Motherhood Uncensored

iJudge

It only took me seven years as mom to realize that people are always going to judge me.

Heck, I judge me, so how can I expect others not to.

We're human. We judge.

Whether it's because people do something that we'd never do or that we think is harmful or stupid or lame or ridiculous.

We do it even when we don't want to. Even when we say we're not.

"Oh, I'm not judging you. I'd just never do that with my kids."

Um, PS. You're judging.

I watched The Conversation Thread, a web-based talk show on iVillage with host Kelly Wallace (and starring one of my favorite people Mom 101) where one of the guests said she wished moms would just stop judging each other.

She's not the first one to say that. We've all probably wished the same thing. Damn that Sanctimommy.

But we all have our "price" - the one thing that will make us roll our eyes, even if it's inside our heads. Maybe we just have a little more self-control like some moms who don't have a filter.

I've publicly judged people on this blog who use baby leashes and who use spanking as a systematic punishment.

There are other things that make me raise an eyebrow or grumble under my breath.

Giving your toddler a bottle of Coca Cola for one.

Blech.

But here's a thought: Instead of all of us shaking our fists in the air saying "we need to all stop judging each other and all get along," maybe we should just start not giving a shit about what other people think.

Let's own our choices.

You want to give your 2-year-old soda in his bottle? I think it's dumb. I'll think about it for 2 seconds and then I'll go on my merry way.

You feel the need to strap your kid to your wrist with a leash? I'm pretty sure there's a better way. But whatever.

And don't worry. I'm pointing the finger right back at me too. I make plenty of parenting choices that will make some people give me the stink eye. Maybe they'll even have the balls to say something to me.

Don't get me wrong. I'll take what they say into consideration. I'm always open to new ideas, to learning a better way to do things if there is one.

But in the end, there's one big difference: I don't give a shit about what you think about me.

If we could all adopt that confidence in ourselves, then maybe, we'd all be able to clink our glasses together, regardless of what snacks our kids are eating or what bottle or boob they're drinking from, and talk about something else for a change.

 

Changing the fat dialogue

A few weeks ago I had heard those awful words that you never ever want to hear from your daughter's mouth:

"I look fat in this."

I handled it like any experienced parent with a professional mental health background would.

I freaked the fuck out.

There's really only so much you can prepare for as a parent, and no matter how many times you tell yourself "I will remain calm and address the issue with a level head and an understanding spirit" when you actually hear those words, particularly on little sleep and hormones, well, you just forget your stupid parenting mantra and start screaming ridiculous things like "Do you even know what that means? Where did you hear that? I don't ever want to hear you say that EVER again!"

Quite possibly the worst thing you could say to your kid as a parent.

Yay me! I win at parenting!

After I calmed down and sought the assistance of my sane, and highly-trained BFF, I was able to determine that she was, in fact, grabbing for a word to describe her frustration with her shirt not tucking in all the way.

But alas, it was a good teaching moment. For both of us.

While I never talk about feeling "fat" or complain about my own weight (I don't even own a scale), I still hate that it's in my head, a constant dialogue that started back when I left for college and has been with me ever since.

Growing up, I was extremely skinny (like my daughter) and didn't really gain weight until after I stopped dancing 4-5 hours a day and realized that I couldn't eat like I was when I was burning that many calories, which happened during my freshman year of college.

So I got the freshman 30 (instead of 15) and without the knowledge or resources on how to lose weight and eat well, since I never really had to do it before, I decided I just wouldn't eat at all.

And I lost all the weight fast.

From then on, I lived in a state of regular exercise and closely monitored eating, through various diets like veganism and macrobioticism, resorting to drastic calorie cutting when my pants started to get too tight.

The last time I did that was before I met my husband.

Gaining weight for pregnancy never bothered me, but the challenge of taking it off, particularly after Margot (and now Bridget), has been a thorn on my side.

Or a love handle.

And so, for the last two and a half years, I've worked out almost daily and focused on my diet, mostly relying on common sense and good practices (mostly water, no eating after a certain hour) to help get me back to my pre-pregnancy weight.

But lately, I've felt burned out, unable to even bring myself to work-out, grabbing what I want, when I want it, which puts a damper on losing that last 5-10 lbs of baby weight.

In a way, I'd resigned myself to just being 5-10 lbs bigger because well, I'm busy, and who am I really trying to impress anyway? 

How are losing those 5-10lbs going to make my life better?

And for the first time in my life, I wasn't thinking about diet and exercise.

Well, sort of.

But just last week, Meagan introduced me to a post by Tsh at Simple Mom about how perfection can really get in the way of "good enough" which is exactly what my brain does to me.

Since I can't do it all, I just won't do anything.

How many of us have that motto with at least one or many things in our lives?

And with that, I decided I can do 20 minutes a day of exercise. Nothing more. Nothing less.

I can just drink water and coffee. And not eat after 8pm.

If I lose the weight, then awesome. If I don't, that will be okay too.

I know I'll be "me" at any size. Now I just need to adjust exactly what that size looks like in my head, change the conversation once and for all, and give myself a big fucking break.

We all need to. Not just for us. But for our daughters.

This post is not about BlogHer.

Every year before the BlogHer conference, I write a post about the BlogHer conference. Which apparently is what every single person who is going to the BlogHer conference is doing this year.

Overkill much?

(I also write a bunch of funny posts after BlogHer too, but you probably don't even care about that either).

For me, it has nothing to do about what to wear (clothes without stains; a bra), what to bring (no children; a trusty breastpump), or how to act (Just don't be an asshole).

But if you do care about that, read my entire BlogHer category.

It's a little sentimental, considering this is my sixth BlogHer.

Back when I started this blog in 2005, I remember hearing about this site called BlogHer, who was seeking community editors, and I thought it might be a cool thing to do, except they only had "Academics" left as a topic and I wanted to write funny stories about my cute little one kid.

When I attended in 2006, it was the first time I met Liz, Julie, Catherine, and a bunch of other amazing people that I am forgetting but I'm sure will let me know about it.

[Okay, I'm just too lazy to link them all].

In 2007, I drove half-way from the Cincinnati airport with Drew since my flight got cancelled. And I met this person named Ree who asked me if that was Drew I was lugging around in a baby carrier. "What's your blog?" I asked her.

Who knew? (Not me, apparently).

And every year since then, I've attended. Either pregnant or breastfeeding an actual baby.

So when this year came around, I actually decided not to attend. San Diego was a little far, and it's just tough trying to find someone, well someone who isn't going to say crazy shit, to watch my kids. I had resigned myself to not going.

But then on a whim I tossed one of my favorite posts into the "Voices of the Year" nominations.

And I won!

Then I was asked by BillMyParents (smart service that could have saved my ass and credit history when I was a teen, by the way) to work together with Liz, Alice Bradley, and Eden Kennedy on a discussion on parenting in the digital age at their BlogHer luncheon.

[Please sign up. I promise I will only be talking. And not cooking].

And so I suddenly had two really good excuses (a paid one, even) to go.

So this year I'll still be breastfeeding, just without the baby. I'll be reading one of my own favorite posts from this past year in front of the BlogHer attendees.

I'll be doing my best to not spend the entire hour of the luncheon laughing my ass off.

And I promise that I'm not pregnant.

I think.

Creative disobedience - Reason #176 why I homeschool

Every now and then I find myself waffling with my decision to homeschool. I'd like to think that if I was 100% sold on anything I did as a parent, including my educational choices, then I'd have wasted all those years in Graduate School where I was taught to question everything.

That's what researchers do. We question, we ponder, we analyze. We try to find the "best" way.

As much as I'm happy with our decision to keep Quinlan home, she's not my only child, and I have to figure out what to do with Drew, who might appear to be someone who could really benefit from the rigors of a school setting.

But then again, I wonder if the sitting at the desk, the coloring in the lines, the rote memorizaton - all of which are not his forte' - are really what he needs. Well, at least, without being balanced with the freedom to explore, question, and as this recent article I read says, be creatively disobedient.

As I watch him, I realize, that's exactly how to describe him. And I feel terrible at how crazy it makes me.

And so I have to ask myself, are the "good" students really the ones who pay attention and do what they're told? Or are they just easier to manage in a classroom setting?

Does school help or hurt intellectual learning?

(If you don't choose to read my article on this, please do read the linked article on the topic of creative disobedience within it. It's a little bit mind blowing, whether you're a homeschooler, a mom of a child with autism, or just any parent, really).

 

Bridget - 9 months

She walks. And so it begins. Or ends.