What If and Other Late Night Terrors

I guess the stink of Hubby's job(less) situation finally reached my bitchy SIL, the one with all of the money and none of the class, because she just emailed me... completely out of the blue...

It had the same tenor as most of our past dealings... "Hi-Hi. We're doing FABULOUS. Our life. PERFECT! So what's up with YOU?"

They seem to have escaped the economic crapfest. Prosperity certainly agrees with them and I can't blame her for rubbing it in being so happy.

Insert some passive-aggressive BS about "not spending the holidays together" (as if we ever did), and you can see why we don't talk much...

She isn't the only one asking us, "Do you know... Do'ya? Do'ya? Huh? Huh?".

Everyone wants to know what's going to happen, but no more so than ME. It's quickly become the "...but, how are you feeee-ling?" of my pregnancy days and it's twice as annoying since I have no news to share.

Nothing.

While my dear, sweet husband is still hoping for a new contract and refusing to put our house back on the lettings market, I've simply resigned myself to the fact that I have a ton of (re)packing to do...

I've been a jumble of emotions that I can't even begin to sort right now. There's a lot of disappointment and anxiety, but GUILT tops the list.

Months ago, when the stress of moving to London finally got to me, I made the calamitous error of letting my guard down while talking to my mother-in-law.

Her response?

In a nutshell, a long lecture on how I should get over myself and be a stronger person, because what choice do I have... and I quote, "It's not like YOU would get a job and support your family".

Yeeeeah. Ouch!

At the time, I just filed that comment away in"crazy, hypocritical things my mother-in-law has no right to say to me" and moved on with my life. (It's a really big file.)

Although lately, her words have come back to haunt me.

I'm smart. I'm marketable. I love, love, LOVE being home with our son, but hate that the responsibility and pressure of keeping us solvent is all on my husband.

This will be the third time he's lost his job in two and a half years and each "transition" has nipped away at our savings more and more. Savings in which I have not contributed in a long time...

I stay up every night and I wonder how we're going to afford to send our son to college.

I wonder, if we do move back, how we're going replace the things we sold for this "grand adventure"- the second car, the washer/dryer, our mattress.

I wonder if I should be supporting my family.

My husband insists that I AM making a contribution. Of course, this was upon coming home to a happy boy and night two of my "holiday trial runs".

(If you care to know, tonight it was roasted lamb with ciabatta stuffing, delicious Jerusalem artichokes, and cranberry jelly. A bit posh for po' folk, but I'll give up Christmas before I'll give up cooking.)

I know we're not the only ones faced with financial woes. Nearly everyday, I hear or read about someone else in more dire situations than us.

When I do, I feel selfish for complaining about my life losing a bit of its glamour and complacency, but I can't help wondering where we would be if I had made different choices.

Speechless

Early last week, I mentioned taking my son to the doctor. He's had the same icky congestion and constantly getting ear infections since last Fall.

Now, I may only have a Bachelors in Psych and a Masters in Management, but I, in my medical opinion and with my vast medical knowledge and training, determined that these little issues could be all be solved with some allergy medicine.

Allergy medicine that I needed a "real" doctor to dose and prescribe... I wasn't really interested in her opinions, mind you.

Since I drove all the way there, waited for-freakin'-ever in a sterile white room with a view of the parking lot and NO TOYS, and paid my money, I wanted to discuss a few other things with her while we had our fifteen seconds...er, minutes with her.

The conversation dwelled on normal toddler issues, my son's recent lack of appetite and his toddler PMS, when I let slip that my son doesn't talk very much. She actually stopped tapping on her touchscreen for a moment and asked, "what do you mean?"

"What I mean," I continued, "is that my son understands with incredible depth everything we say to him. He just doesn't say many words consistently... well, beyond 'ma', 'da'. 'do' (dog), and 'dat' (what's that?)." Occasionally, he'll add a new word or two, say it once, then never repeat it again. I just attributed it to his personality, which is somewhat reserved and more observant. Less vocal, more mechanical. I really wasn't worried it. Honest. I only mentioned it for "completeness" at the exam.

According to my mother-in-law, my husband didn't talk until well past two! She assured me a long time ago that "if he's like his father, he'll say nothing and then just start talking in complete sentences and with perfect diction one day...and...never...stop". (And, no she was not exaggerating.) My son is everything like his father...

He does well with his other (nonverbal) communication-- some baby sign language, but mostly gestures when he needs something. I didn't think this is unusual for kids his age.

In fact, all but one or two of his friends talk, if you can call it that... and it's mostly unintelligible blabbing that their parents attribute meaning to...

"Dat! Dat!"

"What?"

"Oh, he just asked 'Can I have a cookie?"

"Really?"

"Oh yeah, he's so smart... Say 'please', dear"

"NAAAHHHH!" (starts crying, runs off with a cookie)

...and their moms, dads, and pediatricians aren't concerned.

So when our doctor referred us to the county's Early Childhood Intervention (ECI) for speech therapy, I was shocked.

It's hard for me to truly express how I feel about this. (Ironic, no?) I put off blogging about it because it upset me so much and talking about it didn't help. When I told some of my mommy friends about it, they were outraged on my behalf.

So, I've downplayed it as simply "making use of the services my taxes provide", which seems to placate them.

Personally, I think they're probably a little outraged on their behalf as well. Their sons, who are slightly older than mine, seem to be at the same pace with their language development, and what mother wouldn't be put off by being told that their child is anything less than happy and NORMAL.

Of course, I want to do everything I can to help my son, so last week, I made the appointments for his intake and assessment with ECI. The whole thing has thrown me in such a loop that I started stuttering while speaking to the counselor assigned to us. I made a joke about being the one having "speech delays" and she laughed. That made me feel better.

Our appointment isn't for a few weeks, so I'll know more then. In the meantime, I want to get your input. Has anyone else dealt with this sort of thing before?

Dirty Santa

As I got the first of my Christmas packages shipped yesterday, I was feeling rather proud of myself. I only had one or two gifts left to buy. The rest were under my tree, wrapped and sparkling with Christmas cheer... or so I thought.

I thought that quitting my job meant never having to buy another "coworker gift" for the rest of my life. I was wrong. It turns out I have another kind of co-worker these days...

My playgroup mommies.

As I was informed last night that the precedent was set (long before I joined) that our playgroup gets each other Christmas gifts. For the kids AND the mommies...

There are (officially) six boys in our playgroup, including my son. However, there are two older brothers who are always with us and undeniably part of the group as well. That's SEVEN additional gifts, plus five mommy gifts to purchase. Although I consider these ladies to be good friends (and more importantly, awesome travel companions) and love their kids like my own, that's more additional dinero (plus time shopping) than I'm wanting to spend...

I know I shouldn't feel obligated to give a gift, but then again, I kinda do. Do you think I can get away with being the one that sends the lovely and prompt thank you cards?

Not for the faint of heart

Man. Oh, man. Day 21... think I'll make it to Day 30? I swear, when this NaBlo-blah, blah is over, I'm taking a BREAK!

Today's thanks is short. I'm grateful that now that a few of my friends have had or are pregnant with their second child, the parenting bar was been lowered... and I mean waaaaay low.

Gone are the days of thumbing through our dog-eared copies of Dr Sears' The Baby Book or reaching for The Happiest Baby on the Block... Anything goes, provided it gets your new baby to sleep through the night and not wake up the older kid... No judgment. No guilt. No criticism.

Your kid doesn't go to bed until 11... Rock on! You can party with my kid!
Your daughter hasn't been weened off the boob, yet... Cool.
Sleeps in your bed...
Eats M&Ms daily...
Still not potty trained...
None of you know baby sign language!?

Hey, whatever gets your through the day!

And a general sigh of relief is felt around the land.

Back to Reality

We still had a few hours before we were supposed to leave Charleston, and my friends and I were trying to soak up all that we could of the city. We were strolling through one of the beautiful downtown neighborhoods, when I realized that I hadn't heard from my family in a while...

I called home and my husband informed me in a very grave voice that he had some good news and some bad news for me... and my heart stopped.

"That maker tip our son bit off and you thought he swallowed... Well, we found it on the floor."

"Okay. What's the bad news? What happened?" I fretfully asked as my throat tightened.

So I hadn't realized that toddlers especially like bitting the tips off of markers until my son did it last week. It was a Crayola marker- washable and "nontoxic", but I still called Poison Control. They told me there was absolutely nothing to worry about unless he had an allergic reaction. He seemed fine at the time and I completely forgot about it until my husband mentioned it over the phone.

He paused for effect and I yelled, "Tell me the bad news, NOW" .

In the faction of a window of a second that it took for my husband to respond, this is was was racing through my mind?

What if the marker irritated the lining of his tiny stomach and he was having cramps? What if he fell and hit his head? Can toddlers get concussions? Maybe he had a seizure? I just heard about really young kids having unexplained seizures. My sister used to have seizures. What if it's genetic? Did he break his arm? his leg? his spine? Maybe he had an allergic reaction to something else and they were racing to the hospital. Were they in a car accident on the way? Did he choke on a grape? I warned everyone to cut them in half! Cut the stupid grapes in half! OMG! OMG! OMG!

My husband took a deep breath and said, "Our son ripped all the paper off a green crayon..."

"AND?!!!"

"Nothing. That's it. I thought you'd get a kick out off that."

"Do NOT tell me you have 'bad news' about MY son while I am HUNDREDS of miles away from him and have it be something that RETARDED."

"Oh, I just thought you'd laugh. It's pretty funny."

"No, that's just a day in the life, man. You had me thinking he was in the hospital, or in a cast, or something. You SCARED me!!!"

"oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"I can't even talk to you right now."

As I hung up on him, all of my overprotective mommy feelings came back in a flood and suddenly I missed my family more than I loved this charming place and this dreamy time away from it all. In being transported to a new place, I managed to recapture an old frame of mind- the liveliness of my (long forgotten) bachelorette days...

The past few days were all about hanging out with the girls, getting dressed up and going out every night, sipping cocktails in toppley glassware, eating in restaurants that didn't have highchairs, and shopping without rushing to get home in time for naps. One by one, each of my cares melted away and I no longer worried about how a new purchase would fit into the household budget, but rather when I'd get to wear it out... again.

In Charleston, I wasn't someone's wife or mommy. No one complimented me on "how well my son ate his veggies", only on my cute shoes. I was just me.

My mind snapped back to reality quickly after that phone call. My reality. I may have stolen some time to laugh, sip wine, and relax with my girlfriends, but I'm not carefree anymore. Not really. I am a wife and a mom. I plan. I worry. I nurture. I worry. I care. I worry.

My flight didn't depart for another two hours, but that's when my vacation actually ended.

Driving over the Ashley River at sunset. Just breathtaking and a little bittersweet. Bye-bye, Charleston

Gotta Want It Bad

Well, I'm home now. Did you miss me?

My girls' trip to Charleston? Umm, well, you know... FABULOUS!

But more on that later. I need to tell you how I kicked off my vacation. Man, oh man, I needed this getaway... badly!!!

In the days leading up to our trip, I was experiencing a heavy dose of mommy guilt and a wee twinge of wifey guilt. I should have been spending this time with my family, not running off to be with my girlfriends for four days... yes, FOUR DAYS!

I kept asking Hubby, "Should I go?"

"Yes."

"But-"

"You deserve to go. Have fun."

"Really?"

"YES!"

"Okay."

The day before I left was a blur of last minute errands, chores, lists, schedules, and reminders. I went to the grocery store, paid the bills, returned phone calls, and did the laundry. I just wanted to make sure everything would run smoothly while I was away.

As a result, I didn't end up packing my bags until Conan O'Brian came on and it took me an hour and a half to try everything on and match it to shoes and jewelry, get it in the suitcase, etc...

I was super prepared and about 97% packed by the time I went to bed, a mere four hours before I had to be up again...

This is how the next morning was supposed to go:

5:00 am- Wake up, shower, get dressed, place toiletries in suitcase. Put sleeping child into car. Leave.

6:00 am- Breeze through security because I was a good girl and put all my liquids in 3.4 oz sized bottles and secured them in a Ziplock brand plastic baggie. Get coffee, sit, read... leisurely wait to board plane.

And, this is how my morning really went...

5:00 am- Son wakes up HUNGRY. I don't manage to get into the shower until 5:30.

6:15 am- Still throwing together the very last of my crap. Son leans over my open suitcase and VOMITS!!!

6:20 am- Switching out clothes and trying to find another suitcase as mine now smells like rancid milk...

6:24 am- Give up search for another suitcase and scrub present suitcase with Lysol wipes. Toiletries bag can't be saved. Throw contents into large ziplock bag. (classy!) Still trying to find new clothes to pack...

6:34 am- On the road. Hubby swears he knows a shortcut to the airport even though we only live 10 minutes away. Doesn't matter, early morning rush hour already started. Just drive, damnit! Son dozes off in the back.

6:47 am- Witness passenger-on-passenger smackdown in security line.

7:10 am- Arrive at gate as they are calling my name. "Final boarding. Will Passenger GHD, please report to the gate. This is your FINAL call."

7:20 am- Sitting on plane, realizing that my mommy guilt has completely faded away.

Huh?! Imagine that.

I'm still trying to catch up, but I plan to post more on my trip the rest of this week. In the meantime, I'll leave you with this photo. It's the view from the balcony of our hotel room...

Our room had two balconies, actually...

And that's when reality hit....

I finally got in touch with a friend from college who had her baby earlier this summer. She's still trying to get a handle on the whole lack of sleep/showering, napping/feeding schedule, losing brain cells joys of motherhood before her maternity leave ends, so we've been playing phone tag for a while. It was so nice to finally hear from her and get caught up on all the vital baby details...

How was the labor? Are you nursing? Is he sleeping through the night? Of course not, how are YOU holding up?

When asked about her son's major milestones, she told me that he's smiling and cooing like a pro, but hasn't been holding up his own head very well. It seems that they don't do much "tummy time" because she doesn't like putting him on the floor...

Suppressing giggles, I assured her that "tummy time" shouldn't make or break his chances for Harvard, Class of 2028. He'll be just fine!

Talking to my friend reminded me of the "not so long ago" when I would freak out about all sorts of things that I find silly now. It also reminded me of all the things that I never even considered freaking out about...

There's a fabulous book I keep at easy reach on my nightstand called, I Was a Really Good Mom Before I Had Kids: Reinventing Modern Motherhood.

Ladies and Dads-to-be, toss out that tired copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting. This book should be your required reading for parenthood... especially for anyone that's ever uttered the phrase, "Can you believe they let their kid... I would NEVER do that!" or "How hard could taking care of little kids be?"

It's like nothing you could have ever expected... EVER.

I flip through my copy whenever I need a "reality check" or a little reassurance that I am still a good mom... just a little worn down.

I used to think I knew it all. I went into motherhood headstrong and certain of absolutely everything that I would and wouldn't do as a parent...

I thought going back to work would be a total no brainer for me. ("HA!", says the SAHM.) I had my ideas on how "easy" it would be to impose MY schedule on my son. These days, I'm lucky if he allows me to impose clothing on him. (I only appear to be in charge around here.)

I never realized how powerful all-consuming mommy guilt could be or how emotional I would become over the slightest thing like my son having a bad day at Mom's Morning Out. I never knew what the words "this hurts me more than it hurts you" truly meant until I had to discipline my son for his own good. I never knew that I could give so much of myself (so much of the time) and still feel like I'm not doing enough...

I love being a mom, but some days are just tougher than others. This book helps me to see past all that and laugh at the insanity that my life has become... especially my crazy expectations.

I used to be paranoid about my newborn being too close to the floor, too. I avoided registering for a bouncy chair for the longest time because I thought they were too close to the floor... where people walk... with their feet... and their GERMS! Gahhh!

I eventually caved when I was told that bouncy chairs = getting to shower. In fact, I ended up getting two: one for the bathroom and one for the kitchen, so I could shower AND eat(!!) These days I love it when my son stays on the ground level. It's the only place that he can't fall off!

Peace Be With You

A working mom friend of mine called and asked to schedule a play date for our boys on her day off. I was pleasantly surprised, but a bit shocked and honored that she'd want to spend her day off with us. Having been one once upon a time, I know how very precious a day off is to a working mom.

We met at the indoor playground in the mall (because it never stops raining here), then had lovely lunch together. We talked about the kids and what new skills each has acquired recently. Once that conversation grew stale, I asked her about work, which she very obviously enjoys, and her face light up. She excitedly went into a lengthy discussion about her upcoming business trips and some recent hiring at her firm, followed by some woe over being away from her family so often...

I entirely wasn't sure if that last part was for my sake or hers. For the record, I don't believe that the "Mommy Wars" exist either. In fact, I find that most moms go out of their way to be supportive of one another. Whenever I talk to my "working moms" friends, they seem obliged to make some sort of neutralizing statement like this after talking about their jobs... as if it's not okay to be a mom and like your job. Likewise, I make a conscientious effort to take on a chipper, even tone when making blithe remarks like, "Well, you have such a great nanny that your family really likes. I hear that's pretty hard to come by. You are so lucky".

What I really want to say is, "Stop feeling guilty/Apologizing for yourself. Your kid is happy, healthy, and just taught my kid how to say 'milk' and 'duck'. He is obviously thriving under your excellent parenting/working juggling skills."

We Get The Hint And No Thanks

We received a dinner invitation for this weekend, but I was feeling super lazy about taking my son to a restaurant. Especially since I seem to be doing it a lot recently.

Having to chop up and pack all of my son's food along with his place mats, bibs, wipes, and spoons beforehand, only for it to end up on the restaurant floor gets tiresome. He usually takes more of an interest in MY food anyway, demanding bites of my sandwich or insisting that he dip his spoon in my soup...

Naturally, I'm less apologetic and more comfortable dining out with certain friends, mostly other couples with babies. People that UNDERSTAND or don't seem to mind the destruction happening before them.

Where two or more babies are gathered... screaming, chaos, and mess is sure to ensue. Conversation, or rather our piecemeal attempts at conversion, is greatly dependant (diminished) upon the mood of our tiny dining companions. I'm lucky that once our son's fancy is indulged, he's usually content to continue quietly playing with his bowl and spoon. Although he has his moments, my son is generally calm and well behaved during meals.

While the friends who invited us to dinner this weekend don't have children of their own, they seemed okay with including our son. We had already agreed to going, but I was a bit slack about getting back to them about finalizing the details. In the interim, they went ahead and made alternate plans with another couple we know... you know, just in case we NEVER call back.

Okay, so we never NEVER call back and I find that to be a trife rude, but whatever....

They had planned a night of (heavy) drinking at a place that serves something called a "Blow Torch", followed by a movie. Since it obviously wasn't baby-friendly and too late for us to get a sitter anyway, we politely declined. The other couple have a child about our son's age, but they were planning to leave him at a daycare.

"We hope it wasn't because we invited that other couple to join us," my friend weakly inquired.

I wasn't because they invited the other couple. It was because I didn't want to hear another thinly veiled "hint" from them about how "you know, we leave our son with an hourly drop-in daycare when we go out and he really, really, really likes it..." (implied: why don't you do the same ?)

I know it's aggravating to take our kids out with us. Sure, it limits where we can go and how long we can stay.... Sometimes, we have to go out again just to rehash the conversation we tried to have the last time we had dinner together...

Still, dealing with all that it still better than leaving my toddler with a stranger. I guess I just have a silly little quirk about needing to know and trust the people who I leave to care for my child. While it think it's fine and dandy that they found something that works for them, I don't feel comfortable leaving my son with someone he hardly knows... Hell, that WE hardly know!

My husband and I fully admit to being overprotective and paranoid, but I think we have every right to be considering the kind of world we live in. I have heard enough personal accounts from my mom (the pediatrician) and my sister (the former daycare worker, nanny, and school teacher) to know what comes from not trusting your parental instincts. Plus, I know what happens at daycare centers, even the "good ones"... not good.

It's not that I don't like leaving my son with other people. He stays with my parents or my sisters fairly often when we need a break, a date night, or simply to run an errand best run without him. I've never left my son with a paid sitter, because I haven't had to... Fortunately, my family is more than willing to help out whenever they can.

All I ask is a decent amount of time to plan ahead... and perhaps that you don't blow me off and make alternate plans the morning of when you could have simply called me to confirm. You know, the funny thing about the phone is that it works both ways.

I'm Going!

Today, I purchased a plane ticket and registered for BlogHer '07! (Yea!!!)

When I first approached my blogging-partner-in-crime with the idea of attending the conference together, I was only half serious and only half expecting her to go for it. Well, so much for that...

A week later, her sweet connections secured us an awesome hotel rate for the weekend (thank you! thank you!) and we were exchanging flight itineraries by e-mail. Next thing I knew, I was divulging my credit card info and clicking "purchase"!

I'm actually really excited about attending, but once my friend gave me an estimate on our total costs including travel and incidentals... HOLY MOLY! I felt a HUGE sinking feeling of guilt/doubt over spending the money. I mean, there's soooooo much other stuff that money could be going towards... like, ummm... replacing that chintzy tv tray that's been masquerading as a night stand in my bedroom or, hmm, I don't know, my son's college fund...

Also, since I quit my job, I've been reluctant to to blow lots of money on myself... For my son, anything. On the house, of course. Gifts for my husband, in heartbeat. For me, not so much.

Why? Because as a stay-at-home mom, I still feel guilty about not contributing to our family financially. I know. I know. I contribute in other "far nobler" ways by taking care of our son, making sure we have friends, and running our household, thereby eliminating the cost of childcare, rent-a-friend, and maid service (because you better believe my house would be a total sty if I had to work too...)

My husband, on the other hand, does not have one iota of resentment about being the family's "bread winner". It helps that he generally enjoys what he does, but he also finds that he works better knowing the everything at home is taken care of. He always reminds me that what I'm doing IS far more benefical in a ways that money just can't buy and I DO deserve to take some time and resources for myself and my hobbies (I know, he's a saint!), but still... It's been a leap for me to think of it as "our money".

But as he put it, "What the point of making money if we can't enjoy it?" and " It IS our money."

So here I GO!

Happy Mother's Day

I may be a great mom, but this Mother's Day I was a lousy daughter/ daughter-in-law. We were supposed to go out of town to visit my in-laws and planned to take my mother-in-law to a lovely brunch for Mother's Day.

My in-laws are currently residing at an extended stay inn as they wait for their house to be completed.

Why are my well-to-do in-laws doing living out of a pay-by-week establishment like common car thieves or drug dealers when they could have just stayed at their old house for a few more weeks, you ask... Just know that it's a long story that gets more and more ridiculous as time goes on and causes me to sigh loudly and throw my hands up in the air... not my family. not my family. not my family.

The last thing they needed was more stuff and since apparently they have been living on hot dogs lately, we figured that a nice brunch would be an appreciated gesture. Still, I pressed my husband for more gift ideas-- a scarf, a book, anything...

The best he came up with was PISTACHIOS! Yes, nuts... because they are her favorite snack and therefore must also make a great gift (?) I think he's nuts. Well, he was dead set on getting her a bag of pistachios.

Hey, it's his mom, right? Now do you understand why I insist on buying my own gifts? He certainly means well, but isn't that just typical?

Well, at the last minute, my husband decided that there was "too much on his plate" and he didn't "really feel like going" this weekend and that was Mother's Day Gift enough for me.

It's not that I didn't want to see my in-laws. We weren't going to have much time with them anyway, since we planned to arrive just in time for our niece's first birthday party, would be staying at a hotel that night, then leaving right after lunch the next day. In fact, I'm a little bummed out to miss the party.

It's that most of our friends knew we were heading out of town for the weekend, so it's totally been a weekend for me, me, me -- no e-mails, no phone calls, no previous commitments... Just time to relax and sleep in with my little family.

Unfortunately, my husband neglected to send the card I had purchased for his mom weeks ago...

"I was planning to give it to her in person. She'll understand," he says.

Well, I felt like a COMPLETE ASS when in the mail yesterday afternoon arrived a card and a check from his mom to me. It was strictly for me to spend on myself; not baby clothes, not toys, not playtime music. She knows me well...

Unlike my in-laws, my family is pretty lax on gift giving. We send cards every once in a while, but no one really expects it or stands on ceremony. With the exception of Christmas, we tend to buy stuff for one another as it is needed/wanted, not just because Hallmark Congress declared today "Mother's Day"...

Since I wasn't planning on seeing my parents this weekend, I knew my mom would just let me know when she thought of something she'd like. Hey, no judging. That's just the way we are and it works.

So here I am, on Mother's Day neither having bought a gift nor sent a card to either mother, but am surprisingly well-rested. Instead of changing out of my pajamas and fighting the crowds for some over-priced brunch, I sent my husband and son to get bagels and coffee, which I plan to eat in bed.

Happy Mother's Day... to me.

Photo by evissa

Mommy, You're the BEST

In the past week, the blogoshere has been gushing with "I am a Good Parent" declarations, triggered by Rebecca of Girl's Gone Child, who suggests that the trend of self-deprecation is the new “I’m fat”. She's definitely on to something...

Why, I don't even think twice about posting about my insecurities as as new mom- feeling alone, and seeking validation. In my personal life, I make jokes about my inability to discipline and I'm the first one to downplay my role as primary caretaker of my son and household. I do this because I try not to take myself too seriously and musing about my mishaps and missteps has always to be crowd pleaser.

Rebecca DOES have a point about this constant self-deprecation being hurtful in a way. She writes...

That by saying I love myself and my abilities as a mother, I am somehow being arrogant, cocky. Vain? That we so easily say kind and loving things about our children and are unable to say anything kind and loving about ourselves. Don't we deserve that? Haven't we earned that right

After all, no one wants to be seen as a CompetiMommy, right? As if saying we're bad moms, makes us more approachable and more likable. Come to think of it, isn't that a bit like playing dumb so the boys will like you...

So, the answer to your question, Rebecca, is YES. Yes, we have earned the right to be proud of all of our good intentions, the quiet, blissful moments that we don't blog about, and all of the effort we put into being GOOD PARENTS.

Parenting is hard. I may not always know what I'm doing, but everything I do is out of love for my son. If no one else will tell me what a good, nay... AMAZING mom I am, it's about time that I do...

I'm a good mom because I care enough to have guilt.

I'm a good mom because I don't need baby sign language to know exactly what my son needs... I already know.

I'm a good mom because for my son I find strength and patience I never knew I had. When I had a bad day at work (when I was working), I would just get up and leave- sometimes just for a quick walk around the cube farm, sometimes for lunch, sometimes for the day... I just left until I could deal with it again. Well, I can't do that with my son. Doing a good job with him matters more to me than any project for work.

I'm a good mom because I love my son so much that I could eat him. As he leaves for work in the morning, my husband will (jokingly) remind me, "Don't eat the baby today." I never do. Still, that kind of love is scary because I know if anything were to happen to him, it would hurt that much more. Yet, I'm willing to take the risk because I can't imagine my life without him.

I'm a good mom because no matter how challenging our day has been, I still look forward doing it all again tomorrow.

And, lastly... I'm a good mom because my son tells me so- every morning when I walk into his nursery and he beams at me, every day when he reaches out to hug me, and every evening when he won't go to sleep until I kiss him good-night.

Sorry, if this isn't as fun and frivioulous as some of my previous posts, but Rebecca made me do it. (THANK YOU, REBECCA.)

True Mom Confessions

Hmm, how best to describe this deliciousness?

I know. I'll just post an excerpt from the site. I hope they don't mind...

"I have a fantasy that a really hot stripper would pay me a visit (when I have no kids around! yeah right!)

The part that would be a major turn-on is when he got to his thong he wouldn't stuff his junk in my face, he would whip out cleaning supplies.

He would dance around as he deep cleaned my house, windows, grout, the fridge. That would get me off!

Come to think of it he wouldn't even need to be hot, so long as he cleaned well ;) "

Spread the word!

This Mommy War

As you probably guessed from my post on my recent mommy meltdown, I'm still at odds (with myself) about quitting my job.

I was raised with the notion that when it comes to be my time to be a mom, I would naturally become a "working mom." Never gave it a second thought. After all, I was raised by one, and all of my friends' moms worked. That's all I knew growing up in the post-feminist 80s and girl-power 90s.

After college, while other girls married their college sweethearts and started families at 21, I went on to receive a Masters Degree. I climbed surely and steadily in my career. I loved my job and I was good at it. Then, I got pregnant...

... and I didn't know what to think.

Naturally, my husband and I were thrilled about our son, but knowing what to do about my career was a toughy. Mommy Wars, nothing. I was more concerned with the war in my head...

"Do I stay or do I go? "

"What will I be missing out on?"

"Will my son forgive me for not being there for him? "

"Did I ever forgive my mother?"

and on, and on, and on...

I struggled with my decision for over a year. Since I really didn't know what I wanted to do (even after I saw those sweet baby brown eyes looking up at me), I did tours of duty in both camps and in between. I went from maternity leave to "working mom" to "working-from-home mom" to "full-time stay-at-home mom" over the course of nine months.

Eventually, my husband and I realized that it was vital to our marriage to have one of us taking care of the household. We both had crazy-busy careers that would have ensured a life of take-out, expensive day care, and hectic weekends of "trying to get it all in"...

Since my husband made about triple what I did, economically it was an easy choice to decide who would be doing the sacrificing...

That's not to say that I don't have moments of peace and satisfaction. After all, my son and I wake up every day and get to do exactly what we feel like doing. It's nice work if you can get it, but there are days when I just want to cry-- especially as it gets harder to deal with the tantrums and the never-ending demands. I feel like someone else could be doing a better job here, and what the hell am I doing?

I know, I know... grass is always greener..., time and distance makes you forget the bad times and reminisce too fondly about the good times... blah, blah, blah.

When being a mom and keeping the house in order is my life's work and I have nothing more to show for it than a screaming, crying, tortured soul rolling around on the dirty, dirty, dirty floor, there are not enough Mother's Day bouquets or macaroni art in the world to make me feel that I made the right choice.

I'll admit that I get a twinge of green whenever I hear about my friends' raises and promotions. I envy my best friend's stories about her newest accounts won and all the praise and recognition she gets at work. I even get annoyed with my husband when he talks too much about work...

...ESPECIALLY when he goes from complaining about being "under-utilized" and getting too much "down time" one week to complaining about being over-worked and unable to "surf the 'net" as much the very next.

When he kept saying that he'd rather be at home working on his own projects, I told him I am MORE than willing to trade places, but being the stay-at-home parent goes beyond "just taking care of the kid".... if that's even possible.

As I enumerated all of the other tasks that come with running our household (i.e. remembering to running out in the middle of the day to buy birthday gifts for my ungrateful in-laws, managing our social calendar, doing the grocery shopping, etc.), he balked and decided it was easier to stop complaining.

I know that going back to work would mean missing the great moments with my son. Like when we decide to go for a late afternoon swim and the indoor pool at my gym is all ours. Or, seeing how happy he is when he learns something new or gets to climb on the stuff at Gymboree. I'd miss the way his face lights up when he sees his friend. I'd miss the three hour play dates where I don't even wear a watch 'cuz we have no where in particular to be... no conference calls, no meetings, no deadlines...

I don't think I'll ever be 100% happy with any choice I make, but at least I have the satisfaction of knowing that my husband is completely intimidated by what this "stay at home mommy business" entails.

Maybe I'll even get some more "thank you's".

Yes! Yes! Yes! I'm not the only one!!!

Last week was the most difficult, exhausting, frustrating week for me. In addition all the awful things happening out there, there's been a war brewing at home and I'm whipped.

It seems that my sweet, darling, well-behaved, easy-peasy, chilled-out, laid-back son has been possessed. How else can I explain the overnight 180 into a volatile, unpredictable, discontented teetering ball of energy?

It's true. Something has gotten into him and it's bad enough that even the playgroup mommies noticed and told him to "cheer up" as we left the park on Friday...

I used to know exactly how to keep him happy, entertained, and satisfied, and now it seems like there's NOTHING I can do to please him. Tantrum have become a major staple of our day, rather than the exception, and they are unusually over the most ridiculous, impossible things no one can control like his toys not being able to stand on their heads (hello, rules of gravity) or the refrigerator not moving when he pushes it...

It's bad enough that to have to tell an irrational person, "no", but then there's the being trapped in my house, where I can't eat, launder, cook, clean, organize, potty, or put away until my son's sleeps because he is RIGHT THERE as soon as I so much as crack open the fridge, closet, or cabinet to get something...

Our son likes to get into everything and gets soooo frustrated when I won't let him hurt himself. Within seconds, he is unloading all of the glass-jarred jams and jellies from the fridge door or trying to pull down a toaster oven on to his head. He goes ballistic if I won't let him play in the trash cans or crawl into the dishwasher to get at the steak knives. No interest in spoons or plastic bowls, just the stuff that will poke his eyes out...

I get so caught up in just keeping him safe and sound during the day, that I forget the most obvious things I mommy should know.

...like, uh, putting sunscreen on my son before he goes to the park or a jacket when it's cold outside... What kind of mom am I????

Each day as my husband (thankfully) takes over his bedtime routine, I collapse, exhausted and emotionally drained, and ask myself, "...and I left my job for THIS?'

My awesome job where I was praised constantly, people listened when I talked, and I knew exactly what I was doing (and even if I didn't, someone was always there to tell me what to do).

I never once doubted whether or not I was good at my job or felt any guilt over it. I left my career which I WAS GOOD AT to be in this nebulous world of self-doubt, isolation, and guilt... this world where I am at the whim of a 12 month old...WHY????"

One afternoon, as he was down for his nap, I called a friend to vent, but she was generally unsympathetic. Next, I called my husband and blubbered endlessly about being an awful mother, having no one to turn to, blah, blah...

I begged him to "puh-lease, come home", but no luck. I was on my own. Completely and totally on my own....

That is until I logged on and found this from a favorite blog of yours and mine, amalah . com

Noah's throwing a million tantrums a day, probably because he feels like shit and isn't sleeping well either, but after the 999,999th hissyfit of the day my sympathy is ALL TAPPED OUT. Seriously, son. An inability to get the fridge magnets lined up precisely to your liking is no reason to get all freaking nuclear and screamy.

Yes! Yes! Yes! I'm not the only one!!! Thanks so much for that,. You have no idea how much that made me feel better... even if it sounds like you're having a rought time too.

Confident and Empowered

I had no sooner clicked "Publish" on my recent post about my mommy style (or lack thereof) when I plopped on the sofa, turned on the TV, and saw a new commercial for Suave, a company whose recent tag line is: "say yes to beautiful without paying the price"...

You may have seen it too. It shows a woman going through the stages of her life all the way to motherhood. As the years past pregnancy go by, you see her looking more and more degenerate... but not too much. This is a commercial trying to sell you stuff, after all, and we all know ugly doesn't move hair products.

Following this montage, in big, red, bold letters, the ad copy reads: "89% of moms admit to letting themselves go". Humph!

But, no worries... they have shampoo and conditioner to help you get "yourself back". Unless this magic potion of theirs can do something about the stretch marks and about losing 40 pounds, I'm not buying it.

In searching for a video clip to post, I happened upon something more intriguing on the company website-- a link to the Hot Mom's Club.

It's a WHOLE website dedicated to "bringing mothers together who refuse to fall into the stereotype of the typical American 'mom' category"... and all things a hot mom would be interested in.

In light of the recent blows working moms and SAHMs have taken the last few weeks... months... lifetime, it was nice to see something that was all about the "yea! mom! You go, Girls".

We mommies- at home or at work- need that kind of encouragement sometimes. Don't you agree?