That is all.
Love,
Your Mother
Showing posts with label daughters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label daughters. Show all posts
Sunday, February 15, 2015
My dear daughters.....there's something I need to tell you about "Fifty Shades of Grey"....
It's FICTION.
That is all.
Love,
Your Mother
That is all.
Love,
Your Mother
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
The Day I Almost Threw My Baby Down the Trash Chute
Yeah, so let me explain.....before Child Services and the FBI show up at my door. Wait, there's the doorbell.......pizza's here!
So there was life before children. You know, life where you didn't worry about getting home at a certain hour, where staying out until last call was pretty much a given on the weekends, and you could go to the grocery store whenever you wanted, even a couple of times in one day if you had to. Alone. With time to browse. Actually read a label or two. Grown up stuff.
Now I don't know about most of you, but I didn't have my first child until I was over thirty. Before that, I worked in child care, retail, and as a teacher in elementary school. I've worked with kids of all ages since I was twelve.....babysitting, working with camps, at church (yes, I actually went to church), and volunteering. I'd always wanted to be a teacher, and so I put myself through college, got my degree, and worked for the public school system for several years.
For years I had the chance to observe the parents of the children I worked with. Parents of varying age, experience, backgrounds, and ideas. I would think to myself often that, "I'll do that differently", or, "Wow I'm going to have to remember that when I have kids," or, "Oh HELL no that did NOT just happen."
Kids throwing a fit in a restaurant? Oh my children would be taught to know better. Child pitching a fit in the grocery store over candy? My children will be standing quietly, hands folded behind their back, waiting patiently for me to finish checking out. Teenager in the department store arguing about why she needs a $100 pair of jeans? Oh no, my children will be taught to be respectful and to value themselves, no matter what they're wearing. I was full of judgement and self-righteousness, knowing that when I had my own children, things were going to be different.
And WOW are they different.
We all hear the saying that babies don't come with owner's manuals. There is SO MUCH that you don't get told about what it's like to all of the sudden have this tiny life literally in your hands. And you're expected to keep it alive. For like, EVER. Sure, they'll help you learn to breast feed, they'll ask you if you know how to change a diaper, they'll even help you give the baby a sponge bath in the hospital. They'll show you how to swaddle, how to support her head, the basic stuff. Then they'll send you home like you know what you're doing. And you leave the hospital absolutely terrified.
And then it sets in. PARENTAL PARANOIA. Come on.....you know you've had it. Situations that before seemed completely innocent are now danger-prone death traps that might harm your newborn baby. You'll conjure up these ridiculous scenarios of what MIGHT happen to the point that you'll give yourself mini panic attacks thinking they could actually come true.
Hence the trash chute. When my oldest was just barely a year old, we moved up to the Boston area. Until we found a house, we had a temporary apartment in the city. We were on the 8th floor. My husband went to work every day, leaving me, the baby and the dog to fend for ourselves in a city I knew nothing about. I do know that I am NOT an urban dweller. By any stretch. I need grass. (No, not that kind.) But I digress. Anyway, to take out your trash, you had to go down the hall, use a key to open the trash closet door, and put the trash down the chute. Most of the time, I was holding my daughter in one arm and holding the trash in the other. After doing that a few times, I told my husband that I would no longer take the trash down, he would have to do it. Why? Because I would have little panic attacks as I stood there and I would think to myself, "What if I put the wrong one down the trash chute?" I would envision this to the point where I would literally get sick to my stomach.
Now OF COURSE that wasn't going to happen. I am not a complete idiot. I do have my moments, but for the most part I'm a pretty intelligent, level-headed girl. Really I am. But having this little life that I was completely responsible for just changed my perception on so many things. Normal, every day things. Simple, common sense things. But you become so much more aware of the dangers out there, the things that can hurt you, your child, your family.........and I haven't even gotten to the dangers that include the crazy people. That's a whole other blog for a whole other day. Hell, that's a book right there.
So, parental paranoia. It's that feeling of panic when you can't see your child in the department store even though you know for a fact that he's standing on the other side of the t-shirt you're looking at. It's those ridiculous scenarios you'll create in your head when you're driving down the road about what exactly would happen if the car went into the lake.......how would you get out? How would you get the kids out? Then you realize you live in a desert. It's the wide-eyed panic you feel when your little one is eating a cracker and coughs.....and you're sure they're choking to death and you hope to God you can remember how to do the Heimlich on a toddler. It's seeing the video of the woman leaving her stroller on the train platform......and the stroller rolling off.......and the train hitting it (the baby, miraculously, was fine)......and thinking to yourself that you're going to handcuff yourself to the handle of your stroller every single time you use it from now on. It's checking on your newborn fifteen times a night during their first year because you've been staring at the video monitor for an hour and you just can't be sure they're still breathing. It's all of those things that common sense would tell you don't make sense, and yet it doesn't matter.
It's Parental Paranoia. And no one tells you about it. And it doesn't go away. But it's real. It's out there. And it's not fun.
Good grief......when my kids start driving I might just have to check myself into a mental institution.
OBM
So there was life before children. You know, life where you didn't worry about getting home at a certain hour, where staying out until last call was pretty much a given on the weekends, and you could go to the grocery store whenever you wanted, even a couple of times in one day if you had to. Alone. With time to browse. Actually read a label or two. Grown up stuff.
Now I don't know about most of you, but I didn't have my first child until I was over thirty. Before that, I worked in child care, retail, and as a teacher in elementary school. I've worked with kids of all ages since I was twelve.....babysitting, working with camps, at church (yes, I actually went to church), and volunteering. I'd always wanted to be a teacher, and so I put myself through college, got my degree, and worked for the public school system for several years.
For years I had the chance to observe the parents of the children I worked with. Parents of varying age, experience, backgrounds, and ideas. I would think to myself often that, "I'll do that differently", or, "Wow I'm going to have to remember that when I have kids," or, "Oh HELL no that did NOT just happen."
Kids throwing a fit in a restaurant? Oh my children would be taught to know better. Child pitching a fit in the grocery store over candy? My children will be standing quietly, hands folded behind their back, waiting patiently for me to finish checking out. Teenager in the department store arguing about why she needs a $100 pair of jeans? Oh no, my children will be taught to be respectful and to value themselves, no matter what they're wearing. I was full of judgement and self-righteousness, knowing that when I had my own children, things were going to be different.
And WOW are they different.
We all hear the saying that babies don't come with owner's manuals. There is SO MUCH that you don't get told about what it's like to all of the sudden have this tiny life literally in your hands. And you're expected to keep it alive. For like, EVER. Sure, they'll help you learn to breast feed, they'll ask you if you know how to change a diaper, they'll even help you give the baby a sponge bath in the hospital. They'll show you how to swaddle, how to support her head, the basic stuff. Then they'll send you home like you know what you're doing. And you leave the hospital absolutely terrified.
And then it sets in. PARENTAL PARANOIA. Come on.....you know you've had it. Situations that before seemed completely innocent are now danger-prone death traps that might harm your newborn baby. You'll conjure up these ridiculous scenarios of what MIGHT happen to the point that you'll give yourself mini panic attacks thinking they could actually come true.
Hence the trash chute. When my oldest was just barely a year old, we moved up to the Boston area. Until we found a house, we had a temporary apartment in the city. We were on the 8th floor. My husband went to work every day, leaving me, the baby and the dog to fend for ourselves in a city I knew nothing about. I do know that I am NOT an urban dweller. By any stretch. I need grass. (No, not that kind.) But I digress. Anyway, to take out your trash, you had to go down the hall, use a key to open the trash closet door, and put the trash down the chute. Most of the time, I was holding my daughter in one arm and holding the trash in the other. After doing that a few times, I told my husband that I would no longer take the trash down, he would have to do it. Why? Because I would have little panic attacks as I stood there and I would think to myself, "What if I put the wrong one down the trash chute?" I would envision this to the point where I would literally get sick to my stomach.
Now OF COURSE that wasn't going to happen. I am not a complete idiot. I do have my moments, but for the most part I'm a pretty intelligent, level-headed girl. Really I am. But having this little life that I was completely responsible for just changed my perception on so many things. Normal, every day things. Simple, common sense things. But you become so much more aware of the dangers out there, the things that can hurt you, your child, your family.........and I haven't even gotten to the dangers that include the crazy people. That's a whole other blog for a whole other day. Hell, that's a book right there.
So, parental paranoia. It's that feeling of panic when you can't see your child in the department store even though you know for a fact that he's standing on the other side of the t-shirt you're looking at. It's those ridiculous scenarios you'll create in your head when you're driving down the road about what exactly would happen if the car went into the lake.......how would you get out? How would you get the kids out? Then you realize you live in a desert. It's the wide-eyed panic you feel when your little one is eating a cracker and coughs.....and you're sure they're choking to death and you hope to God you can remember how to do the Heimlich on a toddler. It's seeing the video of the woman leaving her stroller on the train platform......and the stroller rolling off.......and the train hitting it (the baby, miraculously, was fine)......and thinking to yourself that you're going to handcuff yourself to the handle of your stroller every single time you use it from now on. It's checking on your newborn fifteen times a night during their first year because you've been staring at the video monitor for an hour and you just can't be sure they're still breathing. It's all of those things that common sense would tell you don't make sense, and yet it doesn't matter.
It's Parental Paranoia. And no one tells you about it. And it doesn't go away. But it's real. It's out there. And it's not fun.
Good grief......when my kids start driving I might just have to check myself into a mental institution.
OBM
Saturday, August 24, 2013
My Baby Called Me Momma: An Epiphany
So it's not often that I have one of those "Ah ha!" moments. I would venture to say that the same is true for most parents. We tend to get through each day on cruise control, going through our routines and just hoping to make it to bedtime with some degree of sanity left. And I don't know about you, but every night after my babies are in bed, tucked in safe and sound and snug as bugs, I sit and I think about a million things I wish I had done differently during the day. Things I wish I had said or not said. Reactions I had to situations that were either over the top or not reactive enough. I am so far from being a perfect parent it's not even remotely funny. I lose sleep over this. I really do.
The other day, the hubs and I were out to lunch with the girls. It was a normal day, a normal lunch, nothing special. Both of the girls were playing with their iPads (no judging) while we were waiting for our meals to be brought to the table (and yes, they put them away when our food arrives). I'm sitting there trying to have an adult conversation with my husband, and naturally my youngest wants to tell me about every single thing going on with the screen on her device. Most of the time, I'm like, "Yep, that's great," or, "Wow! That's awesome," not actually looking at what she's showing me. Come on, you do the same thing. There's only so many times you can look at the Dora game before you want to pull your hair out.
But then she said, "Oh look, I made it blue, Momma!"
There was something in her voice, such a sense of joy, that it made me stop and just look at her. I don't know what it was, it was something she had said many times before, in one version or another. But it just made me catch my breath. For a while I just sat there and studied her face, her hair, the different looks she would make as she was concentrating, her perfect skin, marveling at how this tiny creature was mine, was created inside of me, and how, for now at least, I (and her daddy) am the center of her whole world. I looked over at her older sister, and tried just looking at her, but I got the, "What??" question, so I smiled and let it go. The whole experience didn't last more than a couple of minutes, but it was quite humbling, and it brought tears to my eyes. Here was this amazing little person, calling me "Momma". Something I waited for my whole life. Something I had heard her sister say a million times, and I remember feeling amazed the first time I heard it. But this time, something just hit me.
My husband and I talk a lot about how lucky we are. Just the other day he was telling me that a coworker of his told him about a good friend who had just had a baby, but the lungs weren't developed enough and the baby passed within a day. We have friends and family who have had babies with severe birth defects. We also have friends and family who have either never been able to have children or have struggled and struggled with fertility treatments and doctor intervention to have just one child. I have PCOS, and we didn't get married until I was in my early 30's. I was positive we were going to have to go through fertility treatments and all of that in order to get pregnant. I was actually pretty scared that we were never going to be able to have children. I just wanted one. My whole life I had wanted to be a mom. I always thought that if I was just lucky enough to have one, I would be content. Never in my life did I ever imagine I would be blessed with two beautiful girls, neither of whom were conceived with any drugs or fertility intervention at all. They are truly amazing babies. My first born was a preemie, and she spent over a week in the NICU, but she is quite healthy now and so amazingly smart, precocious, sassy, independent, gorgeous and at the same time incredibly vulnerable that there are many times that I just don't know what to do with her. The youngest was full term, hale, and hearty and is now three. Enough said.
So again, we try to appreciate how lucky we are. When we see children in wheelchairs, children who have obvious disabilities, when we hear stories about tragic births like the one above, or friends who have miscarried, or other sad news, we look at each other and know that we are lucky. And yet, we still take for granted our two beautiful, well-mannered (most of the time) girls. Every single day. We take for granted the fact that they can walk independently, communicate effectively (and sometimes a little too well), go to the restroom by themselves (finally).......we take their very existence for granted, like we deserved these amazingly gorgeous creatures to be ours.
I could say I am going to try to change. I could say I will take the time every day to stop and appreciate these precious little people and how amazing they are, each in their own way. I am their mother, I love them more than my own life, I will protect them from any harm, giving my own life in the process if I have to. But I am also human. I get tired, I get frustrated, I get annoyed, and honestly.......there are only so many times you can hear your name being called in the space of two minutes before you are ready to break something. Seriously. If you can't relate to that, PLEASE, tell me your secret.
What I will say is that I will TRY. I will try to slow down and appreciate the little moments where my children are being children, I will try to cherish the smiles and the impromptu "i love you's" more, and I will do my best to not let my frustration with myself carry over into any frustration I have with them. What do I mean? I am a terrible time manager. I try to tell myself I'm not, but I am. And when we are running late, I get stressed and frustrated, and it's no one's fault but mine. So I am going to change that. For all of us. Because these two little people deserve happy mornings and yummy breakfasts, not "hurry ups" and frozen pancake sticks.
I'm gonna go get some hugs and kisses now.
XOXOXOX
One Blunt Mom
The other day, the hubs and I were out to lunch with the girls. It was a normal day, a normal lunch, nothing special. Both of the girls were playing with their iPads (no judging) while we were waiting for our meals to be brought to the table (and yes, they put them away when our food arrives). I'm sitting there trying to have an adult conversation with my husband, and naturally my youngest wants to tell me about every single thing going on with the screen on her device. Most of the time, I'm like, "Yep, that's great," or, "Wow! That's awesome," not actually looking at what she's showing me. Come on, you do the same thing. There's only so many times you can look at the Dora game before you want to pull your hair out.
But then she said, "Oh look, I made it blue, Momma!"
There was something in her voice, such a sense of joy, that it made me stop and just look at her. I don't know what it was, it was something she had said many times before, in one version or another. But it just made me catch my breath. For a while I just sat there and studied her face, her hair, the different looks she would make as she was concentrating, her perfect skin, marveling at how this tiny creature was mine, was created inside of me, and how, for now at least, I (and her daddy) am the center of her whole world. I looked over at her older sister, and tried just looking at her, but I got the, "What??" question, so I smiled and let it go. The whole experience didn't last more than a couple of minutes, but it was quite humbling, and it brought tears to my eyes. Here was this amazing little person, calling me "Momma". Something I waited for my whole life. Something I had heard her sister say a million times, and I remember feeling amazed the first time I heard it. But this time, something just hit me.
My husband and I talk a lot about how lucky we are. Just the other day he was telling me that a coworker of his told him about a good friend who had just had a baby, but the lungs weren't developed enough and the baby passed within a day. We have friends and family who have had babies with severe birth defects. We also have friends and family who have either never been able to have children or have struggled and struggled with fertility treatments and doctor intervention to have just one child. I have PCOS, and we didn't get married until I was in my early 30's. I was positive we were going to have to go through fertility treatments and all of that in order to get pregnant. I was actually pretty scared that we were never going to be able to have children. I just wanted one. My whole life I had wanted to be a mom. I always thought that if I was just lucky enough to have one, I would be content. Never in my life did I ever imagine I would be blessed with two beautiful girls, neither of whom were conceived with any drugs or fertility intervention at all. They are truly amazing babies. My first born was a preemie, and she spent over a week in the NICU, but she is quite healthy now and so amazingly smart, precocious, sassy, independent, gorgeous and at the same time incredibly vulnerable that there are many times that I just don't know what to do with her. The youngest was full term, hale, and hearty and is now three. Enough said.
So again, we try to appreciate how lucky we are. When we see children in wheelchairs, children who have obvious disabilities, when we hear stories about tragic births like the one above, or friends who have miscarried, or other sad news, we look at each other and know that we are lucky. And yet, we still take for granted our two beautiful, well-mannered (most of the time) girls. Every single day. We take for granted the fact that they can walk independently, communicate effectively (and sometimes a little too well), go to the restroom by themselves (finally).......we take their very existence for granted, like we deserved these amazingly gorgeous creatures to be ours.
I could say I am going to try to change. I could say I will take the time every day to stop and appreciate these precious little people and how amazing they are, each in their own way. I am their mother, I love them more than my own life, I will protect them from any harm, giving my own life in the process if I have to. But I am also human. I get tired, I get frustrated, I get annoyed, and honestly.......there are only so many times you can hear your name being called in the space of two minutes before you are ready to break something. Seriously. If you can't relate to that, PLEASE, tell me your secret.
What I will say is that I will TRY. I will try to slow down and appreciate the little moments where my children are being children, I will try to cherish the smiles and the impromptu "i love you's" more, and I will do my best to not let my frustration with myself carry over into any frustration I have with them. What do I mean? I am a terrible time manager. I try to tell myself I'm not, but I am. And when we are running late, I get stressed and frustrated, and it's no one's fault but mine. So I am going to change that. For all of us. Because these two little people deserve happy mornings and yummy breakfasts, not "hurry ups" and frozen pancake sticks.
I'm gonna go get some hugs and kisses now.
XOXOXOX
One Blunt Mom
Monday, July 15, 2013
Being a Parent Sucks Sometimes
When I was a little girl, I would play with my dolls, dreaming about the day I would have a baby of my own. My friends would come over and we would dress our dolls up, have little tea parties, pretend we were their mothers. We imagined our days as actual mommies would be filled with flowery tea parties, dress up play, dance recitals, and beauty pageants, because of course we were only going to have girls. Our children would be perfect little angels, the epitome of society, with exquisite manners, insane talents, and unparalleled beauty. Fantasy and imagination were encouraged in my childhood, you see.
Boy did reality kick me square in the ass.
Having children is hard. Supah hard. And I am not talking about the giving birth part.....that part was easy compared to the day in and day out challenges that raising a child (or 2, or 3, or more, for you crazy people out there) brings.
I was all set. I mean, I had worked with children of all ages for several years, including infants, I had graduated college, started my career, met my husband and married, and we decided it was time to start a family. I was in my early 30's and we were both financially and emotionally stable.
And then there came reality again.
There were complications with my pregnancy and it was very stressful. It was not the fun and enjoyable type of pregnancy I had envisioned at all. She was premature. I had a reaction to the epidural. My recovery from the c-section (she was breech) was incredibly difficult because of it. She spent some time in the NICU, which was extremely hard, emotionally and physically. I was not prepared for the roller coaster that put me through. Nothing in my life could ready me for the day I had to leave the hospital without her. It was like I left a piece of myself there. We were only gone for a couple of hours, but that was one of the hardest things I have ever done. She came home soon after (and is now very healthy and happy), and I would not wish that experience on anyone. But I was ready to be home with her, to be a mom like I had always dreamed of being, to have that life with a newborn that was perfect, just like the storybooks and pictures.
Reality again punched me in the face.
My husband's job requires him to travel. Well, because she was early, his job schedule was a little tough to work out, and he ended up traveling not too long after we brought her home. I remember sitting on the couch holding her and crying, telling him I couldn't do it. I couldn't take care of her all by myself and keep her safe. His answer? "You kind of have to." Yep, I kinda did. I had taken care of three to four babies at a time working in day care, but this one was MINE, and somehow that changed the game completely. Needless to say, we both survived. And honestly, for the new moms out there.....you really do forget how hard those first few months are.
Baby girl number two was a complete surprise.
At least they were going to be almost five years apart. That would make everything so much better, right? I mean, the oldest would be out of diapers and potty trained. The oldest would be in school most of the time and I would get to have time with the baby. The oldest would be such a great little helper, such a wonderful big sister, this was going to be perfect.
Where, exactly, do I get these insane ideas?
At least number two was born without any issues.....our stay in the hospital was actually really nice. I had a spinal this time, my recovery was remarkably easy, my first born was safe at home with grandma......it was actually relaxing. The nurses were surprised when I didn't want them to take her to the nursery, but I didn't get to have that time with my first, and I was enjoying it. They would come in, and she would be sleeping in my arms, music playing on the computer and I would be snoozing or reading a book. I had several nurses ask me if they could just hang out in my room because it was so peaceful! I really enjoyed my time with her.
Here comes that bitch reality again.
Raising children is extremely, incomparably hard. Not only in the day to day general "taking care of business" sense, but also in the energy-sucking, physically exhausting, emotionally draining and yet incredibly rewarding sense. I read a quote once that having a child was like having your heart walking around outside your body. I agree with that. You do everything you can every single day to keep them healthy, safe, and happy.....all the while trying to keep yourself sane, centered and happy while getting everything done that you need to get done. And at the end of the day, I usually realize my "to do" list still has most of the "to do's" on it. There are always regrets, things I wish I had done more of and things I wish I had done less of (yes, I am addicted to Candy Crush).
Seriously, the moms (and dads) who claim to never yell, discipline with love & logic only, create crafts with their children all day long while simultaneously vacuuming every square inch of the house and cooking a five course meal for dinner must be drinking themselves into a stupor each and every night to rein in the stress of being so perfect all day every day. I just don't buy it. I strive every day to be that kind of mom, but I'm just NOT. I yell. I get frustrated. I have gone into the other room and screamed into a pillow. I yell some more. But you know what? I also apologize. I let my girls know when I crossed the line. We talk about why what they were doing was not ok, but we also talk about why the way mommy reacted was not ok. I try using love & logic, I use time out, I use positive reinforcement, and all of that. But sometimes you've said something enough times and given enough warnings that a swat on the butt is what it takes to get through to them. Don't agree? Fine. You parent the way you want, and I will parent the way I want. My children do not get spanked very often, but they know when they do, that they have pushed all limits.
So right there, I know that the comments will include judgments about spanking. And THAT'S why parenting sucks. Because you are constantly judged. You are judged by the method you choose to give birth. You are judged by the method by which you choose to nourish your child. You are judged by the clothes you choose (my child ONLY wears designer labels), the child care you choose (it must be the most ostentatious, most expensive or it's not good enough), the car seat brand you have (what do you mean you don't have a Britax?), the diaper bag you carry (oh, but I buy a new Petunia Pickle Bottom every couple of months!), the car you drive (if you're not driving the biggest SUV available, you're not doing everything you can to keep your child safe), and so on. You will be judged by your parents (and your in-laws) for your parenting methods. And that's always fun. And you will continue to be judged regarding your children for the rest of your life. People will judge you in public for the things you say, the things you don't say, the things you do and don't do, the way your children behave (even if they're two and not doing anything but acting like a two year old), what your children are wearing, etc. It's a sad, sad commentary on humanity.
But it's reality. See? I told you she was a bitch.
You know what, though? You don't have any reason to care what other people think. You need to be the kind of parent that is best for you, best for your children, and best for your family. It's ok to step away at times and take time for yourself. No one should make you feel guilty for that. It's ok to leave the kids with a babysitter (yes, even an infant) and have a date night with your spouse. You BOTH need that. As long as you are not abusing your children in any way, duct taping them to the wall, taking duck face naked selfies with your toddler in the background, posing them with beers and cigarettes (man am I on Facebook too much), or any other such ridiculous nonsense, then do the best you can, and don't worry about anyone else.
Yes, being a parent sucks sometimes. But you know what? It's also incredible. I have two healthy, beautiful children and I know how lucky I am. I also know that I completely take for granted how lucky I am. I have friends who were unable to have children. I have friends who have children with severe disabilities. I have friends who suffered devastating losses. When I get frustrated with my children I try so hard to remember them and appreciate what I have, and that is difficult. No one's perfect. We're all human, just trying to do the best we can.
I'm going to go and play with my kids now.
Boy did reality kick me square in the ass.
Having children is hard. Supah hard. And I am not talking about the giving birth part.....that part was easy compared to the day in and day out challenges that raising a child (or 2, or 3, or more, for you crazy people out there) brings.
I was all set. I mean, I had worked with children of all ages for several years, including infants, I had graduated college, started my career, met my husband and married, and we decided it was time to start a family. I was in my early 30's and we were both financially and emotionally stable.
And then there came reality again.
There were complications with my pregnancy and it was very stressful. It was not the fun and enjoyable type of pregnancy I had envisioned at all. She was premature. I had a reaction to the epidural. My recovery from the c-section (she was breech) was incredibly difficult because of it. She spent some time in the NICU, which was extremely hard, emotionally and physically. I was not prepared for the roller coaster that put me through. Nothing in my life could ready me for the day I had to leave the hospital without her. It was like I left a piece of myself there. We were only gone for a couple of hours, but that was one of the hardest things I have ever done. She came home soon after (and is now very healthy and happy), and I would not wish that experience on anyone. But I was ready to be home with her, to be a mom like I had always dreamed of being, to have that life with a newborn that was perfect, just like the storybooks and pictures.
Reality again punched me in the face.
My husband's job requires him to travel. Well, because she was early, his job schedule was a little tough to work out, and he ended up traveling not too long after we brought her home. I remember sitting on the couch holding her and crying, telling him I couldn't do it. I couldn't take care of her all by myself and keep her safe. His answer? "You kind of have to." Yep, I kinda did. I had taken care of three to four babies at a time working in day care, but this one was MINE, and somehow that changed the game completely. Needless to say, we both survived. And honestly, for the new moms out there.....you really do forget how hard those first few months are.
Baby girl number two was a complete surprise.
At least they were going to be almost five years apart. That would make everything so much better, right? I mean, the oldest would be out of diapers and potty trained. The oldest would be in school most of the time and I would get to have time with the baby. The oldest would be such a great little helper, such a wonderful big sister, this was going to be perfect.
Where, exactly, do I get these insane ideas?
At least number two was born without any issues.....our stay in the hospital was actually really nice. I had a spinal this time, my recovery was remarkably easy, my first born was safe at home with grandma......it was actually relaxing. The nurses were surprised when I didn't want them to take her to the nursery, but I didn't get to have that time with my first, and I was enjoying it. They would come in, and she would be sleeping in my arms, music playing on the computer and I would be snoozing or reading a book. I had several nurses ask me if they could just hang out in my room because it was so peaceful! I really enjoyed my time with her.
Here comes that bitch reality again.
Raising children is extremely, incomparably hard. Not only in the day to day general "taking care of business" sense, but also in the energy-sucking, physically exhausting, emotionally draining and yet incredibly rewarding sense. I read a quote once that having a child was like having your heart walking around outside your body. I agree with that. You do everything you can every single day to keep them healthy, safe, and happy.....all the while trying to keep yourself sane, centered and happy while getting everything done that you need to get done. And at the end of the day, I usually realize my "to do" list still has most of the "to do's" on it. There are always regrets, things I wish I had done more of and things I wish I had done less of (yes, I am addicted to Candy Crush).
Seriously, the moms (and dads) who claim to never yell, discipline with love & logic only, create crafts with their children all day long while simultaneously vacuuming every square inch of the house and cooking a five course meal for dinner must be drinking themselves into a stupor each and every night to rein in the stress of being so perfect all day every day. I just don't buy it. I strive every day to be that kind of mom, but I'm just NOT. I yell. I get frustrated. I have gone into the other room and screamed into a pillow. I yell some more. But you know what? I also apologize. I let my girls know when I crossed the line. We talk about why what they were doing was not ok, but we also talk about why the way mommy reacted was not ok. I try using love & logic, I use time out, I use positive reinforcement, and all of that. But sometimes you've said something enough times and given enough warnings that a swat on the butt is what it takes to get through to them. Don't agree? Fine. You parent the way you want, and I will parent the way I want. My children do not get spanked very often, but they know when they do, that they have pushed all limits.
So right there, I know that the comments will include judgments about spanking. And THAT'S why parenting sucks. Because you are constantly judged. You are judged by the method you choose to give birth. You are judged by the method by which you choose to nourish your child. You are judged by the clothes you choose (my child ONLY wears designer labels), the child care you choose (it must be the most ostentatious, most expensive or it's not good enough), the car seat brand you have (what do you mean you don't have a Britax?), the diaper bag you carry (oh, but I buy a new Petunia Pickle Bottom every couple of months!), the car you drive (if you're not driving the biggest SUV available, you're not doing everything you can to keep your child safe), and so on. You will be judged by your parents (and your in-laws) for your parenting methods. And that's always fun. And you will continue to be judged regarding your children for the rest of your life. People will judge you in public for the things you say, the things you don't say, the things you do and don't do, the way your children behave (even if they're two and not doing anything but acting like a two year old), what your children are wearing, etc. It's a sad, sad commentary on humanity.
But it's reality. See? I told you she was a bitch.
You know what, though? You don't have any reason to care what other people think. You need to be the kind of parent that is best for you, best for your children, and best for your family. It's ok to step away at times and take time for yourself. No one should make you feel guilty for that. It's ok to leave the kids with a babysitter (yes, even an infant) and have a date night with your spouse. You BOTH need that. As long as you are not abusing your children in any way, duct taping them to the wall, taking duck face naked selfies with your toddler in the background, posing them with beers and cigarettes (man am I on Facebook too much), or any other such ridiculous nonsense, then do the best you can, and don't worry about anyone else.
Yes, being a parent sucks sometimes. But you know what? It's also incredible. I have two healthy, beautiful children and I know how lucky I am. I also know that I completely take for granted how lucky I am. I have friends who were unable to have children. I have friends who have children with severe disabilities. I have friends who suffered devastating losses. When I get frustrated with my children I try so hard to remember them and appreciate what I have, and that is difficult. No one's perfect. We're all human, just trying to do the best we can.
I'm going to go and play with my kids now.
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