No, YOU Enjoy It

From the moment I was pregnant with my first baby to this current moment, many people, mostly older women, have looked at me and said in sappy-sweet voices, "Oh, enjoy EVERY moment of your children when they're little. It goes SO fast." I usually nod and say something trite like, "I'm trying to!" or "That's what they say!" with a smile. But now, well, I have something to say about that.

Dude, parenting is tough sometimes. Today, my adorable, beautiful, charming, sweet, lovely daughter threw a tantrum because she's just plain overtired. A weekend trip to the grandparents has resulted in a minor sleep setback, and she's on edge. So, when she screamed at me for gently suggesting she try to go potty before nap and then bit me when I closed the book on my lap, I wasn't exactly surprised, but I wasn't all too happy, either.

I should add, before I go on, that our new-ish baby has been waking me up to eat 3-4 times a night, and the toddler woke up screaming at 2:30 AM and I wasn't able to get back to sleep between the two of them, so I'm not exactly functioning well today.

So, I told her as calmly as I could that she's not allowed to bite, even if she's very mad, and that she could stay in her room or the bathroom until she could stop being a maniac. (Yes, I said "maniac".) Then I counted my already-bruised bite marks and tended to the scared, crying baby.

My question is, should I have enjoyed that moment? Well, call Child Protective Services because I DID NOT. I didn't enjoy about 15 whole minutes of that exchange. I didn't enjoy the feeling of her sweet, sharp teeth on my tired arm, or the sound of her shrill, whining screeches of protest in my tired ears.

And, truth be told, parenting has been chock full of moments like that. Moments where someone hasn't had enough sleep, someone's hungry, someone isn't being given the time or attention they need and gets upset. Sometimes it's the kids, sometimes it's the parents. But I'm just saying, these moments aren't hard to come by in this house. Talking honestly to other parents with kids around this age, they are not uncommon in ANY household.

So, to you, stranger in the parking lot/grocery store/library, I say, "Please don't tell me to enjoy EVERY moment." Instead, I'll try very, very hard to separate the good moments from the bad, the sweet moments from the annoying, and the hugging moments from the biting ones. I'll pledge to not let myself get so down on myself or my kids during these moments that it ruins entire days or even whole hours. I will acknowledge the times that my kids are being amazing and when I'm having a tough time. And, I'll enjoy parenting as an entire experience and love my kids even when they're doing something that makes me want to rip up a phone book with my bare hands.

But I will not enjoy EVERY moment. And heads up to you, woman holding her sweetly-scented newborn. That little peanut will bring you more joy and love and happiness than you ever dreamed possible. But, to be blunt, he or she will be a little bit of a nightmare sometimes. Please don't feel guilty for not enjoying EVERY moment. Remember that the people who tell you to do so usually have decades of time separating them from the nitty-gritty parts of parenting small kids: the sleepless nights, the biting, the whining, the food-throwing, the meltdowns. If they could remember this, they wouldn't say something as positively stupid as "enjoy every moment."

I forgive them, though. I bet in about 30 years, I'll say the same, stupid thing to some new mom. I hope she tells me to go to hell.

Less is More?

The other morning, someone on the radio was talking about Michelle Obama's initiative to reduce or eliminate the amount of junk-food advertising in schools. This radio personality seemed cautiously supportive of the measures she wants to propose, but then brought up the point that he "favors less government in most cases" and then waffled a little bit in his support.

I have been thinking a lot about this issue since I heard about it, and I can't even stretch my imagination far enough to begin to understand why anyone would oppose this measure, or even just have any shred of doubt about it in any way, shape, or form. While I generally try to avoid starting sentences with "as a parent", I'm going to do a little of that now.

As a parent, I want my kid to be healthy. It is my number one priority. I want her little mind and body and spirit to be as healthy as possible. Big corporations who produce junk food do not care at all if she is healthy. They care about making money. If my kid gets fat and sick spending money on and then eating their processed crap, they have done their job. And while this may not be the ultimate goal spelled out in their mission statements, making as much money as possible is the bottom line for any company in a capitalist society. That's why I read every ingredient on every single morsel of food that goes into my kid's mouth--the assumption that anyone but me is looking out for her health is just plain wrong. Assuming that a company is going to only put safe ingredients into foods aimed at kids is laughable. What I can assume is that these companies want to produce cheap, sweet foods with a mouth-feel that my kid will become addicted to and want to buy over and over and over again.

As a parent, I want school to be a place of safety and learning, not somewhere that provides advertising about junk food. I mean, what? Do I even have to say that? I went to school from about 1988-2001 and I can honestly say that, other than the soda machines and the posters for concessions at basketball games, I don't recall any signage about food or drinks. Is this something that has become so pervasive in such a relatively short amount of time that it requires legislation? Apparently so.

As with anything that the government tries to do, there is backlash coming from one side of our polarized country. I read about "less government" and "less interference", but no one seems to be acknowledging that, if left unchecked, corporations will bleed into more and more facets of our lives and the environments that used to be safe havens, such as schools. So, where is the public backlash against the corporations that try to get our kids to eat their junk? Where is the widespread worry that we are leaving too much power to large companies that see our kids as faceless consumers? Where, as a society, do we draw the line between these corporate giants and our soft, sponge-brained children?

I have also heard the reasoning behind advertising in schools. Apparently, many schools depend on the money they get from allowing advertising to meet their yearly budgets. Without the money they receive from corporate sponsors, they would have to increase class sizes, reduce extracurricular programming, decrease teacher pay, or would be otherwise unable to meet the needs of the students. Because of the way our schools are funded (based on the property taxes of the surrounding neighborhoods), advertising dollars are even more important to kids who attend schools in low-income neighborhoods.

Sigh. I just...I just can't. I could go on and on about why it's scary and frustrating to be a parent now, and how even a generation ago parents didn't have to think about many of the same things, but I won't. I'll just end here.

So, thank you, Michelle Obama. When my child starts school in a few years and can walk her hallways without being bombarded by signs for Coke or Dorito tacos or Pizza Hut's new cheese-filled double pizza or whatever other junk they've thought up in the time between now and then, I'll be thinking of you.

High Maintenance

I can't really say that I'm qualified to give any kind of marriage advice, and I'm not going to try. My husband and I have been married for just over four years, so we're definitely in the youth of what I hope to be a long, long lifetime of marriage. And while I'm not qualified to give marriage advice, I can say that I'm incredibly qualified when it comes to picking out a good husband. 

A long, long time ago, I met my husband. We were young. In fact, he was so young that he had to actually sneak into the bar where we met. Granted, he's British, so he had been legally entering bars in his homeland before we met, but still--we were young. We met, we hit it off, and then we went back to our normal lives in our respective countries. I dated a bunch of guys and never really felt like any of them were right--there was always just something about each of them that made it clear to me that they weren't right for me. These were small things--a comment here or there, an awkwardness, a hint of arrogance, an ill-timed poem on my birthday that made me squirm. You know, the usual.

So, when my now-husband came back to visit and we had dinner and walked around the art garden, and I felt like he had a magnet that drew me in despite the concrete obstacles between us, it took me by surprise. And it kind of bummed me out. I knew that, if we tried to have a relationship, things would always be difficult. They would be difficult for us, for our families, for our friends. But I felt, even way back then, that the troubles would be worth it.

Now, years and years later, we have moved across the world for each other, have spent time, money, and energy making things work despite the odds, and our relationship feels decidedly normal. It no longer consists of tearful good-byes at the airports, all the free time in the world to watch movies or go to dinner or sleep, or the desperation to be together that most people feel at the beginning of a relationship. All that stuff has faded into diaper changes, nighttime wake-ups from our child, exhaustion at the end of the day, talks about our plan for the next baby, piles of laundry, and dinners at 5:30 instead of 8PM. 

But because he is the right one, those things are OK. We can laugh or complain about those things, we can sit and stare at the end of the day and wonder how people get through these times, we can look at our beautiful child in amazement, frustration, or through sleep-deprived eyes, we can watch our next baby move and stretch in my swollen tummy at night, and we can look at each other and say that there is no one we'd rather be with, no one we would rather go through this with, and no one who could be a better partner for us or parent to our children. 

We haven't always been perfect partners to each other. There have been moments of normal frustration, misunderstandings, disagreements. But what we always had, and what we are developing more each day, is the capacity to love and understand each other, and the want to do so. And that, I think, is more important than anything. 

Eating For Two

This post is my overdue announcement that we're expecting our second child. Actually, we're expecting him so much that we know his gender, his name, and have already purchased (but not constructed) some IKEA furniture for him.

It's funny, when I was pregnant with Soph, I knew exactly how far along I was, was totally on top of how much she weighed, how long she was, and what vegetable approximated her size, but this time, I'm sort of like, "Well...I'm about 27 weeks...or, wait. No, 28. He feels pretty big. I don't know."

So, yes, we are so excited and so happy and feel so incredibly lucky to have had the chance to have another child. Sometimes, I think about the sleeplessness and the imbalance of life with a toddler, and then I think of adding another layer of lack of sleep and little messes and more years of diapers and breastfeeding and just the inordinate amount of poop that little kids bring. It is during these times that I remind myself of all the snuggling and kisses and the excitement of a kid's first words, steps, smiles, and all that other good stuff, and I think, "YES. I want that NOW."

We were having dinner with some friends who have a daughter the same age as Sophie, and we were talking about our resolutions for the new year. The other dad's was to be "more on top of parenting". I was quick to blurt out that mine was completely the opposite--to let even more stuff go. They laughed, but it was true. There are a lot of times when I get kind of down on myself, not so much for the job I'm doing as a mom, but the job I'm doing as a person in general. I think too often and too long about the fact that my floors are rarely clean and our kitchen counter has crumbs on it most of the time. There are nights where I can't get to sleep because I am wondering if I should be potty training now, thinking that I haven't given the tub a good scrub in too long, or that we have had macaroni and cheese for lunch two days this week.

So, in 2014, I am pledging to replace those thoughts with nicer, saner ones. I am going to talk to myself the way I'd talk to any of my other friends. I'm going to acknowledge that my kid readily eats Brussels sprouts, already says "please" and "thank you", and doesn't watch TV (and doesn't ask to). That my husband and I still really like each other and that we get a lot out of our hour and a half each night. That it doesn't really matter if laundry sits in the dryer for days because it's usually because my kid and I are painting together or reading for an hour, or because I'm talking to my husband in the evening instead of rushing to do chores all the time. The best evidence I have that I'm not screwing up is the fact that my kid is healthy and happy and my marriage is not only intact, but happy, and THAT is what I'll be focusing on in the new year.

I think a lot of this will come naturally when we have our new baby around, too. There will be less time for worries, and my eyes will be so blurry from lack of sleep that I won't even notice the dried yogurt on the linoleum or the fingerprints on the stainless steel. I am looking forward to this forced acceptance of chaos, this blissful abandonment of caring about the little things, and the copious amounts of coffee I will soon be allowed to drink.

Take care and happy New Year!

The Prisoner

I'd like to say that I have a valid excuse for not writing a single post for about 7 months, but the only thing I can offer to you is that I have been tired. Not the kind of tired where I could fall asleep standing up, but just worn out from round the clock care of my toddler and  becoming increasingly selfish with my paltry free time. And that leads me nicely to the topic of today's post: exhaustion.

When you're pregnant, everyone says some version of "get your sleep now because once the baby arrives you won't get any." It's possibly the most annoying part of how others react to someone being pregnant, second only to strangers asking if you are having twins. As a new parent, you are fueled by some combination of hormones and new love that gets you through sleepless nights. But more importantly that this, you also get to sleep during the day when your little bundle is napping. For a newborn, this could be hours and hours a day.

Fast forward 18 months and it's a different story. When tot is awake, you're awake. And I've been unpleasantly surprised by how often our tot is awake. While other moms talk about a sold 12-hour, uninterrupted stretch of nighttime sleep followed by a leisurely 2 or 3 hour nap every afternoon, I practically salivate. On the best of days, our kid will sleep 10.5 hours at night and then take a 1 1/4 hour nap in the afternoon. On the worst, like we've been having for the past several weeks, she'll wake up between 1-3 times a night, wind up getting less than 10 hours, and then take a fevered one-hour nap in the afternoon. This nap is not so much refreshing for her, but sanity-making for me, and never, ever enough for either of us.

When I was pregnant, I had a friend who said to me, "Promise that you won't become one of those moms who stops hanging out with her friends after the baby comes." At the time, I assured her that this could never happen. But now, more than ever, I understand the wide-eyed, slack-jawed ignorance on both our parts. So, for anyone out there who does not have children and is feeling bummed out about how little they see their friends who do have little kids, I offer the following:

Parents don't stop seeing their friends because they are so in love with the baby that they can't stand to be away. It's because they are on a completely different schedule than you now. Their day starts at 5AM. They may be getting up several times during the night, too. All day, every single day, without a single day off, they cater to the needs of an unreasonable person who may not be able to even explain in a real way what they want or need, and who fly off the handle if a meal or a nap comes later than expected. They lift, carry, hug, change, feed, and help these little people all day and shuttle them to parks and activities and stores and in and out of cars. They do this all on much, much less sleep than you probably get and without the benefit of a break during the weekend. 

Would that mom of an 18-month old rather be going out to happy hour with you at 5PM rather than trying to spoon food into their toddler? Of course she would. But she can't. Because no one else will feed this little bundle, and this little bundle needs to eat at the same time every day. Would she rather be out with you on the weekends, getting dressed up and feeling like she looks good? Of course she would. But she can't. Because no one else can get her baby to go to sleep at night, and she'll probably be up by 5AM the next day anyway. Parents of young kids aren't ignoring you because you're not fun or important. It's because they are exhausted, and trying to get a little more sleep had outranked you. 

Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs shows that sleep, food, water, breathing, pooping, and sex are considered essentials, things that humans literally cannot live without. Yes, you read that right--sleep and breathing are equally important. You wouldn't be offended if a friend turned down a night out because it would mean breathing less. So please, when a new parent becomes "boring" because they start to stay in more and choose sleep over fun, give them a little slack. And if you are a real friend, offer to watch their kid so they can get some sleep. Or so they can just breathe.

A Year

One year ago today, I gave birth. Well, a baby was taken out of me, anyway. After many hours of Pitocin-induced labor, I was given a C-section. The nurses all said that the baby may not cry right away. I think they said this so that I wouldn't panic if I didn't hear the movie-type baby cries that most new moms expect when the baby enters the world, but up until then, I hadn't thought about her crying or not crying right away. In any case, the doctor said, "You will feel some tugging," and the baby was lifted out of me. It felt as though they were pulling out half of my weight, and I was amazed that, even under the affects of the epidural, I felt light and empty. She screamed right away, and I cried. The picture Chris took of her at this moment is epic: her balled fists, her red face, her rage at being removed from her comfortable home.

Immediately, everyone began to focus on the baby. They cooed about how beautiful she was, how big she was, how much hair she had. I lay behind the sheet, feeling as though my body and my baby were on the other side of a football field. I tried to ask questions, but no one could hear me. After what felt like an eternity, Chris walked over to me with her in his arms, looking dazed and happy. I think he said something like, "Here she is." It was unnecessary. I would have recognized her anywhere. She was mine, and I already knew her.

But she did look too big and too clean, and she was so chubby and so beautiful that, for a split second, I wondered how she could be real. I cried and looked at her, shaking from the effects of the epidural and straining my neck to turn as much as I could to look at her. I tried to touch her. I kissed her cheek. I wanted to stare. My doctor, the one who had cared from me from the very beginning, was standing beside me. I looked at her and she nodded at me, smiling. I nodded back, still crying.

Then Chris took her to the nursery so they could stitch me up. Immediately, I felt exhausted. The anesthetist had given me something for anxiety (even though I was not anxious) and I felt sleepy. I drifted in and out of sleep for a few minutes. I remember hearing strained voices, and hearing something about blood loss, but I couldn't stay awake. The next time I woke up, I was still on the table, staring up at the bright light. The anesthetist was still over me. I couldn't say anything, but I tried to catch his eye. He noticed me and smoothed my hair out of my eyes. "It's OK," he said. "Just a little bit longer. It's OK." I nodded and fell back asleep.

Then, suddenly, the surgeon was at my side. "You are losing too much blood," she said firmly. "We need to do something to stop it. I would like to remove your right ovary because it may stop the bleeding. Is that OK with you?" My mind reeled. I thought a million questions but couldn't say anything. "Mmm-hmmm," I agreed. She peered at me. "Do I need to talk to your husband about it?" I shook my head a little. "Uh-uh."

I fell back asleep. In my half-sleep, I was confused. Had I had the baby already? I thought I had, but I couldn't remember. The room was too bright and too loud, and all I wanted to do was go to sleep. I awoke to the sound of the surgical team counting their instruments. I fell asleep again. When I woke up, I was in a recovery room. Chris and a nurse came in a few minutes later with my baby, and I could finally, finally, finally hold and feed her. She was the most amazing, soft, beautiful, sweet, vulnerable, perfect thing I had ever seen. The surgeon came in a little while later and explained in basic terms what had happened to me. She sounded sorry. 

I looked at my baby, then looked up at her and said, "It's OK. She's OK. Shit happens." 

The surgeon looked slightly taken aback, then softened. "Well," she said, "I'm sorry it happened to you today."

This morning, a year later, my baby woke up. I went in, cuddled and rocked her, and smelled her sweet hair. She wrapped a warm hand around mine as she ate with little snuffling noises. She fell back asleep, warm and soft in her little footie jammies, wrapped in a fluffy blanket. 

Today is better.

Happy birthday, baby Sophie. I would do it all over again a hundred times for just one day with you.

xoxo

An Awkward Conversation

Republican Legislators: Hey, Minnesota. What's new?
Minnesota: Oh, you know. Just plugging along. What's new with you?
RL: Actually, a lot. We've got some ideas for you.
MN: Oh, yeah? Like what?
RL: We were thinking, what if we added an amendment to our constitution that says marriage can only be between a man and a woman?
MN: Um...isn't that kind of discriminatory? And permanent?
RL: I mean, only if you like the gays...you don't, do you?
MN: Uh...yeah, kind of. I mean, they're just like everyone else. Why shouldn't they get married?
RL: It's already illegal, if that helps you.
MN: Uh...then why are we putting this in our constitution?
RL: To make it even MORE illegal.
MN: Um, no, I don't think we'll do that.
RL: Are you sure?
MN: Yes.
RL: How sure?
MN: Positive.
RL: *Sigh* Fine. OK, well, how about an amendment saying that everyone needs to present a government-issued photo ID when they vote?
MN: Wait, what? What kinds of IDs? Why?
RL: Government-issued IDs. Passports, driver's licenses, those kinds of things. Things with your picture and current address on them.
MN: What about student IDs? And passports don't have your address on it. What about military IDs?
RL: Meh, I don't know. We'll figure it out later.
MN: Um, I don't know about this. Wouldn't that keep people from voting.
RL: Well, sure. But only students, minorities, people who move a lot, the elderly--
MN:--wait, wait. That's a pretty long list.
RL: Well, sure. But don't worry. Most of those people vote for liberals.
MN: (uncomfortable silence)
RL: Seriously, don't worry. We'll figure it out. We'll...we'll give people IDs or something.
MN: Won't that be pretty complicated and expensive?
RL: I don't know. Maybe. But it will be worth it to prevent voter fraud.
MN: Do we have a big problem with voter fraud?
RL: No. But we could.
MN: But we don't.
RL: No, you're not listening. We COULD.
MN: ...but we don't.
RL: Well...right.
MN: Yeah, I think we're going to pass on that, too.
RL: You're making a huuuge mistake.
MN: I don't think so. And while we're at it, I think we need to see other people.