I got a stomach virus on Saturday night. I felt the anger in my stomach start to brew, so I took a handful of tums and went to bed. In hopes of sleeping it off, I squeezed my eyes shut tight and dared not move. However, 6:00 AM appeared and I was flinging the blankets off and heading to the bathroom.
Sparing you the details, I will just say I had to be in there about five times an hour for most of the day. Add to that that my husband had to work and could not get anyone to cover for him and I was home alone with our 18-month-old.
It was an interesting day. I had to create a number of diversions to get a few minutes in the bathroom without my darling boy. It mostly resulted in him eating copious amounts of animal crackers.
Anyone who has had a stomach virus knows that it completely wipes you out. Energy is gone. Heartbeats in your head. Zero strength. So, I spent the day laying around watching our son.
It was the first time, maybe in his whole life, that I just watched him. I wasn't trying to cook dinner, trying to get ready for the next day, wasn't trying to clean, wasn't even trying to watch a show, or check my email. I just watched and I was amazed.
I laid curled on the couch while he destroyed the living room, ripping toys from the toybox, tearing clean, folded, laundry from the baskets, and dumping his snack cup crumbs onto the rug. Our house was being completely destroyed and in my sick state, I did not follow behind cleaning up his messes, I just laid among it and watched.
My son would walk over to something, investigate it, then start to take it apart. Upon prompting, he would put it all back exactly were it was. Then start all over. Then he would come stand by me for a minute to check in, then he would go repeat this cycle of destruction somewhere new.
As the day went on, he would cuddle me and watch cartoons. He would feed me his snacks. He would respond (in nonsense words) "I love you, too" when I told him how much I loved him.
At 11:15, I had no choice, but to give him a cup of milk and put him in his crib. I was nearly in tears with guilt listening to him babble and jabber while I laid in bed. Eventually we both gave in to sleep and woke no worse for the wear.
Later, I took him out to the deck where he played with sticks and grilling tongs, while I again laid there watching. I noticed that he would look back and check to see if I was still there and still watching him. He would do this every few seconds and he would look at me with the most trusting look, as if to say, "I can play with this seat cushion because you are here and you are looking out for me."
As the night came over us and illness raged on, I put him in the tub for a 40 minute bath, which is ideal because the tub is a fun place to play and it is toilet adjacent. He played in the tub and looked at me with that look again. He would look at me longer than adults look at each other. We avert our eyes after a few seconds. Especially when there is no dialogue between us. But not children. My son would just hold the look, really looking at me. And I looked back at him, feeling like I had never really, really, looked at him. Like looked into his eyes and into his person.
By bedtime, we were nestled into a mess of blankets on the couch watching Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood and feeling as connected as when he first arrived.
I am grateful for his independence and the development of his own identity that have blossomed in the last year and half, but failed to realize how much he trusts me. Truly trusts me. And what stirred me the most, was realizing that this is not new. It is the same trust he had on his first day here on the planet, but I had gotten busy and forgotten it. Laying there too sick to be busy, I saw it and felt that reciprocal feeling come back. That mutual love and dedication to the other, which I lost in chaos of raising a toddler who seemingly takes more from me than gives back. I knew he loved me, but lost the feeling. I know now that that is wrong, his love is a quiet trust and faith that mom and dad are the best, most special people on Earth, who are bottomless fountains of love and patience. But that that couldn't be so if they weren't there watching. Returning the look that means, "Yes, you can do that because I am here to protect you, because I love you."
Monday, February 24, 2014
Monday, February 3, 2014
An Old Married Couple
This is a pregnancy and parenting blog, but for those of you who are in a relationship and you have kids, you ultimately learn that those worlds are intersecting and will become a jumbled tangle, also known as your life. Parenting is not it's own entity. Marriage is not it's own, either. This is how I learned this lesson.
Over Christmas break, some lovely friends came to visit. They stayed for several days and we enjoyed exploring our city and spending time with them. They are couple who have been together for two years and are beautifully caught up in each other's love. Their physical proximity never strays more than a few feet apart and they have this look of general delight at the existence of the other. It was sweet.
And then it hit me...I had not so much as kissed my husband that entire day! How did this happen? How did we become...an old married couple?
My husband and I were lucky enough to meet early in life. We were spared the journey of time and miles searching for each other. We met in middle school. In high school, I fell in love with him and 11 years later, I am still in love with him.
We have been married almost four years and have a good life. Yet, seeing our friends still falling in love, made me feel something like sadness. I wanted it back. I wanted the hand holding and the offering to hold doors and the long looks, and the tenderness. I wanted it back.
So, naturally, I tried to recreate it. Standing close, sitting close, all of it. You know how that went? We tripped over each other in the kitchen, got super mad at a restaurant, and had a tearful argument when everyone else was sleeping. It was a lot of stress and emotions and when I thought about it, it was all something I made up. I let jealousy in and I got bit. Even as it was happening, I knew better, but the wave continued to crash over me, until I was upside down, freaking out, and had a mouthful of sand. I thought of all the articles and blogs that blow up my social media feeds about how women are princesses and men should do this, that and the other thing to please them. While I don't take issue with these things inherently (a man should honor his wife), I feel that these messages teach us to be dissatisfied. To be thinking only of ourselves. Sure, I would love back rubs and surprise dates, but really, what I want is someone to unload the dishwasher now and then and listen to me talk about how my day was.
I saw our friends' budding life together, and I started thinking of what I wanted and forgot about what I had- a husband who fixes everything that breaks, a husband who works insane hours for the good of our family, a person who loves me as the disheveled, perpetually exhausted, anxiety-ridden, no-make-up-wearing-self. We may have left behind the elaborate dates, but we became a couple who works together to achieve our respective goals. We may have left behind the physical closeness we used to know, but we became a married couple who carried each other through job loss, a car accident, a cancer diagnosis, and lost family members. We became an old married couple who loved each other so much, there was enough left over to make an entirely new human being.
Over Christmas break, some lovely friends came to visit. They stayed for several days and we enjoyed exploring our city and spending time with them. They are couple who have been together for two years and are beautifully caught up in each other's love. Their physical proximity never strays more than a few feet apart and they have this look of general delight at the existence of the other. It was sweet.
And then it hit me...I had not so much as kissed my husband that entire day! How did this happen? How did we become...an old married couple?
My husband and I were lucky enough to meet early in life. We were spared the journey of time and miles searching for each other. We met in middle school. In high school, I fell in love with him and 11 years later, I am still in love with him.
We have been married almost four years and have a good life. Yet, seeing our friends still falling in love, made me feel something like sadness. I wanted it back. I wanted the hand holding and the offering to hold doors and the long looks, and the tenderness. I wanted it back.
So, naturally, I tried to recreate it. Standing close, sitting close, all of it. You know how that went? We tripped over each other in the kitchen, got super mad at a restaurant, and had a tearful argument when everyone else was sleeping. It was a lot of stress and emotions and when I thought about it, it was all something I made up. I let jealousy in and I got bit. Even as it was happening, I knew better, but the wave continued to crash over me, until I was upside down, freaking out, and had a mouthful of sand. I thought of all the articles and blogs that blow up my social media feeds about how women are princesses and men should do this, that and the other thing to please them. While I don't take issue with these things inherently (a man should honor his wife), I feel that these messages teach us to be dissatisfied. To be thinking only of ourselves. Sure, I would love back rubs and surprise dates, but really, what I want is someone to unload the dishwasher now and then and listen to me talk about how my day was.
I saw our friends' budding life together, and I started thinking of what I wanted and forgot about what I had- a husband who fixes everything that breaks, a husband who works insane hours for the good of our family, a person who loves me as the disheveled, perpetually exhausted, anxiety-ridden, no-make-up-wearing-self. We may have left behind the elaborate dates, but we became a couple who works together to achieve our respective goals. We may have left behind the physical closeness we used to know, but we became a married couple who carried each other through job loss, a car accident, a cancer diagnosis, and lost family members. We became an old married couple who loved each other so much, there was enough left over to make an entirely new human being.
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Thursday, January 30, 2014
Potty Problems
There were some parenting decisions and obstacles I had mentally prepared for before the arrival of my first born. There were other future dilemas that I was at least aware of. The one thing that I forgot to think about and make some sort of plan for, was bathroom time.
I grew up in a house where bathroom doors were always shut tight. I like it that way. I have known my husband for eleven years and the thought of using the facilities with the door open and him being home, makes my skin hurt. I have a very Eliott Reid policy on potty time.
Then I became a mom. In my first few weeks as new mom, I brought my son to the bathroom with me every time I had to go. Terrified to leave him out of my sight for a minute, he would lay patiently on the bathroom rug while I took care of things.
Shortly there after, there was this beautiful and fleeting time where I could leave him in the living room and go to bathroom...alone. I left the door open so I could hear him, but again, it was just me and the porcelain throne.
Several months later, the babe was mobile. He kept close tabs on his mama and always followed her into the loo. I could usually give him a hair brush or his tub toys and he would be contented.
But now friends, things are different. As the aforementioned stages were occurring, I thought nothing of them. I thought nothing of this mom and baby bathroom time extravaganza, until a week ago.
I went on a camping trip with some moms and babies. It was a delightful time where everyone was always snacking and napping. I went to use the bathroom and did not want to leave my child screaming on the other side of the door for the other moms to deal with, so I let him in. He was wandering around opening cupboard doors and investigating, while I was on the john. Then with the pride in his eyes, that only comes when a child thinks they have done something novel and kind, he tore off some toilet paper and handed it to me. He just stood there, beaming, holding out his little scrap of an offering. Smiling, I reached to accept his gift and he giggled joyously when I took the paper from him.
I quickly got off the pot and nudged him out the door, while I washed my hands and started thinking things through. My first thought? "Oh no. He is going to have some fleeting memories of being in the bathroom with his mother and being an active part of her human processes." Everything after that is a thought about scaring him for life. I vowed, to try to use it alone from here on out.
Skip ahead two days, and you will find us in the bathroom of the Cost Cutters. My husband has a razor up to his head and cannot watch little man so that I can pee. (I should mention that my ability to "hold it" has suffered greatly since childbirth.)So, there I am, holding my son on my lap, while I am using the komode. I would have put him down, but he doesn't understand "no" very well, and the bathroom was too big for me try to keep tabs on him while I was sitting. Plus he would touch everything. Great. I made it two days without potentially ruining his life.
I really don't know what to do. I don't know what is okay and what is the stuff of repressed memories and mommy-issues. Any ideas?
I grew up in a house where bathroom doors were always shut tight. I like it that way. I have known my husband for eleven years and the thought of using the facilities with the door open and him being home, makes my skin hurt. I have a very Eliott Reid policy on potty time.
Then I became a mom. In my first few weeks as new mom, I brought my son to the bathroom with me every time I had to go. Terrified to leave him out of my sight for a minute, he would lay patiently on the bathroom rug while I took care of things.
Shortly there after, there was this beautiful and fleeting time where I could leave him in the living room and go to bathroom...alone. I left the door open so I could hear him, but again, it was just me and the porcelain throne.
Several months later, the babe was mobile. He kept close tabs on his mama and always followed her into the loo. I could usually give him a hair brush or his tub toys and he would be contented.
But now friends, things are different. As the aforementioned stages were occurring, I thought nothing of them. I thought nothing of this mom and baby bathroom time extravaganza, until a week ago.
I went on a camping trip with some moms and babies. It was a delightful time where everyone was always snacking and napping. I went to use the bathroom and did not want to leave my child screaming on the other side of the door for the other moms to deal with, so I let him in. He was wandering around opening cupboard doors and investigating, while I was on the john. Then with the pride in his eyes, that only comes when a child thinks they have done something novel and kind, he tore off some toilet paper and handed it to me. He just stood there, beaming, holding out his little scrap of an offering. Smiling, I reached to accept his gift and he giggled joyously when I took the paper from him.
I quickly got off the pot and nudged him out the door, while I washed my hands and started thinking things through. My first thought? "Oh no. He is going to have some fleeting memories of being in the bathroom with his mother and being an active part of her human processes." Everything after that is a thought about scaring him for life. I vowed, to try to use it alone from here on out.
Skip ahead two days, and you will find us in the bathroom of the Cost Cutters. My husband has a razor up to his head and cannot watch little man so that I can pee. (I should mention that my ability to "hold it" has suffered greatly since childbirth.)So, there I am, holding my son on my lap, while I am using the komode. I would have put him down, but he doesn't understand "no" very well, and the bathroom was too big for me try to keep tabs on him while I was sitting. Plus he would touch everything. Great. I made it two days without potentially ruining his life.
I really don't know what to do. I don't know what is okay and what is the stuff of repressed memories and mommy-issues. Any ideas?
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Mine.
Lately, my son reminds me of this cat.
Let me explain.
My sixteen-month-old little booger has recently become very possessive, NOT possessed, please note the difference in suffix and level of terror. And what is he most possessive of?
ME.
Yes, my physical being. My attention. My love. My food. My bathroom time. My laundry. My utensils.
Everything that is mom's must also be baby's. Or so he believes.
We went to visit family for the holidays, and that is precisely the moment that my kid decided that he owned me and no one else should even interact with me, let alone look at me for too long. And how dare I give someone other than him attention?
This developmental change is equal parts adorable and exhausting. I love seeing him light up for me, hug me, and try to tickle me to make me laugh. He could be in a room of the friendliest grandma-type women and kids his own age, and he would always pick me. Unless there were puppies. Then he would definitely pick puppies.
It is sweet to be the object of your child's adoration.
What makes it hard is when I am trying to cook him something to eat and he is standing next to me, pulling my pant legs, screaming, and banging his head on the cupboards, because I am paying attention to the food and not to him. A few days ago, he bit my husband's hand because it was resting on my shoulder. If I get a hug from anyone, it sets him off in a fit of hollering. Just yesterday, I was loving on a friend's sweet daughter, while my child was smacking his head with his open hands and whining from afar.
His displeasure with my apparent free-flowing love has become almost debilitating at points. It causes him great distress to see me sharing close physical proximity to other people, so I often abandon those positions in an effort to assure him that things are fine, but I don't really know if that is the right move. He will eventually figure out that people can love more than one person at time, but am I supposed to teach him that now? I am to ride this out and hope he comes out of it ok? Or should I just take lots of video of his undying love for old Mom and embarrass him with it at age sixteen?
Suggestions?
 |
| photo courtesy of reddit |
Let me explain.
My sixteen-month-old little booger has recently become very possessive, NOT possessed, please note the difference in suffix and level of terror. And what is he most possessive of?
ME.
Yes, my physical being. My attention. My love. My food. My bathroom time. My laundry. My utensils.
Everything that is mom's must also be baby's. Or so he believes.
We went to visit family for the holidays, and that is precisely the moment that my kid decided that he owned me and no one else should even interact with me, let alone look at me for too long. And how dare I give someone other than him attention?
This developmental change is equal parts adorable and exhausting. I love seeing him light up for me, hug me, and try to tickle me to make me laugh. He could be in a room of the friendliest grandma-type women and kids his own age, and he would always pick me. Unless there were puppies. Then he would definitely pick puppies.
It is sweet to be the object of your child's adoration.
What makes it hard is when I am trying to cook him something to eat and he is standing next to me, pulling my pant legs, screaming, and banging his head on the cupboards, because I am paying attention to the food and not to him. A few days ago, he bit my husband's hand because it was resting on my shoulder. If I get a hug from anyone, it sets him off in a fit of hollering. Just yesterday, I was loving on a friend's sweet daughter, while my child was smacking his head with his open hands and whining from afar.
His displeasure with my apparent free-flowing love has become almost debilitating at points. It causes him great distress to see me sharing close physical proximity to other people, so I often abandon those positions in an effort to assure him that things are fine, but I don't really know if that is the right move. He will eventually figure out that people can love more than one person at time, but am I supposed to teach him that now? I am to ride this out and hope he comes out of it ok? Or should I just take lots of video of his undying love for old Mom and embarrass him with it at age sixteen?
Suggestions?
Friday, January 3, 2014
Name Game
I read this article with fine-toothed comb, and loved every minute of it. I thought I would share it.
p.s. please note this is NOT my work.
Friday, December 20, 2013
Incommunicado
This post is way over due, as our story begins at Thanksgiving, but let me set the stage:
Branson, MO
Vacation with lots of family in a rental house
Kid with green goo pouring out of his face
Double ear-infection
Making the switch from crawling to walking
The Thanksgiving-destination-vacation was great! We went to see the sights, ate turkey, and genuinely enjoyed each others company (Yes, I got lucky. I love my in-laws). Everything went without a hitch, except for the tantrums.
I have talked before about my child's experiments in rage as well as my inability to form coherent sentences when he is experiencing said rage, so add that together with being a new place, with people my son doesn't remember (so he thinks they are strangers, and my kid could host his own after-school special about stranger danger, he is NOT one of those, "I'll go to anyone"-kids), and add to that, trying to contain his outbursts so as not to set off his sweet, 4-month-old cousin. We were gearing up for something big.
The first day we had a few melt downs and chalked it up to getting 6 hours of sleep, ear-infections, blah, blah, blah, but several days later, it had only gotten worse. He was extremely attached to me, which is sweet and makes me feel his love, but is also very exhausting. It was at Bob Evans that it all came to a head for me. After being routinely hit in the face, screamed at, and head-butted by my kid in the lobby while we waited 40 minutes for a table, I was starting to enter mom-demon-mode. I felt it start to wash over me. I could no longer listen to the conversations around me, I was alone with this little monster. We got our booth. He ripped everything off the table in record time and screamed and began banging his head in the place where his food should be. The food came and after a few bites, the little morsels we had placed in front of him made a quick trip to the floor. I got the pity look from a few moms who had been there, but I could take no solace in it. My kid was acting terribly and I was too burnt out to take it anymore.
I did something I never do, but got on my phone to reach out to an internet mom blog/forum for help. In the status box I typed something like, "Help. Tantrums bad, 14-months. Make stop. please." Within minutes the replies started coming in. About a half dozen of them said, "He is probably frustrated because he can't express himself." I thought about this and wrote back to them a short while later, explaining about his hearing impairments before he had tubes put in and his delay in speech acquisition. They continued to suggest ways to let him express his feelings and opinions.
I'll be honest, at first I was kind of annoyed. I thought-if he is just frustrated that he can't talk, I would have known that. I am with him everyday, I would know if that is all that it was. I don't think he is developmentally ready. I am a teacher, I know these things (turns out I really don't)...yady yada.
It took me about a day to think on all that was said and actually accept someone's advice. I thought about how frustrated I would be to not be able to communicate even the simplest needs-hungry, hurt, hot, cold, tired, etc. So, I tried to bridge the gap. The next morning for breakfast, I held out an English muffin and his cereal. I asked him which one he wanted and held them close enough for him to reach. Eventually he batted the muffins, I clapped and cheered and made him a muffin. I don't know that he knew what he was doing in that moment, but he does now. I started working on yes/no head nods. At bedtime, I tell him it is bedtime and he walks to his room instead of being carried. I offer him two different shirts in the morning. Our entire world is opening up.
We still have melt downs and tantrums. He is perpetually cutting teeth, which accounts for most of the hitting on others and hitting himself, but this switch has changed our lives.
I think it took him reaching such a state of intensity to wake me up to the fact that he is not a baby. He made the switch to personhood, and I had missed it some how, but I am really glad he told me.
Tonight I was getting him ready for bed and began to feel that lump in my throat. I put his superman jammies on and sat down in the rocking chair. We jabbered back and forth for a few minutes, then he laid his head down, and started to settle. I rocked and rocked until I heard the slow, steady breathing of sleep. And then I rocked some more. I rocked and cried for my love of him. For his people-ness. For his personality. For his preferences. For becoming my little boy and no longer my baby. For sadness that I missed his message. For joy of wondering what is to come.
Branson, MO
Vacation with lots of family in a rental house
Kid with green goo pouring out of his face
Double ear-infection
Making the switch from crawling to walking
The Thanksgiving-destination-vacation was great! We went to see the sights, ate turkey, and genuinely enjoyed each others company (Yes, I got lucky. I love my in-laws). Everything went without a hitch, except for the tantrums.
I have talked before about my child's experiments in rage as well as my inability to form coherent sentences when he is experiencing said rage, so add that together with being a new place, with people my son doesn't remember (so he thinks they are strangers, and my kid could host his own after-school special about stranger danger, he is NOT one of those, "I'll go to anyone"-kids), and add to that, trying to contain his outbursts so as not to set off his sweet, 4-month-old cousin. We were gearing up for something big.
The first day we had a few melt downs and chalked it up to getting 6 hours of sleep, ear-infections, blah, blah, blah, but several days later, it had only gotten worse. He was extremely attached to me, which is sweet and makes me feel his love, but is also very exhausting. It was at Bob Evans that it all came to a head for me. After being routinely hit in the face, screamed at, and head-butted by my kid in the lobby while we waited 40 minutes for a table, I was starting to enter mom-demon-mode. I felt it start to wash over me. I could no longer listen to the conversations around me, I was alone with this little monster. We got our booth. He ripped everything off the table in record time and screamed and began banging his head in the place where his food should be. The food came and after a few bites, the little morsels we had placed in front of him made a quick trip to the floor. I got the pity look from a few moms who had been there, but I could take no solace in it. My kid was acting terribly and I was too burnt out to take it anymore.
I did something I never do, but got on my phone to reach out to an internet mom blog/forum for help. In the status box I typed something like, "Help. Tantrums bad, 14-months. Make stop. please." Within minutes the replies started coming in. About a half dozen of them said, "He is probably frustrated because he can't express himself." I thought about this and wrote back to them a short while later, explaining about his hearing impairments before he had tubes put in and his delay in speech acquisition. They continued to suggest ways to let him express his feelings and opinions.
I'll be honest, at first I was kind of annoyed. I thought-if he is just frustrated that he can't talk, I would have known that. I am with him everyday, I would know if that is all that it was. I don't think he is developmentally ready. I am a teacher, I know these things (turns out I really don't)...yady yada.
It took me about a day to think on all that was said and actually accept someone's advice. I thought about how frustrated I would be to not be able to communicate even the simplest needs-hungry, hurt, hot, cold, tired, etc. So, I tried to bridge the gap. The next morning for breakfast, I held out an English muffin and his cereal. I asked him which one he wanted and held them close enough for him to reach. Eventually he batted the muffins, I clapped and cheered and made him a muffin. I don't know that he knew what he was doing in that moment, but he does now. I started working on yes/no head nods. At bedtime, I tell him it is bedtime and he walks to his room instead of being carried. I offer him two different shirts in the morning. Our entire world is opening up.
We still have melt downs and tantrums. He is perpetually cutting teeth, which accounts for most of the hitting on others and hitting himself, but this switch has changed our lives.
I think it took him reaching such a state of intensity to wake me up to the fact that he is not a baby. He made the switch to personhood, and I had missed it some how, but I am really glad he told me.
Tonight I was getting him ready for bed and began to feel that lump in my throat. I put his superman jammies on and sat down in the rocking chair. We jabbered back and forth for a few minutes, then he laid his head down, and started to settle. I rocked and rocked until I heard the slow, steady breathing of sleep. And then I rocked some more. I rocked and cried for my love of him. For his people-ness. For his personality. For his preferences. For becoming my little boy and no longer my baby. For sadness that I missed his message. For joy of wondering what is to come.
Below is the unusual lullaby I have to sang him his whole life. If you need me, I will be rocking him for the next to weeks that I am off work.
Love,
J
Thursday, December 19, 2013
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