because maybe not everyone does all this. Maybe I have some sick neurosis.
And while I'm being honest, on some days, my feelings get so desperate that I wonder why so many people keep going, keep having kids, keep at it-- when there is so damn much to lose. Now that I am a mom, there are types of loss that I know that, if I were to experience, I would not want to live any longer. I haven't really felt that way before and it's friggin' scary. Not only do I no longer have a bubble to live inside, but I don't even see bubbles in my adult radius.
I was reminded me of this whole facing- the- cruelties- of- life concept the other day when I was previewing an interview with Arthur Miller to show one of my classes, as they are reading Death of a Salesman. Miller expounds on the notion of life being sadness-- he says that "life IS catastrophe" ultimately. He wrote his works largely to expose his views of how average people cope when the worst happenings of humanity emerge in the lives of everyday folks. Miller's silver lining is that in between all the tragedy and the rubble from it, humans accomplish great things. Hmmm-- is this enough, dear Arthur? Argh, it still just sounds so forlorn.
So, I am not going to tie everything up in a neat bow today because I don't see the need. I don't have a way to do it anyway. When the gifts and wonderful things in life can so quickly and easily bring you your worst nightmare realized, how do we REALLY go through life cherishing people and keeping an optimistic perspective? Are there adults who see or hear awful news and compartmentalize it and then still say life is wonderful? I'd love to live in a more positive state of mind.. I just can't get there.
When for every great happening I witness in a month I can name four horrendous ones, how do you keep your eye on the great? It's true that youth is wasted on the young, because many of the kids I teach seem unfazed-- or, no, that's unfair-- they seem unscathed by other people's terrible events. I know it's the age they're at, but even all through my 20s I think I could do that compartmentalizing thing pretty well. Is this the curse of middle age? Living in fear?
I can't end an entry on that sentence-- I just can't. So I WILL say that I know that there is a lot of good in the world-- I do see it with my very eyes. The problem is that it's the good we so profoundly fear losing.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Lessons: Part Two
7. You're probably doing something wrong. I say that tongue- in-
cheek, as it's something I think a lot of mothers feel: we must be
screwing our children up somehow. Yet, with no
facetiousness at all, we should actually admit and validate-- yes, we
probably ARE doing something wrong. But the "something" is probably
minor. And unless you went to the Barnum and Bailey Circus School,
you're likely not an able juggler. I juggle as much as I can, yet I
have had to make peace with the simple concept that there is always
going to be some arena of parenting in which I could be doing more.
There have been a few nights Mabel hasn't gotten a bath, or that we
haven't cleaned the wax out of her ears. Or a few weeks in which she
has eaten microwave organic pancakes three nights in a row. I haven't
been forceful or consistent enough in getting her to try and like new
veggies-- some nights, after working all day, that battle is just too
much. I'm sure she's gone to day care in clothes that are too warm or
too cool, and I know for a fact I have let her stand up in store carts--
even sometimes without Purelling the carts first. Imagine the horror!
Mabel still has a bottle before bed at night at 18- months- old. It is
essentially her binky, as she was never a pacifier kid (despite our
trying), and the bottle soothes her. While I know she should be off it,
I just can't break away from the total peace at night when she sits
with her "buh- buh" for thirty minutes watching one of her shows,
totally content and not making a peep. This summer I vowed to take her
to Story Hour at the library and never did. We've given her French
fries too many times when we shouldn't have. I could keep going, but I
have adopted a precept around relativity-- in the large scheme of
life, how much is this XYZ thing going to affect her, if it keeps her/
us sane? You can only do what you can do in the reality of everyday life.
8. You might be let down sometimes. While I can say without hesitation that 90 percent of what Mabel does mesmerizes me, there have been times she hasn't been so spellbinding. When she was 2- months- old and lying in a bouncy seat for three hours, I was bored-- and a little let down with motherhood. I felt wretched for even thinking it. But as much as I loved Mabel, she wasn't all that interesting all the time. I would crave the outside world, or wish she would just leap up from the bouncy chair and sing me a ditty. Even now, in the midst of typical toddler derring- do--- when she will scale her high chair or break out in new "choreography"-- there are days or nights that just aren't exciting. Toddlers get whiny. They push our buttons and make us wonder, "Is that all there is??" It's just quite lucky for us (and them, I suppose) that the next moment or day, they'll do something that knocks our socks off. Don't feel like a total failure of a mother if you aren't enthralled with each moment of caring for your kid.
9. You will obsess over sleep. Before we had Mabel, there was much comfort in knowing that a sleepless night meant I could nap the next day. With no such fortune anymore, I now obsess over making sure I get to bed early so that the break- of- dawn wake- up doesn't plague me the following day. I don't always sleep well at all, but I am lamely tucked in bed by 9:30 every night.. and that usually includes weekends. If you go out with friends at night, you will second- guess that third glass of wine because toddlers don't respect the hangover. Mabel doesn't give a shiz if my head pounds-- she still demands I get off that couch promptly and take her outside to the porch. You will find yourself sitting at a restaurant going, "If J and I go home now, and get in bed by 11, we will get 8 hours. But that's if we leave RIGHT now, and then fall RIGHT to sleep in bed." It's a stupid game. Your body is going to sleep when it feels like it, but you'll still think you have some control. Oh, and you will have at least two gruesome hangovers that will make you rue the day you ever partook in a beverage.
10. Some people won't "get" parenthood, but it doesn't mean they don't care. Not all your relatives are going to baby- proof their homes, but they still love you and your kid. Your brother might still plan a late dinner or social event and not get why you don't want to be out all- hours, but it's not that he is uncaring, ignorant, or mean. He just doesn't get the full scope. Did YOU get the full scope before becoming a mom? I know I didn't. Why WOULD non- parents really accommodate you, when you think about it? Most people will not keep whole milk in their homes or have an arsenal of Sesame Street episodes on demand, but they will still invite you to stay at their houses and will still love on your kid like crazy. You have to try not to think of the outside world as insensitive, and have to do your best to roll with the punches. J and I have a mix of family and friends who are parents and non- parents. Everyone is in his or her own current situation, and it's unique. You have to just live in your own little world and not expect people to know its ins and outs.
11. You, without a doubt, must promise you will still have a life. I can't really say more than this: if you give up your own pursuits, or don't spend time with friends, you will find yourself the needy and desperate mother of an 18- year- old who is going off to college, still making your child ride buckled up in the backseat, and emailing his or her prospective college roommates to see what they're like, and, subsequently, contacting his or her college professors to ask why he/ she got a B on the Econ paper. Yup-- you'll be bat- siz crazy if you pour your whole being into momhood and forget other joys.
12. You'll feel the most indescribable but profound and radiant connection to your kid. It's instinctual and basic, but it's ever- present. While I have no regard for Martyr Moms, as I have blogged about before, I will agree that momhood is a gift that can't be paralleled... not because it is more special than some other gifts, but because it is so different. When I haven't seen Mabel in a weekend, I have a visceral longing for her. I can't help but squeeze and kiss and tickle her like mad. One of my students said today that when 9/11 happened, his mom came to pick him up at preschool (yes, that is how young my now- junior and -senior students were then), not because she feared for his safety at the preschool, but because, in her words, she "just had to hold [him]." Yup, I get it. And when this boy told the story, I got goosebumps. It's uncontrollable, and it seems implausible, but it is truly sensational.
8. You might be let down sometimes. While I can say without hesitation that 90 percent of what Mabel does mesmerizes me, there have been times she hasn't been so spellbinding. When she was 2- months- old and lying in a bouncy seat for three hours, I was bored-- and a little let down with motherhood. I felt wretched for even thinking it. But as much as I loved Mabel, she wasn't all that interesting all the time. I would crave the outside world, or wish she would just leap up from the bouncy chair and sing me a ditty. Even now, in the midst of typical toddler derring- do--- when she will scale her high chair or break out in new "choreography"-- there are days or nights that just aren't exciting. Toddlers get whiny. They push our buttons and make us wonder, "Is that all there is??" It's just quite lucky for us (and them, I suppose) that the next moment or day, they'll do something that knocks our socks off. Don't feel like a total failure of a mother if you aren't enthralled with each moment of caring for your kid.
9. You will obsess over sleep. Before we had Mabel, there was much comfort in knowing that a sleepless night meant I could nap the next day. With no such fortune anymore, I now obsess over making sure I get to bed early so that the break- of- dawn wake- up doesn't plague me the following day. I don't always sleep well at all, but I am lamely tucked in bed by 9:30 every night.. and that usually includes weekends. If you go out with friends at night, you will second- guess that third glass of wine because toddlers don't respect the hangover. Mabel doesn't give a shiz if my head pounds-- she still demands I get off that couch promptly and take her outside to the porch. You will find yourself sitting at a restaurant going, "If J and I go home now, and get in bed by 11, we will get 8 hours. But that's if we leave RIGHT now, and then fall RIGHT to sleep in bed." It's a stupid game. Your body is going to sleep when it feels like it, but you'll still think you have some control. Oh, and you will have at least two gruesome hangovers that will make you rue the day you ever partook in a beverage.
10. Some people won't "get" parenthood, but it doesn't mean they don't care. Not all your relatives are going to baby- proof their homes, but they still love you and your kid. Your brother might still plan a late dinner or social event and not get why you don't want to be out all- hours, but it's not that he is uncaring, ignorant, or mean. He just doesn't get the full scope. Did YOU get the full scope before becoming a mom? I know I didn't. Why WOULD non- parents really accommodate you, when you think about it? Most people will not keep whole milk in their homes or have an arsenal of Sesame Street episodes on demand, but they will still invite you to stay at their houses and will still love on your kid like crazy. You have to try not to think of the outside world as insensitive, and have to do your best to roll with the punches. J and I have a mix of family and friends who are parents and non- parents. Everyone is in his or her own current situation, and it's unique. You have to just live in your own little world and not expect people to know its ins and outs.
11. You, without a doubt, must promise you will still have a life. I can't really say more than this: if you give up your own pursuits, or don't spend time with friends, you will find yourself the needy and desperate mother of an 18- year- old who is going off to college, still making your child ride buckled up in the backseat, and emailing his or her prospective college roommates to see what they're like, and, subsequently, contacting his or her college professors to ask why he/ she got a B on the Econ paper. Yup-- you'll be bat- siz crazy if you pour your whole being into momhood and forget other joys.
12. You'll feel the most indescribable but profound and radiant connection to your kid. It's instinctual and basic, but it's ever- present. While I have no regard for Martyr Moms, as I have blogged about before, I will agree that momhood is a gift that can't be paralleled... not because it is more special than some other gifts, but because it is so different. When I haven't seen Mabel in a weekend, I have a visceral longing for her. I can't help but squeeze and kiss and tickle her like mad. One of my students said today that when 9/11 happened, his mom came to pick him up at preschool (yes, that is how young my now- junior and -senior students were then), not because she feared for his safety at the preschool, but because, in her words, she "just had to hold [him]." Yup, I get it. And when this boy told the story, I got goosebumps. It's uncontrollable, and it seems implausible, but it is truly sensational.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Lessons
Over the past 18.5 months, since parenthood greeted me, I have been learning. Much of the time, I don't even realize I am a student. But I am going to share some lessons today-- lessons I have learned about inevitabilities in parenting.
1. Your house will never be clean again. If you clean the muck, you will have clutter-- and vice- versa. You can hire a cleaning crew or get on your hands and knees and scrub like a madwoman every day, but some form of dirt or plastic blocks or dirty laundry haphazardly dumped from a basket will always thwart you. You must adopt the "best I can" mantra and genuinely live it. I have been repeatedly convinced I could be a good foe for messes, but, alas, I give up the struggle. I am still going to clean my house, but it is never going to look like it did pre- kid. You need to just surrender. You will feel better.
2. You will watch the kids' TV shows you always hated before having kids. My friend came over once when I was single and talked of the likes of Bob the Builder and Word Girl. I did not give a shiz who these toons were. None of it excited me and I didn't even want to hear about why her kids liked the shows. You will not only start watching kid tv, but you will start opining on the shows. I can tell you that I like Sesame Street, Sid the Science Kid, Super Why, Martha Speaks, and Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood, and that I loathe Thomas the Tank Engine. I tolerate Caillou and The Cat in the Hat. I could give specific reasons for each and sing the theme songs too. Many days at work go by when my head is-- all day long-- infiltrated by the melody of "Look up high, in the sky, it's a bird, it can fly... Let's all hurry to the flying fairy school!"
3. You will become, in at least one way, the mom you said you wouldn't be. Pre- kids, I rolled my eyes when friends would say their kids were sleeping in their beds with them, or that they were too nervous to leave their kids with a sitter. It was so easy at the time to scorn and criticize. "They are just screwing these kids up!" You later learn a little bit more about what it's like when your kid won't fall back to sleep in the crib and you yourself are looking for a modicum of rest. You also find out what it's like not to trust most people with your kid. It's instinctual. Just accept it. Yup, you are that woman now.
4. Everyone has an opinion. From whether you should nurse, to whether you should sleep train, to what kind of frickin' baby food you should serve, a lot of folks around you will want to give you the "best" advice. When the advice is unsolicited, it's most annoying, so learn to avoid the baby topic with the people who like to offer without request. But be careful, too, about whom you ask for help. A well- meaning bit of feedback could be a full report on the dangers of crib bumpers or a l00- part list of foods that constipate kids. We must consider that as humans, we like to feel useful. Naturally, we want to offer the best helping hand we can. People are well- meaning but they can still be as condescending or frustrating as all get- out. Ask for help only from people you can tolerate.
5. Speaking of help, don't go online to parent boards. A little Web MD never hurt anyone, eh? Well, I would debate that, as was evidenced by my search there for "dizziness" in which I had unreservedly decided I had a brain tumor. But parent boards can be more grotesque. People troll and write dumb things. They also want to be know- it- alls. And you will see on those boards the saddest, most extreme forms of dire happenings. Parent boards will make you feel inept OR gloomy about the state of the world OR paranoid about your choices OR just pissed off at how dumb people are. Don't go on boards often. Call the pedi office or ask a well- meaning, non- lecturey friend.
6. It's okay to just want a break. I read this article about mindfulness when parenting-- in fact, I know for sure I referenced it in a blog entry. And yes, I do need to be more mindful. I need to slow down and smell the proverbial roses sometimes. For sure. But this piece insinuated you were horrible for checking your watch to count down to when the kid will go to sleep. I mean, are we supposed to be superhuman? Are we supposed to never long for alone time? Are we supposed to be patient and giving 24/7? I am not. I have tried my best, and on most days I do well. But I have decided it's ok if your kid's whines are driving you to drink and you're going to put him to bed 20 minutes early tonight because can you ever just watch Jeopardy in peace?!
More to come... And I know I don't have to say it, but my caveat is this: Obviously, despite the difficulties I am presenting lightheartedly here, parenting is the sweetest and most awe- inducing thing you can dream of. Even when you have poop on your thumb or mushy seeds from an apple flung on pretty rug.
1. Your house will never be clean again. If you clean the muck, you will have clutter-- and vice- versa. You can hire a cleaning crew or get on your hands and knees and scrub like a madwoman every day, but some form of dirt or plastic blocks or dirty laundry haphazardly dumped from a basket will always thwart you. You must adopt the "best I can" mantra and genuinely live it. I have been repeatedly convinced I could be a good foe for messes, but, alas, I give up the struggle. I am still going to clean my house, but it is never going to look like it did pre- kid. You need to just surrender. You will feel better.
2. You will watch the kids' TV shows you always hated before having kids. My friend came over once when I was single and talked of the likes of Bob the Builder and Word Girl. I did not give a shiz who these toons were. None of it excited me and I didn't even want to hear about why her kids liked the shows. You will not only start watching kid tv, but you will start opining on the shows. I can tell you that I like Sesame Street, Sid the Science Kid, Super Why, Martha Speaks, and Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood, and that I loathe Thomas the Tank Engine. I tolerate Caillou and The Cat in the Hat. I could give specific reasons for each and sing the theme songs too. Many days at work go by when my head is-- all day long-- infiltrated by the melody of "Look up high, in the sky, it's a bird, it can fly... Let's all hurry to the flying fairy school!"
3. You will become, in at least one way, the mom you said you wouldn't be. Pre- kids, I rolled my eyes when friends would say their kids were sleeping in their beds with them, or that they were too nervous to leave their kids with a sitter. It was so easy at the time to scorn and criticize. "They are just screwing these kids up!" You later learn a little bit more about what it's like when your kid won't fall back to sleep in the crib and you yourself are looking for a modicum of rest. You also find out what it's like not to trust most people with your kid. It's instinctual. Just accept it. Yup, you are that woman now.
4. Everyone has an opinion. From whether you should nurse, to whether you should sleep train, to what kind of frickin' baby food you should serve, a lot of folks around you will want to give you the "best" advice. When the advice is unsolicited, it's most annoying, so learn to avoid the baby topic with the people who like to offer without request. But be careful, too, about whom you ask for help. A well- meaning bit of feedback could be a full report on the dangers of crib bumpers or a l00- part list of foods that constipate kids. We must consider that as humans, we like to feel useful. Naturally, we want to offer the best helping hand we can. People are well- meaning but they can still be as condescending or frustrating as all get- out. Ask for help only from people you can tolerate.
5. Speaking of help, don't go online to parent boards. A little Web MD never hurt anyone, eh? Well, I would debate that, as was evidenced by my search there for "dizziness" in which I had unreservedly decided I had a brain tumor. But parent boards can be more grotesque. People troll and write dumb things. They also want to be know- it- alls. And you will see on those boards the saddest, most extreme forms of dire happenings. Parent boards will make you feel inept OR gloomy about the state of the world OR paranoid about your choices OR just pissed off at how dumb people are. Don't go on boards often. Call the pedi office or ask a well- meaning, non- lecturey friend.
6. It's okay to just want a break. I read this article about mindfulness when parenting-- in fact, I know for sure I referenced it in a blog entry. And yes, I do need to be more mindful. I need to slow down and smell the proverbial roses sometimes. For sure. But this piece insinuated you were horrible for checking your watch to count down to when the kid will go to sleep. I mean, are we supposed to be superhuman? Are we supposed to never long for alone time? Are we supposed to be patient and giving 24/7? I am not. I have tried my best, and on most days I do well. But I have decided it's ok if your kid's whines are driving you to drink and you're going to put him to bed 20 minutes early tonight because can you ever just watch Jeopardy in peace?!
More to come... And I know I don't have to say it, but my caveat is this: Obviously, despite the difficulties I am presenting lightheartedly here, parenting is the sweetest and most awe- inducing thing you can dream of. Even when you have poop on your thumb or mushy seeds from an apple flung on pretty rug.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Note- taking
I had decided a bit back that I wanted to write a blog entry about things that make Mabel laugh or smile. It seems like just the sort of thing I would love to look back on. In the moment, even if I send a laugh or grin to what feels like the safest space in my memory, I know by now I am still doomed to forget it. Thus, I began jotting quick notes into my iphone notepad right in the very moment. Ah, the power of technology at the fingertips!
So I thought I was totally on top of this blog entry with my super- techie note- taking. What I didn't anticipate was that I wouldn't remember what some of the notes meant later. I mean, it's been only weeks since some of these occurred, and I don't remember their images at all. I am either developing dementia fast, or I am learning that this is the stuff of parenthood-- fleeting moments of joy that you will never get back or truly feel again. It's not as downer as it sounds, because these happy moments do continue to accumulate. But wow. Wow.
Writing this entry beckons to my high school diary-- now THERE is some really powerful writing (insert sarcasm face). But what I mean is that I wrote a lot of that journal in code, lest my sneaky little brother or a nosy parent wanted to take a peek. When I unearthed the diary a good decade later, I realized I couldn't decode most of what I had written. I'd come up with words and phrases for times, places, and people-- probably ultra- sure in the moment that I would always remember what they stood for-- only to come up short when looking back as an adult. It's sad, really, not to be able to uncover and relive some of the joys-- and even pains-- of that tumultuous but exciting time.
And so I must remind myself that every moment is just that-- a moment. And while a blog or some phone notes will transport me to a place and a time and may even make me feel joyful, I will never again fully and deeply experience what it was like to see Mabel do that ONE thing for the first time. The passage of time is one of those crazy phenomena that science can't even remotely justify to me.
Here goes anyway, as I hope I can feel an iota of the pure happiness each of these moments originally brought:
Things that make Mabel laugh or smile:
- Sitting atop J or me, equestrian style-- we call it the "giddy- up." She used to roar at this, but I guess she is becoming jaded as now she just grins-- it's still awfully sweet.
- Here's an example of one I don't really remember-- I put in my phone, "Putting the dolls from doll house into their beds." Sadly, I don't recall now whether it made her laugh or smile.
- Wearing my bracelets-- and I should add that in addition to finding excitement in this exercise, Mabel also takes great pains as to not allow the bracelets to fall off, holding her arm upright for good stretches of time.
- Being able to brush her teeth without assistance (I brush them first, then let her have fun thinking she is actually brushing...)
- Again-- one I don't remember now-- Putting the Dr. Seuss hat on me, Bun- Bun, or herself
- Making a tower correctly-- and follows the smile with some self- applause
- My voicing, "I pity the fool!" a la Mr. T. I have no idea why, but this cracks her right up.
- My pretending to gulp from her cup or bottle.
- The playing of the Abby's Flying Fairy School theme-- again, lots of applause.
- Performing any form of hide n' seek, but especially when she closes the bathroom door and makes us knock to "look for her."
- Play kitchens-- enough said.
- Siri!! Again, enough said.
- Feeding my parents' dog, whom we babysit from time to time, his biscuits and water.
- Feeding anyone or anything, really. She gets a real kick out of that.
- Riding her rocking horse without help.
- And this one is my favorite so I will use some detail-- Mabel has fascinated me with how well she has observed use of the vacuum cleaner. After I unplug it and reload the cord into the unit, she will pull the cord out again; walk to the outlet to try to plug it in (though she is thwarted by outlet covers); go back to the vacuum itself and "clean" the rug for a while, with impressive form; pick up pesky things that won't seem to pick up and try to actually place them in the vacuum unit. This process keeps her smiley and busy for chunks of time-- wonder if she will enjoy actually vacuuming when the time comes.
So I thought I was totally on top of this blog entry with my super- techie note- taking. What I didn't anticipate was that I wouldn't remember what some of the notes meant later. I mean, it's been only weeks since some of these occurred, and I don't remember their images at all. I am either developing dementia fast, or I am learning that this is the stuff of parenthood-- fleeting moments of joy that you will never get back or truly feel again. It's not as downer as it sounds, because these happy moments do continue to accumulate. But wow. Wow.
Writing this entry beckons to my high school diary-- now THERE is some really powerful writing (insert sarcasm face). But what I mean is that I wrote a lot of that journal in code, lest my sneaky little brother or a nosy parent wanted to take a peek. When I unearthed the diary a good decade later, I realized I couldn't decode most of what I had written. I'd come up with words and phrases for times, places, and people-- probably ultra- sure in the moment that I would always remember what they stood for-- only to come up short when looking back as an adult. It's sad, really, not to be able to uncover and relive some of the joys-- and even pains-- of that tumultuous but exciting time.
And so I must remind myself that every moment is just that-- a moment. And while a blog or some phone notes will transport me to a place and a time and may even make me feel joyful, I will never again fully and deeply experience what it was like to see Mabel do that ONE thing for the first time. The passage of time is one of those crazy phenomena that science can't even remotely justify to me.
Here goes anyway, as I hope I can feel an iota of the pure happiness each of these moments originally brought:
Things that make Mabel laugh or smile:
- Sitting atop J or me, equestrian style-- we call it the "giddy- up." She used to roar at this, but I guess she is becoming jaded as now she just grins-- it's still awfully sweet.
- Here's an example of one I don't really remember-- I put in my phone, "Putting the dolls from doll house into their beds." Sadly, I don't recall now whether it made her laugh or smile.
- Wearing my bracelets-- and I should add that in addition to finding excitement in this exercise, Mabel also takes great pains as to not allow the bracelets to fall off, holding her arm upright for good stretches of time.
- Being able to brush her teeth without assistance (I brush them first, then let her have fun thinking she is actually brushing...)
- Again-- one I don't remember now-- Putting the Dr. Seuss hat on me, Bun- Bun, or herself
- Making a tower correctly-- and follows the smile with some self- applause
- My voicing, "I pity the fool!" a la Mr. T. I have no idea why, but this cracks her right up.
- My pretending to gulp from her cup or bottle.
- The playing of the Abby's Flying Fairy School theme-- again, lots of applause.
- Performing any form of hide n' seek, but especially when she closes the bathroom door and makes us knock to "look for her."
- Play kitchens-- enough said.
- Siri!! Again, enough said.
- Feeding my parents' dog, whom we babysit from time to time, his biscuits and water.
- Feeding anyone or anything, really. She gets a real kick out of that.
- Riding her rocking horse without help.
- And this one is my favorite so I will use some detail-- Mabel has fascinated me with how well she has observed use of the vacuum cleaner. After I unplug it and reload the cord into the unit, she will pull the cord out again; walk to the outlet to try to plug it in (though she is thwarted by outlet covers); go back to the vacuum itself and "clean" the rug for a while, with impressive form; pick up pesky things that won't seem to pick up and try to actually place them in the vacuum unit. This process keeps her smiley and busy for chunks of time-- wonder if she will enjoy actually vacuuming when the time comes.
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