To friend or not?

I noticed recently that some moms, okay a lot, like to hang out with moms who do things exactly as they do parenting-wise. I guess it makes sense. From the very first caveman, people have flocked to similar people. People feel comfort when they are around others that are like them. I would agree that I have many friends who share common interests and philosophies with me, yet I have many friends that don’t “parent” the same way I do, or believe in the same things I do.
I think some moms tend to choose mom friendships based solely on parenting styles, whereas for me, I choose based on personality. I have friends who haven’t nursed nor did they want to, yet I am passionate about it. I also did not cloth diaper, yet have friends that do and they still seem to like me even if my disposables are littering the earth. I guess I just try to find women who I like talking to…and then the rest of it doesn’t matter so much. Right now my daughter is too young to choose her friends, and our kids won’t really show preferences for others until 2 or so. So it all comes down to, “Do I like this person? Does she have something I appreciate about her?” I feel that as a new mother, we all want to make friends. We all want to have people to talk to about this new experience called parenting. Why can’t we be more welcoming, and less combative?
While I am not perfect, (I usually pick myself to shreds) I like that I am welcoming to moms, and see them also as people, rather than solely as “parents.”
I feel that some women have not given me the same chance. To me, as long as a woman is being a kind person to her child, and making decisions that truly works best for her family, as long as you’re fun to be around, and your baby is too, I am all game for hanging out.
Now when my child is older, things will change. I acknowledge this openly. If someone is letting her kids hang out at the mall dressing or acting inappropriately, I will probably pull away from that person. If the person lets her kids drink…I will probably walk away from that person, and hope my child doesn’t still befriend her kid. But at age not quite 1, I feel like can’t we all just hang out? Can’t we all just support each other through the early, precious and tender, yet demanding years? There will be time for all the discussion on who disciplines their kids this way, and who does it that way, but can’t we all agree to drop the battleax on all these hot buttons issues such as vaccines, nursing vs formula, cosleeping vs not cosleeping, etc? At least until our kids are older?
It exhausts me.
The last “issue” that exhausts me is the working mom vs SAHM debate.
I do both. Frankly, it sometimes feels like I am being pulled in both directions, and I have less hours in the day “sonetimes” than people who work full-time because I’m with my daughter all day long, and then go straight to work. I still think I have it damn good. The best of both worlds. And while I am at home a lot, I can honestly say I think moms who work full-time have it the hardest, but I still think it is VERY hard to be a SAHM, and TONS of work! We’re not home eating bon-bons! We have to be the educator and the homemaker. The cleaning lady and the nurturer. I still think working moms deserve a lot of kudos. People will mad I wrote that but, working moms leave the home all day, sacrificing time with their children, only to shove the little quality time they have on top of chores and everything else. I salute you. I salute the SAHM who never gets to talk to an adult, and who is going batshit hearing kids’ music all day. I salute moms like me who have to do it both.
I try to see all sides. I try to be empathetic and kind. I only want the same.

The Unknown

While I’d love to say I am having a romantic Valentine’s Day, my husband hurt his back, so looks like “love central” is shut down for the night. Flight times TBA. Hopefully he’ll be healed soon. Momma needs some sugar.
Anyway, today I read or heard about miscarriage about 3 times. By the 3rd time, I had had enough and didn’t feel like talking about the subject. I just wanted to read fluffy trashy tabloid magazines and watch John Travolta taxi drive Kristie Alley to have her baby in “Look Who’s Talking.” I know, real deep activities.
It’s not that I am not incredibly grateful for what I have: I love my daughter and am so thrilled and blessed (yes, even liberals say “blessed” sometimes) to have her. She is our everything. The thing is, that miscarriage was a really sad experience. Nothing takes that sadness away totally. I have moved on, and was so grateful for my wonderful doodlebug, but the thought of possibly going through that again just irks me. Thinking about having another baby excites me, and scares the shit out of me also. I am afraid of what could happen. Afraid of loss, sickness, and disappointment. In my mind, pregnancy has been just a joy and a mindfuck–mindfuck from the loss and sickness, joy from the beautiful little happy bubba that I get to see every day!
I am also a self-proclaimed control freak. I hate not being able to control things. While there are some things I accept I can’t control, there are a whole vast of life activities and events that I wish I could choreograph. No wonder I am a writer: if things don’t go well, I can always write my way out of the situation/feelings.
I am certain I am not the only one who feels this way about an experience. While we can move on and accept certain events, I think it is normal to feel a sadness about what happened.
I am just glad I have my little doodle to embrace and love. She was worth the wait.

A year in the life of motherhood

I cannot believe that in 42 days, my daughter will be one. I remember when I was first pregnant with her how excited I was. I had  a miscarriage right before we conceived her, so my emotions were very heightened. Then about a week after I found out, I passed out, and then the next week I was so ill, the joy of pregnancy had pretty much been sapped right from me. The first trimester was nothing like I had expected it to be. I expected to be sick, but not like that. Oh no, nothing could have prepared me for what I faced. It was a very isolating and lonely experience. You’re told that pregnancy is wonderful, and then there I was in a tube getting an MRI after having vision disturbances from puking too much.

Yet on the flip side, my pregnancy was also amazing. I had a wonderful third trimester, and 2nd trimester was great come 20 weeks. I slept great and rarely felt uncomfortable. I walked on the treadmill the day I went into labor. This is what is enticing me into having another one. I think it was a trick so I’d forget those early horrific days. LOL.

Having baby doodlebug was also unlike what I expected, but I was prepared. Long labor, long pushing, and a c-section that I did not want but had to have. Nursing was a challenge latch wise, but we moved past that and got into a rhythm. What once seemed hard became so natural, so easy. I am certain that nursing my daughter truly bonded the two of us, and I am not looking forward to it ending. I know she is very attached, literally. There were some nights in the beginning when I truly felt extreme envy for my sleeping husband while I nursed her…nights when I wish he would grow breasts. We were very fortunate in that she was a good sleeper. We were getting good sleep for parents with a newborn. The hours she spent in the evening when she nursed all evening (during growth spurts at 4 weeks/8 weeks) were hard sometimes. I remember calling my husband crying, with the baby crying in the background. It was a rough night and she had been on the boob all evening, and I was starving.

After having such a tough time eating while pregnant, it was such a delight to find that eating a lot was a requirement for nursing. Sometimes though, it is a lot of work eating for two, although it has gotten a lot easier since she nurses less. There were many days when I felt exhausted and my blood sugar would drop from the demand that making milk puts on the body. My husband always said, “You just ate. How are you hungry?” But when he saw how small I became, even smaller than pre-pregnancy, he definitely understood I wasn’t joking about being hungry, 

I think one of my most vivid memories of the first year was how daunting it felt leaving the house to go somewhere with her alone for the first time. Everything from getting her in the car with all of the stuff we needed–diaper bag, snacks for me, water, stroller, etc…lifting her and the stroller with my post-c section weakness….by the time I arrived at moms group, I was exhausted, yet I felt so triumphant that I had made it out. She was 4 weeks old at the time.  I was back at the gym walking, but hadn’t lifted weights yet of course, and was getting out and about. I realized that even motherhood wasn’t going to keep me from being antsy. I can’t help it. I’ve got a lot of social energy to burn. I brought the baby around a lot of friends (healthy ones of course), and did my best to socialize her. I think I’ve done a great job with that. Making mom friends has also been pretty essential…I have quite few, but I am still developing those friendships.  Being outgoing has helped me tremendously in this department. Plus I definitely crave adult conversation. I think as much as the dad’s world changes, a mother or the primary caregiver’s ( dads can be the primary caregiver of course!!) changes more. Suddenly your whole definition of you changes. It is hard some days. I miss me time. I miss seeing friends without the baby in tow, but I’ve gotten used to it. The hubby and I rely on each other hardcore, and while it was an adjustment for us both, we manage. I envy people with all this help. 

I also miss time with my husband. I try my best in the extremely rare alone moments we have to not talk about her the whole time. We decompress together in the evenings–those when we are both home and not one of us working (that is hard…working and missing being home when he is). 

I think something I did not expect was how having a child would make me look at my own childhood. I knew that I would do things both differently and similarly from my own upbringing, but I didn’t realize how it would make me look at some things that I had never paid attention to before with such a scrutiny. I feel like I missed out on certain things as a kid…and I definitely wonder how life would have been for me had I had those things. I am also glad I wasn’t an only child, and I truly hope my daughter will not be also. I wonder how it might have been though had my sisters been closer to my age. In my ways, I was an only child due to the age gap.

I also learned this year how having a baby wouldn’t help repair bad relationships with people. even though I had hoped it would. That has been a huge, but expected, disappointment. It won’t change if we have another, which I sure hope we do. My anxiety also hasn’t lessened since having a baby. No shock there. I am more aware of it, and i do my best to cope with it. Sometimes it’s fine and not there at all, but other days, it’s a thorn in my side. It’s the one thing I feel that truly brings me down. I do my best to surpress it when I feel myself having a bad day, so the baby won’t pick up on it. 

And although intellectually I told myself working when having a baby would be hard, I didn’t realize how hard. Or how good working would feel at times. How nice it is to have an identity that has nothing to do with parenthood, poopy diapers, or leaking boobs.

Some friendships I felt would truly blossom this year did not happen, while all of my friends I was already close with spent time checking in with and seeing me often. Nothing changed after having the baby. I appreciate these friendships even more.

I also didn’t realize how much teething and separation anxiety would change my daughter’s resting habits…that was the hardest for us to adjust to after being so spoiled with a good sleeper—who never really napped. I still find myself surprised when the baby seems to just want her mommy. I guess part of me still can’t believe she loves me. I feel so lucky to have her.

I didn’t realize how annoyed I would be with moms who appear–or who don’t show–any bad moments or frustrations. And while I knew I wouldn’t love making dinner nightly, I didn’t realize how often I’d hate it, although I have to admit that I really love when the finished product tastes great! That it feels awesome when my kid eats what I make. I still cannot believe that my kid eats table food made by me and not a food company. Me! Me the girl who just learned how to use a crock pot.

That is something I’m truly proud of. I stuck through my commitment to nurse, and to make her food and try to somewhat follow a Baby-Led Weaning approach. I think motherhood has made me more confident and willing to try things even if I’m hesitant. Sometimes, I have no choice but to try, and this has helped me grow as a person.

I cannot believe that this woman in the picture in a hospital bedImage is me, the mother of an almost one-year old! 

Wouldn’t it be nice?

So I’m teaching a new class, and like all the other classes, there is always one student who reminds me of who I was as a teenager. This time it is a young guy with piercings, intelligence, and a tendency to jitter around in his seat. In the summer, it was a girl with short hair, dark Elvis Costello-like frames and a tendency for sarcasm and laughing at odd moments. When I was their age, I hated being a teen, yet looking at them as a teacher, I remember all the good times too. Every time I get a new class, I search the faces of my students, and I swear I can see their stories. I know the ones who have it easy socially, the ones who struggle, the closeted students, the cocky prick, and the smart conscientious one who probably runs the Earth club. I can enter a room for rambunctious kids, who always see this tiny lady (me) and think they’ll be able to talk shit and act out, and command it within minutes. I know the kids think I’ll be a push-over ( I’m not) and not funny (I am), and I love surprising them. What I love even more, is that often the most obnoxious students end up being my favorite because I’m able to bring out their good qualities. I wish I could have been so comfortable around teens as a teenager myself. What I wish I knew then that I know now…

“Oh, but my kid is doing THIS and THIS!”

Sometimes I wish I were a dad. Dads don’t hang with other dads and talk about what his kid is doing/eating/pooping/saying. Dad’s don’t secretly “tisk-tisk” what other dads do because they’re too busy not giving a crap to bother.
Sometimes, it’s nice to just talk to someone who isn’t a mom. Who isn’t going to ask me the long list of questions of what my kid is doing/saying/pooping.
I think this stems from the deep -seeded fear that maybe I am not doing a good job as a parent. I worry that I am making the right choices. I find it comforting to meet other moms who feel the same way, and when I meet moms who always seem calm and collected, it kind of annoys me. Like, don’t you ever have a bad day?
Well, i have had a few bad moments this week, in which I find myself wondering if I am doing the right things with my daughter. While there are a few choices I do not doubt at all, there are others I wonder about like, is this the best way, or is there another way that’s better. I guess this also makes me a good parent, because I want to do better, to be better.
I also feel that my generation is a new generation of parent, in which we push our kids/mold our kids, maybe a bit too much. We hover, unlike my parent’s generation, which may be a good and bad thing. Certainly my parent’s generation made its share of mistakes–but our generation (I feel) has a tendency to push and prod our kids more than others. I haven’t run a scientific study, but I feel I am right about this, and I do believe there is literature about this.
I guess I am allowed to have days and weeks when I doubt myself as I adjust to this new role as a mother. I am happy I have the mom title, I just wish sometimes I had all the answers.

The Why me’s?

I am feeling the most annoying sensation of “the why me’s.” You know, when you compare yourself to everyone, and feel like you fall short. When you wonder why this is hard for yourself as compared to those who have something easier? It is pathetic. I should be grateful for everything that I have–I am, I truly am, but this week has brought on a serious case of the “why me’s.”
Why do we compare ourselves to others? Why do we as a race of people do this? I tell myself to compare myself to me–to better myself as to who I was, and who I’d like to be, but there’s always this nagging voice that says–but so- and so has this…
It is a one-way street to nowhereville. Nothing can be gained from the Why Me’s.
I think one of the biggest triggers is my resentment that I was so sick while pregnant, and have to worry about it happening to me again if I were ever pregnant again, while so many people can simply just try and enjoy the process. I have to have a treatment plan in set. Not very romantic or fun. I also feel my relationships with family members/community members have also triggered this feeling. People say it takes a village to raise a child, yet when the village is not very welcoming or available, the story changes. In a lot of ways, I have become more self-reliant and confident, which is something I needed badly. My confidence still kind of stinks, but it is better than it was.
I guess everyone is allowed to have his or her own pity party now and again, but honestly, it’s counterproductive and doesn’t get me/you/anyone anywhere. Instead, it’s better to find solutions to problems, and just try to simply not give a hoot what others have, do, or say.
I’ve got my baby, my hubby, and my dog. What is better than that?!

There has to be more to life than just turkey meatballs

50's housewife

it’s no wonder fifties housewives were known for dropping “mother’s little helpers,” or was that the sixties? Anyway, being in the house for a long time absolutely drives me batty. I am a conflicted woman. I love being with my daughter. I’m only working part time (some months I work more than others–it is dependent on many factors. This coming month is going to be very busy), and I love being with her and wouldn’t want to work f/t just to come home with zilch after paying for daycare…nor would I want to miss out on the majority of the tiny years.

That said, there are some days when the monotony of being “mostly” at home drives me batty.

How much excitement can there be in a day where you are worrying about how the damn turkey meatballs will turn out? I mean, is this my life? I wish someone else could do the cooking and cleaning, and all I had to do was teach and play with my daughter–and clean/care for her. Like large dinners and lunches just fall from the sky while I spend hours playing with her and throwing meatballs at each other.
Okay, maybe not that exactly.

I feel like my brain is on an autopilot function of:  Daughter’s poop: hard or soft, hard or soft, daughter’s food, daughter’s food, nurse, nurse, play, inspire, play inspire, am I doing this right? Am I doing enough? Did I do it right?

More poop.More boob. God, I feel like a food-milk factory.

It is enough to make one miss her days of standing in front of a stage telling my dark, but incredibly cathartic and actually very funny rape joke. (Hey, I went through it, and have to deal with it somehow. I chose comedy.)

I miss using my brain in ways I used to. I used to have a brain filled with french verbs, essays,movies, and bad pick-up lines (not to use, but ones folks used on me.)

I now have this auto soundtrack that goes like this:

“9 cookies sitting on a plate, cookie monster eats one….and now there’s 8! 8 cookies when there used to be 10, wishing me could have 10 cookies again.”
cookie monster

the more we get together, together, together….if you’re happy and you know it, shoot yourself.

Okay, the last verse I made up. 🙂 I love being around kids, especially mine. I love playing with her, and being the person who really shapes her while she is still so young, but is it wrong of me to want some more intellectual challenges? I feel like if I could teach another class, that would be the perfect balance for me. 


I know there will be plenty of years as she gets older when she will want nothing to do with me…when she’ll think I am satan herself, but I’m just afraid I will forget everything by the time she is ready to disown me for a few years, and that I’ll walk around like a bumbling fool saying, “bah bah bah,” because I will have forgotten everything except for what elmo’s voice sounds like.
What is worse is I feel guilty for wanting to have my life exactly as it is, except for with more of my old life mixed in.