Motherhood Uncensored

Mirror

My husband has been telling me for the last few days about Bridget's smile. How cute and lovely and sweet it is.

"It's just gas," I told him, shooing him away. "Those involuntary reflex things."

It had to be. Because I hadn't seen it yet.

But he insisted that it was a real smile.

And yesterday, when he was holding her, I saw it.

She smiled at him.

And it was indeed quite cute, lovely, and sweet. Everything that I had imagined it would be. Except I hadn't even really imagined it.

I haven't had time to think, let alone picture my now near one month old's smile.

"I wonder why she hasn't smiled at me," I asked, my eyes welling up.

He didn't sugar coat things.

"You're just so grouchy all the time," he said, jokingly.

But it still hurt. Because he's right.

I haven't smiled much lately.

I wear the same five articles of clothing because they are the only ones that fit. Showering is the very last thought on my mind.

I eat half eaten sandwiches, nearly empty cold bowls of soup.

I do what I can to get by and then guiltfully sigh with relief when my husband takes the kids or the babysitter comes.

And then I work, clean, cook, repeat - all with a baby attached to me.

If these early months were ever romantic, they've worn out their welcome by the fourth time around.

There's no time to stare lovingly into your baby's eyes. Or coo at them. Or try to get them to smile.

And then I have to wonder if maybe she hasn't smiled at me because I'm not smiling back.

The secret is in his smile

"Did you know that you have super powers?" I asked him, returning him to his bed for the fifth time that night.

"I do?" he sniffled.

I was desperate - after seeing almost every wee hour of the morning come and go as he'd enter my room and tell me he was scared.

Nothing was working. Prizes. Punishments.

Pleading.

I had nothing left in my back pocket of creative parenting strategies. Exhausted from arguing.

Ashamed from yelling.

"Yes, you were born with it," I said.

I combed the hair on the back of his head with my fingers and whispered, "It's your smile."

He turned towards me. Curious.

"When you were born the nurses came to me and they said 'Did you know that your son has super powers?'"

His eyes brightened.

"And I said 'Yes, I saw it the instant he was born.'"

I smiled and leaned in closer to his ear.

"When you smile, you make all the bad stuff go away."

I choked back my tears, remembering how special it was when he was born. A light during a dark time. Two miscarriages. Living with the in-laws.

The 2nd child that we thought we might not have.

He arrived quickly and easily on a snowy morning. He slept. And took bottles. And liked being held by other people than me.

He changed everything that I had known about parenting. In a good way.

But I'd since forgotten all that - easy baby now very challenging toddler.

"That's all I have to do?" he asked, forcing a grin over and over.

"It's all you ever have to do," I said, kissing him on the forehead.

He smiled at me as I walked out the door.

And I smiled back.

All the bad stuff gone.

Random pissy thoughts and questions about Daylight Savings Time

1. Who was the asshole who thought it would be a great idea to change the time?

2. Who cares if it's dark for awhile in the morning?

3. Whoever says "at least you get an hour!!!!!!" doesn't have kids. I know. I said it when I didn't have kids.

4. Similarly, whoever that asshole was who invented this Daylight Savings thing did not have kids.

5. I would, however, be happy to lend him mine, especially for the next few days when they are waking up at 5:30-ish instead of 6:30-ish (as well as 1:30, 3:30, and other times during the night). 

6. I used to complain about Indianapolis when I lived there because they didn't have Daylight Savings. I would now like to move there now.

7. The only issue is that when I lived there I had to retake the written drivers license test in order to get my new license. And I failed it. Twice.

8. That sucked worse than Daylight Savings Time. So did missing half the shows I liked because of the Central Time/Eastern Time/What the Hell Time issue.

EDITED: Apparently Indy now has DST. So forget it. I don't want to move there. Maybe Arizona though. Though I don't like scorpions.

9. We parents should ban together and boycott Daylight Savings Time.

10. I say all that every year. And yet. I still change my clocks.

I know. I'm a lemming.

The G-Word

We've been playing a daily round of musical chairs when it comes to our mealtime seating arrangement since all the kids require a booster seat and we only happen to own two. Last night, that landed Drew in his older sister's seat, to which she found to be highly offensive and starting spouting off at him in a crazed 6-year-old tyrade.

"It's MY seat, not yours, and if you sit in that pink seat you'll be... THE G-WORD!"

That made me turn around from the cutting board.

"What is the G-word?" I asked her.

"I'm not telling you," she said. "I'll get in trouble."

"WHAT IS IT?!" I demanded, trying to think of all the terrible horrible very bad G-words that I've ever accidentally said in front of her that might lead her to believe that she would need to say "g-word" instead of the actual word for fear of my wrath.

"Girl," she finally said, under her breath.

GIRL?

I laughed inside. Then sighed at the blatant example of how brainwashed our kids can be by these bullshit gender norms.

I gave her the speech I always give whenever she talks to me about boy and girl colors. Or boy and girl toys.

I reminded her that boys can wear make up and get their toe nails polished and put on skirts and dresses if they so please.

I retold the story about the man at the nail salon who probably got clear nail polish because some people think it's funny when boys where colored nail polish.

"Aren't people silly?," I said to her.

Because they are.

Actually, they're pretty fucking stupid.

I can't tell you the number of times someone saw my son's toenails painted and said how much they bet his father hates that. Or how people have giggled when they see him carrying around a purple sippy cup.

OMG. WHAT IS THIS WORLD COMING TO? A BOY CARRYING A PURPLE SIPPY CUP!

Sometimes I grow tired of having to rail against society's gender norms. It's always easier and gentler to ride the smooth waters of the status quo.

But I do it because it's my job in raising compassionate girls. And boys.

If only more men were forced to sit in pink chairs, paint their toe nails, or put on a skirt every now and then at the hands of three sisters.

Like a good man once told me "At least he'll have the chauvanism beaten right out of him."

I couldn't have said it better myself.

Sorry Parent Dish - It's never okay to let your kids get bullied

Recently, a blogger I admire wrote a compelling post on bullying at Parent Dish that was picked up by some mainstream media:

"Opinion: Sometimes it's okay to let your kid be bullied."

As someone who was horribly bullied in the 5th grade, I was intrigued. I mean, my parents did actually let me get bullied, but that was because they never knew it was happening. 

I was too scared and ashamed to tell them. Locked and cornered in the bathroom. Thrown around the playground. Called terrible mean names.

I hated going to school. I hated my existence. Most of all, I hated those puny, ugly 6th grade bitches that made my life a living hell.

Looking back as a parent myself, it was obvious something was going on. But my dad was working all the time or drunk. And my mom was trying to hold the family together.

And how many times do our kids cry and say they don't want to go to school where we might just think that they're being silly, or lazy.

If you read Amy's piece (and please, do so!), you'll realize that the headline (perhaps added later by an editor - dare I cry "link bait!") isn't representative of how Amy feels about bullying.

I actually feel the same way as she does:

-I have strong leanings toward being a helicopter parent, but my desire to let my kids' life experience not be suffocated by my anxiety and worry is usually stronger;

-I believe that we should allow our kids to handle their differences themselves, and intervene appropriately when it escalates.;

- I agree that it's my job as a parent to arm my kid with the coping skills to deal with challenging situations that will inevitably arise.

But what I don't agree with is a title that I think is misleading and dangerous.

We're so quick to pile onto hovering mothers these days - those overprotective "mommies" that won't let our kids eat Oreo cookies or walk alone to the neighbor's house.

"What's so wrong with a conventional banana?!!!"

As a parent, I find myself caught between wanting to let my kids live life without my own fears interfering whatsoever with their experience and wanting to be with them every single second of the day.

Some days I lean more one way than the other. I hear the news. I read the paper.

Times have changed. That doesn't make me paranoid. Or anxious. Or a helicopter parent.

It makes me a realist.

When it comes to real bullying - not little tiffs or Kindergarten name calling or "nanny nanny boo boo" - I say hover.

Do whatever you need to protect your child.

Fortunately, I survived. I was taken out of school at the end of 5th grade, having failed history, barely passing all my other subjects.

I was down trodden. Wounded. And it took me a long long time to recover.

Sometimes it's okay to step in.

I'd rather look like a smacked ass, over protective helicopter parent than one with a kid who was emotionally and physically damaged.

Or even possibly dead.