Motherhood Uncensored

The power of two

In my recent fit of reorganization this week, I stumbled upon a bin of Quinlan's old clothes that just so happen to fit Margot. Aside from being a domestic zero at times (hey, at least it was an actual labeled bin and not an unmarked garbage bag!), I thought that I had sent all of her toddler-sized clothes off to my best friend when we were leaving Mississippi since I secretly knew we were having a boy and probably wouldn't need the dresses and 10 pairs of pink capri pants.

But alas, my sentimental and somewhat organized side must have taken over (yes, indeed, I have one, contrary to familial belief) and there they were, my favorite dresses and outfits.

And with them came the memories, many of which are documented right here when I started this blog nearly five years ago, when Quinlan was nearly 18 months.

The same age that Margot is now.

There was the Minnie Mouse costume that she insisted on wearing at the little consignment shop in our town and refused to take off. The Easter outfit that I carefully matched to her yellow leg cast to after she decided to do a crib dive. The white dress she wore in her 2nd birthday pictures.

Not until recently has it really hit me that I have two girls. It's been "3 kids" or "Girl, boy, and baby," but lately I find myself talking about "my two girls."

And it feels good.

The sister I had but lost. The close, loving relationship my friend and her sister have that I envy. The "hand-me-down" excuse to buy more expensive girl's clothes and shoes.  

And watching the similarities and differences of having two kids of the same gender unfold before my eyes.

There is something amazing about the combination of the familiar and the new, the feeling that I've somehow done this before but yet still experiencing it for the very first time.

It is the power of two.

[My husband got a new job, at least for the next few months, if you're curious about such things. Also, Amazon seems to be a bit back ordered on the Mominatrix book, so if you're looking to send it to someone for Mother's Day, order it from me - I can sign it for you and it will take about 3-5 days to get there].

Sometimes you just don't want your kids to be seen or heard

I couldn't help but think about the recent online discussion about whether kids should be allowed in certain places - like restaurants, stores, even bars - as I traipsed around Chicago completely solo for an entire weekend.

At home, I'm fortunate to have a spouse whose job allows me to get out on my own during the day (and night, if I so choose) every now and then, particularly for menial tasks like grocery shopping and doctor visits where I really don't like taking the kids.

For me, it just so happens to be one of the sacrifices that comes with being a parent. There are limitations to what I can do with my offspring in tow, and I'm perfectly fine with that.

Believe me. It sucks to hit the big fancy mall and have to walk right by Sephora without even getting close enough to sniff the perfume.

And let's be clear. There's no rule that says I can't bring my kids in there, or any other stores or restaurants, at least that I'm immediately aware of.

But personally, it's the fact that I have absolutely no desire to go into any of these places with my kids because it's not worth the extra calorie burn and the 4000 sorries I'll have to recite to all the shoppers and staff.

I rarely ever go to the mall with my kids, and if we do go out to eat, it's at the same family friendly restaurant with a specific system in place - early arrival before the big dinner crowd, activities packed to keep them busy, and rewards offered for good behavior.

Even then I still dread it.

Now this is not to say that there are exceptions - teeny babies snuggled in a sling are extremely portable. And well-behaved kiddos, like my oldest, aren't an issue. My daughter would be perfectly fine sitting in a hair salon and could hold her own, correct fork and all, at a fancy restaurant.

But most of the time, I've got all 3 muskateers alone - and it's all for one, one for all, which generally spells a pretty gigantic headache, cold food - if I get any at all, and promises of ice cream cartons and head-sized lollipops just so I can get through the check-out without losing one of them.

And there are plenty of family-friendly and kid-centric places - eateries and shops - that I don't feel bad about taking my kids and doing what I have to do (like nurse them or change them) where I know they won't raise an eyebrow when I walk in with all my kids.

And honestly, shame on them for kicking a mom out for breastfeeding.

Sure, I get the notion that taking my children with me wherever I go can be a good life lesson - a way for them to learn and experience social norms. And in doing so, they will learn to appreciate the experience and not whip through the store like a terrible toddler tornado.

But there are just some places, like Sephora or the amazing restaurant I ate at on Saturday night or yes, certain (and I'll say it - most) bars where I think bringing kids is questionable. Even somewhat unacceptable.

And don't get me started about putting babies on the bar.

Let's be honest here. I'm pretty sure make-up and facial product emergencies are rare. And if you have one, you can hop over to Rite-Aid for your quick fix.

And if you've got a toddler, you probably don't need to eat at place where the food actually requires you to chew and savor every warm bite.

Now this is not because I can't go into these places, well, for the most part anyway. There's no rule saying I can't bring my kids with me.

But I don't even bother doing these things because it's just absolutely no fun. Not just for me, but for everyone else around me.

It's actually more frustrating for me to corral my kids without losing my shit than it is to just pass those stores by, or wait for the opportunity to eat at those restaurants until I have a babysitter.

And so, instead of investing in a baby harness (read: kid leash) and a whole stash of Tylenol, I'll just save my pennies for the babysitter or a precious (and rare) weekend away.

And I will savor every single child-free second of it.

[I'll be heading to San Francisco next week, so unless you've got a teeny weeny baby or you want to give your kids the sex talk really early, grab a sitter or enlist your co-parent so you can join me at Good Vibrations Berkeley and Good Vibrations Polk Street Gallery. And many thanks to Orchard Hotels for putting me up during my stay!]

Hey Jillian Michaels: Rescue yourself

I definitely raised more than an eyebrow at Jillian Michaels' comments regarding not wanting to ruin her body with pregnancy.

Truth be told, I'd be willing to bet that she's not the first celebrity to make the decision to not physically birth children due to body worries. Aside from a few folks with extremely amazing genetics (and let's face it, personal chefs and trainers), pregnancy can be pretty rough on the bod, and if tight abs, a slender ass, and gorgeous skin are your personal and financial livelihood, then maybe it's not worth messing with.

But then we're talking about a personal trainer, one who happened to inspire me to lose about 40lbs after my third kid and have the tightest stomach and most slender ass I've ever had in my adult life.

And one who teaches others and trains others to do the same.

Now really, I have no issues with vanity, because in a way, I figure that those folks are completely wrapped up in all that business might have a rude awakening when they have kids, so let them enjoy the company of their teeny dogs.

And there's nothing wrong with knowing your limits.

But most people who decide to not get pregnant strictly for vanity reasons usually know to keep their mouths shut or at least stop talking. But on went Jillian, after her somewhat questionable comments about pregnancy weight gain (which she later attempted to clarify on her Facebook page as being related to her own personal body issues that wouldn't allow her to emotionally deal with it) to add that she was instead going to "rescue something."

SomeTHING.

Not "think hard and long about possible adoption if I feel that being a parent is an important priority in my life."

Now I'm not at all surprised that someone so entrenched and successful in the fitness business would have latent body issues. You don't need to be a psychotherapist to figure that out.

And sure, being an adoptive parent is heroic and admirable.

It's also not something to be taken lightly, as we have seen with the Tennessee mom who sent her young adopted son back to Russia alone on a plane.

Maybe you're not pushing the kid out of your vagina.

But that's about all you're not doing as an adoptive parent. And that part is a teeny tiny (or I guess not so much, literally anyway) part of raising a kid.

And it's certainly not something you tag onto a statement about not wanting to wreck your precious six-pack with a big pregnant belly.

I think what saddens me the most about her comments is that she doesn't practice what she preaches. As my friend pointed out, she pushes people with obvious emotional, mental, and physical issues to reach their potential by telling them there are no excuses. But when it comes to her own body, she seems to be able to pull plenty of excuses right out her ass.

Really, this is a missed opportunity for Jillian Michaels to continue to inspire the masses, as well as take on and tackle her own demons.

And part of me wonders if she can't deal with being pregnant, how the hell is she going to be able to deal with having a kid.

My little runaway

I just caught the story of the most recent runaway mom Tiffany Tehan who had apparently left her 1-year-old and husband on Saturday and was found safely, with some dude in Miami Beach.

This is not the first time a mom has runaway, and according to Gail Saltz, a psychiatrist who discussed this on NBC's Today Show this morning, it's a very common fantasy for moms. Combine depression and the stress of parenting and/or marriage and you've got the perfect cocktail I like to call "Get me the fuck out of here NOW."

But in most cases, we take a little sip and realize that it tastes pretty damn bad, or we skip the drink altogether and figure out a way to deal, keeping the escape from the crazy life just a mere fleeting thought that passes through our minds when we've cleaned up both pee and poop off the floor in the same hour, stopped our toddler from reaching into the toilet for the fifth time, and have all but tied our rambunctious son to the corner.

Sure, Tiffany Tehan spent taxpayer money when she just up and left, leaving her car with a slashed tire to make it look like something had happened. And there's a good chance, she'll be living with the guilt of this for a very long time, aside from whatever issues it causes in her marriage and in her relationship with her child.

And she needs help. There's no denying that.

But I have to giggle about how something like this makes a national news story, when there are men and dads who do stuff like this every single day. They pick up and leave their families and never look back. Maybe they give their spouses some warning. Maybe they kiss their kids goodbye. Maybe they don't make it look like they were kidnapped.

But we've got a whole slew of runaway dads in this country and we don't even think twice about it. 

And worse, we don't hold them accountable for it.

Cheerleader nation

Here in the South they start the cheerleading phenomenon pretty darn early, which I suppose is like anything else, really, except the whole screaming spirit and pom pom shaking in a short skirt and pigtails at the ripe young age of 3 seems like overkill.

Okay, okay. I know cheerleading has come a very long way, and to be fair, I've watched my fair share of competitions in awe of the amazing talent that these girls (and dudes) posess. I've never been able to do a handstand without crumpling to the ground in a big heap of weak body parts, so for that, I give many props.

Or stag jumps.

But I have to admit, that there's a big part of me that wonders why these parents don't channel that energy, enthusiasm, and athletic skill into, say, athletics?

Cheerleading started out as an all male activity (who knew?), but quickly turned into a predominantly female activity due to the dearth of female collegiate sports for women.

And while it was originally aimed at rallying the crowd, which in many cases it still does, it's seen mostly at male sporting events, with women being held high above the crowds holding big horns and signs or being tossed into the air doing splits.

And is it me or are the outfits getting smaller and more belly revealing?

The truth is, I can appreciate the abilities these girls have, as well as the way this activity has become much more than something cute on the sidelines, and yet, I still feel as though it perpetuates negative stereotypes of women regardless of whether it's part of our country's tradition and heritage or not; at its very basic core, cheerleading is rallying the crowds at male sporting events.

Why not gymnastics? Or a dance team? Or basketball? Or the slew of other equally expensive activities for girls?

Granted, if my girls (or boy) wanted to be a cheerleader, I'd support their choice (which seems to be the difference I suppose, at least in how I rationalize this whole thing - them choosing versus parents choosing).

And if that's the biggest challenge I face with them, then I'll consider that a blessing. I mean, they could want to do beauty pageants.

Heh.

But that doesn't mean they'll all get a well-prepared women's history lesson while I'm buying stock in nude tights and corker ribbons.