Tag Archives: motherhood

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Wanted: Father

At the bus stop while waiting for my older son to come home, another mother and I were talking about the new baby. Somehow it came up that my older son was not biologically my husband’s. She explained to me that she understood and that the story was the same about her eldest. Then she proceeded to tell me about how she went to her class reunion for the sole purpose of finding a daddy for her child. Then went on to say she understood about when her and her husband had a child, it was different for him than it was for the child that wasn’t biologically his. I think she was looking for someone who understood her situation. She was looking at the wrong person.

I never went out for the purpose of finding someone to play daddy to my son. Sure, a guy who was kind to my son was something I looked for. I didn’t want anyone to play daddy, I didn’t ever once think that I needed a person in a father’s role for my son. We were doing just fine. I understand now that I met someone who fit so perfectly in the role that at a certain age a boy does need a male influence, but I still don’t think it necessarily needed to be a “daddy”. I’m the only girl with 3 older brothers; a male influence for my son wasn’t exactly hard to find. I imagine problems when you go out into the world for the sole purpose for looking for a replacement father. You’d find someone perfect for him but not for you and end up miserable. Or you find someone absolutely perfect but wonder if he was only there because your kid was so awesome. Then there’s the paranoia part of “what if he was a pedophile targeting me for my kid?”. I’m fine with not having any of these scenarios, I have a hard enough time understanding why someone as awesome as my husband puts up with me.

Then to the other point. I might be naïve in my thinking, and I admit there’s probably a difference when you hold your baby for the first time than when you meet your girlfriend’s baby at 6 months old. In general though, I see no difference in the way my husband cares for either child. He loves them both equally, and is equally proud in both their achievements. Though one’s achievements is acing his schoolwork and making student council while the other one is going a day without explosive poop… still he beams with pride at both his boys.

I lucked out. I didn’t need to find a daddy for my child. I found a guy that was right for me and it turns out he is an amazing and caring father. I don’t think you need that though, your child will survive just fine even if it’s only you raising him. Turns out, kids aren’t as complicated as you think and just need a strong influence in their life that loves them with every inch of their heart and soul. This applies if you’re unhappy in your relationship or single with your child. They’ll be happy and thrive as long as you’re there happy and thriving too, showing them that all you need is love and hard work.

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Shames and Small Victories

Prior to this pregnancy, I had a pair of jeans I’d refer to as “my fat jeans”. I know I’m not the only one who has them. They’re the pair of jeans you can always count on to fit on your most uncomfortable days when you want a little more freedom, but otherwise wore a belt that barely helped keep them up. I’m not ashamed to admit that every day since coming home from the hospital that I try on this trustworthy pair of jeans just to see if today will be the day. So far, none has been “the day”.

I still use my maternity pillow, that lovely little “comma” shaped Boppy that helped me sleep when I was at my fattest point. I haven’t decided if I’m ever going to stop cuddling with that thing at nighttime, it’s incredibly comfortable. Admitting that is less embarrassing than my next point. One month later, I’m still wearing my maternity pants. Not the ones from the early pregnancy, but the one pair that fit me at the end when I was incredibly huge. I’m not wearing them because they’re more comfortable than any other pair I own. No, I’m wearing them because they are the only ones I can squeeze over my “still recovering” body. (Somehow that sounds better than saying “fat”.)

Then a few days ago I did have a small victory. I pulled out a pair of maternity pants from earlier in the pregnancy. (It should be noted, I was in them very early in the pregnancy. So early that it was really embarrassing.) This pair came from around the middle of it, and as sad as it seems this was a huge moment for me. So huge, I texted my husband saying “I was able to squeeze my postpartum butt in my skinnier pregger jeans. I’m moving up in the world”. It’s the little things that matter. Maybe next I can try squeezing myself in one of my pre-pregnancy shirts, because I’m still wearing my maternity shirts too. I even managed to look slimmer in a picture taken this weekend of me, my husband and the eldest boy out pumpkin picking with friends. These are my small victories that make me happy.

We’re not all celebrities that can buy all the best healthy foods and have personal trainers that can make us a twig again a week after giving birth. Most of us are looking at ourselves a month later going “really? I still look this big?” while comparing ourselves to Jessica Alba after her children. I do still try on those fat pants every day hoping, and I admit shamefully that every centimeter I manage to pull them up further from the previous week feels like a Super Bowl win to me. When you spend your day covered in godknowswhatevercamefromsomebodypartofthebaby, with tousled hair tossed up in the best ponytail you can manage with one hand since a visit to get it cut seems so far away, you take these small victories.

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How Dare You Hit Your Child

Last night while making my son’s favorite cheese and salsa dip, I looked over while he watched me eagerly and noticed his eye. He had a black eye, that he passed off while in the “just red” stages as a bug bite that his father believed and put bug bite stuff on his eye. I didn’t laugh at him for buying that excuse since I was too tired to notice it myself until this moment. My little almost tween had lied about what it was, yet that wasn’t the top of my concern list.

I will warn you that my first concern might make me seem like a bad parent in most minds. I was concerned about my son and whether he was hurt but since he obviously was fine my concerns went to a different thought. This concern should be a statement more on the state of our society than my job as a mother. I was concerned that some overzealous school employee would see a black eye and automatically assume that my husband or I had hit him. Every time he falls down or hit his head and it leaves a mark, I could only come back to this worry. I know I don’t abuse my kid. The school doesn’t and are hyper-vigilant to avoid issues involving liability tells child services about it. I appreciate the concern, it has its place. They do need to catch abuse and children are too afraid to say something. I’m not opposed to the schools being involved, I’m more concerned about the high prevalence of child abuse.

I told my son before he got on the bus to make sure he told the truth if a teacher asked. Lying would be caught by the teachers and they’d think he was harmed. It did make him come clean how it happened, so there was a bright side. Apparently he was playing football with his bigger cousin, and got a ball to the face. I laughed, all I could think of is when Marcia Brady received a broken nose from a ball to the face. I told him it could be worse and not to lie next time because head injuries are serious and he needs to let us know when he hits his head. We’ll see what happens today and hopefully someday people will stop seriously harming their children.

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We Heard His Cry… and a List

I won’t lie and say I remember too much about when my son was born, either one really. When you’re in that much pain, you just remember specifics. You remember his size, time of birth, you remember that people were standing around you but your eyes were closed and didn’t see who stood where. You remember his cry, at least you think you do. You try to anyways. I don’t remember his cry, I don’t remember much aside from my husband standing around the warming bed as they seemed to show off issues with my son. I couldn’t hear them, and no one bothered to tell me until after the fact.

When my husband started rattling of issues they noticed, I was looking at this little innocent child and felt bad. His face was bruised, apparently he was facing my back and smacked into my tailbone on the way out. One side of his face, specifically the mouth, was drooping. He had a double uvula (seriously). All of these problems were merely cosmetic, but you look at your little newborn and can’t help but to feel awful for them. Eventually he mentioned there was one problem that wasn’t just cosmetic, it wasn’t serious or life threatening which is good, but it did need to be fixed.

Tomorrow my husband and I get to meet with a pediatric urologist surgeon that’s going to fix my son. I’m nervous, he’s nervous but it’s something that we need to do. When you hear your child has a condition, you can’t help but to look up every detail you can about it and the surgery to correct it. The condition is hypospadias, watch out if you Google it I definitely had nightmares for a while after. Graphic pictures were unnecessary Wikipedia, drawn diagrams would’ve done just enough. There is such thing as too much information, probably much like this post.

No matter what the surgery is for, no parent wants to see their child have to go through a surgery. The idea of the large amount of pain and tubes being attached to him scares me. The idea of changing his diaper and seeing a catheter there with blood and grossness both worries me and grosses me out. I’m not ashamed to admit I’m terrified, as silly as it seems since it’s “supposed” to be a simple and common enough procedure. I’m also not ashamed to admit that I’m terrified of the idea of changing his diaper until the area heals. It needs to be done, so I’m good at just taking a breath and dealing with it.

Part of me can’t help thinking I did something wrong, I think any parent that just goes through birthing a child with anything “unusual” about him worries about that. Maybe I shouldn’t have divulged my love of Chipotle’s and Panera Caesar Salad, or maybe those 6 glasses of cola I had while pregnant did something. Rationally I know that things like these just happen. I keep saying that these things make him special, and special is better than a boring old normal baby. But somehow realizing that special doesn’t make surgery on a baby any less terrifying. I suppose that’s one reason you see the surgeons before you go through something; somehow meeting the person who will do the procedure will make you feel better and more comfortable about it. It’s hard to get comfortable about something even as routine as this though.

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It’s What Day?

Today is Columbus Day, and everyone keeps restating what a “useless holiday” it is. I agree, but I agree most holidays are useless holidays. I call for Halloween to be a day off like Christmas. So what, a guy gets lost on the way to India and thinks he made it but was really sooooo far off. Then people figured out he made a mistake, someone else landed in America naming it after himself and uprooted the Native Americans giving them reservation land and casinos. Though they really made off with those casinos…

I don’t think of today as Columbus Day. I think of it as a day I don’t have to rush around at 7 a.m. to make sure my older child is fed, dressed, and ready to get to school while waiting at a bus stop for a total of upwards to an hour between the morning and afternoon stops. I consider this as a day that if the baby can sleep in past 8, I can too. I’m ok with useless holidays my son gets off from school, that’s one day I can try to get naps when I can without worrying I’ll over sleep something so important like picking him up from the bus or CCD. I don’t even mind that he’s not in school because he’s at the age that unless he needs something he can’t get himself, I don’t even hear from him.

It’s sad that he doesn’t need me that much anymore, but at least it means I did something right. Or that I spend way too much money on videogames for him. Probably a little of both. I like having him home though, I know in a few years I’ll barely see him so these days off and vacation times are perfect. You don’t realize how big they’ve gotten until you blink and 10 years flew by. It’s almost like you don’t realize how old you are until you realize it’s been 10 years since high school and everyone you knew in high school seems to be marrying off. Time does go by quickly.

So enjoy this made up holiday and live it to its fullest. We only have a few of these pointless holidays with no backing every year, and we need to welcome them. It’s a good free holiday where you don’t need to spend it with the entire family, where some people get a day off, and you don’t need to do any special cooking or baking. I think we lack useless holidays and should come up with some more. Videogame Day anyone?

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I Don’t

The other day I happened to read an online celebrity baby blog and immediately got annoyed. The person was Kristin Cavallari, and I honestly don’t even know who she is except she’s engaged to a crappy NFL quarterback. Apparently it’s noteworthy that she had a baby and wrote about how marriage wasn’t a priority for her, she just wanted to enjoy her kid and have another one soon. I think a few weeks after having a baby is too soon to decide if you’re going to have another one soon, but it’s not my business. I mostly read these things to see the comments afterwards, because there are some downright mean people out there, pretty much just for the sake of being mean it seems. One thing was a theme in the comments, and it really made me get a little frustrated. Repeatedly, people would say “marriage should be a priority if you have kids. I feel sorry for kids of unwed parents.”

I thought about it for a minute. I maybe felt a little bad for this child because his mother is some reality show fame seeker and his father is a terrible quarterback. I stopped feeling so bad for him when I realized even with all that considering, this child will have more money than I could ever dream of seeing let alone making. I certainly didn’t feel bad for him because his parents weren’t married though, and I actually thought we moved away from this idea. Why should she get married? It’s not a fundamental right; if it were then everyone could do it. The minute you start denying people the right to get married because you don’t believe they should be marrying that person completely ruins this argument.

My last problem with this probably goes back to my problems with marriage in general. I don’t feel like anyone should have to get married, it’s not a requirement. I least of all think people should get married because they have a kid together, in fact I think this is a terrible idea to get married for that sole reason. For a lot of people, I think the kid would be better off if the parents didn’t get married because a bad marriage is far more traumatizing to a child than having parents happily with other people or happily unmarried together.

The times have changed. We [should] live in a more accepting society, considering all the changes we’ve witnessed. We do see successful unmarried mothers and we see very openly gay couples having families that are just as “normal” as heterosexual couples. It’s no one’s place to “feel sorry” for children that are raised in families that are different from the traditional. My first son had a great life for a young unwed mother, and he’s excelling in everything he does. I don’t feel sorry for him because I didn’t marry his father, I think one reason he excelled is because we didn’t get married and we’re both much happier for that. Times have changed, and there’s no reason you need to settle for being unhappy because everyone else thinks it’s the right thing to do. The right and moral thing is whatever suits your family and situation, and it’s no one’s right to judge you for that.

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As Luck Would Have It, You’re Not Mine

One time in my days of youthful indiscretion, I remember being at Target or some store like it when this woman let her child run around the store without paying attention to her. Normally that’s annoying anyways, but this case was more annoying than usual. This little bratty kid kept running into me, and in those days I lacked any patience which is entirely different from my days of extreme patience now. (Cue eye roll.) Finally I ended up annoyed enough where I admit I may have accidentally caused her to take a minor tumble, stopping her from her running and made her mother finally pay attention to her… well when she realized her kid was screaming 5 minutes later. First of all, I love the fact I am old enough to call this a “youthful indiscretion”. Second of all, my moment of losing it and dropping my purse was less damaging than the fact that this mother probably ignored her on a daily basis too so I use that to make me feel better about what I did.

This leads me to how my thoughts on moments like this have changed. While back then, I’d complain about how annoying kids are and decide children maybe weren’t my thing. Now, I look at a person like that and say to myself “that kid is lucky she isn’t mine”. I’m definitely pro a little tap on the butt when a kid is being beyond misbehaved, I think as long as you don’t hit your kid to hurt them you’re not doing any damage. My generation was spanked, we turned out just fine. I’ve evolved to a point where I look at annoying children and say “if that parent would only punish their kid, a time out or something, maybe just maybe they’d be less of a little brat”.

Today we’re afraid to punish our kids. Instead of removing a child from a store for a temper tantrum, they get the exact toy they were whining about. That child then learns “if I yell loud enough, I get what I want”. Then, they grow up and get into trouble at school. Instead of saying “you’re grounded”, they get a “watch out” or even nothing except going to do exactly what they wanted to do anyways. Our children are learning nothing but that you can do whatever you want and there are no consequences to it. I believe in consequences.

Once, my first-born son called me a “bitch” and slapped me. He was two. He immediately got a swat on the butt and was sent to time out until he stopped his tantrum. A few years later, he threw a tantrum over shower time and I repeated the process. Now at almost 10, what did my son learn? He misbehaves, he gets punished. He hasn’t misbehaved since he was 4 and I attribute this to standing my ground and teaching him that everything has a consequence. The idea of being grounded from his video games for a week is a huge motivation for him because he knows it’ll be enforced.

I think we need to stand up and try going back to something that works. I’m not saying it’s ok to abuse children, but parents are so afraid to even ground their kids out of fear someone will pull the abuse card on them. As a result, we have generations getting more out of control and feeling like they are owed whatever they want without having to put in some good old fashion work and discipline. Eventually parents are going to have to regain their ability to discipline their children and take a stand against this out of control bratty behavior that’s getting worse among us.

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I’m Back… and Tired Than Ever?

I decided to take some time off to adjust to not sleeping. I’m happy to inform everyone that I have successful adjusted to not sleeping, and am back to incoherently write my blog. Since I’ve mastered the skill of being able to function with only one barely open eye, I can get back into the swing of things and entertain the masses. And by masses, I mean the 20 or so people who currently read and follow me.

I thought it was best to kick off with one of my favorite segments on this blog, “Things I’ve Learned”. Today, “Things I’ve Learned: Newborn Edition”. Let’s get to this before I fall asleep at my computer.

They Know How to Time Their Cries: You know that peaceful moment you think “oh, the baby’s sleeping. I can now shower/eat/clean/read in peace. You love this rare moment of peace. You love your kid, but at some point you love this moment a bit more. You turn on the shower, it gets to the right temperature or you grab that plate of warm food that you’ve been starving for all day… you get ready to enjoy this “me time” moment and as if on cue to ruin your one minute of quiet there comes a loud shrill cry. You realize that every time you’re about to do something, that one second before the foot hits the water or the food touches your lips, the baby senses your enjoyment and decides now is a great time for a dirty diaper or anything else that makes them scream bloody murder for just long enough for you to put your food down. (And if you live in my house, that’s all the seconds Dog Dog Tank decides he’s going to eat your food you set down carelessly to attend to the crying newborn.) Every parent knows this lesson well, the newborn is actually the boss.

Showering- Necessity or Luxury?: I’m not saying go a year without showering here. But let’s be honest, to get a shower that lasts longer than 5 minutes daily is a luxury. You’re able to stay in just long enough to not look greasy or stink like baby poop before that bundle of joy of yours decides that he wants his food right this second. It’s a soap on/soap off love affair. I try to remember how long it took with my first one before I was able to hide myself in the hot shower for 20 minutes, if for no other reason but to have a 20 minute rest. I’m pretty sure I fell asleep in the shower during that time as well.

Sleep- Overrated or best friend?: It could go either way here. Though it could go back to an earlier point here where it doesn’t matter because the minute your head hits that pillow, you hear that endearing cry you love so much. It’s like being a college student again, where you realize that there isn’t enough time in the world to get more than an hour here or there, so sleep comes last. Then you become so used to not sleeping, you don’t know how to fall asleep when you get the chance. Sleep isn’t really overrated; you just tell yourself that to make yourself feel better about not sleeping just like saying “sleep is for the weak”. It’s not for the weak, it’s just more suited for people with the ability to do it.

Poop is funny: You’re sitting in the doctor’s office and the doctor is speaking to you and asking questions. It’s then, your newborn smiles (hint: anytime a newborn smiles is a sign something bad is about to happen.) and you hear an adult sound come from this little 9lb bottom. You feel the rumble of the poop in your lap and the doctor stares at you trying to talk over what’s going on in your child’s diaper but no one in the room can deny what’s going on. You can’t help but to laugh, neither can the doctor. You’d think this would be the only way poop is funny but you’d be wrong. That minute (this goes back to the impeccable timing of a newborn) the diaper comes off, the newborn smiles. I see the look while my husband is swapping the diapers, and I run. It’s at the moment of my taking cover that my sweet angel has shot poop across the room, hitting my husband in the crossfire. This is when poop is at its funniest. You’re welcome for that image.

Say “Moo”: Just to note this: sitting around attached to a breast pump makes you feel like a cow at the dairy farm. You get over this quickly though when you realize that you’re saving close to $300 a month. Well, you get over it when you make that realization when you’re cheap like me. Watching the numbers on the scale go down is an added bonus.

The important thing to learn is that babies are precious and they are certainly a gift, though sometimes you can’t help but to wonder if it’s a gift from heaven or hell depending on which end of the tired spectrum you’re at. Babies aren’t for the weak or for people who lack a sense of humor. You’ll need that sense of humor when you’re covered in all sorts of projectile objects that come from every hole on that precious child’s body. Then they look at you, knowing you’re important and you love them and that poop in your hair just doesn’t seem to matter anymore. That’s the most important lesson.

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And Like That, He Appeared.

Last week, I was in the hospital doing the baby thing. As a result, my normal blog week didn’t exist. Then again, neither did sleep or the privacy of my anatomy. Welcome to childbirth.

As I discussed in my last post, I was scheduled to go into the hospital to be induced. I was started with my medicine an hour later. Much to everyone’s surprise, I didn’t need a second dose of the Cervadil, nor did I need to get the Pitocin. The best part was not needing the C-Section the midwife told me to get to accepting I’d need this done. My water broke on its own and twenty minutes after that, there was a poor bruised faced little newborn. Ok, he was almost 8 pounds so he wasn’t that little as far as newborns go. Aside from cosmetic issues, he is in perfect health. That’s all any parent wants to hear. (Though one bit of cosmetic malformation actually requires a surgery to fix, which is sending me to a pediatric surgeon in the close future.)

Giving birth wasn’t the problem; for being induced, I had it pretty easy especially since I only spent roughly around 20 minutes pushing. The problems came after, when it was time to start feeding my newly born son. The hospital was an avidly breastfeeding only environment. I had more people than I’d care to remember poking at my bare chest trying to get something to work that obviously wasn’t. Finally, one night while my poor chest was cracked, swollen, and sore and both my son and I were beyond tired and frustrated, I begged for formula. The nurse charged in, making me sign “The Paper of Shame” for pleading for something to make him not hungry and crying. I don’t like to give up, so the next 2 days I tried everything they suggested while being in so much pain, I cried. Finally, the lactation consultant on my discharge day made a realization that no one bothered to make: it wasn’t my fault and sometimes babies just can’t. I felt relieved. It’s bad enough on your esteem as a parent when you can’t do something that everyone tells you that you should, it’s even worse when people make you feel ashamed that you couldn’t.

I didn’t give up on the idea that my son should get the best nutrition. After renting a double pump there, I realized that this was the best compromise. I don’t care that he gets the breast milk from the bottle, just that he gets it. Even that is a side concern, as long as he eats and thrives I’ll be perfectly happy. My first son turned out perfectly and he was formula fed. Breastfeeding doesn’t make you a better mother no more than natural childbirth does. It’s a personal choice people make, and we need realize that as long as the child is growing up healthy that it doesn’t matter how it happens. There are too many comparisons that do nothing more than make one person feel less like a mother than they should.

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That House Guest That Stayed Too Long

I hope everyone enjoyed their Labor Day, or as I call it “the last day of noise”. My son the following day an hour before his bus even came, was dressed and ready to start the fourth grade. He’s completely different yet to be born little brother, who seemed to not have gotten the memo that he was due almost 2 weeks ago now. I opted to skip writing the blog on Labor Day so I could focus on one last day with the little man before he went off to school and I was left without his running commentary on life. You never really appreciate the constant chatter until you don’t have it. Also, there is a blog for Friday already written up and will be about an incident with a man lecturing me about my pregnancy.

My due date came and went, and still nothing. Still dilated the same amount, no change. Nothing. Finally after two days of tests and no relief in sight for my misery, the little stubborn house guest is still very healthy. It’s a comfort to hear that your child is healthy, but you couldn’t help but to hope that there was a minor problem or concern that would convince the doctor’s to rush me to the hospital and induce me on the spot. Not this little guy, he’s too perfect and healthy. The midwife, in her perky little demeanor raved on how amazing he is. She failed to mention stubborn in her comments on the baby.

Disheartened, I asked when I should schedule my next check up. At some point you cross the point of happiness of being pregnant to exhausted with it. I hit exhaustion with it weeks ago, I’m onto the “miserable and frustrated” stage now. Then I got at least my first bit of good news of the month: “I think we should talk about induction”. I’m not sure how many people get comforted by that sentence, but I wanted to hug this woman in front of me and tell her I loved her. She proceeded to say “when’s a good time for you? Any preference.” I responded with “a good time was 2 weeks ago, but I’ll stick with as soon as you possibly can.” And there it was, instructions in my hand for next Monday on my admission to the hospital and induction.

I’m pretty sure no one goes into a pregnancy saying “I can’t wait until I’m induced”. Induction doesn’t scare me, the idea of a c-section does. In fact, the actual c-section doesn’t scare me, it’s the being awake for it. At some point, I just hit a moment of not caring. Whatever gets the baby out of my body and into my arms is my focus now. I can’t say I’ll complain if he decides to come before then, that would be a fantastic thing. I’m mentally prepared for whatever is going to happen though, I think the mistake is to deny it. Acceptance is key in most things, especially when it means you have to give up control and anything you had planned. Our health, the baby’s and mine, is far more important than how and when he gets here. He’ll be worth the wait.