Tag Archives: Parenting

Focus

20120609-083911.jpg

It is said that mothers have eyes in the backs of their heads. I wish I had a second set in front. Mine have been working overtime.

My big girl had a bang up week. Last day of school on Friday and a soccer trophy the night before that. I put my constant surveillance of “the baby” on hold for the week. My big girl was getting bigger by the minute and I didn’t want to miss it. Friday morning before she left for school I said “grab your backpack, baby” and she said for the very first time “I’m not a baby.”

I’m glad I was watching this week. I sat on the steps with a cup of coffee in my hands watching her head down the driveway to the bus stop on Thursday morning. I don’t know what made me sit down and watch her. But I’m glad I did.

20120609-083900.jpg

Emily’s graduation was Wednesday morning. Soccer game on Thursday. Last day of school on Friday. I don’t think I took my eyes off of her for 72 hours. It is like she was made of bamboo. She was growing up. And I could see it.

Friday morning I sat down on the back deck and had a cup of coffee and a chit chat with Lucy. Maybe it was just the shorts. But I don’t think so. She grew, too. While I wasn’t looking. Dammit.

I need to get these two on a schedule. Because they can’t keep growing at the same time. I’m gonna miss something.

20120610-205312.jpg

Probably not the last time I will bring this up…

It might be hard to see the “baby” while she is in her Mary Tyler Moore pose. But I nursed my baby until she was almost three and a half years old.

I know I said I was going to try not to yammer on and on about my parenting choices, specifically to breastfeed on demand for as long as my baby and I want to…. but I can’t help it.  Below is a post from another blog.  I contributed to debunking toddler myths.

 

Emily, feeding her baby.

 

Toddler Nursing Myths Debunked

Myth: Breastfeeding will ruin your boobs!

Truth: Your breasts will inflate through your pregnancy and engorgement when your milk comes whether your nurse your babies or not! Vanity has been known to get the best of me.  I’ll admit it.  I’ll even confess that some decisions I made about my health might have been motivated by said vanity, said the girl who quit smoking in her youth when she realized it would ruin her skin before it ravaged her lungs. If you fall in to the camp of women that occasionally puts a little too much focus on the outside instead of the inside you’ll be glad to know that breastfeeding your kids is not responsible for your boobs going South!  Gravity and the swelling of the breasts during pregnancy and engorgement take the greatest toll on the skin responsible for holding those big, beautiful mammaries in place and there is no escaping that!  So, go ahead and do a few push ups and nurse your kiddos!  Throw in some chest presses with a five pound hand weight and those gorgeous boobs that are a cup size bigger than normal will be back front and center where you like them before you know it.

Myth:  Extended nursing will create a co-dependent, needy child.

Truth:  Letting your child wean on their own time fosters independence!!   A child that reconnects with their mother regularly and believes that they can always come back to the safety of a parent is far more likely to boldly step out on their own. Weaning becomes an act that the child participated in achieving.  I can recall sending my daughter off to her first day of school. Anticipating a little bit of anxiety on her part (and holding back my own tears) I said “Go ahead, big girl.  Mommy will be right here after school.”  Off she went, secure in the knowledge that she can return to me.    Obviously, nursing is not the only way to create an environment of loving, kindness.  But for many families it is the cornerstone of the mother-child bond.  Regular (albeit brief as anyone who has ever seen a busy toddler drive-by nursing can attest to!) breastfeeding of a toddler gives both the child and the mother a perfect opportunity to stop and reconnect, re-affirm in a biological way the connection between mother and child.  This affirmation gives the child confidence to move forward. The proof is in the pudding, as they say.  Here’s a picture of my independent daughter taking off on her first day of school.

She never looked back.  And as for the first myth?  Stop by and see me at www.excitementontheside.com  You’ll see my boobs if you hang around a while.  :)

-Kelly from excitementontheside.com

Myth: Breastfeeding past a certain age is sexual.

As a nursing mother who advocates child-led weaning, I have encountered my fair share of myths about extended breastfeeding, ranging from mildly amusing to downright frightening.  One of the most ridiculous myths I’ve encountered is the idea that once a child reaches a certain age (often 1 or 2 years), breastfeeding stops being about child nourishment and bonding, and becomes an inappropriate act with sexual connotations.  Even more concerning is the archaic (and insultingly unfounded) theory that a mother who nurses beyond 2 is compromising her child’s sexual development in some aspect.  And by far, the most offensive and absurd manifestation of the myth is that breastfeeding a toddler is equal to sexual abuse/incest.

Sadly, I believe that the old “perception is reality” adage applies here; if a person declares something as sexual, then for them, it is sexual.  After all, some adults are turned on by the act of diapering another adult, an act that is definitely not inherently sexual.  So, in our western world, a culture wherein breasts are highly sexualized, it isn’t surprising that the act of extended breastfeeding is seen as sexual by so many people.  It isn’t shocking that mothers who nurse toddlers in the U.S. are ridiculed and scorned, in spite of the fact that the majority of human beings on our planet breastfeed beyond age 1, and that the average age for a child to wean naturally is between 3-5 years.  Most of the naysayers, when met with facts and education about the realities of extended breastfeeding, still view it as shocking and disgusting.  But the bottom line is, it doesn’t matter if one person or one billion people share an opinion; their combined opinions do not form a fact.  There is nothing inherently sexual about breastfeeding.

So, how does a nursing mother go about debunking such baseless absurdity?   It can indeed prove to be an exercise in futility.  It has been my unfortunate experience that people who think extended breastfeeding is “weird” do not have open minds, and are not receptive to learning anything that might expose their point of view as irrational and inane.  But I am always willing to offer a person links to literature that endorses extended breastfeeding — literature which comes from highly respected and reputable doctors (such as Dr. Bill Sears), anthropologists (such as Katherine A. Dettwyler, Ph.D), health organizations (i.e. W.H.O.), numerous medical journals, etc.  However, my favorite factoid to pass along is that, to date, there is NO research or data that points to breastfeeding a toddler as being a damaging act, sexually, or otherwise.  So, what most effectively debunks the “nursing a toddler is sexually inappropriate” myth is what is not there to begin with — a shred of evidence to back the claim.

Elizabeth Daniels,  Brandon FL

Myth: It’s not necessary to nurse past one year because breast milk loses its nutritional value.

Reality: Not true. Not even a little true. Actually the opposite is true! Immune benefits actually increase the older the child gets. Breast milk changes and adjusts as your baby grows. Condensing the nutritional properties of your milk and the immune benefits into the amount of milk you make. You know, like how a shot of espresso in your thirties does the work that the seventeen cups of coffee did in your twenties. So as solid food becomes the more prominent part of your little one’s diet, breast milk condenses all of the health benefits into the less milk they do consume. It’s magic really I love the fact that when one of my kids or I get sick, my milk is already transferring immune boosting bits of awesome and helping them fight their colds. But if you weren’t sold at “bits of awesome”, you can read about all this in more specific and intellectual language here (http://kellymom.com/nutrition/milk/immunefactors/). And also here (http://kellymom.com/nutrition/milk/bmilk-composition/).

Issue: Breastfeeding mothers who think it’s weird/inappropriate/gross to nurse a child past a certain age.

I’ve heard this one a lot. A mom says, “I love breastfeeding! It was so awesome. But a two year old? A three year old? That’s weird.”
Just this week, my baby boy turned three. He nurses about once a day. Sometimes twice. He decides when. It is almost always when he is very tired or hurt. The times when he needs comfort and closeness. There have been many times that I thought he had weaned but, nope, he’s not ready yet. And that’s ok. When I first decided to nurse my children I thought I would wean them at one. I thought that is what you were supposed to do. But on the night of my son’s first birthday, as I nursed him to sleep, I saw him comforted and safe. Still a baby. Still needing to nurse. I was sure in that moment I would let him decide when to wean. But then, I got pregnant. He weaned during my pregnancy with his sister because he was frustrated that my milk was gone. It was traumatic for him and it broke my heart. He was 18 months old. When the milk returned and his baby sister came to be with us, he would watch as I nursed her and he seemed sad. I offered to nurse him. He nursed. He looked up to me and he smiled. And that moment is one I will never forget. His relief erasing the sadness of his first weaning. So the idea that this beautiful experience with my baby boy is seen as gross or weird just makes me sad. And to be honest, it makes me angry too. Every child is different. And every mother is different. No child can be expected to follow the same growth, development, or same anything of another child. Some children are ready to go to Kindergarten at four and half, some five, others at six. Everyone understands that. So then why would weaning be any different? There is no set age for when a child will naturally wean. My son is nursing less this month than he did last month. He seems to be doing just fine in determining when he is ready. He’ll get there. In his time. And it makes me happy to know that when he does wean, it will be on his terms.
For more information on weaning, you can start here (http://www.llli.org/ba/aug94.html )

-Colleen from theadventuresofthefamilypants.com

Myth: Once a child reaches a certain age, they should be given pumped breastmilk from a cup.

Coming from a place where I struggled throughout my breastfeeding journey to maintain my milk supply, it’s laughable to me when people comment that once my daughter turned one, that she no longer needed to breastfeed straight from “tap”, but rather, I should be pumping and giving her breast milk in a cup. The only party this benefits is, well, the people it makes uncomfortable to watch me nurse my toddler. Pumping is not an easy job. Breastfeeding is the easiest, formula feeding is harder, pumping is the hardest. Breast milk comes straight from the breast, is the perfect temperature, and the perfect amount per feeding. Formula comes mostly prepared, just add water (although there is washing, sterilizing bottles, and mixing the formula). Pumping takes a lot of time and energy to produce the right amount of milk, heating it to the perfect temperature, PLUS all the bottle washing, sterilizing all the components of a pump, and adhering to the very specific rules of proper storing. Then there are the potential issues you can run into like I did. I had to return to work when my daughter was 4 months old. I pumped at work three times a day and since I have always dealt with low supply, I struggled to maintain a milk supply to supplement the time I was away from home. It’s not as easy as putting cones on your breasts and turning a machine on and the milk just comes pouring out. It is a very intricate process that left me drained at the end of the day and wishing I could toss that machine in the trash. I suppose to really understand why pumping is not an easy task, you must first understand how our breasts function during breastfeeding. Prolactin must be present for milk synthesis to occur. When the breast is full, prolactin cannot enter the prolactin receptors, so the rate of milk synthesis decreases. When the breast is emptied, prolactin can now pass through the receptors and milk synthesis increases. This is now where I make my point: PUMPING DOES NOT EFFECTIVELY REMOVE MILK FROM THE BREAST LIKE A CHILD DOES. When the breast is not properly being emptied often, milk supply dramatically decreases. In order to maintain an efficient supply to pump and then give in a cup, one would spend their entire day attached to a machine. It is just more logical to nurse directly from the breast than to struggle to maintain a supply just to make a few people more comfortable. Besides, if I’m nursing in my own home (seeing as how most toddlers nurse only a handful of times a day or less­­—that number drops even more the older they get) who does nursing my toddler affect? No one, except my nursling and me.

-Courtney

**Jamie’s note- Courtney beautifully summed up the stress of pumping and how it does not always work with our anatomy. This myth bugs me so much I thought I’d chime in, too. Breastfeeding has much more to it than nutritional value. Breastfeeding also serves a way to comfort, bond, and build emotional attachment with your child (this is not the only way to bond and attach, but it is definitely one of many). Would you hug your child using a machine or your own arms? Breastfeeding should not be avoided just because someone else does not understand it. **

Myth: If you breastfeed your baby past infancy they will not learn to eat enough solid foods.

I know a lot of people think that extended (after 6 months, after 12 months after any one of a number  of ages) nursing will mean a baby/child will not eat enough solid food.  I have heard pediatricians tell moms who’s 8 month olds are not excited by solids tell them to cut out a nursing session or two.  I can totally see why people would think this.  If a couple of assumptions our society makes were true then this would be reasonable.  But those assumptions are flawed.  Assumption number one, all babies do things on a set schedule.  Assumption number two, nursing is just about food.

Assumption 1.  Babies do everything on their own schedule, the range of normal is massive.  A baby can be just fine and walk at 9 months or at 13.   A baby can start speaking at one year or two.  And a baby might love solids at 6 months (and may indicate readiness by pulling your food off your plate and stuffing it into their mouth) or be resistant and just experiment until they are 18 months.  There are a lot of nursing moms who find their kids take to solids with great gusto and there are a lot of formula feeding moms who are still giving their younger toddler most of their calories that way.  My personal experience is a mostly formula fed kiddo who only really started eating for calories at about 16 months and a nursing little one who ate larger servings than her big brother by the time she was 8 months old.  She is still nursing at two and a half.  And she still eats more than he does many days (he is 4).

Assumption 2.  Babies nurse for food, for comfort, for immunities, for cuddle time, for a whole bunch of reasons.  Nursing keeps happening even when babies are getting most of their nutrition from food, it just doesn’t happen every hour for 45 minutes like it does with newborns (or no mother could cope).  It happens in “drive by” sessions here and there through out the day.  Or as one nursing session while they fall asleep (or when they hurt themselves).  Or in a number of other scenarios.  The time frame for each child is different but I know a lot of mothers nursing 2 (and up) year olds and no-one is nursing them 8 times a day.

So babies can nurse into toddlerhood and eat solid food.

-Sarale

Myth: Nursing beyond infancy is more about the mother’s needs, than the child’s.

Of the many misconceptions that I have heard about toddler nursing, this is one that has me scratching my head the most. It’s one I hear with increasing frequency. That mothers who do not wean their children by a certain deadline are worried more about their own needs and attempt to artificially prolong dependency.

Anyone who has ever tried to cajole an unwilling toddler into doing….well anything….knows it’s not an easy task. Even something as simple as managing three meals a day can be an epic battle. “Let’s eat dinner.” “NO!” A child who is ready to wean will not continue to nurse. However, a mother may continue to nurse her child beyond her predicted timeline when she sees that it is still important to the well being of her individual child. Clearly, it is not a matter of an unwilling child continuing to nurse to meet mom’s needs.

People will say it’s about independence and discipline – that nursing mothers fail to discipline the child to become independent because the mother wishes to have him dependent as long as possible. So, the thinking is that in order to meet a child’s needs, mom must push him towards independence by weaning even if he isn’t ready? Couldn’t this be construed as mom trying to force her will to have an “independent” child to meet her own needs? Why can’t we just assume that as parents we are ALL trying to meet our children’s needs in the best way we know how?

Children don’t go from infant to big kid overnight; it is a slow process. And emerging independence is a part of that process. As parents, we look for the cues from our individual children. For some of us, that includes when a child is ready to wean. And yes, mom’s needs are considered, although typically that means setting limits on nursing over time to achieve a balance between a need for space and a child’s need to nurse. It’s really not any different than any other element of the parent-child relationship over the course of childhood.

-MD

This seems like yesterday….

Won’t you take me to Funkytown?

I’ve had a cold. The kind of cold that makes you want to just gobble up Tylenol PMs and wear sweatpants. I usually shower in the morning. Sometimes twice daily. And this is the kind of cold that makes washing my hair seem too damn exhausting. Holding my arms up over my head is impossible. I am grateful that Lucy eats like she is in a hot dog eating contest. At least once a day she eagerly sucks down more milk than her little body can handle and grins and spits about 1/4 of a cup of curdled milk back up on to my neck, my hair, my chest. It’s enough to encourage me to work through the tired and hop in the shower.

The horrible thing about being sick when you have little people depending on you is that you don’t really gets to take a day off. You can try. You can let the big kids eat granola bars and cheese sticks and the little bitties get to loll about in their diapers, taking a break from the day’s scheduled game of dress up.

The worst of the funk hit on Sunday when MQD was home. Back to bed I went for the majority of the day, snuggling with Lucy as often as she would let me. She snoozed away the day most of Sunday and the great majority of Monday. Monday afternoon I got up and looked around my house and decided I had to power through a super clean. I cleaned bathrooms, the kitchen, put away all the laundry, wiped the baseboards, vacuumed the couch and cleaned the ceiling fans. (As a side note, did you know if you use dishwasher detergent in your tub it will shine! Shine, I say!!) I hopped in the shower before Emily got home from school and when I got out I sat down and looked around. The house was noticeably neater, sure. But the rest of it? No one was ever going to notice it had been done. No one but me.

For two, almost three, days I didn’t really do anything. And it didn’t really matter. Unless you looked you’d not even notice. Sure, the laundry baskets were full in our closets. The big pan of macaroni and cheese I’d made last week was gone, the meatloaf I’d planned to freeze had been eaten because I didn’t cook anything else and the box of granola bars was gone.

So, sit on that. If I stop doing anything and it goes unnoticed… Does what I do all day matter? Of course it does. If no one carried the shoes upstairs every day for a week… Well then there’d be a huge pile of shoes by the door. And eventually the dishwasher would be full and the sink would be full and we would need clean silverware, even if we were eating something from a box.

This new job… The job I have had for years but that I have recently been focusing even more of my attention on… It’s so weird. Nothing matters more than Mom. I believe that with my whole heart, what I am doing, it matters. But shoes piled up by the stairs do not matter. Toothpaste in the sink doesn’t really matter. If you asked Mike why he loves me he would probably not say it is because I always make the bed or that he loves me more when I iron his shirts than when I just throw the back in the dryer on wrinkle release.

Lucy needs me. Emily loves me, even at almost seven years old amidst eye rolling and “Mom, it looks cool, not cute” hair flipping… I know I matter. I am loved. I suppose why I am loved is what doesn’t really matter.

When you are struggling to grow up, to find your own way, to figure out who you are in a new part of life it is helpful to look back. Somehow knowing where you come from makes seeing where you are going simpler.

20120518-142131.jpg

Kelly, circa 1979

This girl isn’t worried about the little things. She came to show you a good time. When they move me in to the retirement home I’m bringing a box of 45s and a macaroni necklace. And I hope they are ready to party. If life is a circle and we end up right where we started (and I believe that it is) than I’m keeping my eyes on the prize.

And in the meantime? As soon as I’m feeling better we are getting out the poster paint and the rigatoni. Because that’s what matters. I gotta teach my girls how to get to Funkytown. So they can find me when I am old and grey and I wander off.

Aside

Em, I wrote your sister because she is three months old today. And in my ongoing quest to keep things equal I thought I’d write you, too. I’m not sure if you keep score, but I do in my head. … Continue reading

Three Months!!!

Dear Lucy,

This morning you slept in. I woke up when your dad was getting ready for work. He has been going in early so that he can spend even more time with us in the evening. I got up with your sister and helped her get ready for school. She climbed in bed to give you a kiss goodbye.

I was feeling overwhelmed yesterday so I took advantage of you sleeping in and cranked out a speed clean. A little before 8 I climbed back in bed with you.

I tried to just let you sleep. Really, I did. I just gave you a couple of kisses. Maybe three. And you wiggled a bit. Like you do in the morning.

And you opened your eyes. And you smiled. Like you do every day.

Everything is new to you. Every day a new experience. Each time you open your eyes and you see my face you smile. I pretend it is because you picked me. And that you are happy because while you’re ready for a day filled with new you are over the moon that the day will feature that same mom from yesterday.

I know that of all the babies that you might have been you are Lucy Quinn because I wanted you. Just exactly the way you are. I picked you.

And this morning when you opened your eyes and you grinned ear to ear, your eyes shining bright, I think maybe just maybe you picked me, too.

Easy like Sunday Morning

20120415-080841.jpgSunday morning in my rocking chair. Baby girl has fallen back asleep on my chest. Big girl is outside playing and I can hear her laughing. My sweet husband has fallen back to sleep after his morning snuggles with his little lady.

There is nowhere I’d rather be. Absolutely nowhere.

Sometimes I write because I want to remember a specific moment. And sometimes I sit down to write because I feel so much that I know something real might come out if I let it. Right now? Tapping letters on my phone, looking around me to find a picture to describe this moment. There is nothing. No words, no image to capture a moment Iike this.

That’s all I’ve got this morning. Me. And Lucy. And the quiet of the morning broken up by the laughter of my first favorite girl. This is it. If this is as good as it gets I’ll take it.

20120415-080852.jpg

Saturday is Magic

There’s something special about Saturdays. This morning I woke and it was raining. Rain meant there would be no Easter Egg hunt downtown. No Easter egg hung meant we had exactly nothing we needed to do today.

Lucy was up around six and snoozing again by quarter after. I laid in bed and listened to the rain and the wind chime. And for Emily. I heard her knocking around upstairs no later than seven. I have never met a kid that take so little pleasure in hanging around in her pajamas. Fully dressed and accessorized she came banging down the stairs with her new bean bag to set up Saturday morning camp. I heard her move the foot stool and kick the tv on.

Into the kitchen she went to get breakfast. I can remember those mornings when I was old enough to make some weird snack for myself. It was exciting to be all alone in the kitchen. Later in the day I pieced together (through careful examination of the countertops) that she’d made cheese quesadillas in the microwave.

We got moving eventually and went out to get Em a new soccer ball. Home by noon. Grilled cheese sandwiches and cat naps all around. Emily left us on the couch in favor of her caterpillar fort eventually.

The grass was mowed. For the first time since we moved in. I haven’t pushed a lawnmower since I left the beach. Four years. You might think only a new homeowner relishes mowing the grass. But that’s not so. There is sweat. And order. And straight lines. And immediate gratification. So many things I find pleasure in.


I thought the day couldn’t get any sweeter. I took a shower. My second of the day, which as a mother of a newborn is cause for celebration.

I thought we would wrap up Saturday much like the week had been. Simple. The kind of Saturday I hope to repeat as often as possible through the years.

When Em ran in the house she stopped at the carpet of the living room. Taking off her shoes she was grinning like a fool.

20120331-184222.jpg

At long last! A loose tooth. This week’s trip to the orthodontist revealed we’d quite likely be making an appointment soon to have her two front teeth on the bottom pulled out. It seemed at least one of them was planning on coming out on its own.

As a little girl I loved a wiggly tooth. I’d flip that tooth with my tongue for days, until it was hanging by a thread. But I guess when you are six years, seven months and two weeks old before you get a loose tooth you can’t wait any longer.

Three hours later Em came running downstairs. The tooth fairy will be at our house tonight. For the very first time.

20120331-184234.jpgYou can have Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. I’ll take the tooth fairy. Trading a little bitty baby tooth for a moment of magic. That magic is a silver dollar in our house. She will find it in her tooth pillow and put it somewhere for safe keeping.

Emily has a jewelry box in her room. The kind with a ballerina inside. Tomorrow she will place a silver dollar in her jewelry box. Late tonight I will put a baby tooth in the very back of mine.

Turns out this was no ordinary Saturday.

20120331-184257.jpg

Second Fiddle

I couldn't have loved him more if I had given birth to him.

I used to have a bumper sticker that said “My Labrador Retriever is smarter than your honor student.”

This morning I got another bumper sticker. This one was not for my dog. In our county the Kiwanis program sponsors a “Terrific Kid” program. Students are recognized for having outstanding character. Em is this month’s Terrific Kid from her class. MQD, Lucy and I piled in to the cafeteria with parents and Kiwanis members and we clapped and watched the kids get their certificates, their pencils, a sticker and the bumper sticker I had mocked so many years ago.

I held my sweet Lucy in my arms and I smiled back when strangers smiled at her little face. “She’s adorable,” said the strangers and I smiled. But my smile was not as bright as it ordinarily is. Instead my eyes said “Sure, yeah, she’s cute but look up there – my big girl. She is TERRIFIC, dammit!!”

Lucy played second fiddle to our big girl this morning and fortunately she was comfortable there. I took my first child to the vet this morning for his annual check up. In to the reception area we went, Fish on a leash, Lucy in her seat. My hands were full but I did not feel particularly frazzled.

I got the smiles from the strangers in the waiting room at the vet. I smiled back. “How old?” said the woman with the greyhound puppy. “He will be nine this Easter Sunday.”

And I laughed. I think she might have meant the baby. Two months and one week, Miss Lucy was in the spotlight. Then it was unceremoniously taken from her.

Welcome to the family, Lucy Goose. Sharing is a bitch. But you’ll get used to it.

20120327-101909.jpg

Big, brave boy at the vet

What’s in a Name?

source: onesmartbrotha.com seriously. that's my source.

We can’t all be Dwayne Wayne. Even the actor that played Dwayne Wayne on A Different World, Kadeem Hardison, had a pretty stellar name.

Dwayne Wayne was never invisible. He never got away with anything. Even the tiniest of actions were noticed and hijinx ensued. Remember when Dwayne ran for Student Concil President. The Reverend Jesse Jackson even noticed and came to visit Hillman College. He got attention. And it wasn’t just the glasses.

I don’t think I want to be quite as high profile as Dwayne Wayne.

But I wear glasses. And still, sometimes, I am invisible.

“Where are my pink shoes, Mom?”  “What’s for dinner, Mom?”  “Do I have PE today, Mom?”  “Great dinner, Mom.”  “Don’t forget to call and get a life insurance quote, Mom.”

Mom gets attention.  But sometimes it feels like no one sees me.

When MQD and I were dating  he started calling me Mom. It was cute. I liked it.  He was acknowledging that Mom was who I am, and that he was okay with it, and he understood it (the best he could.) When Em decided she was going to start calling him Dad I followed suit. It’s easier to change your name if everyone in the house joins in.

And now we have a new baby in the house so there is an awful lot of sickeningly sweet “Can you see your Daddy?” “You look just like Mommy…”

I think for a lot of couples some of the most intimate moments are spent in bed. Not like that. But staring at the ceiling. Or in the dark. When you can speak your mind and no one can see your face. Eye contact becomes unnecessary when you are moments from falling asleep. The trust is implied.

With a newborn in the house sleep is at a premium and pillow talk is non-existent. But we find the time. Lucy is settling in to her own routine. After Em goes to bed she will give us about ten minutes of smiling at the ceiling fan. Occasionally we even get a few minutes on a Saturday afternoon.

This weekend Em was out and about and MQD and I were on a “mini-date.” “Mini-date” is marital code for let’s have a conversation and not screw around on our phones while we talk.  We get the intimacy that we used to get in those late night conversations  on the floor with our two month old instead of in the sack.  But I’ll take it where I can get it.

So, we were on the floor in the living room with Lucy Goose, making faces. Talking, laughing. MQD said something stereotypically female and chuckled. And then in case I had not seen the hilarity in his comment he added “That’s what it’s like talking to you.”

“Yeah. But I’m not a lesbian, you can’t act like that. There’s one girl in this relationship.”

And without a moment’s hesitation he added “No. There’s three girls in this relationship.” Not in our family. He said in our relationship.

And that is how it should be for now. Our family dynamic has changed. And now our relationship must evolve to include all three girls, I suppose.

In the moment I kissed him (and wrote down this conversation in my phone quickly.)

But later it stung. I don’t want there to be three girls in our relationship. Not all of the time anyway.  Sometimes I want to be his girl.  His only girl.

A long time ago be said “you look hot, Mom” and I felt my knees crumble. He like-liked me. And he loved me for who I was. Seven years my junior this adorable 25 year old boy he really liked me.

Years later those seven years don’t seem like a very big deal.

And Mom? Now she wants to be Kelly again. “Can you do me a favor? When it has nothing to do with either of our kids can you please call me by my name?”

That poor guy can’t win.  But he rolls with it.  First I wanted him to fall in love with Mom. Now I want him to see Kelly again. It shouldn’t matter what he calls me. He tells me dinner was good every night. And that he loves me every morning.

Later that night he tossed it back at me “Thanks, Kel.” And I smiled.

It’s just a name.

But Mom is never going to wear those sick heels in the back of her closet. And Mom is totally never going to fit in those leather pants.  Mom actually wants to know what exactly is an occasion to which one might need to wear leather pants.  But Kelly is going to wear those heels.  And dammit, she’s gonna wear them with those leather pants.  Anywhere she damn well pleases.  Soon.

Now to decide on my glasses.

The Perfect Accessory. And the whole "I can read street signs and see the TV" is a nice bonus.

In the weeds

My wonderful friend and blogger Colleen had me write a guest post over at The Family Pants.  (Go pay her a visit!!!)I was going to write about why I love Colleen and then something funny happened at the park that had me thinking about my past.  Colleen is married to a restaurant person, so maybe that is why she puts up with me.  What follows is what I wrote for Colleen.  

Robert Fulghum said he learned all he needed to know in kindergarten. He was lucky. I had to wait tables for ten god damned years. When I got a job as a waitress at nineteen years old I never imagined that I was embarking on what would be ten years of training for motherhood.

This girl was 22 years old. She worked two jobs and thought red hair dye was a good idea. She could take an order from an eight top without a pen. She thought she didn't know a thing about motherhood.

Perhaps first and foremost I learned to drink booze out of a coffee cup. And not make an “I’m drinking booze” face. How, even, to wince in a “ooh boy this coffee is hot” way instead of a “Jeez , there’s a lot of bourbon in this bourbon and ginger” way. This is a handy skill when your kids are old enough to recognize anything that vaguely resembles an indication of grown up time. Wine in a wine glass? Instantly, they need you. Wine in a coffee cup? Business as usual.

It was in the dining room of a restaurant I learned that everyone I work with will likely step right over something as if they don’t see it. And that it is a colossal waste of my time and energy to wonder if anyone else will go get the vacuum. If that something is wet and maybe gross, the length of time your coworkers might let it sit there gets exponentially longer.

It wasn’t waiting tables that taught me this next thing, but rather the  after hours activities, but it was valuable nonetheless. I learned that no matter how late I stayed up the night before I will have to drag my ass out of bed the next day. And start fucking smiling at people who want things from me.

It taught me that wearing a dirty shirt is fine. No one cares. Even if you slept in it the night before.

It taught me that there is nothing wrong  with day drinking. If you are off work you’re off work. Seize the moment. Carpe the shit out of that magnum and don’t answer your cell phone. Because that day off you think you have –  it could end abruptly with one single phone call. The only way to absolutely get the day off no matter what is to drink enough that you are a danger to yourself and all those around you.

I learned  that sometimes there is no shame in over-serving someone. And that if you don’t have any rigid expectations it can even be fun. A kid on their second bag of skittles is not too different from a  grown man knee-deep in Budweisers. Eventually they will both get extremely upset, possibly even cry and tell you that you just don’t understand them.  Just don’t let them drive or play with their favorite toy. Because it will get broken, and somehow it will be your fault.

I learned that someone always has it worse than you.  I would  count all the change in my apron only to discover I had somehow made fifty-nine dollars on a fucking Saturday night.  I’d slug back my shift beer and drop my pint glass in the dish pit on my way out the door and realize that the dishwasher was still working. And he came in before me.  And he probably works breakfast somewhere else.  And he never makes two hundred bucks in a night.  The dishwasher is the lady I see now at the grocery store with three kids under three that has not slept more than 45 minutes in years.  I smile at her kindly, and then I run the fuck away before she can ask me for any help.

I learned that when you are in the eye of the shit storm, “in the weeds” they call it in the restaurant, when everywhere you look people want something, and everything you suggest is wrong and everyone you speak to got up on the wrong side of the bed no one can save you but you.  Eventually the day will be over.  And tomorrow? All those assholes won’t be there anymore.  It might be a whole bunch of new jackasses with special requests, trying to see a movie that starts in 30 minutes and ordering a well done steak, but it will be new.  It will never be as bad as today in the same way.  It might get worse, but it won’t ever be the same.  Insanely, this is comforting.

Perhaps the most useful skill of all is the most commonly employed.
If you are a mother you practice this, I guarantee it. Waiter blinds.  Waiter blinds are a skill cultivated by seasoned wait staff allowing the waiter to walk right by a customer while they  are staring you  down, doing everything they  can to send you the “I want my 57th glass of iced tea right NOW” message with their  eyes. The seasoned waiter can ignore them  without ruining their tip.  Because they  are not convinced you can see them. Even though you are right in front of them.  You must stare intently in another direction, perhaps at the kitchen door as if to say there is hot food in the window  that could save lives if you get there in the next ten seconds.   The skilled waiter might even wave and greet a fictional customer just out of a table’s range of sight.

But whatever you do you do not make eye contact and you  do not allow yourself to stop looking in the direction you  are already looking.

Mothers have a similar skill. Only we learn not to just avoid someone looking at us. We can ignore a short person repeatedly hollering our name. “Mom. Mom.  Mom.  Mom.  Mom.”

With my oldest daughter now six years old I am like the seasoned waiter. I can ignore her without other mothers even suspecting that it is me she is hollering for. Another mother sitting on the same park bench might very well look over her shoulder thinking “where is that kid’s mother?” That is the parental equivalent of someone else refilling your table’s iced tea because you looked way too busy.

This afternoon we were at the park. I was reading and wiggling the stroller with my foot as my 7 week old slept. I was in professional mom gear. Yoga pants, vibrams and a shirt with puke on it. (In my defense I did actually exercise today, not to the point of vomiting, but you get my point.)  If you looked closely you’d have seen that the tell tale sign of breast pads (the faint appearance of gigantic nipples which are actually the result of wearing washable cloth breast pads and a sports bra) was slightly off. Instead it appeared that I had not humongous saucer sized nipples but rather nipples the size of playing cards. Rectangular nipples.

If you noticed then you’d know I really am a pro at this mom shit. Ran out of the house with no breast pads? No problem. Still in the diaper  bag are the postpartum maxi pads. Cut one of those suckers in half, cram it in your shirt and you’re in business.

Where was I??  I got distracted, forgive me, I don’t sleep. I was setting the scene.  I had my kindle in my hand.  On the park bench “Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom!!” Suddenly this was the best and most important book in all the world. Nothing would divert my attention from this book. I had the good fortune of wearing sunglasses so I could see that the big kids were fine. I kept reading, jiggling the stroller with my foot. No feelings were hurt because my daughter was under the impression I could not hear her!! I read for a good three more minutes. Three minutes in uninterrupted mom time is a lifetime.

I felt renewed.

Em continued to holler.  “Mom.  Mom.  Mom.  Mom.  Mom.”

As if I had just now heard her for the first time I yelled back “whatcha need Em?”

“Nothing.”  She smiled. “I love you.”

Sucker punched by my six-year-old. Way to make me feel like an asshole. Just like that two top of women who ordered the exact same thing (a salad and a half sandwich and soup with an iced tea) and then they had me split their check in two. The pair of women that I just knew would give me 15% even though I was bringing the funny.

Emily shouting “I love you” across a soccer field. The only thing that prepared me for that moment was that two top of middle-aged women. The table I ignored after their fourth refill of iced tea and their plates had been cleared. Yeah. Sometimes that table would leave me a twenty dollar bill each on their checks of $12.54.

And I’d think “Man, I am an asshole.” And not five seconds later I’d think “nah… I am kind of awesome.  I earned it.”