Posts tagged mommyhood

We needs us some motivation.

So I was researching how to promote my online shop today and couldn’t get over how many people stressed the importance of blogging–yes, blogging! for bringing in traffic. Not that I have to blog about my shop, I just have to have a link somewhere here and blog away and hope people find it. So, there’s my new motivation. Because folks, the hairclips aren’t going away. They are here to stay. Okay? Okay.

And that’s all I’m going to say about it for now, as I know promotion is not what you readers signed up for. Well, that, and, I’m going to have to change things up a bit around here so that the promotion thing might actually work. Like I might have to tag my entries with real words, stuff like that. But that doesn’t concern you, or at least it shouldn’t.

So, what to write about today? Parenting is usually a safe bet. So I’m gonna tell you all about my parenting “style” or lack thereof. Before I had a kid, I had no idea how much controversy surrounds different parenting decisions. Nor did I expect to actually care about the controversy, rather than just say, “what’s everyone so upset about?” and go on my merry way. Let me tell you, I care.

I’ve read a lot of parenting advice, but like most people, once I find advice I like (read: agree with), I tend to stick to that and ignore everything else. Makes for a convenient kind of justification for why I do what I do. But it’s a little more than that. I don’t just like the advice, but it makes sense to me, and goes with my instincts.

So, I’m a pseudo Dr. Sears fan. I don’t advocate everything that he advocates and I think some of his advice is simply unrealistic, but I think I identify with his broader mission of compassion and understanding in parenting. This is not, NOT permissive parenting or hippie parenting or whatever. I know there are boundaries and discipline is important. Maybe it’s better explained if I just use concrete examples.

Let’s talk about sleep, baby. I would say one of the most common questions I get is “And how is she sleeping for you?” or “Is she napping for you?” or some variation. What they mean is, does she sleep through the night and nap during the day with no problems?  I have never asked a mom this. And I think it’s kind of annoying. Not with everyone, but it seems like some people who ask it are using the question to find out whether I have a “good” baby and whether I am a “good” parent. Yes, I’m a defensive Dora. Get used to it.

What do you mean, how does she sleep for me? She sleeps for herself, when she’s tired (and will admit to herself she’s tired), and not on command, and not necessarily when I want to sleep. Is that okay? Also, for the first 6 months of her life, if she didn’t sleep, I didn’t make her sleep. I didn’t let her “cry it out;” Brandon or I soothed her to sleep. If that didn’t work, sometimes she slept in our bed with us. At 8 months, I still don’t make her sleep, but now she’s better at communicating whether she’s hungry, lonely, hurt, or just cranky, and I respond accordingly. Sometimes I let her cry a little, sometimes I don’t. But I never leave her alone to cry for hours on end to “teach her to sleep.”  This is where Dr. Sears backs me up. He’s against the cry-it-out method, and explains that crying is the only way babies know how to communicate. When we respond rather than ignore them, we are teaching them that we are listening and we are there for them, and are therefore teaching them how to communicate better.

That’s the thing I agree with. Think about it. For the first few years of life, a lot of kids are taught that it’s only okay to be upset when it’s convenient and rational. Otherwise, be quiet. Be “good.” Then in come the teenage years and parents constantly nag their kids, “Why don’t you talk to us? Why don’t you tell us what’s wrong?” Well I could hazard a guess. And yes, I know hormones and personality play a part, but I really believe parenting style, even early on, plays a part too.

 So no, Clara doesn’t always “nap for me” or “sleep for me.” Sometimes I’m still up 4 times a night. Sometimes I’m up at 6 in the morning and there’s no going back to bed. But you know what? I’m okay with that. We’re working on it, and I think we’re making progress. And then somebody else asks about my daugther’s sleeping habits and I feel all defensive again. Usually I lie actually. “Yep. Sleeping great. Up a little here and there but otherwise, great.” If I had to time to explain that she isn’t and what we do or don’t do about it, I would. But usually I don’t have the time.

The important thing is, Clara’s healthy and actually a pretty happy kid. Whenever she’s in the nursery for church or mom to mom, the ladies always tell me how good she is. Seriously, every time. She’s content just to watch the other kids or chew on something or whatever. She never cries when I leave. Could it be because she knows I’ll be there if she needs me? Maybe. Or maybe it’s just her personality. I don’t say this to pat myself on the back, but rather to say, hey, it’s working for us.  We’re doing okay. Maybe it won’t work for future children and we’ll reevaluate. But for now, I wish you could just leave my daughter’s nap schedule alone, okay?

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Back on Track: Baby-proofing

I know what you’re thinking. She doesn’t write for two days and then she writes about hairclips? Easy, take it easy. I have been very close to succumbing to the week-blog phenomenon that I mentioned in my first post. Like, “Well, that was nice to get out. I’m done now.” But I’ma keep on keepin’ on because I know that I have to be consistent if I want this blog to matter to anybody. Sometimes I will write about hairclips. Sometimes ice cream. Sometimes politically correct children’s songs. And sometimes you will like it and sometimes you won’t. Deal.

Well nothing’s new if there’s nothing new with Clara. And there is tons new with Clara, as always. At seven months, she has become a very adept crawler. We’re bursting with pride and yet also a little wistful for the days when we could plop her down anywhere and she would stay put. She crawls everywhere and pulls herself to a stand on everything. Yesterday we were in the living room, which I have orchestrated thus: a baby gate by the stairs, the coffee table sideways in front of the fireplace, and the rocking chair tipped sideways to prevent her from grabbing a lamp cord. I put her toys in the middle of the floor and thought okay, she can crawl wherever she wants now and not get into trouble. So I sit down to sew (shut up!), and do so for a while and then I get this, “waitaminute . . . why’s she so quiet?” feeling. I look up and sure enough, she’s out of sight, babbling behind an armchair. I go over there and find her immersed in Brandon CD’s–she has managed to pull them off the shelf and open a few, and chew on the lyric booklet of one, without me noticing. I say “Clara!” and she startles and looks up at me like, “Sh*t, mom! You scared me!” Oh, it was just darling. I went about putting everything back in its place, but not before taking a picture of her surrounded by CDs behind the armchair. So now, in addition to everything else I’ve done to my poor, chaotic living room, I’ve also pushed the chair up against the entertainment unit and hidden the CDs in an inaccessible corner. This is how I live, folks. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Is baby-proofing a hyphenated word like that? Too lazy to check. On a barely related note, the first time I played scrabble with Brandon’s dad, I tried to pass off “rainsafe” as a word. You know, like, don’t worry, this tent is rainsafe! “You mean waterproof?” Um, yeah . . .

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What I’m Reading . . . and what I’m saying

Last night I came back from the library all refreshed and excited because I got to return books on time, get new ones, and relish a short outing sans the babe. It’s not that I mind having her with me all the time, it’s all the hassle of car seats and strollers and getting through doorways that makes every trip such an ordeal. It’s fine for longer trips to the mall and such but for short in-and-out things it’s a real mood-killer. Anyway. So Brandon watched Clara while I went out to the library and came back all giddy. It doesn’t take much these days, folks. The library I go to has this great shelf called “Raves and Faves” with multiple copies of popular books–whether they be bestsellers that just came out or classics that have recently been re-issued. It makes picking books so much easier. Yesterday I picked up Catcher in the Rye, which, yes, I should have read long before now but never got around to it–that’s what’s so great about Raves and Faves!–and The Birth House, by a new Canadian author. I’m starting with The Birth House as I’ve heard good things and the premise intrigues me more than CITR: Midwifery in a historical small town with a colourful cast of characters and one central narrrator speaking in first person. My kinda book. I read the first two chapters last night and so far I’ve not been disappointed. It actually inspires me to share a short passage that really spoke to me. Ahem:

“It’s a disgusting mess we come through to be born, the sticky-wet of blood and afterbirth, mother wailing, child crying . . . the helpless soft spot at the top of its head pulsating, waiting to be kissed. Our parents and teachers say it’s a miracle, but it’s not. It’s going to happen no matter what, there’s no choice in the matter. To my mind, a miracle is something that could go one way or another. The fact that something happens, when by all right it shouldn’t, is what makes us take notice, it’s what saints are made of, it takes the breath away. How a mother comes to love her child, her caring at all for this thing that’s made her heavy, lopsided and slow, this thing that made her wish that she were dead . . . that’s the miracle.”

It’s a very interesting way of looking at it. When I was pregnant I spent hours dreaming of how much I was going to love this new person, how I would feed her, bathe her, watch her sleep. I knew that yeah, labour was going to hurt, but I fully believed the “once you see the baby, you forget all about the pain” bit. And that those moms, you know the ones, those moms on Oprah who are afraid of their babies or who don’t feel an immediate bond, they’re freaks of nature. Well, labour was tougher than I expected, even with the epidural, call me whimp. And I hadn’t given much thought to recovery, which was also quite a mess in my case (I won’t go into detail). And, get this: Clara and I were not immediately best friends. I didn’t dislike her. I thought she was beautiful and precious, but I felt like something was missing. I felt it especially when it was so obvious that Brandon was completely smitten by her–snapping pictures, carrying her around, singing to her, welling up every time he held her. Why wasn’t I like that?

Well, in hindsight of course, I have a few possible answers. Maybe I secretly resented her for making me push for two hours, with the vaccum in the final stages, because she insisted upon coming out with her fist up by her face. Maybe it was the fact that I could barely sit upright to hold her because my legs and back were so sore. Maybe it was the fact that I constantly felt like a failure because she screamed and screamed with hunger but would not latch on to breastfeed. Maybe it was the hormones, the lack of sleep, but probably it was all of the above.

I share this not because I want people to feel sorry for me, absolutely not. I share this so that I will remember when friends and sisters and daughters and nieces and grandchildren of mine have babies, I won’t say the well meaning but not so great things like, “Don’t you just LOVE being a mom?” and “Isn’t it just the BEST?” I do love being a mom, and it is the best, but I didn’t feel that right away. Probably not for the first month. It’s amazing just how much I love and enjoy and am awed by Clara all the time now. That’s the thing about love–it grows. And I share this so that other moms and potential moms out there know that an experience like mine is completely and 100% normal. I didn’t know this until I talked to other moms who had babies about the same time as me. One woman went to a therapist because she thought there was something wrong with her. Another woman was so bushwhacked (no pun intended) by labour that one of the first things she did when she got home was look up adoption on the internet for future kids. Another was afraid to leave the house because she didn’t want others judging her on how she interacted with her baby. You don’t have to call it anything. It may not be the clinical Post-Partum Depression, and I don’t think it’s even accurate to call it the “Baby Blues.” I think mothers should just be told, “You will probably feel like this–or like that–for a while, weeks and possibly months.” And for the small percentage who don’t, they’re the lucky ones who got away with something, like I got away with not have morning sickness (suckers!). Of course if things get extreme (suicidal or homicidal thoughts) you should get help, but that’s always the case, whether you’re a mother or not.
And though I should probably be saving this for another post as this one has gone on long enough, even after you fall head over heels in love with your baby, it’s a tough slug? slog?  for a while. As new parents, there is a very, very steep learning curve. Brandon and I heartily appreciated the following refreshing exchange from a stranger we met whilst walking downdown:

Random mother with sleeping baby in stroller: How old’s your baby?

Us: 7 weeks. Yours?

Random mother: He’s about 3 months. It’s pretty tough, eh?

Us: Yes!!!

Random mother: Yeah, when I first had him, everyone was congratulating me and I was like, ‘What are you congratulating me for? This is really fucking hard!’ But it gets better. There are still bad days but it gets better. They trust you a lot more. It’s like a light goes on.

We laughed rather awkwardly but felt very vindicated and encouraged by what she said. And we also thought, “Why on earth didn’t anyone tell us this before?” So, I thought I’d share that with y’all too. You’re welcome. I’m done.

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COUNTDOWN

NINE things about yourself:

1. I am the spider killer in my house–not because Brandon won’t, but because he doesn’t care enough. I’ll be like, “did you get it?” and he’ll be like “I think so.” Oh HELL no. You better be sure.
2. I love a full and perfectly loaded dishwasher.
3. We’re pretty sure we want four kids, but will go to five if we don’t have a son, realizing that we may get another daughter, but at least we gave it our “best shot,” so to speak.
4. My parents are responsible for my undying affection for Motown, Dylan and the Beatles “Rubber Soul” album.
5. When my sister Julie got her first digital camera, we were delighted to find it had video capabilities, and spent our entire vacation at the cottage filming fake survivor vignettes. I was the slutty one on the island.
6. I still check a few times a night to make sure Clara’s breathing.
7. I am a chronic worrier. I may blog about this later at length. But it can be quite debilitating for me and exasperating for those who know me.
8. Related to the worrying, I hate HATE not being in control of situation. This is a major stumbling block in my faith.
9. In our final year of high school, my friend and I lip-synched the whole of Beastie Boys “2 Emcees and 1 DJ” in front of the whole school, wearing oversized jeans and hoodies, for no real reason other than that we were proud to know all the words.

EIGHT ways to win your heart:
1. Sing to my daughter
2. Bring me something carby and full of sugar. Especially when I’m pregnant.
3. Tell me stories.
4. Listen to my stories.
5. Laugh at my jokes (sincerely).
6. Compliment my writing.
7. Take me shopping.
8. Talk about movies and books with me.

SEVEN things that cross your mind a lot:
1. Brandon.
2. Clara.
3. Facebook.
4. Future kids.
5. Trips I’m looking forward to.
6. Food–the cooking, baking and eating of.
7. Imaginary conversations I’ll never have with people.

SIX things you do before you go to bed:
1. Feed Clara and rub her back until she falls asleep.
2. Brush my teeth.
3. Pee.
4. Adjust the baby monitor volume.
5. Fill my water bottle for beside my bed.
6. Kiss Brandon goodnight and tell him I love him.

FIVE people who mean a lot.
1. Brandon.
2. Clara.
3. Parents.
4. Sisters.
5. Jesus.

FOUR things you’re wearing right now.
1. Red slippers.
2. Black dress. It’s my “house dress.” I am so 1950’s.
3. Watch.
4. Wedding band.

THREE songs that fit your life perfectly.
1. I Only Have Eyes For You – Flamingos
2. In My Life – Beatles
3. My Girl – Temptations

TWO things you want to do before you die:
1. Go to Paris, New York, Holland, and go back to England.
2. See my child(ren) grow up, find love, and be happy

ONE confession:
1. Since becoming a mom, I only shave my legs on special occasions. Oh, who am I kidding? Since getting married.

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The Wheels on My Bus

So the other day I decided to try out Clara’s Baby Einstein sing along CD to see what she’d make of it. It was okay, just your usual kids songs about long ears and stars and wheels on buses. She reacted the same way she reacts to any music–looks around to see where it’s coming from, stares for a while, then goes back to eating her toys. This will change as she gets older, I know, and it was fun just to listen to some of the songs I grew up with. Except, apparently Mr. Einstein wants to make sure there is absolutely nothing that could ever, in any way, at any time, offend his politically correct listeners in his songs. Because part of being a smart and developmentally advanced kid is being politically correct. Apparently. *Sidenote: I don’t think any of the B.E. products are going to make Clara smarter or develop faster, but they were given as gifts and were happily received.*

Take for instance, “Do your ears hang low?” a common favourite. In the original, we poor, misdirected kids sang, “Can you throw them over your shoulder like a continental soldier? Well. This generation can’t say “soldier” because that implies violence, so we have to change it. I don’t remember what it was changed to, but something like “wave them at your neighbour like a silly party favour” rings a bell. Which is fine. But was it necessary? I consider myself more on the pacifist side of things but I think this borders on ridiculous. But I waved it off. It’s not like it really changes the song that much anyway.

Then, however, we get to “The wheels on the bus.” Oh don’t worry, they still go round and around. And the babies still say “wah wah wah.” But what do the mommies say? If you said, “Sh Sh Sh” you are wrong. And probably a bad mother. The mommies on the Baby Einstein bus whisper “I love you.” Because how mean and uncaring it is to shush your baby! And then, wait, we’re not finished yet–then the daddies on the bus also whisper “I love you.” Because assuming that only mommies are on the bus with their babies marginalizes daddies and puts mommies in a traditional role, and that’s a big no-no (excuse me while I get my tongue out of my cheek–it keeps getting stuck there).

I know I’m probably being a brat, but this annoys me. First of all, as a new mom, I can tell you, while “sh” is not a very effective way to calm a screaming baby, whispering “I love you” is even less effective. Sweet, but ineffective. At least “sh” has the consistent white noise thing going for it. I mean, it’s not like the mommies on the bus were saying “shut your face.” Then I would understand a lyric change, though I could also have understood where those deperate mommies were coming from, with everyone else on the bus looking at them and the baby making a scene. I guess that’s what really gets me. This whole idea that mothers have nothing but love for their babies, and never get frustrated, never shush, are always patient, it’s really damaging to a new mother (the exact targets of Baby Einstein products, and the ones who’ll notice the lyric change right away, as I did), or to new parents for that matter. And throwing the dad thing in there, fine, I get it I suppose, but it just sounds funny to me to add an extra verse. Why wouldn’t you just say “parents” or something. And heck, the reality is that during the day, on the bus, in America (where the CD is produced)–the land of unpaid-12-weeks-if-you’re-lucky maternity leave–you might as well be singing about the daycare workers and the nannies on the bus. If you want to be accurate. So, Mr. Einstein Busdriver, if you don’t mind, I think Clara and I, and sometimes my husband, would rather just walk.

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Mommy Blog?

Well, I said a while ago I was going to do this, and darn it if I don’t like to keep my word. Okay so let’s get this ball a-rollin.

On blogs: As I’ve said before, they’re so 2005 (or earlier but I was late to the bandwagon to begin with) but I still read them and I thought it was high time I wrote one. Why, you ask? A) I need to let the writer in me run loose once in a while and 2) I’ve come to accept that when I’m not busy with my daugther or housework or shopping I must be on the computer. This usually translates into facecreeping and looking up totally totally useless stuff. Like wikapediaing eggnog or something equally or even more mundane. So I must blog to keep myself from one day being found dead in front of a computer screen that reveals my quest to figure out who voiced the genie in the Aladdin sequel when Robin Williams declined the part. No, I’m not going to tell you. Look it up yourself.

Some more on blogs: If you have a blog, chances are that I read it, at least occasionally. I say this because if you’ve found this blog it means you are my facebook friend and that means I sort of know you. If I sort of know you, you can bet I’ve tried to find out if you have a blog. I may not check it every day (maybe I would if you’d update more often. hmph.) but I’ve checked it out a few times. Because that’s what I do when I’m avoiding housework. I warn you, you may be reading this and think, “she totally stole that witty comment/phrase/tone/observation/idea/title/word from me.” And you’re probably right, to an extent. This blog will be derivative I’m sure. But, news flash: almost all blogs are kinda the same. I, like you, like to write, like to be read, like to be liked, like to think I’m funny, like to steal someone’s whatchamacallit and pass it off as my own. The writing that stems from these shared likes is bound to share a few characteristics in common, despite the writers’ wildly differing personalities and writing styles. So just so we’re clear: Yes, I think I am smarter, funnier, and more eloquent than I actually am. Yes, I want to bore you with the mundane details of my life while all the while secretly hoping you’ll leave a comment about how much you adore me. Yes, I am one of *those* mothers who thinks every little anecdote about her kid is a story gem worthy of the New York Times, which brings me to my next point.

On the title of my blog and this particular entry: It comes from a trend I’ve noticed in blogs recently. That being, once you’re a mother, you’re a blogger. Like, all of a sudden, once you have a kid (or maybe once you’re pregnant, or, in some cases, for those who really like to share, once you start “trying”) life is worth writing and reading about. You have a purpose. You have stories. You, ma’am, are a bliggity blogging motherblogger. For some examples of this trend, see the following website: http://www.themomblogs.com. Well, what can I say? I’ll just hop on, if you don’t mind. Though I don’t think it’s because I suddenly have a purpose or my life is suddenly more interesting, but in addition to reasons I gave above, as a mom, it keeps me sane. End o’ story.

On this particular blog: I hope to write at least once a week; that’s my goal. But if I’m like most people I’ll probably write 5 entries in one week and then you won’t hear from me for months. Yes, I’m talking about you! If I stick to my plans, the things you may find in this blog are as follows:

  • anecdotes about my daughter
  • confessions about my parenting/housewifey skills or lackthereof
  • obvious observations about pop culture
  • stories about when I was a youngin? youngun? young one.
  • attempts at literary genius
  • fun facts about either the world in general or about me. You will be alerted of these by the heading, “Fun Fact”
  • repitition

Things you won’t find in this blog

  • evidence of fancy technical knowhow
  • photos, for reasons of privacy and the bullet point above this one

Enjoy! And please do comment. It makes me smile.

Oh yeah, Fun Fact: I was going to call this blog word2yomotha but I didn’t think I could pull it off.

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