Category: Motherhood and Pregnancy

Categories
Guest Posts Motherhood and Pregnancy Parenting

SAHM Envy

I hope all of you are enjoying the guest posts as much as I am!  It’s almost worth sitting on this jury.  Almost.  One of the nicest bloggers around is filling in for me today.  Kari, of I Left My Heart at Preschool confesses her feelings on a pretty hot topic: SAHM Envy.  I’d love to hear your thoughts, and even better: tell us what makes you envious.

———————-

SAHM Envy

When Andrea asked me to guest post, I thought it would be a great opportunity to blog about something that I have wanted to write about on my blog.  The reason I’ve hesitate to post this, is because some of my co-workers read my blog – and this is just not something that I want to share with them.  I’m proud of my blog and I enjoy knowing people read it, but the fact that my audience includes friends, family and co-workers, sometimes limits my ability to write completely freely.  So thanks Andrea!

I have two girls who are 3 and 5 years old, and I work full time at a financial firm that is located about an hour away from our house.  Honestly, before I had kids, I never really considered the question of whether or not I wanted to continue working after having kids.  It was always seemed like a given in my mind.  Maybe it’s because of the fact that, from a very young age my Mom stressed to my sister and me, the importance of getting a college degree and having a career.  Although my Mom stayed home with us when we were babies, she worked after we started school.  She had a degree and a career in nursing.  Which was a very good thing, because after our Dad died of cancer when I was eleven years old, my Mom was able to get a better job that allowed us to live in a nice house in a nice neighborhood.

By the time my husband and I were ready to start a family, we owned our own home in a part of the San Francisco Bay Area that we love – but we were in no way set up to live as a one-income family.  So, staying home or going back to work was not a decision I had to make.  Choosing the right child care definitely was.  After my first experience sending my baby to child care, I quickly learned that having just the right care situation for my baby, made a huge difference in my ability to focus at all at work.  After a couple false starts, I thankfully found a wonderful, small, in-home care that I love.  I sometimes feel like they get more out of being there, than if they were home with me all day long. 

Sometimes.

Other times, I really wish I was home with my kids instead of working.  Maybe if I had a job that I truly loved, I might not feel that pull to be home quite as much.  I’ve worked for my firm for fifteen years, but believe it or not – I sort of fell into that career.  It wasn’t at all what I aspired to do when I was in college.  The best parts about my job are the people that I work with, the independence, and the paycheck.  The work itself?  Eh.  I could take it or leave it.  And often, I wish I could leave it.

When my husband travels for his job, it’s quite the juggling act.  Taking both kids to two different schools, then driving back and forth to the City for work, then home to make dinner, clean everything, pick up the house, get the kids bathed and ready for bed, make lunches for the next day and usually work some more after the kids go to bed.  But oh, how I love being able to actually bring them in to their classrooms in the morning and see what the teachers have planned for the day.  How I love to pick them up at the end of the day, and hear all about what Scott the Storyteller read to them or what artwork they created, at the peak of their excitement.  Normally, by the time I get home, they are already settled in at home and ready for dinner.  When I ask what they did for the day at the dinner table, the answer is usually “nothin’”. 

Every now and then, I get to take a day off during the week, when we’re not going on any little trips or running around anywhere.  I pack some snacks and take my kids to the Zoo or the Discovery Museum or maybe just to a park.  I see other Moms or groups of Moms with their kids, and I think about how lucky they are to be able to spend this kind of time with their kids every day.  Don’t get me wrong, I am not under any kind of false impression that staying home is “easier” than working.  Both are work, and I believe that staying home with my kids would actually be a much harder job, emotionally and physically. 

Here’s the thing.  I would love that job so much more than the work I actually get paid for.  I love grocery shopping, and attempting to find the best prices.  I love planning meals and feeding my family.  I love organizing my kid’s clothes, shoes and toys.  I love thinking of fun crafts and activities I can do with my kids.  I love creating a warm and lovely home for us to live in.  In my heart, it’s a job I adore.  I just wish that my other job didn’t get in the way so often.

A happy medium would be if I could reduce my hours at work, and be able to spend more time at the job I really love.  I was really close to being able to do just that.  Right before the economy went to crap and we couldn’t afford to reduce my paycheck.  I still have hope though.  Once Seesa goes to Kindergarten next year, and Milly moves full time to the Preschool in our neighborhood, which is less expensive than the in-home care she’s going to now; we may be able to find a way to afford for me to reduce my hours. 

In the meantime, I’ll keep cherishing the time I do have with my girls.  Even though it means that I often skip out on “Mommy Time” opportunities on the weekends, because it means time away from my girls.  Even though I can’t accept volunteer opportunities that I’d like to get involved in because it cuts into my kid time.  Even though I can’t write in my blog or read other’s blogs as often as I’d like. 

The trade off is something that I wouldn’t give up for the world.

Categories
Guest Posts Motherhood and Pregnancy

The Mother of all Mad Mother-in-law Monologues

Day three of jury duty and I haven’t fallen asleep in court yet.  That counts for something, doesn’t it?  For your reading pleasure, I have a dusty old post written by Mo “Mad Dog” Stoneskin, back when his both his baby and his blog were new, and he was ‘young and foolish’.  I don’t know about you, but anything with that kind of preface just begs to be read!  I’m new to Mo’s blog, but had a lot of fun practicing my British accent while reading through it today.  Go ahead, try it!  But be warned, you’ll be thinking with an accent all the live-long day, mate.

‘The Mother of all Mad Mother-in-law Monologues’

The lady in the bed next door was being visited by her mother-in-law. As our baby slept, and my wife attempted to sleep, this woman talked and talked. She nearly drove me mad. Sanity was preserved by cheekily taking some notes, and dreaming of the pint of Guinness that I would drink later.

(I’m not really a Guinness drinker, but I’ve been craving the stuff. With wife and baby recuperating in hospital I’ve been fending for myself. Being a health-conscious type, I’ve been gorging on burgers and muffins. The lack of greens has taken its toll, with the deficiencies driving a craving for stout.)

The last two evenings she has been there, roughly from six till nine. On both occasions the three hours consisted of a single monologue. And when I say monologue, I don’t simply mean “extended, uninterrupted speech”, as Wikipedia puts it. I mean extended, uninterrupted speech, contained within a single sentence. I say that because she didn’t pause or, as far as I could tell, take a single breath.

I doubt any of the great orators would have come close to speaking that long without pause. Cicero? Nope. Churchill? Nope. I would be surprised if these relentless floods of unfinished sentences are ever matched.

What follows is a snippet of one of these monologues. It is more or less unadulterated, but then again, she spoke so fast it was hard to keep up.

“…so Helen is visiting from Cincinnati in November, but then again she’s got this thing about flying, which is ridiculous, so I don’t know what she’s going to do…of course, Erik spent his life looking as though butter wouldn’t melt…Alexander’s mother was much tinier, and mind you, castor oil didn’t work…blah blah blah…if you think about it, the baby pops out and suddenly there is all this brightness and it is, like, “where am I?”, and I didn’t bring it did I?, the photo of Andrew, he went for a ride in a helicopter…and babies go to sleep in one place, and wake up in another, how do they cope?… you see, when Andrew would fall he never put his hands out, of course he broke his wrist at school, and the other kids all loved him, always joking and fooling around and, of course, the after-school clubs wouldn’t take him…but shall I unwrap the present?…British Homestores, so you can always exchange if you don’t like them, they do such great little boys’ clothes don’t they?, when his father was a baby you couldn’t get nice boys’ shoes…and I had such problems, dry skin…and I’ve put my new CD holder up, that new Andrew Lloyd Webber collection is marvellous you know…Ralph’s mother is all skin and bone, I’m sure she is anorexic…I don’t understand what is going on in Winchester, what with the shop in the High Street but the warehouse down in Devon, it’s ludicrous…Tamzin breast-fed of course…and he kept peeling back the dressing, right to the bone, I tried to cut back his nails when we came to England, and during all this Mike was creosoting the fence…”

The poor daughter-in-law didn’t get a word in edgeways. Just before the mother-in-law left I heard her speaking to the baby. “We’ll come and see you again tomorrow, and then we’ll visit you at your house on Friday.” My heart went out to the young mother and her baby.

I hope their sanity survives.

Don’t forget to come back tomorrow for the anonymous bitch fest.  It won’t be the same without your bitchin’!

Categories
Motherhood and Pregnancy Parenting

Perfection

I look back at my first year of motherhood and laugh.  Sometimes it’s a chuckle, but most of the time it’s more of a maniacal cackle.

I tried so hard to be perfect, but that goal was always just out of reach.  I was tremendously overwhelmed, and that’s what makes me laugh the most.  Back then, I had one, easy child who slept an average of 16 hours per day, no job, no social schedule to keep, nothing.  Despite that, my to-do list was a mile long and on top of that, I had set some pretty lofty goals for my infant daughter.  Basically, I made life a million times harder than it had to be. 

Sleep on a schedule?  Check.  Completely nutritious meals, with no exceptions?  Check.  Absolutely no television at any time?  Check.  Exclusively breastfed?  Erm, not quite, but I tried.  No baby-sitters except during nap time?  Check.  Vacuum every speck of dust from the house, every day, even if it takes four hours with the baby strapped in the Bjorn?  Check.

Really, what the hell was I thinking? 

I long to regain all the time I wasted.  I cringe at the amount of pressure I put on myself to reach a completely unattainable goal.  I’m saddened by the amount of time I spent crying because I felt like a failure at  motherhood.  It turns out, I’m completely and utterly normal.  And thank God for that.

I bought a book yesterday at Target, based solely on the fact that I laughed out loud at the title:



It’s entirely true: I was a really good mom before I had kids.  I was also a great nanny, god mom and aunt.  I had an amazing amount of energy, unwavering patience, and always made good, educated decisions when it came to the kids I was with.  I was also full of practical advice for their moms.  I thank them now for not punching me in the face. 

Then my first child was born, and it all went to hell in a hand basket.  Not at first, mind you.  Those first 6 months of motherhood were magical, and I’m not even the kind of person that uses words like “magical”. 

How, exactly, did I get from there to here?  How many buckets of tears have I cried, trying to find the balance between the mother I dreamed I’d be and the mother I hope I am, leaving room for the mother I am on a day-to-day basis?

Despite the fact that I still worry about the choices I make as a parent, I let go of being the perfect mom a long time ago.  Sure, sometimes it creeps up on me when I’m in a certain mode of getting things done.  But if my kids are able to look back from adulthood and say I was a pretty good mom, most of the time, I’ll be happy with that.  

And hot damn, if life isn’t a whole lot nicer when a dirty floor doesn’t make me a bad mother.


* If anyone would like to have this book when I’m done, let me know!  I’m loving it so far. *

Categories
Allergies Kids Motherhood and Pregnancy Parenting

When God Negotiates

Lately I’ve been lying in bed at night, thinking about universal balance.  You know: karma, yin and yang, give and receive, having your beautiful cake and not being able to eat it, too.

It led me to wonder, when God grants a prayer request, does He also scribble down a little IOU?  It’s funny to think of Him standing there, holding a stack of invoices, but it’s a little scary too – you never know exactly what the cost is, or when it’s due.  I mean, when is your debt really paid?  It’s not like He sends a statement.

Back when we were trying to get pregnant with what turned out to be Blythe, I would take my monthly pregnancy test (or five) (who am I kidding, I mean 10) (ish) and while waiting the requisite 4 minutes, I’d say “Please let it be positive this time.  Please, God, just this once”.  And then it would be negative and I’d start again the next month with the begging.  God was probably tired of hearing from me.

After a year or so, we took a little break and wouldn’t you know, one day a few months later, a burrito sounded damn good and I wolfed it down even though I’ve always thought, my whole life through, that burritos were disgusting, and BAM.  Positive pregnancy test.  No negotiations required.

I begged God or the Universe, or who ever else was listening, to let the baby be in a good spot in my deformed uterus.  Because, otherwise, the chance of miscarriage was something like 85% and who bets on those odds?  Our relief at her good uterine placement was short lived when, at 9 weeks, during one of my many daily bathroom visits, I discovered copious amounts of blood gushing from the worst possible place for a pregnant woman.  

Have you ever seen a mother beg for her child’s life?  It’s not pretty.  It involves a lot of blubbering and tears and even snot bubbles, and if you think I might have offered up every thing we possess to the Keeper of the Universe if this child could live, you’d be spot on.  We had to wait through the entire weekend, me on bed rest and continuing my mental begging, before getting to see whether the baby made it. 

When I saw not only a little peanut in my uterus but the flashing light that indicated a heart beat, I just knew this baby was going to make it the whole nine yards, and I quit my begging.  My request had been granted and I didn’t want anyone changing their mind based on the fact that I was annoying.

Over the past few months I picked up my old habit where I left off, asking God and the Universe to let Blythe grow out of her food allergies.  It’s not such a big request, is it?  It’s all I’m asking for, not a fancy new car or world peace or for my adult acne to finally go away, because, really, don’t you think someone in their 30’s should be able to focus on their wrinkles instead?

But then, about a month ago, after I’d gotten all cocky about how I had this thing down pat, what with Blythe going months now without a reaction, we got a rude awakening.  She picked up a girl scout cookie her sister accidentally left within her reach.  Not only did she put it in her mouth, she ate the entire thing.

I could blame the girl scouts for putting high fructose corn syrup in their cookies, myself for keeping a stash of them, my husband for finding the stash, Alison for leaving the cookie out, Blythe for eating it.  But you know, sometimes things are just inevitable.  No matter how hard you try, sometimes mistakes happen.  You can look back on that one thing, that catapult, if you will, and regret it or relive it the rest of your life, but you can’t ever change it.

Every day for 5 weeks now, Blythe has been struggling.  One corn-laden cookie knocked her immune system down and now she’s not only hyper-sensitive to anything corn, she developed a NEW allergy, to soy.  Anyone who comes around has to wash their hands and face before touching or kissing her.  Jeremy has to take a shower and change his clothes before he’s allowed anywhere near her, because she has a reaction from particles he accumulates on his clothes and skin from animal feed and the like.  For Blythe, these allergies went from manageable to out of freaking control.

Being anal retentive and a bit dramatic, I spent a few days thinking, “WHAT NOW?  We may as well order ourselves a bubble and put her in it”.  I felt like we were up against something I couldn’t see, couldn’t predict, couldn’t fix, all while my baby girl suffered and whimpered her way through her days and nights.

But, you know, looking at this as the debt we owe in exchange for her survival, it doesn’t look so bad.  It’s what has changed my attitude from one of defeat to one of proactivity.  I’ll take a sweet, loving, thoughtful, happy little girl who happens to be extremely food allergic over a clump of bloody cells in my toilet, every time.   

Oh and God, if you’re listening?  I think you can mark that invoice “PAID”.

Categories
Life in general Motherhood and Pregnancy Products and Reviews

Forget Diamonds, Coffee is This Girl’s Best Friend

I’ve never liked coffee.  I don’t like the smell, or the bitter taste, or the way it sometimes gives me the trots.  So whenever I’ve needed a little pick-me-up, I’ve relied on Pepsi or Tea.

Only, these days Pepsi tastes like crap and upsets my stomach.  And Tea – well, Tea is fine when you’ve had 8 hours of sleep and need a little boost to get going.  But if you’re like me, and haven’t had a decent night of sleep in over 16 months, drinking Tea is like throwing a thimble of water on a roaring fire.  It doesn’t do a damn thing but piss off the fire, where fire = me.

Over the past few months I’ve tried experimenting with other energy drinks, but they either make me so jittery that I fit right in with the crank heads at Wal-Mart, or they have so many calories that I can’t eat for the rest of the day. 

Enter Starbucks with their non-trot inducing, non-stinky, non-bitter, fairly low-calorie Vanilla Frappuccino, available at every store in the country (and elsewhere in the world, I’m sure).

 
Oh, Starbucks Vanilla Frappuccino.  I cover you in lipstick-laden kisses, if only so that no one else will try to drink you and face my wrath.

Since I’ve “discovered” coffee, I’ve been more productive, more patient, more attentive, more loving and, well, more awake, obviously.  In short, coffee makes me happy.  I’m sorry if I’ve ever rolled my eyes at you for saying that.  Forgive me, for I knew not what I was missing. 

The best part, I think, about my new best friend is that I can buy a case or a carton when I shop and then I don’t have to wait until I leave the house to have my pick-me-up.  I can drink it right at 4:30 am, when Blythe typically wakes up for the day, or I can drink it at 7:30 am, when my husband earns bonus points by letting me sleep in.  Sure, I’m still dead tired by 8 o’clock in the evening.  But I don’t have to fight the urge to rip my loved one’s heads off all day.

And that, my friends, is as close to perfection as I can get at the moment.