Change of perspective

Raise your hand if you were pregnant and heard this: "Oh, your life is totally about to change!" Well, duh! Who goes into this thinking adding a whole new person to the mix, one whose needs you are fully responsible for meeting, isn't going to change things? I mean, I know there's no licensing requirement to become a parent - good thing I didn't have to learn how to parallel park the kid - but c'mon, a little common sense goes a long way.

That said, keep your hand up if even after being annoyed by that comment, you've actually told a newly minted pregnant person about the life-changing event, too. Guilty here! Because it's the extent of the change that's mind-blowing. And it seems no amount of warning can prepare you for the staggering number of new things to come.

I knew I would lose sleep.  I knew the body I grew up with would go on permanent vacation. I knew we'd bleed money. I knew my free time would no longer be free. And on and on. The books don't lie, in fact, I think they aren't harsh enough!

But one thing that really surprised me was a fundamental change in my thinking.

Last night, a good friend of mine mentioned I should not read this month's book club selection because the subject matter is about an abducted child. Pre-baby, this idea wouldn't have bothered me at all. I mean, if you knew me then, you thought I was the last person to have a child. I was a vowed childless person, a champion for adult-only living. When the universe gave me the option of my share of a maternal instinct, I said no thanks and took extra helpings of sarcasm and cynicism. Then the G-man arrived and a little switch went on. 

I see things from his eyes now - both good and bad. The world is always new and I enjoy looking at something and thinking "G-man would like this." Maybe I'm a softie now, thinking of the little things in life to open his eyes. Or maybe it was just about time I stopped and took in the world around me to open MY eyes. 

The bad stuff really sucks, though. News stories about abused or abducted kids. Sad events in books that happen to children. Now I have a face and feeling to put to each of those and it kills me. Watching a movie one day, there was a baby left alone on a boat and screaming. Pre-G, I would have thought it was annoying and wished for it fall overboard. Afterwards, I couldn't stand it. I couldn't even watch the movie anymore. The idea of that happening to the G-man broke my heart. I re-read books from a whole new perspective and am crushed by what I discover the next time around. 

I used to be amazed at people that aren't moved by animal injustice, but I was guilty of being somewhat the same when it came to kids. It turns out, if you don't have one - be it pet or baby - you might just be missing the empathy connection.

Read more...

Got what I wanted

G-man has learned to hug and it's awesome. There's nothing like that little squeeze when you realize he's holding you as much as you're holding him. Scott admitted yesterday that he likes to be the one to get him out of the crib in the morning because he always gets a hug.

So, it's something to look forward to. In the moments he's throwing a tantrum, and I wonder what he'd fetch on eBay, I just have to remember that maybe later, I'll get a hug.

Usually, there's one pretty early in the day. Sure, Scott gets the pristine version fresh from sleepyland, but even the later renditions are nice. This morning, I'm sure there was a hug-fest going on downstairs while I got ready for the day. As my sense of timing is even more out of whack now, Scott needed to leave for work before I was done and brought G-man upstairs to play next to me in my babyproofed bathroom while I finished. (Seriously, this kid loves to play with tampons! He finds them way more fascinating than I do and seems to have more uses for them, too.)

Things were going fine until Scott left. Suddenly, G-man discovers he's alone with me - chopped liver - and goes into meltdown mode. Not only have I not had my hug yet (after all, there's a full box of Tampax in the cabinet), he won't even let me near him to calm him down. Still screaming, we exit the bathroom and head downstairs. Seems he's still a little wary of me, but believes I haven't poisoned his waffle and agrees to some breakfast. Finally he's over the trauma of being home with me and starts his morning. A busy morning apparently, that leaves no room for hugs, despite my nice requests. I even used the sign-language "please" which he likes, but to no avail.

We made our first outing of the day at 9:00. The church across the street is kind enough to offer two hours of day care on Friday mornings so moms can meet, eat snacks, drink coffee and presumably get things done. Forgive the pun, but the time can be a godsend. The drop-off is not always smooth, though, and today he expressed his displeasure with the normal crying fit. But one thing was different - he sat on the floor next to me crying, not clingy like usual. Even in the throws of separation anxiety I can't get an accidental hug.

The next two hours flew by and I eagerly went back to the daycare room to pick him up. It's pretty easy to miss the li'l bugger in a short time. Due to my again stellar sense of timing, he's the last kid there. Is he worried that I'm not coming? Is he in distress that the other kids are gone while he's left? Does he even notice when I walk in? Uh, no.

But then, in the mirror, he sees me...

and smiles...

and turns around...

and starts to run in the way only kids who can't actually run yet do...

and launches himself into my arms, wraps his own little arms around my neck, gives a squeeze...

and I get my hug.

Read more...

If thin is in, I'm out

When I first had G-man, I couldn't understand fat moms. How could a mom possibly be fat?! After all, it was more than the constant being on the go all day, rocking/dancing/walking/swaying the baby for hours for the few moments of precious sleep peace. I actually pictured my body melting away and my arms finally having the definition of my dreams (well, one arm at least). 

But really, it was that you NEVER got to eat! My husband, Scott, would come home from work and ask what I had for lunch and I'd realize not only had I skipped that, breakfast was an unfulfilled fantasy, too. Anytime food was in the proximity of my mouth, G-man needed something. And most of the time, the closest food was really still at the grocery store, not in my house. One thing that hindered me was not eating fast food. There's really not a lot out there in drive-thru land for a vegetarian and one that likes whole foods, not processed things. If the only time G-man slept was in the car, I either packed a snack (highly unlikely I had time, supplies or foresight to do that) or listened to my tummy rumble as I read a book. Sometimes a book about food. 

And truthfully, I was so busy I didn't even think of food that much. It just dropped off my radar as a low priority. Funny, because I was always thinking about when he would/should eat! 

But back to my fat moms...

If I saw one, I thought she must not be a good mom, daring to take time out of caring for her baby to feed herself. And then, I learned something:

I've discovered the 'out of sight, out of mind' phase was just that, a phase. As G-man started to eat more table food, I found myself confronted with food more and more. And here's where the mushy mamas come in. I'm so fixated on what he's going to eat at each meal and snack, I end up not having enough time/supplies to fix my own. So I grab whatever is easiest, usually not a good choice. Then I down it in the few seconds his back is turned so he can't see it and want it. What happens when you eat too fast? You don't get to enjoy your food. You don't remember eating it. You still crave the experience of eating. You search for something new to eat. And pop that in so quickly whales eating plankton are envious of your rate of intake. The vicious cycle continues.

I do try very hard to make the same meal for us, but sometimes it doesn't work out. I often won't eat what he is because I don't want to use his food. He needs it more! God forbid I run out of veggie dogs when that's the only thing he'll eat and I'm to blame for taking the last one. Or, we don't like the same thing. For example, he likes grilled cheese. I hate it. I hate making it and serving it, but it's good for him (on whole grain bread, of course!). So if he has that, I have something else. If he sees that something else, the game is over. He wants what I have (and his lunch is now property of the dog), which is probably just handfuls of his cereal disappearing into my mouth like a conveyor belt.

I dread going out to eat because it's just wasting money. Sure, I order and eat something, but I don't get to enjoy it or even really taste it. Someone (hint: usually not me or my adult dining companions) is throwing a fit, or tossing food on neighboring patrons, or extricating himself from the high chair. I wolf down the rest of my meal, whisk him away and wonder what's in the cabinet at home. The meal I just paid for and ate in full is processed as just a dream in my mind.

Not getting the chance to properly sit down for a meal at home is wrong, too. I eat way too much standing up because I'm grazing and snacking. Even choosing only healthy snacks doesn't quite cut it if you eat all of them at once.

So to all the new moms out there relishing that they are going to end up less than their pre-pregnancy size in no time flat, I say to you: the pounds, they are a comin'.

Read more...

Vertically challenged

I don't know about you, but I want to sit down. Seems like a simple request, huh? Find chair/stool/bench/coffee table/ground, bend knees, plop butt on surface of choice and there you have it. 

But in reality, I stand all freakin' day. I eat, check email, web surf, fix food, clean up toys, chase G-man, walk the dog, fold laundry, read magazines, and everything else you can think of, all on two feet.

Why is it so hard to sit down? Possibly b/c G-man never sits down? Or slows down? But really, how hard should it be for me to push this laptop to the edge of the counter near a stool and type instead of keeping it in the middle (near the sink and a magnet, I might add) where I have to stand? I think now it's a bad habit I've fallen into where even in the times I can sit, I don't.

Whenever I visit my parents, I hear them telling me to sit down, sit down. But if I do, who will watch G-man as he heads for the cabinets of poison? Or the babygate-less stairs? Or the gigantic bowl of M&Ms? Or the very, very sharp "we keep meaning to do something about it" hearth? Uh, not my parents. So it's easier to just be on my toes. Besides, I've learned that nose isn't going to wipe itself, either.

I envy the moms at play groups that enter a room, deposit child, and sit down. Some even with coffee. That's still hot! Wow. I always feel like I'm a giant towering over everyone because I'm standing the entire time. Their precious angels seem to understand quiet, safe play while my guy obviously makes a beeline for the one place/person/thing he shouldn't be near.

I found that now if I have the chance to sit even briefly, I settle in for the long haul. And this can be a problem when you don't really have that kind of time. If G-man takes a nap, and I sit to do ONE little thing at the computer, poof! there goes the nap time and I've wasted 20 minutes reading things I'm not interested in just so I don't have to get up. It's like I'm binge-sitting.

So for now, I'll complain of aching feet and tired back while looking wistfully at the chairs in my home that mock me with their presence and just wonder if this means all the calories I'm eating really just head straight down to my feet. I'm cool with that.

Read more...

Momma never said there'd be days like this

I have a job, a husband, two cats and a dog. I know messy. I know limited time to clean or keep clean. I know cats throwing up - deliberately - on carpet. I know a dog with colitis and poop the consistency of oatmeal that I have to pick up every day. I know that no matter how much we try, a layer of pet fur is simply part of our décor. I've cleaned out hamster cages, hermit crab cages, lizard cages and way too many fish bowls.

But nothing prepared me for this: I also have a 14-month old son, the G-man.

And this, dear friends, is like nothing I've ever encountered.

For starters, I've checked every one of those stupid "your baby needs all these things from our store or it will die in its first two minutes" registry checklists and not one of them included what may be the most important thing to get you through the first few years of life: a hazmat suit. I'm not saying it has to be a fancy Pottery Barn one with a pattern name like Laurel and 16 matching accessories (including fire extinguisher, tortoiseshell goggles and curtains). A simple, functional omigod-that-just-touched-me suit would suffice.

For those of you that knew my pre-baby life, you already understand that I was worried about "baby goo" touching me. They all leak, out of every part, it seems. I cringed at the thought of drool on my clothes or worse yet, my skin. I frantically tried to find how to guarantee I wouldn't have a baby that even thought of spitting up. I even SERIOUSLY considered stocking up on vinyl gloves for all of the diaper changes. So it would have been nice if any of you had mentioned these daily activities would be the least of my problems.

Constant spitting up? Check.

Pee on the wall? Check.

The carpet? Check.

The dresser? Check.

Me? Check.

Projectile vomiting? Check.

Snot & drool running everywhere? Check.

A kitchen floor that resembles a pig trough? Check.

A finger that first goes in his nose, then my mouth? Check.

One in MY nose, then my mouth? Check. (and yes, it's still his finger)

Formula stains on pretty much everything (sofa, chairs, bed, clothes)? Check.

There's more, but you get the picture. You may have noticed I did not mention one item and I'm not going to jinx myself by saying it, but to those of you who have had to cut the clothes off of your children rather than pull them up over their head, I feel for you.

For the most part, I was a passive player in this game of yuck. However, when solid foods arrived and I won the lottery of doing most of the feedings, I became an integral part of the dance. 

I have often wondered why I have yet to invest in a mealtime tarp. Not for the floor, chair, table or baby (although they could certainly all use one), but for me. No matter where G-man is, his food hits me. He can be at Parent's Day Out and I still end up with a splatter of lentils at lunch (he's either got a great arm, great aim or both). Even food that seems mess-free ends up on me. Just this evening, my shoulder sported bits of veggie dog that somehow bounced up from the floor when his plate went down. That's determination.

The rest of my day was just as typical: a bottle carried upside-down through the living room; potato pancakes in both of our hair; endless tissues gamely trying to keep up with the snot-fountain masquerading as his nose; the discovery that the sippy cup lid does not stay on when said cup, filled with dark liquid, is dropped from a booster chair; the sensation of my finger going through the wipe in a delicate situation; being able to solidify my position as a human napkin when he coughed in my arms with a mouth full of banana smoothie; and that was all before noon.

So now you know the inspiration for the name of this blog. I hope that I can spare new moms the shock of what's to come and in lieu of the hazmat suit, get to Costco NOW and stock up on wipes. They come 1000/box and that will last you...12 days.

Read more...