I received many great suggestions about what to do with this gift of alone time. I really wish that I had thought of this sooner, because with my luck, Keiki will come tonight! I think since I couldn’t do much (and had no car) for the four weeks that I was at home before Jacob’s birth, I never thought I’d feel up to doing much this time around. Anyhoo, below is a list of suggestions. I recommend you take any of them, or facilitate one of the following activities for a mom in your life.
1. Go to a movie
2. Lunch at a kid unfriendly restaurant (quiet, no highchairs....)
3. mani/pedi (mainly for the hand and foot massage) (this got a few votes)
4. Spend the day at a bookstore, kick up your feet and read at home
5. Movie, especially one that involves buttery popcorn
These are all my cup of tea! So here’s what I did. I headed out to Ikea for a good walk. I left my credit cards in the car to safeguard myself from impulse buys and made it out with only a $4.99 plastic stepstool for Jacob.
My next stop was a nice little bistro in Menlo Park called The Left Bank, where I covered my caloric intake for the next few days with a Croque Monsieur, greens, and Arnold Palmer. Finally, I sat at Starbucks with an iced tea, apple treat, and Us Weekly. Now I could have just gone home to read (one of the suggestions), but I realized that being out with a magazine or book is a totally different experience. While I love my home, right now it is filled with reminders about what I should be doing, like laundry, picking up toys (or other clutter for that matter), doing dishes, etc. I can’t get it all done without some major tiredness on my part, so it was nice to read my rags in peace.
I arrived home and felt wonderfully productive in my doing nothingness. And I really couldn’t have planned this outing at a better time, as Jacob threw up at daycare and came home early. Half of Madagascar and all of Kung Fu Panda later, he puked popcorn all over the couch, again on Daddy, wiping some on me, and ground his puke-covered body into our snuggler (loveseat) for good measure. So we had a bath while Daddy cleaned up, and sent him to bed with crackers and water. If I had spent the day at home zoning out on tv and choring my body into submission, I’m not sure how much patience or energy that it takes to handle a projectile vomiting 2 year old.
Thank you all who provided feedback, and I hope you listen to your own advice. God bless pampering and the United States of America!
Showing posts with label Parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Parenting. Show all posts
Saturday, February 06, 2010
Friday, February 05, 2010
Calling All Moms!
Okay, so most of my thoughts lately have been something like this: Go, Keiki, go! Get outta there. When is that baby coming?
What I'm not doing is living in the moment. Right now, I have an amazing opportunity. I am on maternity leave, which means that I am being paid to be at home and wait for Keiki. Being paid means that I can afford to keep Jacob in daycare while I'm at home, not doing much.
I'm taking some advantage of this time off, getting the laundry done, cooking dinner, going to Stroller Strides, getting life errands done.
And yet.
This is the calm before the storm, and I feel like I'm not doing enough to savor this time. Right now, every weekday that goes by without Keiki is 10 hours of ME time. So moms out there, working or stay at home, let me be your proxy! What would you do if you had a whole day to yourself? The children are covered, you can't spend more than half of that time doing chores, and you have a budget of $20-$30. (Note that you are nine months pregnant in this fantasy) Would you go for a hike? Window shop? Take yourself to lunch? Mani-pedi? Give me ideas!
What I'm not doing is living in the moment. Right now, I have an amazing opportunity. I am on maternity leave, which means that I am being paid to be at home and wait for Keiki. Being paid means that I can afford to keep Jacob in daycare while I'm at home, not doing much.
I'm taking some advantage of this time off, getting the laundry done, cooking dinner, going to Stroller Strides, getting life errands done.
And yet.
This is the calm before the storm, and I feel like I'm not doing enough to savor this time. Right now, every weekday that goes by without Keiki is 10 hours of ME time. So moms out there, working or stay at home, let me be your proxy! What would you do if you had a whole day to yourself? The children are covered, you can't spend more than half of that time doing chores, and you have a budget of $20-$30. (Note that you are nine months pregnant in this fantasy) Would you go for a hike? Window shop? Take yourself to lunch? Mani-pedi? Give me ideas!
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Monkey Brain
I'm watching today's Oprah, which is about the adult children of Elizabeth Smart's kidnapper (Wanda Barzee). The youngest girl related a story about her mother serving up her pet rabbit for dinner (and told her daughter the next day). Whatever my mistakes or guilt as a mom, I'm doing A-OK.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Near Miss
There several times that I’ve almost killed my son, but I’ll just share a few:
I’m thinking of this because today I made my first call to 911. My neighbor was pounding on my door this morning and I opened it up to find her distraught, her four year old in her arms with a bloody towel covering his face. A door mirror had fallen on his him while she was in the bathroom. The paramedics came and took him to the hospital, and while he’ll have a good scar to tell the ladies about, he still has all his teeth, the shards just missed his eye, and he should be okay. Still, that doesn’t do much to alleviate a mother’s guilt because something bad happened under her care.
We make so many mistakes as parents, and it seems so hard to acknowledge it, like we should always be watching, as if all the baby proofing and safety gear out there should mean that there won’t be any boo boos or trips to the ER. And while so far Jacob’s mishaps have only needed a little ice or band-aid here and there, I know that there will be a day when there’s a big one, and it may be on my watch. I hope that I can give that future me the same empathy that I gave my friend this morning.
Anyway, I better sign off. Jacob's been alone in the bath for a while and it's been quiet; too quiet. . .
- The time I flipped over his car seat when he was a few weeks old and I barely caught it before it rolled into oncoming traffic.
- The time I let him crawl up the two steps leading from our house to the concrete patio and he thunked his way down to the concrete.
- The time I had the oven door open and a knife in my hand and Jacob ran towards me and I reflexively went to him, knife still in hand, hot oven still open.
- The time that Jacob crawled halfway up my sister’s big staircase while Josh and I each thought the other was watching him.
- The time I left the big chopping knife on the edge of the counter, thinking it was out of reach until Josh demonstrated with a rock that it was very much within reach.
I’m thinking of this because today I made my first call to 911. My neighbor was pounding on my door this morning and I opened it up to find her distraught, her four year old in her arms with a bloody towel covering his face. A door mirror had fallen on his him while she was in the bathroom. The paramedics came and took him to the hospital, and while he’ll have a good scar to tell the ladies about, he still has all his teeth, the shards just missed his eye, and he should be okay. Still, that doesn’t do much to alleviate a mother’s guilt because something bad happened under her care.
We make so many mistakes as parents, and it seems so hard to acknowledge it, like we should always be watching, as if all the baby proofing and safety gear out there should mean that there won’t be any boo boos or trips to the ER. And while so far Jacob’s mishaps have only needed a little ice or band-aid here and there, I know that there will be a day when there’s a big one, and it may be on my watch. I hope that I can give that future me the same empathy that I gave my friend this morning.
Anyway, I better sign off. Jacob's been alone in the bath for a while and it's been quiet; too quiet. . .
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Monkey Mama
I’m so glad that I wrote that lovey dovey post yesterday, because today was not so good. Jacob woke up a hungry little fusspot. And when I’m on my game, I have lots of patience to get my little hungry fusspot fed so that my shiny happy toddler returns. But Internet, I was NOT on my game today. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Jacob to give Josh some grading time, and our outings have left me overtired and under-patient. Listen, you try explaining to a 2 year old that you can’t pick him up because of your big ole belly and you’ll see what I mean.
Anyhoo. Jacob refused all offers of food and only wanted to play with Play-Doh. And I know that he’ll be MUCH happier if he can eat something, but he’s too hungry and cranky to eat, but I can’t let it go. So I refuse the Play-Doh and it’s meltdown city. Why am I entering into a battle of wills with a two year old? Because I’m a tired, very pregnant 34 year old who also needs a nap. I can even see this happening and comment on it in my head, but I can’t change gears.
Finally he has some yogurt probiotic drink and starts to perk up, until I offer some cereal (he said YES!) but after I give it to him, he begins meltdown #2. And so I call for backup and make Daddy come and peel some clementines because “I am at the end of my rope.” Meaning that while I’m confident that I am a good enough mother to not do this, there is a part of me that isn’t sure that I might just pelt my kid with clementine sections, all for acting like a two year old, GOD FORBID. Lucky for me, the clementines returned Jacob to a normal enough state that he could handle a slice of toast, and I was able to make some barnyard pals out of Play Doh, and balance was restored.
This is the dark side of parenting, the embarrassing moments when your kid is driving you nuts, but really you are just in need of a time out. This is why I like writing. The good, the bad, it keeps me aware and humble. It also reminds me that the bad is like a storm and will always pass.
Anyhoo. Jacob refused all offers of food and only wanted to play with Play-Doh. And I know that he’ll be MUCH happier if he can eat something, but he’s too hungry and cranky to eat, but I can’t let it go. So I refuse the Play-Doh and it’s meltdown city. Why am I entering into a battle of wills with a two year old? Because I’m a tired, very pregnant 34 year old who also needs a nap. I can even see this happening and comment on it in my head, but I can’t change gears.
Finally he has some yogurt probiotic drink and starts to perk up, until I offer some cereal (he said YES!) but after I give it to him, he begins meltdown #2. And so I call for backup and make Daddy come and peel some clementines because “I am at the end of my rope.” Meaning that while I’m confident that I am a good enough mother to not do this, there is a part of me that isn’t sure that I might just pelt my kid with clementine sections, all for acting like a two year old, GOD FORBID. Lucky for me, the clementines returned Jacob to a normal enough state that he could handle a slice of toast, and I was able to make some barnyard pals out of Play Doh, and balance was restored.
This is the dark side of parenting, the embarrassing moments when your kid is driving you nuts, but really you are just in need of a time out. This is why I like writing. The good, the bad, it keeps me aware and humble. It also reminds me that the bad is like a storm and will always pass.
Monday, December 28, 2009
It's the end of the sleep as we know it
While the impending arrival of Jacob’s sibling will certainly put a wrench in our sleep, Josh and I have made a conscious choice to alter our ability to get a good night’s sleep for the next, oh, lifetime. This weekend, we purchased and assembled a bed for Jacob. WITHOUT BARS.
You see, when your child is in a crib, you know exactly where they are. And once they are past the SIDS stage, and you keep the knives out of reach, they are pretty much as safe as it’s gonna get in their little wooden cage. That is, until they pull off their diaper and smear poop on the wall and maybe eat some of it, but that only happened once, I SWEAR.
At first, he was not impressed and did NOT appreciate our messing around with his room without a toddler change management permit. We tried to win him over with talk of a “big boy bed,” but he couldn’t care less. This is one of the many things about Jacob that I love. He sits there sucking his thumb, fiddling with his ear, never trying to crawl out of the crib, never wanting to be bigger than he is. I need to remember to savor this when he wants to drive at 13 and get married at 30 (just kidding!).
Once the bed was set up, he came in again and loved it. He rolled around and played “sleep,” directing me to “Take you glasses off, Mama,” knowing that if I’m wearing my specs, I’m not really sleeping.
This is the end of an era. Once he is fully sleeping in his bed (we are in a slow transition starting with weekend naps and building up to week nights), there is nothing to stop him from getting out of it, other then abject fear, and I still want to save that parenting technique for a rainy day. So we’ll have to lock the baby gate, close the doors and hope he doesn’t learn to climb up to the high shelf that stores the bathroom chemicals while we snooze away.
Sometimes, on the weekends, Josh and I sleep through Jacob's initial wakings and he falls back asleep. Those days are long gone, my friends. A new day will come soon when I will wake up with a little toddler face near mine, and who knows how long he’ll have been there, my three foot stalker watching me sleep. And after I stop hyperventilating, he’ll say, “You awake?” and I’ll see that it’s 5:30 am, and I will have to be awake, won’t I?
You see, when your child is in a crib, you know exactly where they are. And once they are past the SIDS stage, and you keep the knives out of reach, they are pretty much as safe as it’s gonna get in their little wooden cage. That is, until they pull off their diaper and smear poop on the wall and maybe eat some of it, but that only happened once, I SWEAR.
At first, he was not impressed and did NOT appreciate our messing around with his room without a toddler change management permit. We tried to win him over with talk of a “big boy bed,” but he couldn’t care less. This is one of the many things about Jacob that I love. He sits there sucking his thumb, fiddling with his ear, never trying to crawl out of the crib, never wanting to be bigger than he is. I need to remember to savor this when he wants to drive at 13 and get married at 30 (just kidding!).
Once the bed was set up, he came in again and loved it. He rolled around and played “sleep,” directing me to “Take you glasses off, Mama,” knowing that if I’m wearing my specs, I’m not really sleeping.
This is the end of an era. Once he is fully sleeping in his bed (we are in a slow transition starting with weekend naps and building up to week nights), there is nothing to stop him from getting out of it, other then abject fear, and I still want to save that parenting technique for a rainy day. So we’ll have to lock the baby gate, close the doors and hope he doesn’t learn to climb up to the high shelf that stores the bathroom chemicals while we snooze away.
Sometimes, on the weekends, Josh and I sleep through Jacob's initial wakings and he falls back asleep. Those days are long gone, my friends. A new day will come soon when I will wake up with a little toddler face near mine, and who knows how long he’ll have been there, my three foot stalker watching me sleep. And after I stop hyperventilating, he’ll say, “You awake?” and I’ll see that it’s 5:30 am, and I will have to be awake, won’t I?
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Jacob’s Other Family
Every weekday, Josh drops Jacob off at daycare, where he is loved, loved, loved. And while I am grateful that he gets another form of parental attention in addition to all that Josh and I provide, there are moments.
Sometimes, when I think about daycare, I can certainly empathize with Fundamental Latter Day Saints (FLDS) co-wives and their potential jealousy.
Sometimes, when I think about daycare, I can certainly empathize with Fundamental Latter Day Saints (FLDS) co-wives and their potential jealousy.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Monkey Mama
Sometimes when Jacob wakes up, he’s peed out of his diaper and his jammies are a bit wet, so after I plopped him on the floor recently and found my own shirt a little moist, I shrugged it off. I SHOULD have changed him right there and then, but my belly was already squealing, and Daddy was nowhere to be found. Lifting him again was just not an option. What’s a little wetness among friends, right? He’d get changed soon enough.
Onward we went, into the kitchen for a little chocolate soy milk and Gorilla Munch (Gilla lunch!) cereal. A few minutes into breakfast, I noticed some water spots on the kitchen floor. Huh? There’s no milk with the Gilla Lunch. Then I notice that Jacob, still in his feety pajamas, is sloshing around the kitchen. How are his feet wet? And then I go in to check the front of his diaper, and all I get is a feel of little toddler penis through his jammies. I should not be feeling little toddler penis, I should be feeling crinkly full diaper. Did Daddy FORGET to put the diaper on last night? I’m still dazed and confused, not seeing the reality in front of me.
And so I strip my kid, right in the kitchen, and somehow, Jacob has made his way into his bottoms (which snap to the tops, making it very difficult to get little hands down the pants) and pulled down the front of his diaper. I’m both shocked at my pee covered son, who has no sense of self-consciousness, and kind of amazed at the MacGuyvering skill that allowed him to do this to himself.
The worst part? The part that goes on my list of embarassing mother acts? I scooped up the naked boy, and with an eye on the clock and not enough time for a bath, gave him a sponge bath with Baby Wipes and put on his nice Christmas outfit and sent him off to Josh’s school for the day. Smelling a bit like pee. Where, oh where, is my handbasket?
Onward we went, into the kitchen for a little chocolate soy milk and Gorilla Munch (Gilla lunch!) cereal. A few minutes into breakfast, I noticed some water spots on the kitchen floor. Huh? There’s no milk with the Gilla Lunch. Then I notice that Jacob, still in his feety pajamas, is sloshing around the kitchen. How are his feet wet? And then I go in to check the front of his diaper, and all I get is a feel of little toddler penis through his jammies. I should not be feeling little toddler penis, I should be feeling crinkly full diaper. Did Daddy FORGET to put the diaper on last night? I’m still dazed and confused, not seeing the reality in front of me.
And so I strip my kid, right in the kitchen, and somehow, Jacob has made his way into his bottoms (which snap to the tops, making it very difficult to get little hands down the pants) and pulled down the front of his diaper. I’m both shocked at my pee covered son, who has no sense of self-consciousness, and kind of amazed at the MacGuyvering skill that allowed him to do this to himself.
The worst part? The part that goes on my list of embarassing mother acts? I scooped up the naked boy, and with an eye on the clock and not enough time for a bath, gave him a sponge bath with Baby Wipes and put on his nice Christmas outfit and sent him off to Josh’s school for the day. Smelling a bit like pee. Where, oh where, is my handbasket?
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Monkey Brain
Do you ever look at your kid's toys and feel the urge to sweep them all up and give them away, just to avoid the Sisyphean task of putting them away each night? Erm, me neither.
Letter to a New Mom, vol. 1
Dear S,
This week, you were introduced to motherhood and all the joy and madness that it entails. You are the newest in the late 2009-2010 baby boom, and baby Max is beautiful.
One of my favorite memories of you is from sophomore year. You taught me that before you have a baby, your cervix is soft, like the flesh at the tip of one’s nose, and that after, your cervix is hard, like the front of your chin. You kept mixing up “cervix” and “clitoris,” so to demonstrate, you kept poking your nose and then your chin while saying “Cli-tor-is,” in a high, sing-songy voice. So welcome to the world of hard cervixes and soft bellies (your body will return, I promise), sleepless nights and exploding poop, drool and sloppy kisses.
I hope that giving birth to a three month old has the same benefits that it did for me: longer sleep sessions. May your little tank give you at least 4 hours of rest once in a while, and may your boobs remain chafe-free. I love you and can’t wait to meet Jacob’s newest friend.
Love and kisses,
Monkey Brain
This week, you were introduced to motherhood and all the joy and madness that it entails. You are the newest in the late 2009-2010 baby boom, and baby Max is beautiful.
One of my favorite memories of you is from sophomore year. You taught me that before you have a baby, your cervix is soft, like the flesh at the tip of one’s nose, and that after, your cervix is hard, like the front of your chin. You kept mixing up “cervix” and “clitoris,” so to demonstrate, you kept poking your nose and then your chin while saying “Cli-tor-is,” in a high, sing-songy voice. So welcome to the world of hard cervixes and soft bellies (your body will return, I promise), sleepless nights and exploding poop, drool and sloppy kisses.
I hope that giving birth to a three month old has the same benefits that it did for me: longer sleep sessions. May your little tank give you at least 4 hours of rest once in a while, and may your boobs remain chafe-free. I love you and can’t wait to meet Jacob’s newest friend.
Love and kisses,
Monkey Brain
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Monday, November 09, 2009
Surf's Up!
Whooo boy, are we in trouble.
On Monday morning before they left for the day, Josh was getting ready and Jacob was banging away on the laptop.
Our computer was up and downloading the season finale of Mad Men (have you seen it? A.Maz.Ing.) and Josh hears Jacob call out, "Dosh, Surf's Up!" Although the way Jacob says it comes out like, "Suhhff's Up. " Turns out I gave birth to Tony Soprano.
Annnywhoo.
So Jacob figured out how to get Surf's Up to start playing on the computer. Did he do it on purpose? Was it a fluke? Was it live, or Memorex?
Jacob needs to slow down on this whole learning how to do things stuff; we are so not prepared. Is there an equivalent of a plastic outlet cover for computers?
On Monday morning before they left for the day, Josh was getting ready and Jacob was banging away on the laptop.
Our computer was up and downloading the season finale of Mad Men (have you seen it? A.Maz.Ing.) and Josh hears Jacob call out, "Dosh, Surf's Up!" Although the way Jacob says it comes out like, "Suhhff's Up. " Turns out I gave birth to Tony Soprano.
Annnywhoo.
So Jacob figured out how to get Surf's Up to start playing on the computer. Did he do it on purpose? Was it a fluke? Was it live, or Memorex?
Jacob needs to slow down on this whole learning how to do things stuff; we are so not prepared. Is there an equivalent of a plastic outlet cover for computers?
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
25 Months
Dear Jacob,
I can't believe that you are 25 months! Your development is pretty amazing to watch, and I'm glad that I'm starting to document this now so my Monkey Brain doesn't forget.
On Saturday, Daddy & I took you Trick or Treating with your closest thing to a bff, Tyler from across the street. I didn't think a 2 year old would be into the whole thing, but you picked it up quickly and were happily babbling "Trick or treating, trick or treating" while we made the rounds of a few houses. You were nice and polite with your "Thank yous" and fascinated by candy.
Speaking of tricks and candy, you are now starting to articulate your opinions pretty well. When on Sunday I was eating your Jujubes, you asked for some candy.
I said, "Oh, you won't like it, it's chewy," you responded, "I yike chewy!" And just last week, you were sitting on the couch reading your dinosaur book, and I tried to get you to come with me on some errands, you refused:
"No want to, wan read dinosaur book."
"You can read the dinosaur book in the car."
"Wanna read on the couch."
This is very troubling, young man. I was pretty sure that I could trick you into doing things that are good for you for a few more years, and you are already speaking your own mind. I am both excited and proud of your independence and confidence, and scared because this means that I have to get better at parenting you, not tricking you. Sigh.
Love,
Mama
I can't believe that you are 25 months! Your development is pretty amazing to watch, and I'm glad that I'm starting to document this now so my Monkey Brain doesn't forget.
On Saturday, Daddy & I took you Trick or Treating with your closest thing to a bff, Tyler from across the street. I didn't think a 2 year old would be into the whole thing, but you picked it up quickly and were happily babbling "Trick or treating, trick or treating" while we made the rounds of a few houses. You were nice and polite with your "Thank yous" and fascinated by candy.
Speaking of tricks and candy, you are now starting to articulate your opinions pretty well. When on Sunday I was eating your Jujubes, you asked for some candy.
I said, "Oh, you won't like it, it's chewy," you responded, "I yike chewy!" And just last week, you were sitting on the couch reading your dinosaur book, and I tried to get you to come with me on some errands, you refused:
"No want to, wan read dinosaur book."
"You can read the dinosaur book in the car."
"Wanna read on the couch."
This is very troubling, young man. I was pretty sure that I could trick you into doing things that are good for you for a few more years, and you are already speaking your own mind. I am both excited and proud of your independence and confidence, and scared because this means that I have to get better at parenting you, not tricking you. Sigh.
Love,
Mama
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Parenting is a contact sport
Today, I've been head butted, kicked in the face, belly, and shins, and had my nose picked without my consent. And that was just during pre-night night cuddle time. I kept thinking about what a friend once said in reference to a mom of boys, "She had three boys, and always kind of looked like she had been hit in the head with a frying pan."
This is the first time in this pregnancy that I've had a twinge of regret about not knowing the sex. I mean, if I knew we were having another boy, I would have time to order some custom-made body armor.
This is the first time in this pregnancy that I've had a twinge of regret about not knowing the sex. I mean, if I knew we were having another boy, I would have time to order some custom-made body armor.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Don't yike it, and other feelings
Jacob gets more communicative each day, and is getting pretty good at expressing himself. He points out happy and sad when we read books, and he’s even starting to talk about his own feelings.
On Sunday, we went to a small circus that was in town for a couple of weeks. While Jacob liked the pre-show hot dog, that was about it. The crush of the crowd waiting to get into the venue prompted full on Jacob red alert: wide eyes, left thumb squarely in his mouth, right hand anxiously fiddling his right ear.
“Wanna go home,” he said as we waited to get in. We appeased him with promises of fun, horseys and doggies galore.
We got into our seats, and the thumb-sucking/ear fiddling went into overdrive.
“Don’t yike it.”
“What sweetie?”
“Don’t yike circus.”
And there you have it folks. We probably should have gone home then, but we’d paid $34 for our tickets, and pushed onward in the hope that the live animals would make up for the masses of strangers. I held him tight and he seemed to enjoy the horse, the dogs, and the trapeze artist way up high. We made it to intermission, at which point it was useless to put our kid through the torture that is a small circus.
When Jacob was a baby, it was pretty easy. Crying meant there was a need: for food, changing, comfort. And while he’s been a talker for a while, this was the first time that he really verbalized a specific feeling about something. As a WASP who has spent much time, effort and money on therapy to learn what a feeling is and how to express it, I was so proud of my boy. But there is another part that’s like, what now?
Having a baby is tiring, but fairly straightforward. Raising a child is some scary shit. The more they verbalize, the better it is because you know what they need or want, but you also have to guide them and help them and not let yourself get in the way.
Do I pull Jacob out of every scenario that scares him? Do I tell him to suck it up because we paid good money for these seats and you are going to have a good time, dammit?! Yesterday, I wanted to leave as soon as the self-soothing body language kicked in. But he did enjoy some of it, and I want him to be able to feel fear as much as he can feel joy because unfortunately, you can’t decide to only feel the good feelings. Hopefully I’m doing the right thing. At least when he starts going to therapy for his fear of clowns, I’ll have a record of where it all began.
On Sunday, we went to a small circus that was in town for a couple of weeks. While Jacob liked the pre-show hot dog, that was about it. The crush of the crowd waiting to get into the venue prompted full on Jacob red alert: wide eyes, left thumb squarely in his mouth, right hand anxiously fiddling his right ear.
“Wanna go home,” he said as we waited to get in. We appeased him with promises of fun, horseys and doggies galore.
We got into our seats, and the thumb-sucking/ear fiddling went into overdrive.
“Don’t yike it.”
“What sweetie?”
“Don’t yike circus.”
And there you have it folks. We probably should have gone home then, but we’d paid $34 for our tickets, and pushed onward in the hope that the live animals would make up for the masses of strangers. I held him tight and he seemed to enjoy the horse, the dogs, and the trapeze artist way up high. We made it to intermission, at which point it was useless to put our kid through the torture that is a small circus.
When Jacob was a baby, it was pretty easy. Crying meant there was a need: for food, changing, comfort. And while he’s been a talker for a while, this was the first time that he really verbalized a specific feeling about something. As a WASP who has spent much time, effort and money on therapy to learn what a feeling is and how to express it, I was so proud of my boy. But there is another part that’s like, what now?
Having a baby is tiring, but fairly straightforward. Raising a child is some scary shit. The more they verbalize, the better it is because you know what they need or want, but you also have to guide them and help them and not let yourself get in the way.
Do I pull Jacob out of every scenario that scares him? Do I tell him to suck it up because we paid good money for these seats and you are going to have a good time, dammit?! Yesterday, I wanted to leave as soon as the self-soothing body language kicked in. But he did enjoy some of it, and I want him to be able to feel fear as much as he can feel joy because unfortunately, you can’t decide to only feel the good feelings. Hopefully I’m doing the right thing. At least when he starts going to therapy for his fear of clowns, I’ll have a record of where it all began.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Let the Wild Rumpus Start!
Oh joy of joys, I cannot wait to see Where the Wild Things Are.
My friend Bird and I spent many an afternoon (when we weren't watching The Outsiders) rumpusing about our respective backyards and neighborhood parks creating imaginary worlds like Max, king of all wild things. We were siamese twins, connected at the arm with imaginary velcro, business women in the tree "office" outside my church, and castle-dwellers on the rocks of the park that overlooked Long Island Sound.
Jacob is another lover of all things Sendak, as well as anything imaginary. Lately, I wake up to his recitations from his crib:
"Milk in da batter, milk cake. . .Mickey!" (In the Night Kitchen)
"Chicken rice. . .whale. . . cocodile, chicken nile" (Chicken Soup with Rice from The Nutshell Library)
"Wumpus. . .tart!" (Where the Wild Things Are)
It is my favorite version of the human alarm clock to date.
We've been talking about this movie enough that Jacob says, "Wild Things? Moo-bie?" on a near daily basis. However, everything I read tells me that this is so not for the little ones. So do I potentially traumatize my child in favor of my own childish want? Or get a babysitter who may charge me $50 so I can see a movie on opening night? What say yee, internet?
My friend Bird and I spent many an afternoon (when we weren't watching The Outsiders) rumpusing about our respective backyards and neighborhood parks creating imaginary worlds like Max, king of all wild things. We were siamese twins, connected at the arm with imaginary velcro, business women in the tree "office" outside my church, and castle-dwellers on the rocks of the park that overlooked Long Island Sound.
Jacob is another lover of all things Sendak, as well as anything imaginary. Lately, I wake up to his recitations from his crib:
"Milk in da batter, milk cake. . .Mickey!" (In the Night Kitchen)
"Chicken rice. . .whale. . . cocodile, chicken nile" (Chicken Soup with Rice from The Nutshell Library)
"Wumpus. . .tart!" (Where the Wild Things Are)
It is my favorite version of the human alarm clock to date.
We've been talking about this movie enough that Jacob says, "Wild Things? Moo-bie?" on a near daily basis. However, everything I read tells me that this is so not for the little ones. So do I potentially traumatize my child in favor of my own childish want? Or get a babysitter who may charge me $50 so I can see a movie on opening night? What say yee, internet?
Thursday, October 15, 2009
This One's a Doozy
In case you haven't noticed, I am completely in love with my son. Head over heels in love with him. I love to cuddle and rock him, kiss his neck to make him laugh, receive sloppy kisses from him, I love it all.
I'll tell you a secret, though. For the first six weeks of his life, I was not in love. To be fair, my body was fighting a host of issues that made it hard to focus on loving my son, but that's another story.
When he first came out, I thought he looked weird. Again, to be fair, I was shaking uncontrollably from the anesthesia, my body was still open, and starting to create a post-surgical uterine infection, but still. I thought he looked slightly Asian, like he was from Mongolia, which I found confusing, since neither I nor Josh have any Asian blood that we know of. Emotionally, I felt nothing. I felt no rush of love that is shown in movies, or that I'm sure many new moms have. I felt numb, and kept feeling like I should be excited or something. I felt defective, like I missed out on the whole unconditional love thing.
I didn't fall in love with Jacob until he was about six weeks. After the uterine infection that gave me a fever so high that the on-duty nurse said it was the highest reading she'd had in 32 years of being a nurse. After the pulled groin, the bulging disc, the hemorraghing that resulted in a D&C and removal of retained placenta from my uterus. After my body started to heal and I was pretty certain that I wasn't going to die any time soon, my heart opened wide open and let Jacob in.
This is one of the things that THEY don't talk about, and I really wish that THEY would. THEY say things like, "you better get that baby on your chest as soon as it's born so you have that 1 hour of bonding," without stating that you can bond with your child in many ways, and if you are shaking and lying cut open on a table, you may not be able to put your child on your chest, and THAT IS OKAY.
Other things that I wish THEY would talk about:
1. When you get pregnant, it is more than likely that your first ultrasound will be through a vaginal probe (please see Knocked Up! STAT if this is a shock), which looks like a large, plastic penis (complete with a condom!) that may seem scary when you are expecting the cute little belly wand that they show on TV.
2. Yes, breast milk is best, but that doesn't mean that formula is harmful to your baby
3. If at first you do not bond, there are many ways to do so with your child. Jacob and I got a lot of "skin-to-skin" that first year by bathing together.
4. You will probably poop yourself when you give birth. This one is actually from my sister, who gave me a lot of enlightening information when my neice was born. Since I was 20 at the time, I pretty much blocked out all the information except for the poop.
5. Sometimes, inductions don't work.
I believe that all the advice that we received came from a place of love and wanting to help, but sometimes it feels like parenting advice (especially surrounding labor, delivery and the first year of care) is so concrete, so passionately given, that there is not much room for the other side of things. What if you want to breastfeed, but your body suppresses the hormone to create it, or you are in so much pain that you can barely hold your child on your chest? Why do I trip over the term "C-section," debating over whether or not I add a qualifier. Emergency? Unplanned? As if it's only okay to have a C-Section if you almost die?
These are some of the questions with which I still struggle. Anticipation of this next birth reminds me of the last one, and I'm realizing that I'm not over the last one yet. I know that there are plenty of women out there who don't struggle over their birth stories and I hope to join their ranks. Still, I don't think I'm alone out here. And so I'm going to share my stories and hope that my voice can be part of the THEY.
I'll tell you a secret, though. For the first six weeks of his life, I was not in love. To be fair, my body was fighting a host of issues that made it hard to focus on loving my son, but that's another story.
When he first came out, I thought he looked weird. Again, to be fair, I was shaking uncontrollably from the anesthesia, my body was still open, and starting to create a post-surgical uterine infection, but still. I thought he looked slightly Asian, like he was from Mongolia, which I found confusing, since neither I nor Josh have any Asian blood that we know of. Emotionally, I felt nothing. I felt no rush of love that is shown in movies, or that I'm sure many new moms have. I felt numb, and kept feeling like I should be excited or something. I felt defective, like I missed out on the whole unconditional love thing.
I didn't fall in love with Jacob until he was about six weeks. After the uterine infection that gave me a fever so high that the on-duty nurse said it was the highest reading she'd had in 32 years of being a nurse. After the pulled groin, the bulging disc, the hemorraghing that resulted in a D&C and removal of retained placenta from my uterus. After my body started to heal and I was pretty certain that I wasn't going to die any time soon, my heart opened wide open and let Jacob in.
This is one of the things that THEY don't talk about, and I really wish that THEY would. THEY say things like, "you better get that baby on your chest as soon as it's born so you have that 1 hour of bonding," without stating that you can bond with your child in many ways, and if you are shaking and lying cut open on a table, you may not be able to put your child on your chest, and THAT IS OKAY.
Other things that I wish THEY would talk about:
1. When you get pregnant, it is more than likely that your first ultrasound will be through a vaginal probe (please see Knocked Up! STAT if this is a shock), which looks like a large, plastic penis (complete with a condom!) that may seem scary when you are expecting the cute little belly wand that they show on TV.
2. Yes, breast milk is best, but that doesn't mean that formula is harmful to your baby
3. If at first you do not bond, there are many ways to do so with your child. Jacob and I got a lot of "skin-to-skin" that first year by bathing together.
4. You will probably poop yourself when you give birth. This one is actually from my sister, who gave me a lot of enlightening information when my neice was born. Since I was 20 at the time, I pretty much blocked out all the information except for the poop.
5. Sometimes, inductions don't work.
I believe that all the advice that we received came from a place of love and wanting to help, but sometimes it feels like parenting advice (especially surrounding labor, delivery and the first year of care) is so concrete, so passionately given, that there is not much room for the other side of things. What if you want to breastfeed, but your body suppresses the hormone to create it, or you are in so much pain that you can barely hold your child on your chest? Why do I trip over the term "C-section," debating over whether or not I add a qualifier. Emergency? Unplanned? As if it's only okay to have a C-Section if you almost die?
These are some of the questions with which I still struggle. Anticipation of this next birth reminds me of the last one, and I'm realizing that I'm not over the last one yet. I know that there are plenty of women out there who don't struggle over their birth stories and I hope to join their ranks. Still, I don't think I'm alone out here. And so I'm going to share my stories and hope that my voice can be part of the THEY.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
23 Weeks: The Family Wagon
No bigger than a mango, Keiki is sure influencing some pre-tty big decisions in the Henig household.
Driving home on Monday, Josh uttered the words that never fail to scare me: “Can I tell you something?”
Me: “Um, sure. What?” I want a divorce. I think I may be a woman trapped in a man’s body. I’ve been schtupping this hot mom of one of my students.
It is not fair to begin conversations with that question when you are married to a pregnant Monkey Brain with a wild imagination.
“I’m so not punk rock.” He says this with some resignation, as if I married him because I thought he was a San Francisco indie rock snob hipster in skinny jeans, and how disappointed I must be. Because I’m the QUEEN of cool, right?
The reason for this conversation is that we are driving home to retrieve checkbook so that we can buy our new family car which will accommodate our growing family. It is a dark red 2010 Subaru Forester with tinted windows, power seats, big tires and a moon roof. It is awesome, but it also the nail in the coffin of any punk-rockiness that we ever might have had. Not that there was much to begin with; sorry Honey!
This is the first new car that I’ve ever owned. My first car was a 1993 Nissan Sentra that I bought in 2003 from a co-worker for less than $1,000. Nicknamed “The Mule” by its former owner, it lasted until I was about five months pregnant with Jacob and decided that my baby deserved a 4-door that didn’t get a mildew smell in the rain.
We got our 2001 Jetta from a graduating Stanford student in 2007 and it will remain as the station car, it just doesn’t serve our growing needs.
So here we are, a two car family. I drove the Forester home and felt so free. No longer do we have to coordinate our commutes, no longer do I need to stand impatiently at the train station because Josh is running late. When Marc Cohn’s “Walking in Memphis” came on, I screamed out “Tell me are you a Christian Child/Ma’am I am tonight!” as if I were Tom Cruise in Jerry Maguire. I know, I know. Queen. Of. Cool.
And yet, I didn’t drive the car Tuesday because I was afraid that I’d break it. Sooo not punk rock.
Having a brand-new, shiny grown-up car is kind of like having a newborn. You anticipate the birth, can’t wait can’t wait can’t wait. Then you have the baby, and while you are excited, the Holy Shits come:
HS, I’m responsible for keeping him alive!
HS, how do I know if they’ve had enough to eat?
HS, there are a LOT of sexual predators out there!
HS, why won’t she sleep?
So you kind of hibernate at home with your baby, a bit afraid to take him out in public, until your brain explodes from exhausting all possible ways that you can kill your child, you pass out so deeply that you don’t hear your baby’s cries, he falls back to sleep and Viola! Baby has "slept through the night". At least that’s how it was for me.
So after driving the car home on Monday night, I didn’t want to drive it in the BIGGEST RAIN THAT THE BAY AREA HAS EVER SEEN on Tuesday morning. But secretly, I was happy about that typhoon making its way here from Japan because the Holy Shits had started:
HS, What if I total the car before I even have license plates?
HS, What if someone keys my car?
HS, what if it gets stolen from the BART parking lot?
Finally this morning we missed the latest train and I had to drive. And, just like being with baby, when the Holy Shits tuckered themselves out, it was awesome. Bring on the newborn!
Driving home on Monday, Josh uttered the words that never fail to scare me: “Can I tell you something?”
Me: “Um, sure. What?” I want a divorce. I think I may be a woman trapped in a man’s body. I’ve been schtupping this hot mom of one of my students.
It is not fair to begin conversations with that question when you are married to a pregnant Monkey Brain with a wild imagination.
“I’m so not punk rock.” He says this with some resignation, as if I married him because I thought he was a San Francisco indie rock snob hipster in skinny jeans, and how disappointed I must be. Because I’m the QUEEN of cool, right?
The reason for this conversation is that we are driving home to retrieve checkbook so that we can buy our new family car which will accommodate our growing family. It is a dark red 2010 Subaru Forester with tinted windows, power seats, big tires and a moon roof. It is awesome, but it also the nail in the coffin of any punk-rockiness that we ever might have had. Not that there was much to begin with; sorry Honey!
This is the first new car that I’ve ever owned. My first car was a 1993 Nissan Sentra that I bought in 2003 from a co-worker for less than $1,000. Nicknamed “The Mule” by its former owner, it lasted until I was about five months pregnant with Jacob and decided that my baby deserved a 4-door that didn’t get a mildew smell in the rain.
We got our 2001 Jetta from a graduating Stanford student in 2007 and it will remain as the station car, it just doesn’t serve our growing needs.
So here we are, a two car family. I drove the Forester home and felt so free. No longer do we have to coordinate our commutes, no longer do I need to stand impatiently at the train station because Josh is running late. When Marc Cohn’s “Walking in Memphis” came on, I screamed out “Tell me are you a Christian Child/Ma’am I am tonight!” as if I were Tom Cruise in Jerry Maguire. I know, I know. Queen. Of. Cool.
And yet, I didn’t drive the car Tuesday because I was afraid that I’d break it. Sooo not punk rock.
Having a brand-new, shiny grown-up car is kind of like having a newborn. You anticipate the birth, can’t wait can’t wait can’t wait. Then you have the baby, and while you are excited, the Holy Shits come:
HS, I’m responsible for keeping him alive!
HS, how do I know if they’ve had enough to eat?
HS, there are a LOT of sexual predators out there!
HS, why won’t she sleep?
So you kind of hibernate at home with your baby, a bit afraid to take him out in public, until your brain explodes from exhausting all possible ways that you can kill your child, you pass out so deeply that you don’t hear your baby’s cries, he falls back to sleep and Viola! Baby has "slept through the night". At least that’s how it was for me.
So after driving the car home on Monday night, I didn’t want to drive it in the BIGGEST RAIN THAT THE BAY AREA HAS EVER SEEN on Tuesday morning. But secretly, I was happy about that typhoon making its way here from Japan because the Holy Shits had started:
HS, What if I total the car before I even have license plates?
HS, What if someone keys my car?
HS, what if it gets stolen from the BART parking lot?
Finally this morning we missed the latest train and I had to drive. And, just like being with baby, when the Holy Shits tuckered themselves out, it was awesome. Bring on the newborn!
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
The Best Part of My Day
I've never been a morning person. It usually takes at least 30 minutes for me to wake up, even after I've done all the things that help people wake up (shower, brush teeth, dress, pack lunch, etc) before leaving the house. This is what a commute is for, to slowly get me ready for the day.
For the first few months of our relationship, Josh would drive me into work. Now Josh is Mr. Sunshine and Energy in the morning, full of pep and wanting to interact. I am against all interactions until I have had time to wake up (with or without chemical stimulation). So he would engage, I would snap, he'd get hurt, I'd apologize, ad infinitum. Finally, I explained to him that Morning Caitlin was supremely Monkey Brained, and I wanted silence and to stop having to apologize every day. Since then, most mornings have been just peachy.
Here's the thing: parenthood doesn't give a crap about what time is good for you. Toddlers don't understand that evening may be a better time to be with Mama. Toddlers don't understand Monkey Brain.
Working parenthood for our household means that evenings are chaotic. By the time we get home, it's time for Jacob's dinner, bath time, pajamas and stories. Lately, he's been a real two year old fusspot and is sometimes cranky and overtired, so the above routine gets sped up.
The morning, though? Ahh, the morning. If we get up closer to 5:30 then 6 (in which case there is the showering, diaper-changing, dressing, lunch-making madness to get to the 6:51 train), the morning is loverly. Sometimes we'll read Night Chicken (In the Night Kitchen) three or four times. Sometimes Jacob will come into our bed and pretend to fall asleep again or roll around and cuddle/wrestle, abusing our Obama action figure by pulling off his "hair".
The thing is that even though it's only about 15 minutes, it feels like forever, and it is a wonderful way to burn off the fog in my mind. These days, this former night owl is chirping with her chickadee. At least until she falls asleep on BART.
For the first few months of our relationship, Josh would drive me into work. Now Josh is Mr. Sunshine and Energy in the morning, full of pep and wanting to interact. I am against all interactions until I have had time to wake up (with or without chemical stimulation). So he would engage, I would snap, he'd get hurt, I'd apologize, ad infinitum. Finally, I explained to him that Morning Caitlin was supremely Monkey Brained, and I wanted silence and to stop having to apologize every day. Since then, most mornings have been just peachy.
Here's the thing: parenthood doesn't give a crap about what time is good for you. Toddlers don't understand that evening may be a better time to be with Mama. Toddlers don't understand Monkey Brain.
Working parenthood for our household means that evenings are chaotic. By the time we get home, it's time for Jacob's dinner, bath time, pajamas and stories. Lately, he's been a real two year old fusspot and is sometimes cranky and overtired, so the above routine gets sped up.
The morning, though? Ahh, the morning. If we get up closer to 5:30 then 6 (in which case there is the showering, diaper-changing, dressing, lunch-making madness to get to the 6:51 train), the morning is loverly. Sometimes we'll read Night Chicken (In the Night Kitchen) three or four times. Sometimes Jacob will come into our bed and pretend to fall asleep again or roll around and cuddle/wrestle, abusing our Obama action figure by pulling off his "hair".
The thing is that even though it's only about 15 minutes, it feels like forever, and it is a wonderful way to burn off the fog in my mind. These days, this former night owl is chirping with her chickadee. At least until she falls asleep on BART.
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