Somewhere along the way, I have become a mother. I don't mean on the day my first daughter was born when it seemed so weird to say "that's my daughter," or the time that I fumbled through teaching her to walk or even when I introduced her to her younger sister-because I don't think that it happened in one moment.
I think it was a million little failures, fears and maybe 100 successes. I think that I knew that I was their mother, but I didn't understand that, at the core of my being, I AM a mother. I think that living in the neverending, messy confusion of early motherhood and waiting for something to happen, something to change, I didn't feel the subtle and important changes happening in my core.
When my eldest daughter was born she was beautiful and disgusting-all covered in goo and blood and screaming. I looked at her and marveled at her perfection and immediately thought "Oh shit, I have to take her home." I was completely terrified and projectile vomited all over my hospital room after eating two purple popsicles and didn't sleep again for 3 years and still I craved her snuggles, smiles, words, and laughter. Somewhere, I started to feel that mother-ness...
Maybe it was when my youngest was born and I felt like my heart was going to explode with joy when I saw my two beautiful girls together. Maybe it was teaching my littlest and last baby the same things I had taught my eldest, and having her happily help her sister. Maybe it was just a culmination of experiences, laughter, tears and exhaustion that finally makes me feel that I am more than just me.
Motherhood is transcendent. It is really realizing that you are not who you were before. You can never be that person again. You can't be that person who didn't understand how your mom could have been soooooo mean to you that time. Oh, you understand. Mom, I totally get it. Even more than that, you know why she came to everything for you-all of your concerts, games, so many sports things sitting on those horrible bleachers, and she was the ultimate fan of whatever you were doing at the time. That is being a mother.
Being a mother is knowing that you can never, ever be the same person you were before your children were born, because they have helped you grow into something that is more complicated, more beautiful, better than before.
I don't know when it happened, but at some point I became not just me, but a mother, and it is terrifying and wonderful and frustrating and every other adjective you could think of.
But I wouldn't change a second of it.
Let's talk, for a minute, about Mother's Day. Mother's Day is, at best, not horrible, and at worse, a total soul-crushing day of torture. (The one exception: The Mother's Day before when you're pregnant with your first child. That is a magical day). It may surprise you that I'm skeptical of Mother's Day, but I am.
This is an old Irish Mother's Day blessing, right?
So, what's the problem with Mother's Day? Mothers with young children just want to sleep in, not be responsible for everything, and probably don't want to rush around honoring every other mother in the world. We're in the trenches. We're there-getting poo flung at us and peed on and yelled at and told that our food is gross, feeling like we can't do anything right, our house isn't clean enough, we work too hard or not enough, etc, etc, etc.
Still, every year, we think that Mother's Day will be different. But it won't.
To kids it's just another day. Kids don't really care about Mother's Day because they don't understand what it's like to be a mother and they won't until they are one. Since you've become a mom, chances are that you've thanked your mom repeatedly for being a great mother-because you didn't know what it took to keep these kids fed, clothed, and keep yourself functional until you became a parent. Being a mother is amazing but terribly difficult work.
What would be a perfect Mother's Day for me? Well, sleeping past 7, not having to shower for a while, sitting around, drinking a coffee while my kids play nicely, don't complain that they're bored or fight with each other, being able to ask once for something to be done-and having it be completed, and just, in general, being treated like a human being.
Before motherhood I wouldn't have thought that was a big deal, but now, that looks like an amazing day! BEST.DAY.EVER! Now, I bet that all of the moms are nodding and smiling and there's sappy music playing in your head. Yes, that's what most of us want. Grand gestures are fantastic, but if there is nothing else it's just a day where we get a fantastic, new tennis bracelet and matching earrings.
Most of us don't want to rush around and see everyone else in the world who is also a mother. Most of us just want to relax, be a little selfish, and have one day where we don't have to contort into the role that everyone else needs us to be. It's Mother's Day, right?
So moms, call your mom and tell her you love her and that you want to thank her for being so amazing. Offer to take her out or make her lunch or dinner or whatever you want to do. It doesn't have to be on Mother's Day. If you have young kids, this day is about you. Spend it recognizing other mothers or not! The important thing is this-just lower your expectations. Mother's Day is infinitely more important to you than anyone else. That's just the way it is. They love you, they appreciate you, just try to relax and enjoy whatever the day brings. Save up all of your stories, call you BFF, and you can bond over your respective days later.
Husbands: Make or buy her a card/gift/whatever means the most to her. Tell her you love her and thank her for being your children's mother. If there's a problem intervene before everyone ends up dead.
Kids: Don't be assholes to your mom today. She is so very tired of your shit and this is one day that she will not just sweep it under the rug. That hand made pinch pot will not make up for the giant fit you threw yesterday, but a pinch pot, a hug, getting along with your sibling and not complaining about what Mom wants to do are a good start!
Happy Mother's Day, to all of the mothers out there!
Today was both a celebration and a gut punch. Being a mother is so extremely rewarding but, as a part of the reward for doing your job, you are reminded that your job is to make your children independent, strong, and not need you-or, at least, not always need you.
First the triumph-because I'll pretend that I have had a lot to do with that. My sweet, courageous daughters have been attending a cheering/tumbling camp this week, during school vacation. They are taking chances and doing things they've been scared to do and today my youngest (6 years old) volunteered to be in a contest and performed jumps and cartwheels in front of the whole camp-all of whom are older kids than her. That BLEW MY MIND. My eldest was tirelessly working to improve-hit her back handspring, perfect her cartwheel, learn new techniques so that she can be the best team mate she can be. I was the kid in high school who loved singing but constantly talked myself out of really auditioning for anything other than the chorus in the school musical (except for senior year). I was so scared of giving the wrong answer that I didn't raise my hand in class and I always chose my social life over really applying myself-just because I thought I couldn't do it. Then, here are my amazing daughters who have been just exceeding, addressing things, and volunteering to do extra. They are challenging themselves, they are accomplishing things, and they don't realize what a huge deal it is. They are not afraid! I don't know where that comes from. I am so in awe of what they have inside of their souls and can't even imagine where they will end up with that kind of courage. Imagine, if all of the girls weren't afraid to tackle math problems or climb mountains or be doctors or study climate change, the economy, be president. Imagine a GENERATION of Michelle Obamas, Hilary Clintons, Annie Oakleys. My job is to keep nourishing that flame and to encourage them to always be brave.
Now the flip side of the coin. I had heard rumours from an unnamed source that my 9 year old was really working hard to stop calling me mommy, and to start calling me mom. Tonight she was reading a book to her sister, and was replacing "mommy" with "mom" the whole way through. I went in to the room, intending to just tell her that I understood, that I remembered that thought, and as I was saying it, I started crying because I realize that it's time. She is growing up. She is closer to being a teen than a toddler, and is halfway to adulthood. I smiled at her, told her that I understood, that I was sorry I was crying, but that I understood. I told her that it was okay with me if she called me "mom" it wouldn't hurt my feelings, but that she could call me "mommy" whenever she wanted. We both cried, we both hugged, the six year old started crying, said that she still wanted to call me "mommy." One of us made a fart joke, we laughed about all the silly ways you can say "mommy" and I left the room with them giggling over Pinkalicious together.
That's the way of motherhood. The bittersweet, working-your-way-out-of-a-job reality of parenting. If you do it right, they're constantly challenging themselves, reaching out, yet strengthening those wings to leave the nest some day. I will always encourage them to stretch and grow, even as it makes me want to cling tighter and pull them back. For now, though, we'll just try to make it through the tween angst, teen rebellion, and I'll sit in awe of the women they're becoming.
Yes, that is a very dramatic title, isn't it? Now, before you get all hot and bothered (mom) worrying about the state of my marriage, here's the truth...I may have overstated the issue a bit. I'm going to lay it all out for you, though, and I think you'll understand where I'm coming from.
Here is my theory about why people get divorced: teeny tiny little problems (like who should take the trash to the dump or do the dishes after dinner) turn into bigger problems (like hating each other), then the biggest problems (cheating, etc) turn into D-I-V-O-R-C-E. Yeah, I know what you're saying. Many marriages are shams, many wives are bitches and/or nags, many husbands are just douchebags and/or clueless, every rose has it's thorn...blah, blah, blah. Those aren't the type of marriages I'm talking about. I'm talking about everyone else. Your friends, in-laws, boss, whoever. The type of people who, when they announce they are getting a divorce, cause shocked silence, weeping and gnashing of teeth. Their announcement causes everyone who hears about it to say "I never saw that coming." These marriages die a slow death of resentment, silence and fights about trash or dishes but really about so much more. Let's be honest, when you fight about something with your spouse, is it really about that one issue? Isn't it really about something else (not feeling valued, being lonely, not being sure that you're on the same team any more)? I know it is. Shhhhhh...you don't even have to say it.
The truth is that my marriage is pretty amazing. My husband is kind, a great dad, funny and not at all a douchebag. I'd like to think that other people think that I come across as slightly less bitchy in real life than I do in my head. We tend to talk things over, are on the same page when it comes to raising our kids, and have lots of fun together.
However, there was a problem in our household...and it stank.
Stop smiling, you asshole.
We live in a rural development, really more of a small town inside of another small town. It's picturesque, classic New England, dirt roads, cape cod houses but no trash pick up. The only way to have your trash removed from your house is via one of two methods: pay someone to do it or take it to the dump your own damn self. (watch the video-this is one of my fondest childhood memories)
So, being the stingy, contrary New Englanders we are, we found out that it would cost $20 per month to have someone take away our trash! "NO WAY!" we said. We were not going to pay someone $20 to haul away our old food containers, dirty diapers, etc. We would take it to the dump ourselves.
Well, after 3 winters and summers of fighting about who was going to take the trash to the dump...what's that? You want to see what that fight looks like?
Almost there...Pretty accurate.
Me: Can you please take the trash to the dump? The shitbird raccoons are trying to get into the bins every night and I'm pretty sure there's a colony of maggots in the bottom of the bin.
Him: (sigh) Okay. Why can't you do it during the week? I have to work all day and then spend Saturday cleaning out the van and taking the trash to the dump now.
Me: (trying not to punch him in the wind pipe) Well, I'm at home with two kids, I do everything else around here, and I'm just asking you to take the trash to the dump. Please, please, don't make me go there. I hate it there. It smells horrible, there are so many flies, and I just HATE THE DUMP.
Him: (looks defeated, clearly can not argue with my airtight rhetoric) Okay, I'll do it. Do you think I like going to the dump?
Thing 1: Thing two pooped in the bath tub/spilled something/drew on the wall!
Me and him: Stop tattling! Thing Two, why did you poop in the bath tub/spill something/draw on the wall?
and scene...
You're too kind!
Now, imagine that almost exact same fight happen 30 times a year...or, imagine someone not going for a while and the trash piling up and then imagine the passive aggressive rage I would exhibit when the shitbird raccoons did get into the trash and spread it all around the yard....and guess who got to clean it up because I "just stay home." You guessed it. The trash was not just a festering maggot colony, it was festering rage and resentment and fights and loads of bacteria.
How can I hate something so adorable with so much passion? Once you've woken up to this scene a few times, you'll find yourself screaming swears at them from your living room windows, too.
Finally, I had enough. He got a better job which freed up a little extra money which meant I could finally justify paying someone else $20 per month to come haul away our 2-4 bags of trash and recyclables per week. And, you know what? It is amazing. I can't explain the joy I get in taking the trash bins out to the curb and watching for Ralph I-don't-know-his-last-name to pull up in his red truck with his reflective stuck-on letters on the side to empty out my trash and recyclables and take it where ever he wants to take it. It is just not our problem any more. So how did this save our marriage? It gave us one less stressful thing between us. We were able to move on, get rid of this issue and not give it room to make a problem for us in the future. Plus, I really, really hate going to the dump.
Today's lesson: If you can get rid of a major stressor, do it. Don't let the raccoons win, and let Jensen tell you what you already know:
In case you don't know what CIO means (apparently you haven't been a new mom in the past 100 years or so) it means Cry It Out-meaning the Cry It Out Method. There are some facts that I want to address about babies crying, because there is a wealth of false information about letting babies cry.
At the end of the article, there is one more category, and that says that babies cry sometimes for no reason! They do! So do you! Sometimes babies cry to get excess energy out of their system. Sometimes they cry to tell you what they need (because, at the beginning, they don't have any other way to tell you-they can't talk yet, after all).
So, let's talk about babies crying, okay? This is one thing that makes me crazy, and I'm going to rant alllll over you right now.
Do you smell it? Soak it in, baby!
Let's talk about this bullshit statement "It's not my parenting choice to let my baby Cry It Out." Do you want to know why this is bullshit? Because it is, pure and simple. People who say that have a warped idea of what/why babies cry and what exactly Cry It Out means. Babies cry. They fuss, they cry, eventually they start to smile, laugh and talk, but at first they just cry, poop and sleep. You can choose to never let your baby cry, but you are setting yourself up for a lifetime of misery if you do. I have heard this statement from multiple first-time parents, and they all make me crazy when I hear it.
First of all, babies cry sometimes to communicate with you. Do you know what your baby is saying when it is crying because he/she is hungry? The baby is saying "Hey, it's been 2.5 seconds since I stopped eating/you sat down/you started to shower/poop/etc. and I'm HUNGRY!" That is communication. P.S. You want them to learn to communicate with you if you ever want them to talk. I understand if you don't want them to learn to talk, I have a 6 year old and a 3 year old, but it's probably not the best plan for them to get ahead in life.
Does this picture stress you out as much as it does me? If so, you're a parent!
Babies also cry to burn off energy. The youngest ones, especially, all have working brains, and ideas about what they want to do. They are trapped in a body that won't move the way they want it to/they can't figure out how to make it do what they want it too. They can't talk to you. They can't get what they want by themselves. They have energy to burn. They are frustrated. They cry. Or, maybe they are trying to get to sleep or who knows! If you have fed them, changed their diaper, held them, rocked them, and they are in a safe place, it's okay to let them cry for a while while you take some time to get yourself together.
Not a safe place to leave your baby while you get yourself together.
Trust me, you will need to get yourself together sometimes. Sometimes that overwhelming feeling of being responsible for a new life, the sound of your baby crying when you don't know what to do to fix it, the knowledge that you have tried everything and the idea that you can't control this situation is just too much. You need to take a time out and if the baby has to cry for 5 or 10 minutes, so be it. Forgive yourself. You are going to be a much better mother if you let yourself relax, enjoy your baby, and don't constantly hold yourself up to unrealistic expectations.
Finally, there seems to be this idea out there that Cry It Out means letting your baby cry until they pass out or die or forever or something. That is simply not true.
This is what it actually means:
What exactly is the Ferber method?
In a nutshell, Ferber says
you can teach your baby to soothe himself to sleep when he's physically
and emotionally ready, usually sometime between 3 and 5 months of age.
He recommends following a warm, loving bedtime routine and
then putting your baby in bed awake and leaving him (even if he cries)
for gradually longer periods of time. Putting a child to bed awake, says Ferber, is crucial to successfully teaching him to go to sleep on his own.
Parents
are instructed to pat and comfort their baby after each predetermined
period of time, but not to pick up or feed their baby. This routine is
called "progressive waiting."
The suggested waiting time, which
Ferber charts in his book, is based on how comfortable you are with the
technique, how many days you've been using it, and how many times you've
already checked on your child that night.
After a few days to a
week of gradually increasing the waiting time, the theory goes, most
babies learn to fall asleep on their own, having discovered that crying
earns nothing more than a brief check from you.
That is probably not so much different than you are already doing, and it doesn't seem nearly as controversial as it is made out to be. We all, as parents, have to work on building our children into independent adults, and that includes being able to fall asleep. Do you want to know how long I made it the first time I tried to let my daughter cry? About 30 seconds. She was fine. Do you know how long it took her to "learn" to fall asleep on her own when laid down awake? About a week or so. We were consistent with routine, kept her physically and intellectually active, and had set bed times. It was hard work, but to this day, both of my children are excellent sleepers, are able to self-soothe, and happy and well-adjusted children. They have formed secure attachments to us, they have friends, and are functional kids. They are independent and have a strong sense of self.
We will all argue and fight for our children, views, etc. but at the end of the day we will all do what is best for our children. We will all be the best parents we can be. We will love our kids, make some mistakes, and hope that they forgive us some day. That's all fine, and hopefully some day we moms can stop fighting each other about who is right and wrong, and forgive ourselves for being who we are.
My daughters are tightly coiled balls of ever increasing energy. My eldest daughter does not just get out of bed in the morning (or stumble, flailing until I find my glasses, swearing at the sun for rising, my dog for getting in my way, the coffee for not already being made, etc.). No. She wakes up in the morning, leaps to the end of her bed, jumps from her bed to the floor, and skips...skips! down stairs. She skips every where. She skips all day long. She skips to the bathroom, she skips to the kitchen to get a yogurt, she skips or runs but hardly ever walks.
My husband and I were discussing this the other day. We noticed that her first choice is to always skip between tasks. We both watched her skip into the bathroom and as she left the room, we were both smiling and laughing. Watching her skipping brought us joy! We both remarked that we wished that our first thought was to always skip-instead of plodding along as it seems some days.
Our youngest does not just wake up, either. If, by chance, we have to wake her up she doesn't roll over and groggily greet us with a smile. She lies on her stomach, flapping and clapping and slapping her feet and hands on her mattress until she springs up, grabs onto the bars of her crib, and jumps up and down. This whole sequence takes about 5 seconds. She is ready for action as soon as her eyes open. She is full of joy and thrilled to greet the day.
Both of my daughters are excited to get on with the next thing, but they are also so happy to be in that moment that they make us happy to be a part of that moment. They have helped us to find joy in mundane moments and, quite often, cause us to stop, take a look around, and be happy for simple moments.
I'm not going to pretend that I can alter my bad attitude upon waking up. I don't know if I am willing to work on that part of me when there are so many other facets of me that need work (such as the part of me that follows through with things, the part of me that cleans the bathroom more often, or the part of me that can focus on things for more than 10 minutes). However, I am willing to take a little more time and be thankful for small moments of joy and peace and be looking for opportunities to recognize those two things. Hopefully, in the future, my daughters will remember me as a fun mom whose moments of joy outnumbered the moments of grouchy, flailing anger.
My youngest daughter is turning one in a few days. It is amazing to think that a year ago she was not even a separate being from me-she was a tiny baby, dependent on my nutrients and contained within my body. She was a mystery to us, and we looked forward to meeting her and watching her personality form. Now she is showing her personality and she is even more than I could have hoped for! She has a great sense of humor, appears to be unfailingly curious, loves to play with her sister and our dog, is friendly to strangers but is still a mommy's girl.
We are amazed at how early the sibling friction can be seen. One day, when we were in the car, our eldest daughter was trying to relax and have quiet time. Our youngest picked up on that and kept screaming at her and then laughing when Olivia would say "Maya, STOP YELLING!" Then Maya would yell again and laugh, looking right at Olivia the whole time. Needless to say, my husband and I found that very amusing.
We look back to our four-year-old's first birthday and how far she has come in just three years. At the same time, we try to predict what Maya will be like in three years and have a few theories:
Wild Woman: She could turn out to be the class clown, very boisterous and talkative. I have a feeling she will be a "look before you leap" kind of person. To be honest, I am nervous about what life will be like with her walking, running and exploring on her own. I think I'll have to get in better shape.
Scientist: Maybe not a scientist, maybe more of a food critic since everything goes in her mouth. Hopefully that will stop.
Endurance Runner: Maya watches her sister with rapt attention and clearly just wants to do just what her sister is doing. I think that she will walk for a day and run to catch up with Olivia for the rest of her life.
Math/Academic Whiz: This is from my personal experience. I had math troubles and was forced under penalty of being whipped with a wet noodle to do math flash cards nightly. As a result, my younger sister knew the times tables, addition and subtraction and how to divide before I really understood any of that. That really ticked me off, by the way. Not enough to learn them but just enough to be really mad that my sister had beaten me.
Cuddle Bug: Maya is a very cuddly, huggy baby and I hope that continues well into her school years.
Happy Birthday, Maya Papaya!
For the record, Olivia thinks Maya will be a princess when she's 4.
I have two daughters. They were singletons and have had very different babyhoods so far. Olivia was my first, she was a planned surprise (planned and then discovered after we had decided to stop trying for a baby) and Maya was completely planned. They are three and a half years apart and so far seem to be best friends.
There are some surprising differences in my experiences being a mom the first time around.
The First Time:
Everything had to be PERFECT! This was my baby, and she would lack for nothing. Nothing could be more important than having the pack and play match the pattern on the stroller and car seat. Except, of course, that everything had to be new. I remember the horror I felt at the idea of putting used clothes on my princess.
Everything had to be by-the-book. There was no compromise when it came to developmental toys, foods, breast or bottle fed and if I attempted to deviate at all I terrorized myself with ridiculous guilt trips.
I was convinced that I was not going to be able to keep her alive. That poor child was poked and prodded so many times during naps and night sleeping to ease my mind.
I spent hours agonizing over her development, my role in any delays and how to "help" her. The fact that our pediatrician, my co-workers at early intervention, my husband, our parents and everyone else said that she was developing fine meant nothing to me. What did they know? They weren't her mother!
The second time around has been very different.
This time there is more pressure to be fair to both of them and ensure that I am giving them enough time. Maya (baby #2) shows signs of being even more easy going than Olivia was, and smiles and laughs at everything!
This time I have them sharing a room so having Maya wake up in the night is more than just an inconvenience-it is a catastrophe! Once one was up, the other is, too and it is all I was able to do to get through that stage.
With Olivia, I agonized over the decision to supplement her with formula while primarily feeding her breast milk. With Maya, I made that decision with little to no hesitation. I actually was easier able to nurse Maya but I didn't have the patience for it. She was nursing non stop and I didn't have the ability to pump extra for bottle feedings.
This time, I am actually able to enjoy her milestones rather than always waiting for the next one to come up. I have more faith in our parenting and our knowledge of child development and I am confident that we are on the right path.
I keep thinking that having one was great, and it really was, but two are even better!
