Dear Baby Boy,
Six months old. Six months. Halfway to a year in the blink of an eye. One day I brought you home from the hospital, and the next you are up on all fours, wanting to crawl. One night we sat and snuggled while you slept on my shoulder in the wee hours of the morning, and the next you put yourself to sleep in your crib, waking only to eat and then immediately sleep again.
I know what they mean now when they say that it passes too quickly. We spend our days moving at a frenetic pace, striving to merely keep up with all the things we have to do, and I don't get nearly enough time to stop and sit and watch you grow.
Have I already told you what an incredibly happy boy you are? I don't think I've ever known a baby so agreeable, so cheerful, so easily amused. It's so easy to make you laugh, and so addictive. You think your big sister is the funniest person in the world. You laugh at her when she shows you toys. You laugh at her when she dances and sings. You laugh at her, full, deep belly laughs, when she blows a toy horn that unfurls in front of your face with every puff. And she loves you. Still, after six months, she wants to know where you are at all times. She wants to hug you and kiss you good night every night. She spontaneously gives you hugs, and when you're crying, she'll say to me with a worried face, "Baby Sam is upset!" The other day the two of you sat in the living room together, unloading a box of your toys one at a time, and you dad and I stopped and watched the two of you from a distance. I'm so happy you have each other, and will always have each other. I'm so happy at the love I already see between the two of you.
At six months, you are already a complete sitter. It's what I call the "potted plant" stage because I can plop you somewhere with a couple of toys and you sit there, perfectly content, without moving. Alas I think this stage will be short-live for you. You are up on all fours every chance you get, rocking and wanting to move forward. You have figured out how to spin in circles to get to what you want, but the only true motion you have down so far is backward. One day, probably very soon, you're going to figure out forward and then life as we all know will change forever!
You have the sweetest little voice. Your babbling is back in full force, and I love to hear all the sound you make. I've heard the D, B, P, and G sounds, and all the vowel sounds. Sometimes it even sounds like you're saying "bubble!" I haven't heard the "M" sound yet, but you love when I put my lips to your cheek and say "muh-muh-muh-muh-muh"--the noise and the vibration give you the giggle fits, which in turn prompt me to do it over and over and over. And then you turn and plant your open mouth on my cheek and grunt, your way of doing the same thing to me, and I laugh and laugh and hug you close.
We started solid foods five days ago, though we did cheat a bit and give you a taste of an apple last week. As soon as you tasted the sweet fruit, you clamped your little hands down onto mine and pulled the apple slice as hard against your face as possible. You were pulling so hard the tips of your fingers where white! We laughed so hard at your enthusiasm. You cried when I pulled the apple slice away to hand you off to your dad so that I could take a picture, and then immediately perked up as soon as you had the slice back in your mouth. Unfortunately, you didn't have exactly the same enthusiastic response to the avocado we gave you when we started solids for real. That's okay, baby. You'll get there. You seem to like banana a little better, and I have squash and sweet potato ready to give you this week. I recently read that we can start giving you a sippy cup of water to begin to learn how to drink. I still think of you as my itty bitty baby; I can't believe you're already old enough for a sippy cup.
You are still waking once a night to eat. Thought it's hard for me to get up in the middle of the night every night, when I'm actually there with you, in the dark room, I kind of love it. The rest of our lives are so hectic that these quiet minutes with you in the middle of the night are sometimes the only slow, still moments in my day. I do hope you'll get to the point sometime this month where you don't wake to eat any more, but it's okay to take your time. I'll wait 'til you're ready. The big improvement this month, though, has been with your naps! Whereas I could pretty much rely on only 30-45 minute naps before, you have started to consistently take at least one 90-minute nap a day now. Yay! And you are getting so much better at settling yourself to sleep. I'm so proud of you.
You don't have any teeth yet, but I have a sneaky suspicion they are on their way. Though you've been drooling like a leaky tub for a while now, just in the last few days you've started shoving your fists inside your mouth, too. I hope the teething process isn't too much of a bear for you (and I hope you take it easy on your momma while nursing!).
Your dad was gone for a week on a business trip this month, and big sister went to spend the week with G-Mommy and Granddad, giving us some rare time to ourselves. I loved getting to focus all of my attention on you and just you for a change. Our time together only underscored for me what a sweetheart you really are: happy, loving, kissy, snuggly, fascinated in the world around you but oh-so content to observe it all from the security of my arms.
These have been the happiest six months of my life, and I know that the next six months will only improve.
Happy half-birthday, sweet boy.
Love,
Mom
Friday, November 25, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
Fallen
I pretty much think my husband is the most awesome in the history of ever. He's funny and smart and absolutely devoted to me. He's the first to apologize after a fight. And his apologies are amazing. Even if I want to stay mad at him, I rarely can. He has a huge heart. He doesn't want anyone to ever be upset if he can help it. He's an amazing dad. He loves his kids totally openly and without self-consciousness about his feelings.
But.
I've been feeling for a while that things are just different this second time around. I don't know if he's really been different, or if I've been different, or if the perspective has just been different. There's not just one kid now, our first, with nothing to compare to, nothing to measure against, both of us feeling things out and groping through parenthood together. Little man is our second, and as much as it hurts me to think about or admit, in watching my husband parent him, I no longer see my husband as the ultimate be-all, end-all of parenting.
Again, I don't know if it's because my own patience, my own confidence this time around is so much greater, but it seems like TH loses his cool so much more quickly with little man than he ever did with baby girl. (And maybe it's that wonderful mom memory, that makes all objects in the rear-view mirror seem rosier than they actually ever were.) I trust him less with little man. I trust myself more. Where once I was happy to hand off the baby and get a break, now I'd rather keep the baby and give TH a break. And not out of some sense of sacrifice on TH's behalf...it's out of a sense of love for my son, a sense that his needs would be better served and met with me than with his father.
Last night, little man woke up only two hours after going to bed for the night. That NEVER happens. And he woke up crying. Not fussing, but full-blown crying, arching his back, screaming. I was in the middle of pumping (I pump to empty before bed) and couldn't readily detach myself, so I sent TH in. I don't know what happened in the room in the next 20 minutes, but by the time I was done pumping and had brushed my teeth, little man had been quieted (rocked back to sleep, I was later told) and then wound up crying again about three times. TH was in our room, eyes wide and panicky. I told him to remember the checklist--poopy diaper? gassy? too hot or too cold? teething pain? TH went to get him (he was screaming again) and I went to get some gas medicine. I was heading back to the nursery to give little man the medicine when TH emerged from the nursery, carrying the crying baby, telling him to "shut UP!" He went into the guest bathroom (this is where we often calmed little man when he was a newborn...the loud vent fan works as great loud white noise) and I caught a glimpse of him start to rock little man too hard. It's not that he was going to hurt little man in any way. He was holding him cradled in his arms, all body parts fully supported. But it was the frustration and anger in the movements of his own body that crossed the line. I banged my hand on the door as loud as I could and snapped at TH, "He's a BABY. He's in pain. Get a fucking GRIP." I gave little man the gas medicine and then took him myself.
For the next thirty minutes, I barked orders at TH and cuddled a screaming baby. "Bring me a thermometer. Bring me a pacifier. Get some infant's tylenol." With every scream, my heart broke and my nature was to hold little man more gently, speak to him more soothingly. I didn't understand then and I still don't understand now why that wasn't TH's reaction to those same screams. I thought he might be hungry, but I had just pumped. The fresh milk was made into a bottle, but I couldn't give it to him--he won't take a bottle from me, he just wants to nurse. TH told me that he would give him the milk, and I snapped "No fucking way. You don't get to touch him right now. I don't trust you." I was livid.
Eventually, he proved that he had calmed, that his head had cleared. I gave the baby back and stood two feet away, watching like the overprotective mother bear I am. Little man twisted and squirmed. He wouldn't settle with me there, so I had to leave the room. I went and laid next to the monitor. After a few minutes, little man settled, and we all eventually slept.
I used to think my husband was a better parent than me. Or, at least, if not better, a totally equal partner. Like I said, I don't know if he has really changed, or if I have changed. All I know is that I find myself more and more unhappy with the amount of patience TH has with little man, with the expectations he has for his behavior, with the amount of work he puts in before giving up or becoming frustrated. I hate that my husband seems to have infinitely more patience with our screaming 2-yr-old, whom we can communicate with, who is old enough to reason with, than our screaming 5-month-old, who is helpless.
For those of you who have read my blog and have some idea in your head that our lives are easy, that we are somehow perfect parents, have perfect kids, have a perfect marriage . . . please know we are just like all of you. We struggle. We have our moments of doubt, our breakdowns of trust in others and in ourselves. And this post is in no way meant to indicate that I feel like I'm perfect as a parent. I have had my share of moments when I didn't know what else to do with my crying child, didn't know how else to get him to sleep. In those moments I'd put the baby in his crib and walk away, crying myself, to give TH a turn. But I always believed that I had a solid partner I could rely on, and right now I can't honestly say I do.
All I can do is hold out hope that this won't always be the case. That I won't always feel like my husband has fallen from the pedestal I used to hold him on.
But.
I've been feeling for a while that things are just different this second time around. I don't know if he's really been different, or if I've been different, or if the perspective has just been different. There's not just one kid now, our first, with nothing to compare to, nothing to measure against, both of us feeling things out and groping through parenthood together. Little man is our second, and as much as it hurts me to think about or admit, in watching my husband parent him, I no longer see my husband as the ultimate be-all, end-all of parenting.
Again, I don't know if it's because my own patience, my own confidence this time around is so much greater, but it seems like TH loses his cool so much more quickly with little man than he ever did with baby girl. (And maybe it's that wonderful mom memory, that makes all objects in the rear-view mirror seem rosier than they actually ever were.) I trust him less with little man. I trust myself more. Where once I was happy to hand off the baby and get a break, now I'd rather keep the baby and give TH a break. And not out of some sense of sacrifice on TH's behalf...it's out of a sense of love for my son, a sense that his needs would be better served and met with me than with his father.
Last night, little man woke up only two hours after going to bed for the night. That NEVER happens. And he woke up crying. Not fussing, but full-blown crying, arching his back, screaming. I was in the middle of pumping (I pump to empty before bed) and couldn't readily detach myself, so I sent TH in. I don't know what happened in the room in the next 20 minutes, but by the time I was done pumping and had brushed my teeth, little man had been quieted (rocked back to sleep, I was later told) and then wound up crying again about three times. TH was in our room, eyes wide and panicky. I told him to remember the checklist--poopy diaper? gassy? too hot or too cold? teething pain? TH went to get him (he was screaming again) and I went to get some gas medicine. I was heading back to the nursery to give little man the medicine when TH emerged from the nursery, carrying the crying baby, telling him to "shut UP!" He went into the guest bathroom (this is where we often calmed little man when he was a newborn...the loud vent fan works as great loud white noise) and I caught a glimpse of him start to rock little man too hard. It's not that he was going to hurt little man in any way. He was holding him cradled in his arms, all body parts fully supported. But it was the frustration and anger in the movements of his own body that crossed the line. I banged my hand on the door as loud as I could and snapped at TH, "He's a BABY. He's in pain. Get a fucking GRIP." I gave little man the gas medicine and then took him myself.
For the next thirty minutes, I barked orders at TH and cuddled a screaming baby. "Bring me a thermometer. Bring me a pacifier. Get some infant's tylenol." With every scream, my heart broke and my nature was to hold little man more gently, speak to him more soothingly. I didn't understand then and I still don't understand now why that wasn't TH's reaction to those same screams. I thought he might be hungry, but I had just pumped. The fresh milk was made into a bottle, but I couldn't give it to him--he won't take a bottle from me, he just wants to nurse. TH told me that he would give him the milk, and I snapped "No fucking way. You don't get to touch him right now. I don't trust you." I was livid.
Eventually, he proved that he had calmed, that his head had cleared. I gave the baby back and stood two feet away, watching like the overprotective mother bear I am. Little man twisted and squirmed. He wouldn't settle with me there, so I had to leave the room. I went and laid next to the monitor. After a few minutes, little man settled, and we all eventually slept.
I used to think my husband was a better parent than me. Or, at least, if not better, a totally equal partner. Like I said, I don't know if he has really changed, or if I have changed. All I know is that I find myself more and more unhappy with the amount of patience TH has with little man, with the expectations he has for his behavior, with the amount of work he puts in before giving up or becoming frustrated. I hate that my husband seems to have infinitely more patience with our screaming 2-yr-old, whom we can communicate with, who is old enough to reason with, than our screaming 5-month-old, who is helpless.
For those of you who have read my blog and have some idea in your head that our lives are easy, that we are somehow perfect parents, have perfect kids, have a perfect marriage . . . please know we are just like all of you. We struggle. We have our moments of doubt, our breakdowns of trust in others and in ourselves. And this post is in no way meant to indicate that I feel like I'm perfect as a parent. I have had my share of moments when I didn't know what else to do with my crying child, didn't know how else to get him to sleep. In those moments I'd put the baby in his crib and walk away, crying myself, to give TH a turn. But I always believed that I had a solid partner I could rely on, and right now I can't honestly say I do.
All I can do is hold out hope that this won't always be the case. That I won't always feel like my husband has fallen from the pedestal I used to hold him on.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Mother-Son Dance
The room is dark.
I hold you in my arms and we move
slowly, in a circle
swaying to the rhythm of the song I sing you,
of my shhh-shhh-shhhing.
Sometimes you cry, and I wipe the tears from your eyes
and wrap you in the comfort of my embrace.
I know one day, we'll dance together again,
and it will be less clear if I'm holding you in my arms
or if you're holding me.
In a dim room, we'll move slowly in a circle,
swaying to the rhythm of a song.
And I will smile, and I may cry,
and you'll wipe the tears from my eyes
and wrap me in the comfort of your embrace.
I think about that one-day dance
every night.
And it makes me hug you a little tighter,
your 5-month-old body already heavy in my arms.
And it makes me sway with you a little slower
and shush you a little longer,
trying to hold onto every moment
of our mother-son dance.
I hold you in my arms and we move
slowly, in a circle
swaying to the rhythm of the song I sing you,
of my shhh-shhh-shhhing.
Sometimes you cry, and I wipe the tears from your eyes
and wrap you in the comfort of my embrace.
I know one day, we'll dance together again,
and it will be less clear if I'm holding you in my arms
or if you're holding me.
In a dim room, we'll move slowly in a circle,
swaying to the rhythm of a song.
And I will smile, and I may cry,
and you'll wipe the tears from my eyes
and wrap me in the comfort of your embrace.
I think about that one-day dance
every night.
And it makes me hug you a little tighter,
your 5-month-old body already heavy in my arms.
And it makes me sway with you a little slower
and shush you a little longer,
trying to hold onto every moment
of our mother-son dance.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Thank God It's Halloween
Today is the first day I haven't gone to nurse Little Man at lunch.
In fact, like right now I should be in my car, driving over there.
In like five minutes, I would be sneaking past baby girl's room, where it's nap time but she's never napping, and putting on the blue shoe covers for the infant room, and going in and saying, "Hi, Sammy!!" with a huge smile and seeing the world's best smile in return. He'd kick his feet with glee and keep his eyes locked on me until he was in my arms.
Gosh me makes me feel good.
Then I'd go nurse him and snuggle him and make him laugh by playing peek-a-boo while I put my shirt back on. Then I'd sit and visit with his teacher for a few minutes and find out how his morning went.
But today none of that will happen. Today we are finally acknowledging that he is a growing boy and he doesn't need to eat every three hours anymore. Today we are finally letting his school schedule match his weekend schedule, when he's been going 3.5 to 4 hours between nursings for the last three or four weeks.
Which means that he'll no longer be eating at 12:30.
Which means that my days of going to nurse him--or even see him--during my lunch break are gone.
So today officially marks the longest I will have ever gone without seeing him during the day.
My heart hurts.
I'm self-medicating with chocolate.
Thank God it's Halloween and there's chocolate abounding.
In fact, like right now I should be in my car, driving over there.
In like five minutes, I would be sneaking past baby girl's room, where it's nap time but she's never napping, and putting on the blue shoe covers for the infant room, and going in and saying, "Hi, Sammy!!" with a huge smile and seeing the world's best smile in return. He'd kick his feet with glee and keep his eyes locked on me until he was in my arms.
Gosh me makes me feel good.
Then I'd go nurse him and snuggle him and make him laugh by playing peek-a-boo while I put my shirt back on. Then I'd sit and visit with his teacher for a few minutes and find out how his morning went.
But today none of that will happen. Today we are finally acknowledging that he is a growing boy and he doesn't need to eat every three hours anymore. Today we are finally letting his school schedule match his weekend schedule, when he's been going 3.5 to 4 hours between nursings for the last three or four weeks.
Which means that he'll no longer be eating at 12:30.
Which means that my days of going to nurse him--or even see him--during my lunch break are gone.
So today officially marks the longest I will have ever gone without seeing him during the day.
My heart hurts.
I'm self-medicating with chocolate.
Thank God it's Halloween and there's chocolate abounding.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
5 months
Dear Little Man,
Today you are five months old. Five months! It sounds like such a big-boy age. Gone are your newborn days. Gone is my saying, "He's only four months old. He's still so young." Because now you're five months. That's like, in the middle of your first year.
I shouldn't really be surprised at how old your age sounds. You are doing so many things that prove to me every day how much (and how fast) you are growing and changing! You can sit up on your own now, fully unsupported (not even tripod-sitting anymore!) for 30 seconds to a minute. You could probably go longer, but that's about how long it takes you to become suddenly fascinated with something on the other side of the room, or behind you, and you whip your head around and topple over, your body not yet quite adept at compensating for that kind of movement. But sitting! On your own! When five short months ago, you were such a tiny, squirmy, helpless little thing. The first year is truly amazing.
You can also push up onto straight arms when lying on your tummy now, and once or twice have actually gotten up onto your hands and knees. I know true mobility isn't far off, because you can push yourself backwards all over the place now. You see something you want in front of you, and then end up pushing yourself backwards. You get so frustrated, but it's so cute that I can't help but smile. Your teacher at school told me that you pushed yourself all the way under a crib one day and she had to crawl under the crib to get you!
You can turn the pages of the books we read you before bed. You can pull your arms out of sleeves when we are taking off your coat or long-sleeved shirt. You are learning routines, learning to predict what you're supposed to do in a situation, and it's amazing to see.
After taking a bit of a break to work on your motor skills, your babbling is back in full force. You are making all kinds of wonderful "babababa!" and "guh!" sounds. We have the most delightful conversations, taking turns babbling to each other. You seem to think I'm pretty funny to talk to. I hope you always think that.
You are sleeping fully unswaddled now, and are still just as unpredictable as ever in your sleep patterns. You might sleep all the way until 6 a.m., or you might wake up at midnight, or anywhere in between. The good news is that once I come in and feed you, you fall right back asleep. In fact, several nights you have laughed while drifting off to sleep nursing, and it more than makes up for the fact that I'm still getting up with you. Often times our middle-of-the-night nursing sessions are the only calm, quiet, still moments in my entire day. I love the snuggles, and those sleepy laughs in the middle of the night might be one of my favorite things ever.
You are still my amazingly happy little man. You are so incredibly easy going. You are happy to be carted around all over the place, and you always have the most ready, adorable smile to greet anyone and everyone with. Your smile just lights up your entire face. Someone once told me it seems like you even smile with your ears! But you save your very best smiles just for me. My absolute favorite part of the day is walking in to see you, whether it's in the morning, or picking you up from school, or just getting home from running an errand. As soon as you see me, your face breaks into the brightest grin and you kick your feet with joy. I LOVE it. You make me so wildly happy!
This month is going to hold lots of exciting things for you, little man. We will be staring solid foods around 6 months, and while I have loved the fact that every ounce of healthy growth you've had since birth has been from my milk, solid foods are so fun and I can't wait for you to start experimenting with them! I figure it won't be too long before you learn how to move forward instead of only in reverse, and the fact that you can sit up while you play now will open up a whole new world for you, a world where both your hands are available for playing instead of just support.
Even though growing brings so many exciting things, it also brings some other changes as well. I won't be going to nurse you during the day at school anymore. You have gotten big enough where you don't need to be eating every three hours anymore, so your schedule is shifting. I will miss our middle-of-the-day snuggles so much.
I love you, sweet little boy. I love your smile, your kicks of joy, your ready, open delight with everything in the world around you. I love your easy-going nature. I love how you can't take your eyes off your sister, how you love it when she hugs you, how you constantly try to touch her and play with her. I love when I'm holding you, and you're looking around at the world, and then you suddenly bury your face back into my shoulder, as if you couldn't bear to go one more second without a mom snuggle.
You bring so much light to our lives. I can't wait to see what this next month holds in store for you.
Love forever and ever,
Mom
Today you are five months old. Five months! It sounds like such a big-boy age. Gone are your newborn days. Gone is my saying, "He's only four months old. He's still so young." Because now you're five months. That's like, in the middle of your first year.
I shouldn't really be surprised at how old your age sounds. You are doing so many things that prove to me every day how much (and how fast) you are growing and changing! You can sit up on your own now, fully unsupported (not even tripod-sitting anymore!) for 30 seconds to a minute. You could probably go longer, but that's about how long it takes you to become suddenly fascinated with something on the other side of the room, or behind you, and you whip your head around and topple over, your body not yet quite adept at compensating for that kind of movement. But sitting! On your own! When five short months ago, you were such a tiny, squirmy, helpless little thing. The first year is truly amazing.
You can also push up onto straight arms when lying on your tummy now, and once or twice have actually gotten up onto your hands and knees. I know true mobility isn't far off, because you can push yourself backwards all over the place now. You see something you want in front of you, and then end up pushing yourself backwards. You get so frustrated, but it's so cute that I can't help but smile. Your teacher at school told me that you pushed yourself all the way under a crib one day and she had to crawl under the crib to get you!
You can turn the pages of the books we read you before bed. You can pull your arms out of sleeves when we are taking off your coat or long-sleeved shirt. You are learning routines, learning to predict what you're supposed to do in a situation, and it's amazing to see.
After taking a bit of a break to work on your motor skills, your babbling is back in full force. You are making all kinds of wonderful "babababa!" and "guh!" sounds. We have the most delightful conversations, taking turns babbling to each other. You seem to think I'm pretty funny to talk to. I hope you always think that.
You are sleeping fully unswaddled now, and are still just as unpredictable as ever in your sleep patterns. You might sleep all the way until 6 a.m., or you might wake up at midnight, or anywhere in between. The good news is that once I come in and feed you, you fall right back asleep. In fact, several nights you have laughed while drifting off to sleep nursing, and it more than makes up for the fact that I'm still getting up with you. Often times our middle-of-the-night nursing sessions are the only calm, quiet, still moments in my entire day. I love the snuggles, and those sleepy laughs in the middle of the night might be one of my favorite things ever.
You are still my amazingly happy little man. You are so incredibly easy going. You are happy to be carted around all over the place, and you always have the most ready, adorable smile to greet anyone and everyone with. Your smile just lights up your entire face. Someone once told me it seems like you even smile with your ears! But you save your very best smiles just for me. My absolute favorite part of the day is walking in to see you, whether it's in the morning, or picking you up from school, or just getting home from running an errand. As soon as you see me, your face breaks into the brightest grin and you kick your feet with joy. I LOVE it. You make me so wildly happy!
This month is going to hold lots of exciting things for you, little man. We will be staring solid foods around 6 months, and while I have loved the fact that every ounce of healthy growth you've had since birth has been from my milk, solid foods are so fun and I can't wait for you to start experimenting with them! I figure it won't be too long before you learn how to move forward instead of only in reverse, and the fact that you can sit up while you play now will open up a whole new world for you, a world where both your hands are available for playing instead of just support.
Even though growing brings so many exciting things, it also brings some other changes as well. I won't be going to nurse you during the day at school anymore. You have gotten big enough where you don't need to be eating every three hours anymore, so your schedule is shifting. I will miss our middle-of-the-day snuggles so much.
I love you, sweet little boy. I love your smile, your kicks of joy, your ready, open delight with everything in the world around you. I love your easy-going nature. I love how you can't take your eyes off your sister, how you love it when she hugs you, how you constantly try to touch her and play with her. I love when I'm holding you, and you're looking around at the world, and then you suddenly bury your face back into my shoulder, as if you couldn't bear to go one more second without a mom snuggle.
You bring so much light to our lives. I can't wait to see what this next month holds in store for you.
Love forever and ever,
Mom
Monday, October 24, 2011
Hugs
We spent Friday evening at a restaurant with an outdoor playscape. The motivation here is really twofold: by Friday, I am d.o.n.e. trying to rush home and cook dinner, and the weather has been so nice, we love having somewhere to go where baby girl can play while waiting on dinner and where we can eat outside.
After we finished our meal and she was getting in five more minutes of playtime, another family showed up, and then another, so what started as quiet solo play on the playscape turned into a full-blown recess with six kids running around. Baby girl, ever the confident, social girl, immediately wandered over to try and interact with some of the kids her age. They kind of just stopped and stared at her. Rather than playing together, they took turns doing something--picking up an acorn, throwing said acorn, jumping, climbing over a low wall--and observing/being observed in return. There wasn't really any talking. It was more what the teacher's at school call "parallel play."
When it was time to go, I walked over and told baby girl to say goodbye. She immediately went in for a hug. Because, you know, that's what you do when you have to leave. You hug the people you've been spending time with. The other little girl, who was just a bit older than baby girl, took a guarded step back. Baby girl hesitated. No one had ever refused a hug before. I saw a look of uncertainty on her face, and she tried to hug the girl again, a bit more cautiously. The girl dodged the hug again.
Suddenly I saw my baby girl lose her confidence. She looked lost. And my heart broke seeing any kind of uncertainty on her face. I know all too well what it feels like to be socially uncomfortable, shy, embarrassed. I wish I could protect her for her entire life from these feelings. I know I can't. But what I can do, what I could do right then, was protect her for that moment, for that evening.
I said, "Aw, are you trying to give her a hug?" She said, "Yeah." "Can you give me a big hug?" I asked her, crouching down and throwing my arms wide. "YES!" she yelled, a smile of relief and love breaking across her face. She threw herself into my arms and gave me the BEST big hug ever, and I carried her off the playground, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck, her head laid down on my shoulder.
I can't always save her. But I will for as long as I'm able.
And I will always be there for her to hug.
After we finished our meal and she was getting in five more minutes of playtime, another family showed up, and then another, so what started as quiet solo play on the playscape turned into a full-blown recess with six kids running around. Baby girl, ever the confident, social girl, immediately wandered over to try and interact with some of the kids her age. They kind of just stopped and stared at her. Rather than playing together, they took turns doing something--picking up an acorn, throwing said acorn, jumping, climbing over a low wall--and observing/being observed in return. There wasn't really any talking. It was more what the teacher's at school call "parallel play."
When it was time to go, I walked over and told baby girl to say goodbye. She immediately went in for a hug. Because, you know, that's what you do when you have to leave. You hug the people you've been spending time with. The other little girl, who was just a bit older than baby girl, took a guarded step back. Baby girl hesitated. No one had ever refused a hug before. I saw a look of uncertainty on her face, and she tried to hug the girl again, a bit more cautiously. The girl dodged the hug again.
Suddenly I saw my baby girl lose her confidence. She looked lost. And my heart broke seeing any kind of uncertainty on her face. I know all too well what it feels like to be socially uncomfortable, shy, embarrassed. I wish I could protect her for her entire life from these feelings. I know I can't. But what I can do, what I could do right then, was protect her for that moment, for that evening.
I said, "Aw, are you trying to give her a hug?" She said, "Yeah." "Can you give me a big hug?" I asked her, crouching down and throwing my arms wide. "YES!" she yelled, a smile of relief and love breaking across her face. She threw herself into my arms and gave me the BEST big hug ever, and I carried her off the playground, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck, her head laid down on my shoulder.
I can't always save her. But I will for as long as I'm able.
And I will always be there for her to hug.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Just When Things Get Hard
:::Glances at blog title:::
How hard can this be? The question that started it all.
Turns out it can actually be pretty damn hard.
Nearly five months in to this two-kid thing, and I must admit that in the ebb and flow of life, we're mired in an ebb. A trough rather than a peak. A low.
Life with two kids is hectic. It's sort of a constant go-go-go of taking care of both of their momentary needs coupled with trying (usually unsuccessfully) to keep our house in livable order.
Take mornings. On the surface, they're pretty straight forward. I shower and get ready while TH gets up and makes my lunch and packs up the pump parts for me. Then I feed little man and get him dressed and ready and wake up baby girl and get her started with milk and breakfast while TH showers and dresses. Then I'm out the door and TH finishes up feeding and dressing baby girl and gets both kids to school on his way to work.
Look a little closer, though, and it's more like this: After hitting snooze three times, I shower and decide (once again) that I only have time to wash my hair and shave my arm pits, so the legs will have to go another day unshaved. I throw my wet hair into a bun and dig through dirty laundry to find my least-wrinkled pair of slacks and try to pick a shirt that will actually button over my bodacious breastfeeding boobs while TH makes my lunch, packs up the pump parts, and tries to keep a very happy morning baby from squealing so loud that he wakes his sister. Then I feed little man and attempt for five minutes to get a burp out of him. He cries because he'd rather be eating than getting burped, and I pray that his crying doesn't wake his sister. He finally burps and douses me with a healthy stream of spit up in the process. I wipe said spit up off my pants and shrug because, who are we kidding, I already had fished them out of the dirty clothes. I finish feeding him, get him dressed, and deposit him in the living room. He can't be on his play mat because he'll roll over and spit up, so I pick the jumperoo. Whilst he is happily playing with the toys on the jumperoo, I go and wake his sister, who is really not ready to wake up yet and is a sleepy landmine waiting to explode when I unwittingly misstep. We go to brush her teeth and she shrieks that she doesn't want toothpaste (misstep. KaBOOM). I try to gather her amazing bed head into a tamed pony tail and she tells me, "I don't want you to do my hair quite yet, mommy!" Well alrighty then. I get her some milk and a muffin for breakfast, and she wanders over, leaving a trail of muffin crumbs in her wake, to say good morning to little man, who has exhausted his interest in the jumperoo toys and is starting to work on his jumping skills, while I search through her closet, and then her clean clothes basket, for some pants to wear in this new colder weather. She yells, "Mommy! WHERE ARE YOU!?!?" from the other side of the house, and no amount of "I'm in your room!" "I'm picking out your clothes!" "I'm right here!" convinces her that I haven't disappeared into nothingness, so I jog back to the living room, where she flashes me a bright smile and asks for yogurt for breakfast. I hear the shower stop as I pour some yogurt into a bowl and baby girl wails "No Mommy help with yogurt! Only Ali do yogurt! ALI DO YOGURT!!!!" (misstep. KaBOOM) and I try to get her to help scrape out the yogurt remnants into the bowl but she wanted to peel off the top and I RUINED IT FOR HER. TH emerges from our room half dressed and baby girl proceeds to beg for a new yogurt just so that she can peel off the top and then asks if she can watch a video and then says she has no poop in her diaper, just pee. I leave them to their conversation and go back to our room to put on my shirt and jewelry and shoes, and TH joins me, baby girl trailing behind, saying, "Daddy's naked. Where's Daddy's shirt? Daddy needs a work shirt from the closet. Which shirt are you going to wear today, Daddy?" I load my bags into the car and come back to kiss the little man good bye and realize his jumping has prompted explode-a-poo up his back and spit up out his front. I leave him sitting there but at least do give TH a heads up rather than letting him discover it for himself 'cause I'm nice like that. I also tell TH that he has to do baby girl's hair. Good luck with that. I kiss baby girl goodbye and she tells me to have a "very good, nice day" and I swoon. I kiss TH goodbye and I'm out.
Evenings are much the same except they involve more crying from the little man because he's hungry and tired. That plus two bath times. And two bed times. And then, THEN we get to look around the house and triage the needs that will make the biggest impact. Dinner and dishes have to be cleaned up, milk has to be readied for the next day, pump parts have to be washed, laundry has to be done (except a lot of time it isn't because it's right next to the baby's room), thank-you notes have to be written, pictures have to be uploaded off my camera, grocery store runs have to be made, bills have to be paid, litter has to be cleaned, trash has to be taken out. Then I pump one more time and collapse into bed until whatever point in the night the little man decides to wake. Which could be absolutely any time between 11 p.m. and 6 a.m. Because routine? Predictability? That would be too easy. When he wakes, TH goes in first to try and rock him back to sleep, but I don't know why we keep doing that because he can never rock him back to sleep any more, so inevitably he gets frustrated and then comes to wake me up to feed the little guy. And I do. And those 20ish minutes nursing my baby in the middle of the night are the only calm, quiet, slow moments in my life. And then I climb back into bed for anywhere from 6 hours to 30 minutes more of sleep and then my alarm goes off and I hit snooze and it starts all over again.
Like I said. Hectic.
And the thing is, I kind of love it. I love my life. I feel like I've hit my stride parenting two kids, like it's just the right amount of hard.
But TH . . . well . . . not so much. It's too much crazy for him. Too much hectic. Too much chaos. He wants to be able to control things too closely, and he can't, and it drives him crazy. And then his culture kicks in, his upbringing, and all the training he had as a child to focus on the negative and lament the difficulties in life. He constantly asks me when little man will be sleeping through the night, when our lives will be easier. And I get weighed down because I don't notice the bad until he points it out. And it makes me feel like he is unhappy with our crazy, wonderful lives.
So I get frustrated with his frustration. We bicker. We start to feel isolated from each other, which only makes dealing with our lives more difficult because now we feel like less a team and more like trying to take it all on by ourselves. And now that little man is getting older, TH is starting to become more involved in work outside of work hours. He had a golf thing on Sunday. He had a dinner last night. I've been watching the kids more and more on my own. So in addition to feeling emotionally isolated, I feel literally more alone as well.
So it's been a long haul of that. Of constant crazies, of frustrations breeding frustrations, of bickering, of interrupted sleep, of go-go-going. And I've been feeling more and more down. More and more unhappy. And last night, while he was out at his business dinner, little man was crying out of tiredness (he slept all of 75 minutes TOTAL ALL DAY at school), I was trying to make dinner and keep him happy and keep baby girl entertained. I ended up nursing him at the dinner table while trying to read baby girl a book at the same time andplusalso trying to feed myself and I thought how much easier it would all be if I were an octopus mom because surely they have enough hands to do these three things at once with ease and thought, well, even if we are bickering when he's home, at least when TH is here he can help hold the baby. Dinner ended and I was trying my best to incorporate cleaning up the kitchen into our post-dinner dance party (which baby girl quickly caught onto and wanted nothing of) and my god I just needed to pee for just a second. So I put the baby in his jumperoo (cue meltdown) and went to the rest room and realized baby girl wasn't with me, trying to see the pee come out of my body, trying to help me wipe, trying to talk my ear off. In fact, she was strangely quiet. So I hurry out of the rest room and she's there, next to her crying brother, trying to hand him one of his toys with one hand and stroking his head with her other hand.
And my heart exploded.
She saw me and told me with a troubled expression, "Baby brother is crying." I told her "I know, we'll fix it." And I picked him up and he stopped crying and she smiled and said "I helped him not be sad," and I realized that as crazy as my life is, the opportunity to have another child, to see my first born grow into such an amazing, caring, sweet big sister is worth every moment when I look around shell shocked and wonder which task out of the 50 staring me in the face I should tackle next. That one moment is worth it all.
And then last night, after little man woke up at 11 p.m. and TH tried for 30 minutes to rock him back to sleep before coming in to wake me and tell me with a whimper that he just didn't know what to do anymore and me telling him that I would fix it, after little man and I got situated in the nursing chair and settled in, after he ate and ate and pulled at my nose with his hands and tried to look around his dark room while still latched on, just as he was finally, finally drifting off to sleep, he laughed. He laughed in his sleep, and I have no idea what he found so funny. Maybe he was thinking about all the ways he runs his parents ragged. But there, in the dark of his room, he laughed and it was awesome. And that one moment made up for the fact that three out of the four members of our family were awake when we all should have been sleeping.
And then this morning, after another tense morning between me and TH, after more complaining about little man's sleep habits on his part and more shutting down and frustrated good byes on my part, TH called me on his way to work, after he'd dropped off the kids. "I love you," he said. "There's nothing else. No trying to get sex, no complaining, nothing I need from you. I just wanted to tell you that I love you." And I smiled. That one simple phrase is sometimes all I need to hear, especially when I'm not expecting it, to make me get past all the other crap we have going on between us.
Just when I feel so weighed down that the hard starts to be bigger than the wonderful, life has a way of keeping me going. Of reminding me why. Of making it all worth it.
How hard can this be? Really fucking hard.
But really fucking wonderful, too.
How hard can this be? The question that started it all.
Turns out it can actually be pretty damn hard.
Nearly five months in to this two-kid thing, and I must admit that in the ebb and flow of life, we're mired in an ebb. A trough rather than a peak. A low.
Life with two kids is hectic. It's sort of a constant go-go-go of taking care of both of their momentary needs coupled with trying (usually unsuccessfully) to keep our house in livable order.
Take mornings. On the surface, they're pretty straight forward. I shower and get ready while TH gets up and makes my lunch and packs up the pump parts for me. Then I feed little man and get him dressed and ready and wake up baby girl and get her started with milk and breakfast while TH showers and dresses. Then I'm out the door and TH finishes up feeding and dressing baby girl and gets both kids to school on his way to work.
Look a little closer, though, and it's more like this: After hitting snooze three times, I shower and decide (once again) that I only have time to wash my hair and shave my arm pits, so the legs will have to go another day unshaved. I throw my wet hair into a bun and dig through dirty laundry to find my least-wrinkled pair of slacks and try to pick a shirt that will actually button over my bodacious breastfeeding boobs while TH makes my lunch, packs up the pump parts, and tries to keep a very happy morning baby from squealing so loud that he wakes his sister. Then I feed little man and attempt for five minutes to get a burp out of him. He cries because he'd rather be eating than getting burped, and I pray that his crying doesn't wake his sister. He finally burps and douses me with a healthy stream of spit up in the process. I wipe said spit up off my pants and shrug because, who are we kidding, I already had fished them out of the dirty clothes. I finish feeding him, get him dressed, and deposit him in the living room. He can't be on his play mat because he'll roll over and spit up, so I pick the jumperoo. Whilst he is happily playing with the toys on the jumperoo, I go and wake his sister, who is really not ready to wake up yet and is a sleepy landmine waiting to explode when I unwittingly misstep. We go to brush her teeth and she shrieks that she doesn't want toothpaste (misstep. KaBOOM). I try to gather her amazing bed head into a tamed pony tail and she tells me, "I don't want you to do my hair quite yet, mommy!" Well alrighty then. I get her some milk and a muffin for breakfast, and she wanders over, leaving a trail of muffin crumbs in her wake, to say good morning to little man, who has exhausted his interest in the jumperoo toys and is starting to work on his jumping skills, while I search through her closet, and then her clean clothes basket, for some pants to wear in this new colder weather. She yells, "Mommy! WHERE ARE YOU!?!?" from the other side of the house, and no amount of "I'm in your room!" "I'm picking out your clothes!" "I'm right here!" convinces her that I haven't disappeared into nothingness, so I jog back to the living room, where she flashes me a bright smile and asks for yogurt for breakfast. I hear the shower stop as I pour some yogurt into a bowl and baby girl wails "No Mommy help with yogurt! Only Ali do yogurt! ALI DO YOGURT!!!!" (misstep. KaBOOM) and I try to get her to help scrape out the yogurt remnants into the bowl but she wanted to peel off the top and I RUINED IT FOR HER. TH emerges from our room half dressed and baby girl proceeds to beg for a new yogurt just so that she can peel off the top and then asks if she can watch a video and then says she has no poop in her diaper, just pee. I leave them to their conversation and go back to our room to put on my shirt and jewelry and shoes, and TH joins me, baby girl trailing behind, saying, "Daddy's naked. Where's Daddy's shirt? Daddy needs a work shirt from the closet. Which shirt are you going to wear today, Daddy?" I load my bags into the car and come back to kiss the little man good bye and realize his jumping has prompted explode-a-poo up his back and spit up out his front. I leave him sitting there but at least do give TH a heads up rather than letting him discover it for himself 'cause I'm nice like that. I also tell TH that he has to do baby girl's hair. Good luck with that. I kiss baby girl goodbye and she tells me to have a "very good, nice day" and I swoon. I kiss TH goodbye and I'm out.
Evenings are much the same except they involve more crying from the little man because he's hungry and tired. That plus two bath times. And two bed times. And then, THEN we get to look around the house and triage the needs that will make the biggest impact. Dinner and dishes have to be cleaned up, milk has to be readied for the next day, pump parts have to be washed, laundry has to be done (except a lot of time it isn't because it's right next to the baby's room), thank-you notes have to be written, pictures have to be uploaded off my camera, grocery store runs have to be made, bills have to be paid, litter has to be cleaned, trash has to be taken out. Then I pump one more time and collapse into bed until whatever point in the night the little man decides to wake. Which could be absolutely any time between 11 p.m. and 6 a.m. Because routine? Predictability? That would be too easy. When he wakes, TH goes in first to try and rock him back to sleep, but I don't know why we keep doing that because he can never rock him back to sleep any more, so inevitably he gets frustrated and then comes to wake me up to feed the little guy. And I do. And those 20ish minutes nursing my baby in the middle of the night are the only calm, quiet, slow moments in my life. And then I climb back into bed for anywhere from 6 hours to 30 minutes more of sleep and then my alarm goes off and I hit snooze and it starts all over again.
Like I said. Hectic.
And the thing is, I kind of love it. I love my life. I feel like I've hit my stride parenting two kids, like it's just the right amount of hard.
But TH . . . well . . . not so much. It's too much crazy for him. Too much hectic. Too much chaos. He wants to be able to control things too closely, and he can't, and it drives him crazy. And then his culture kicks in, his upbringing, and all the training he had as a child to focus on the negative and lament the difficulties in life. He constantly asks me when little man will be sleeping through the night, when our lives will be easier. And I get weighed down because I don't notice the bad until he points it out. And it makes me feel like he is unhappy with our crazy, wonderful lives.
So I get frustrated with his frustration. We bicker. We start to feel isolated from each other, which only makes dealing with our lives more difficult because now we feel like less a team and more like trying to take it all on by ourselves. And now that little man is getting older, TH is starting to become more involved in work outside of work hours. He had a golf thing on Sunday. He had a dinner last night. I've been watching the kids more and more on my own. So in addition to feeling emotionally isolated, I feel literally more alone as well.
So it's been a long haul of that. Of constant crazies, of frustrations breeding frustrations, of bickering, of interrupted sleep, of go-go-going. And I've been feeling more and more down. More and more unhappy. And last night, while he was out at his business dinner, little man was crying out of tiredness (he slept all of 75 minutes TOTAL ALL DAY at school), I was trying to make dinner and keep him happy and keep baby girl entertained. I ended up nursing him at the dinner table while trying to read baby girl a book at the same time andplusalso trying to feed myself and I thought how much easier it would all be if I were an octopus mom because surely they have enough hands to do these three things at once with ease and thought, well, even if we are bickering when he's home, at least when TH is here he can help hold the baby. Dinner ended and I was trying my best to incorporate cleaning up the kitchen into our post-dinner dance party (which baby girl quickly caught onto and wanted nothing of) and my god I just needed to pee for just a second. So I put the baby in his jumperoo (cue meltdown) and went to the rest room and realized baby girl wasn't with me, trying to see the pee come out of my body, trying to help me wipe, trying to talk my ear off. In fact, she was strangely quiet. So I hurry out of the rest room and she's there, next to her crying brother, trying to hand him one of his toys with one hand and stroking his head with her other hand.
And my heart exploded.
She saw me and told me with a troubled expression, "Baby brother is crying." I told her "I know, we'll fix it." And I picked him up and he stopped crying and she smiled and said "I helped him not be sad," and I realized that as crazy as my life is, the opportunity to have another child, to see my first born grow into such an amazing, caring, sweet big sister is worth every moment when I look around shell shocked and wonder which task out of the 50 staring me in the face I should tackle next. That one moment is worth it all.
And then last night, after little man woke up at 11 p.m. and TH tried for 30 minutes to rock him back to sleep before coming in to wake me and tell me with a whimper that he just didn't know what to do anymore and me telling him that I would fix it, after little man and I got situated in the nursing chair and settled in, after he ate and ate and pulled at my nose with his hands and tried to look around his dark room while still latched on, just as he was finally, finally drifting off to sleep, he laughed. He laughed in his sleep, and I have no idea what he found so funny. Maybe he was thinking about all the ways he runs his parents ragged. But there, in the dark of his room, he laughed and it was awesome. And that one moment made up for the fact that three out of the four members of our family were awake when we all should have been sleeping.
And then this morning, after another tense morning between me and TH, after more complaining about little man's sleep habits on his part and more shutting down and frustrated good byes on my part, TH called me on his way to work, after he'd dropped off the kids. "I love you," he said. "There's nothing else. No trying to get sex, no complaining, nothing I need from you. I just wanted to tell you that I love you." And I smiled. That one simple phrase is sometimes all I need to hear, especially when I'm not expecting it, to make me get past all the other crap we have going on between us.
Just when I feel so weighed down that the hard starts to be bigger than the wonderful, life has a way of keeping me going. Of reminding me why. Of making it all worth it.
How hard can this be? Really fucking hard.
But really fucking wonderful, too.
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