Motherhood Uncensored

Redefining Motherhood

Just when I sort of kind of knew what I was doing, I had Drew. Maybe it's because he was my second child. Or maybe it's because he was my second child.

I guess I'll never really know.

I've never brushed it off as being his gender, his birth order, or the fact that I drank a few cups of coffee and a vodka tonic when I was pregnant with him. 

It was just like meeting someone new - you're taught how to say hello, shake hands, and offer them a tasty beverage, but what do you do when they speak Portuguese, perfer to slap you on the back side of the head, and drink with the cup completely upside down so everything ends up on your carpet?

It doesn't make for very smooth introductions.

I'm learning how to parent Drew just like I learned how to parent Quinlan. It's trial and error, celebrations and failures. It's opening a new book that you've never read or watching a new movie that you've never seen, and no matter how hard you try to get your friend to tell you what the hell happens, they can't.

Because they've never read or seen this one before.

I often get frustrated. It's hard not speaking the language sometimes. It's difficult to find a happy medium between head whacking and hand shaking.

We try to meet him somewhere in the middle. Most of the time, it's closer to my end of things, but I've discovered it's not so bad hopping over to his side of the fence every now and then.

He's making us read his book. And he's forcing us to watch the entire movie, even the uncomfortable parts, with the sound completely on. No heads buried under pillows.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Drew. You've certainly redefined the word "tantrum," taught me the difference between an excavator and a front loader, and offered us a new appreciation for toilet locks.

And for this I am thankful.

Here's to another year of new adventures.

I'm running a fun little contest in honor of Drew's big #2. Humor me and come play along.

Jaded.

"Do you think he's delayed or something?" my husband asked me after having to put Drew in time out for the third time in 30 minutes yesterday.

"Um, I think he's just a two-year-old boy on crack," I replied. "I'm not sure that warrants early intervention."

Nonetheless, Drew is quite a challenging child, particularly compared to Quinlan, and to say he was a shock to our parenting systems is an understatement.

Try taser gun to the testicles.

If we were able to take a step back from his constant motion, chattering mouth, and complete bull in china shop approach to life, we'd see a fairly typical and not that difficult two year old kid. But it just so happens that he has to follow our consummate rule following, easy to occupy and generally compliant oldest which makes him look like a little blonde rabid monkey.

And thanks to her, we've been jaded.

All the bad parenting habits we formed with Quinlan, like asking "Okay?" at the end of every directive or providing absolutely no warnings or transitions between activities are coming back to bite us in the ass.

And hard.

We find ourselves scrambling on an almost daily basis, trying desperately to not raise our voices and provide him with consistency and structure.

I'm not completely convinced that he's that much more difficult than the average 2-year-old (I've seen many a tot in my days as a teacher and therapist), but rather that we're already accustomed to dealing with angel child and therefore we look like we've never had a kid.

He breaks down instantly when not given his way or "the big one" - which is any whole piece of anything - God forbid you give him half a carrot.

He requires constant redirection and supervision, as to avoid peas up the nose, chocolate milk in his sister's eye, and what we're calling "The Christmas Miracle" - when he pulled down the entire Christmas tree while my husband was on the shitter and did not hurt himself or the baby who was sitting right next to it.

And we end up holding him down in time out naughty "zone" since we can't exactly figure out how to keep him in one actually spot.

Don't even get me started with the whole biting thing. Good god almighty.

So, the huz and I are working together to come up with a game plan. We remind each other to be patient and loving with him, even when we want to pick him up by his ankles and shake him.

And if that doesn't work, we plop ourselves in front of the television and watch Super Nanny. Because when we're feeling like complete and total failures, it's nice to know there are people out there that are waaaaaaaaaay way worse.

Motherhood Marceau - As created by my 4-year-old playing "Beauty Salon"

3 Months

  

I don't have to look that far to see my mom these days. What do you think?

"Are you decent?..."

...my doctor shouted through the exam room door after knocking, knowing that I had been breastfeeding Margot as I waited for my appointment.

I suppose it's important to make sure that part of my breast isn't exposed before he sticks his stethoscope down my shirt.

I have yet to understand what makes people, especially health care professionals, so squeamish about breastfeeding. I can count the times I've seen a breastfeeding mom's nipple exposed on my one hand.

And those times, it was my nipple accidentally popping out.

I've never actually seen a breastfeeding mom expose anything more than what you'll see cruising through Target. And quite frankly, I see waaaaaaaaay more offensive things out and about than the 1/18 of a breastfeeding mom's boob.

But yet, breastfeeding pics are still (STILL!) getting banned on Facebook, and moms are still getting thrown out of restaurants and stores for offensively exposing their breasts.

However, once a baby is latched on, you don't even see what might be considered the most offensive part of the boob - the evil, dark and foreboding NIPPLE.

dun dun dun

So some poor mom enjoying her shitty chicken sandwich and soggy fries at Applebees gets tossed out on her ass, meanwhile the stinky farter in booth 12, the dude with a bad crack habit (yeah, that kind of crack) at table 4, and the chick with her silicone wonders popping out of her shirt at the bar all sit happily.

And don't even get me started about all the travesties on airplanes that most certainly do not get people thrown off but should.

I can only deduce that it's not so much the boob that's offending people, but the fact that there's a baby sucking on it that makes people uncomfortable.

So if people start to give me a hard time about breastfeeding, I'm just going to tell them that it's the latest accessory trend. One flip through a magazine and most people would agree that a baby is way cuter and much more stylish than some of the shit they try to pull off as "high fashion."

I'd ban myself if I was caught dead in that thing.

So until we start banning Drakkar Noir, exposed hairy ass cracks, and ridiculous fur hats, I'm breastfeeding wherever I choose, damnit, whether you think it's decent or not.

[nursing pic via from Blogher '07 - that's baby Drew on my boob]