I am reposting this from L.R.Knost – Little Hearts/Gentle Parenting Resources because it is so worth preserving for me…so worth sharing…so worth reminding myself that I can always be a little kinder…

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@the path less taken

“I lied today. I told a lie. Or maybe a half truth depending on how you look at it. This is going to be long because I’m feeling wordy. And rant-y. And sad. And gloriously happy. All the feels.

I met a woman today with her darling 21 month old daughter. They were standing outside the Target off Balboa Ave with a cardboard sign saying they were hungry. I walked up to them with a shopping cart (with a Laelia in it) and said, “Groceries? Let’s shop!”

Now Laelia and I were there to spend some “free” money we had (unknowingly) earned by participating in an in-depth study on the effects of drinking during pregnancy. (Don’t worry we were the control group! lol) I have a BA in Psychology and I know the importance of studies like this. It took a couple months of intelligence tests, head measurements, a bunch of long phone interviews, but the pay off was in Target gift cards. So we were there to blow our money on something fun. And of course a need met us there. As I’ve almost come to expect.

(Or was the need always there and I never had eyes for it?)

Ms. D and Baby D had been there in the heat for two hours and Laelia and I were the first people to make eye contact with them. The baby had snot all over her face as she cried for food. I asked the little one for her name and she replied, “hungry.” Her mom recounted the people who had walked by them with shopping carts full of nothing but food, but no one offered even a banana for her very hungry child. And in the time it took me to park and introduce myself I had seen this happen with my own eyes TWICE. Both shoppers avoided eye contact as bags of food almost fell out of their carts on their way to their cars. One woman scowled as she walked past.

They had been in front of another place before coming here but that store had threatened to call the police so they fled. Because you know how to solve the problem of hungry people in your street view? Call the police on them!!! What?!!!!

Their food stamps had run out days early. She was pregnant, she had lost her job, probably because they found out she was pregnant. And she could have afforded food for her family had her man stayed and had she not been laid off. She begged for her job back, begged to not take much leave, begged to stay even with a pay cut. Now she was desperately looking for work. And was forced to ask for help from strangers.

(I’m not saying this because she deserves food more than if she had a drug problem or was a prostitute or any other thing. It’s not about being worthy of food. We feed people, period. All this to say just that she had never had to ask for food before and was humiliated.)

She grabbed just a little bit of healthy food for her and her baby and her other child at home. Just a meal. She didn’t want to take too much from me. She felt guilty. I don’t think she’d ever had to beg for food for her children before in her entire life. Can you imagine being in that position? She kept saying sorry.

So I lied.

I picked Laelia up out of the cart and then leaned over close so Laelia wouldn’t hear (yes, I totally felt guilty for lying) and said, “I’m secretly really really rich.” Then I pushed the cart in her direction, “Just fill up the whole cart. Anything you need.” And I winked at her.

“Really?!!” She grinned unbelieving.

“Really.”

Now she wasn’t taking advantage of someone on a budget. Now I was Princess Jasmine when she sneaks into the market place incognito. (Oh these holes in my shorts? Totally my middle class costume for going among my subjects.) So we split up, Laelia and I going for coffee and bananas, Ms. D going for more food, enough to feed them for a week. We met up in some middle aisles at one point and I encouraged her by motioning to her cart wildly, “Bigger! More! Higher!” She grinned and went back down aisles she’d already been through. She added shampoo and soap and towels. A broom, a mop, cleaning supplies, brushes, a dish scrubber. Paper towels and toilet paper. Then I noticed all her food was healthy. It was all healthy. (What?) So I started throwing different chocolate bars in her cart while she laughed at me. Hey I was pregnant once. We used her cardboard “we’re hungry” sign to wrap up a giant rack of ribs. Then onions and apples and cheese and meat and sauces and veggies and bread and milk and pasta and cans of this and these and that.

It took 20 minutes to scan and bag it all. The cashier was clipping coupons for us and giving us discounts I never would have thought to ask for. The assistant manager came to help load up the cart that this woman would be pushing back to her shared apartment. (The employees were having just as much fun as me.) My Red Card saved us over $30. The gift cards were completely spent. My grocery budget gone. Instead of the usual dread at being moderately out of budget, all I wanted was to high five everyone like, “Yeah we did it! We spent all the monies!”

Ms. D and I said our good-byes and I watched this woman with a baby on her hip push a cart bigger and fuller than every single one of those carts of food driven by people who had walked past them all day. Ms. D was queen of them. Queen of the carts. And later as I was stuck at a light down the road I caught another glimpse of her making her way down the street, happy and unburdened. She couldn’t see me so I knew that look was not for my benefit, it was just pure joy. She looked… lighter. Despite the burden of the sheer weight of it all in front of her–the mop and broom sticking straight up on the side like royal scepters bouncing slightly in the wind.

I came home and hubby was there for lunch. He saw the inconsistency between three small bags (hey, I still got the coffee!) and the receipt I carried that was longer than my whole arm. All he said was, “I’ve gotta hear the story.”

And I was all, “I totally was a rich person today. A billionaire probably.”

There are moments in each and every day when I almost stop right in my tracks because I am reminded I am not living in the moment, that I am not soaking up each fleeting moment as a parent in its full glory.  It is difficult, I know, to relish the insanity of the day instead of being overwhelmed or, at times, frustrated, by it, but we should.  We really, truly should because this whole thing called childhood goes by so quickly – really, in the blink of an eye.  Instead of finding ourselves frustrated by the moments that aren’t going our way, or are taking too long, I hope we can remember that it is NOT about the destination, but it is most certainly about the journey.  The journeys take longer, but also hold in them, the most reward. These journeys in childhood, I believe, are almost always more rewarding than the destination itself.

In my humble opinion, here are some journeys worth relishing:

Bath time
Who knew that a child could sit in a bath and play with five toys – the same five toys every night – until they’ve pruned and then re-plumped again!  There are nights when I simply don’t feel like giving my daughter a bath, because I’m tired or we’re a little off our schedule or – I just don’t want to!  But then I remember how much she flippin’ loves bath time.  She has these two little buckets, one yellow and one orange, with three holes in the bottom.  She’ll fill them both up, then let them drain half out and then dump the rest of the water out over the side of the bathtub (she’s in one of those tubs that sits INSIDE our bath tub – so, you know, not as messy).  She giggles and talks up a storm. I know it won’t always be this fun to get her to take a bath, so in these moments, I’m going to enjoy being half-soaked watching her dump water all over the place.

Playtime
Play looks so very different for kids of all ages, but the main idea in waiting it out here is to just let them play.  Don’t stop them from playing because they have to change out of their pajamas or you have to get the laundry started or, more likely, you are sort of bored.  As an adult, learning to re-play like a child has been tough for me.  I’m used to having a defined purpose in every thing I do.  My daughter doesn’t have that.  She explores.  Sometimes she explores multiple things at once.  Sometimes that exploring simply looks like looking at something – for what seems like hours on end.  That’s not always so exciting for me.  I don’t want to rush her though, or stop her from this exploring.  When she starts coloring, or painting, or crafting or tide-pooling, things that will be infinitely more enjoyable for me, I want to keep these same expectations; I do not want to rush her through her play.  It won’t be long, I’m sure, until she’d rather be at the mall with friends than playing with the stuffed animal circus on our living room floor.  I’ll take every minute of this time I can get.

Nap time
This one I think might be as much for me as it is for my daughter.  Sometimes naps don’t happen, for a variety of reasons.  I usually end up frustrated if that occurs, and she usually ends up beyond tired and melting down – so, we do like naps and rarely want to rush them.  However, there are times when we have a playdate or an activity or an errand to run and that nap – that pesky little nap – is sort of getting in the way.  Too bad.  That’s what I’ve had to start saying.  “Too bad we can’t make it, it’s nap time” or “Too bad I couldn’t get that done today, she was taking a nap”. Naps are great, for both baby and mama.  About every third day I force myself, no matter how tired or not tired I am, to actually take a nap when my daughter does.  What I notice is that I am recharged.  This is what naps are doing for her – recharging her uber-exploring batteries so that she can wake up, eat, and uber-explore some more.  Don’t rush naps and for the love of all that is important – don’t skip them either!

Mealtime
We are taking the Baby-Led Weaning, otherwise known as Baby-Led Solids, approach to introducing food to our little one.  We skipped over purees and rice cereal as the typical starters (we do offer some pureed foods now and again) and we allow her to feed herself, either from the options we put in front of her, or what we have on our own plates.  At seven months old, she is successfully eating chicken, ground beef, carrots, avocado, sweet peppers, bananas, nectarines, sweet potato, green beans, mango, and the list goes on.  Mealtimes are messy, using this approach, and they take a lot longer than if I was spoon feeding her. But she is learning so much about food, and taste and texture and dexterity (with that cute little pincer grasp!) and making her own choices, and telling us when she is full or when she wants more.  Before we had our daughter, I could eat a meal in under 10 minutes.  Really, no joke.  I think it comes from my high school days when I had about 30 minutes to eat, socialize and, let’s be honest, finish that Calculus homework!  Forcing myself to slow down because that’s what she needs, has forced me to slow down as well – to enjoy thinking about what we are eating and watching her learn to learn about food. To enjoy spending time with family sharing a meal. Is it messy? Yes? Is it time consuming? A little more, yes.  Is it worth it? Absolutely!

Time Away (the drop off and the pick up)
I mean this, from anywhere really, but I’m specifically thinking of daycare.  As a full-time working mama, usually in the mornings I feel like I am in more of a hurry than I really am, than I really need to be.  If I really stop and think about it, I can typically spend a few extra minutes playing with her at daycare – letting her show me the toys she plays with all day long.  Taking her around the room and looking at the artwork and pictures on the walls.  Helping her play with her little friends, which really consists of sitting up and looking at one another as they each play with their own toys.  When I pick her up, I usually have the same time – I can sit down next to her while she is playing and play along.  I can talk to her about what she did all day…I don’t have to simply drop her off and run out the door or whisk her up and out of the building to head home.  She’s not a busy Type A Mama yet.  She needs time to acclimate to her changes in her surroundings.  Even though she knows daycare now, and she clearly knows us when we pick her up, it’s still a transition and it needs to be slowed down, just a bit, so as not to be jarring for that little brain of hers.

Story time
Charlotte isn’t sitting down for The Velveteen Rabbit or The Little Prince, anytime soon.  And we certainly aren’t even close to the “chapter books” phase.  But, she does like her books.  We read two every night before bed: The Little Mouse, The Red Ripe Strawberry and The Big Hungry Bear and Goodnight Moon.  She likes to close the books.  She likes to flip the sturdy cardboard pages back and forth.  She enjoys almost everything about reading books except the actual reading of the book.  It doesn’t matter to me.  What matters to me is that she is hearing words, and looking at pictures, and is engaged in these moments of learning even before she goes to sleep every night.  And, to be honest, I love the cuddles on my lap and her little smile every time I say “Boom! Boom! Boom! The Bear will tromp the forest…”

There are others, of course.  Everyone will have their own journeys and experiences to relish.  So, in the end my message is: just do that.  Stop rushing through these moments. Enjoy the journey, the “destination” will come soon enough, I assure you.

 

 

Sometimes I wonder what kind of mom I am, and question what kind of mom I want to be. It’s not that I give this a whole lot of thought (though this post suggests otherwise, I realize).  I am happy with the mom I am, most times.  I also have a 7 month old so being her mom has been pretty new to both of us and, I’m happy to report, I do not think I’ve done any serious damage thus far. 🙂 But I do think about being a mom, her mom, and what sort of mom I want to be.  I also think about how, sometimes, my being a person (a woman, a writer, a runner, a scholar) can get lost inside the whole being a mom bit. Sometimes I am happy about that.  Other times I realize that I do not want that to get lost.  Other times still, I look at myself and introspectively wonder how I am as a mom right now. And then there are those other times when  I just sort of want to be That Mom.  You know, other moms.  Moms that feel very much NOT like the mom I am right now.

There are lots of That Moms at swim lessons.  I usually show up to swim lessons in yoga pants that are still too big (but comfy) and my rash guard, on top of my swim suit, with my hair looking decent but pulled back — since I’m still getting in the water with Charlotte at this point and have to deal with the easiest pieces of clothing to get in and out of, in the quickest possible ways.  That Mom is sometimes also wearing yoga pants, but they look much better on her.  Sometimes That Mom is super dolled up, with clearly recently pedicured toes and manicured fingers, fresh mascara and even lip gloss.  I’m lucky if I remembered to brush AND floss my teeth.

The other day there were several That Moms at swim lessons, and I watched them for a long time, sort of in awe of how put together they all were and wondering what the hell their lives were like that they could be that put together.  And, I’ll admit it, I was jealous.  I wanted to look like all those That Moms. I wanted to have what I assume is all the time in the world that those That Moms had that they don’t seem rushed and their hair looks perfect and they looked like they have been working out with a personal trainer several hours a day.  I. Was. Jealous.  Then Charlotte splashed her hands down into the water and soaked me, tousled pulled-back hair and all — and thankfully, brought me to my senses.

ScaryMommy recently posted “37 Reasons I’m Not Embracing the Moment” and I was reminded of this as I was not embracing this moment, but instead being totally blinded by all those That Moms I was seeing.  And, as I watched my daughter giggle with delight as she splashed away waiting for her turn to be dunked and floated across the water, it just got me thinking – was I ever even going to be That Mom?  I mean, was I even That Mom before I became a mom?  I had to be honest with myself in this moment — No, I wasn’t even That Mom before I became a mother.  I have always been more comfortable in jeans than in a dress.  I didn’t learn how to even properly apply make-up until I was nearly 30, and even then that simply consisted (and still does) of eyeliner,  a very nude colored shadow and mascara — sometimes gloss, if I’m feeling frisky! I wear high heels, but wedges not pumps, not because I walk all sexy in them but because I’m too damn short that none of my pants will fit if I don’t.  I’m not That Mom. Nor will I ever be That Mom. I don’t begrudge any of those That Moms their ability to be beautiful and amazing and all put together, but I’m not going to be able to join their club.  Probably ever.  And I’m going to be totally happy with that, with the mom I am — or the mom I am becoming.

And what kind of mom am I?  I do not know exactly right yet, being that it has only been 7 months.  But, so far, what I’ve realized is this: I have become That Other Mom. The one who can turn any conversation into one that revolves around or refers to her child.  That loves telling stories about how she almost rolls over or giggles to certain songs or splashes in the pool!  Before I was That Other Mom, I was one of those people who didn’t care about all this nonsense.  Now that I’m That Other Mom, all I want to do is find people who do care about all this nonsense.  Let’s be real.  It. Is. Nonsense.  I realize that while I am astoundingly happy being a mama, I was very glad to go back to work so that my world could start to revolve, once again, around things other than my child.  I love her.  I love everything she does and everything about her.  However, I also felt that the professional side of my life, the one that is a good role model for my daughter, was lacking a bit.  I wanted to think that someday my daughter could look her mom and realize that she too, can have it all — work, life, love, family, knowledge, etc. etc. etc.  But you know what, even back at work, I remained That Other Mom.

Not That Mom, mind you, I still do not think I will ever attain that, but I’m a mom.  That Mom and That Other Mom, we are all just mamas doing the best we can at this crazy journey called mommy-hood. It’s a wild ride, one I wouldn’t change for the world…but some fancy, new jeans and pedicure might be nice all the same.

I’m going to be whiny here for a bit, just for one post. It’s not my usual M.O. – to be whiny. I’m really not that type of person. But I’m just feeling in a mood, a funk, a little bit of an annoyance with all that is my world right about now (with the exception of Charlotte, who I am over the moon about, even in my whiny state). I’m not in a bad mood, or unhappy, or even sad — don’t get me wrong. Regardless, there will be whining coming up so prepare yourself. It’s about deployments and my life and my life with deployments. If you aren’t in the mood to read a whiny post from me, move on now.  🙂

Here’s the thing. I am over deployment at this point. Here’s the other thing. I can do deployments. I always have been able to. I always can. I don’t enjoy them. I haven’t ever enjoyed them, but I can DO them. And I am and have been doing this one too. It’s been different with a kid, but I’ve been plugging along, right as rain. But, and here’s the whiny kicker part: I don’t want to!! [Insert whiney noise here.]

About three months into the deployment,  I sent my husband an email just for kicks and giggles, so he could kind of see what our day has been like on the regular. I’ve tweaked it here a bit to reflect new developments in our lives (solid foods, daily walks and reading a book before bedtime).

4:45am – Wake up and take a shower

5:00 – 5:45am – Breastfeed Charlotte

5:45 – 6:15am – Finish getting ready for work

6:15 -6:20am – Change Charlotte’s Diaper

6:20 – 6:25am – Get her in her carseat

6:25 – 6:30am – Get the bottles out of the fridge, load up my work bag and her daycare bag, and take those plus the her in the carseat down to the car

6:35am – hopefully heading down the alley to daycare

6:50am – Arrive at daycare

6:50 – 7:05am – Get Charlotte settled into daycare.  Depending on my morning meeting schedule, we play for a few minutes – longer if I don’t have to be in for a meeting.

7:25am – Arrive at work

8:30am – 8:50am – Pump for bottles for the next day

11:30 – 11:50am – Pump for bottles for the next day

2:40 – 3:00pm – Pump for bottles for the next day

4:00 – leave work to get Charlotte (this is rushing out at the end of the day)

4:20ish – Arrive at daycare, get the kiddo and all her gear from the day

4:45ish – Arrive at home

4:45 – 5:00pm get Charlotte upstairs, throw bottles in cooler in fridge, change her diaper, play for a bit

5:00 – 5:30 – Take an evening walk, either in the carrier or in the stroller

5:30 – 6:00 – Get Charlotte’s solid food dinner ready

6:00 – 6:10pm Clean up Charlotte’s dinner and get bath stuff ready

6:10 – 6:30pm – Charlotte bath, diaper and into PJs

6:30 – 6:55pm – Breastfeed Charlotte, typically to sleep (fingers crossed!)

7:00 pm – Put Charlotte down into crib

7:15 – 7:20pm – put some chicken and veggies into tinfoil and into oven

7:20 – 7:30pm – Put away all bath stuff and clean up Charlotte’s dinner stuff

7:30 – 7:45pm – Prepare and label bottles for tomorrow

7:45 – 8:00pm – Prepare and freeze remaining milk in 4.5 oz bags

8:00 – 8:15pm – Wash all bottles and pump accessories from the day

8:15 – 8:20pm – Get pump accessories and empty bottles ready for tomorrow

8:20 – 8:30pm – Get my clothes and bag ready for the morning

8:30pm – Take food out of oven

8:30 – 8:40pm – Sometimes take out trash, sometimes run or empty dishwasher, sometimes take some frozen cookie dough (lactation cookies) out of freezer, sometimes do a load of laundry

8:40 – 9:00pm – eat

9:00 – 9:45pm – Breastfeed (a lovely time called “twilight feeding”) Charlotte again and change her diaper before going back to bed

9:45  – Sometimes go to bed, sometimes take a bath, sometimes watch a TV show from bed.

*Somewhere between 2am and 3am – feed Charlotte once more or go in and soothe her if she’s just fussy but not hungry

**This changes a bit on M/W when we have swim lessons from 4:30-5…then I leave work a bit early, we get there by 4:10 and I change then I change her and all the rest sort of takes a 45 minute shift backwards, she doesn’t get a bath (she’s been in chlorine, she’s clean!) and I typically don’t get a real meal…more like a flatbread or naan if I’m lucky — if not, some bread and cheese and yogurt! ;

I know other people have it even harder.  Other women have more than one child. Other women are truly single parents all the time, not just for 8 months. And, yes, there are those of you out there who will say “well, you knew what you were getting when…” a) you married a sailor or b) you had a child or c) both. And yes, yes I did.  I knew full well what I was getting in both instances. And, no matter how hard life has been or how many insane curveballs life has thrown my way (and there have been some doozies, let me tell ya!), I have accepted this life as the life I want to be living.  I would not change a thing.  Not. One. Single. Thing.

But…

That does NOT mean this isn’t really hard and that I have to enjoy every stinking minute of it and not feel exhausted and just “over it”.  I didn’t sign up to not have feelings about my experience. And so, I’m having feelings. This is me having feelings. And it’s my blog dammit, so I’m expressing those feelings. Venting if you will. Whining, if you must!

I’m just tired. I’m tired of not having my best friend, my husband around to laugh with about how effing insane life is, but how truly, inexplicably rewarding it also is. I’m tired of having to feel like an octopus out of water — my eight arms in constant motion but feeling like I cannot catch a breath. I’m just tired. And no, I wouldn’t change anything (I mean, other than having my husband home, that I’d change in an instant!) and I’m not complaining, because complaining means I’m unhappy about my lot in life.  I’m not unhappy.

Just tired.

And whiny.

And sick to death of eating chicken!

Ok, so don’t get me wrong.  Dad’s are great!  And, I know that my husband cannot wait for anything more than to get home from his deployment and BE a daddy to our little one. But, I have noticed a disturbing trend lately and I just couldn’t sit on this anymore. It might be that I’m more sensitive to this because my daughter’s dad isn’t able to be here and I’m doing the job of two parents, but honestly, I think I might feel the exact same if he had been here this entire 7 months so far.

Parenting is parenting and should not be defined or glorified with roles delineated based on gender (with the obvious exception of breastfeeding, but dad’s CAN feed a baby too…)

My two recent points of contention:

On July 9th, AdWeek posted this commercial http://www.adweek.com/adfreak/thailand-does-it-again-ad-will-leave-you-bawling-baby-158792  with the headline: “Thailand Does It Again With an Ad That Will Leave You Bawling Like This Baby Grab some tissues and your phone charger”

The ad, for those that haven’t gone and watched it yet, basically illustrates the following: A dad is looking over his daughter crying in her crib.  Panicked, he calls mom who seems to be at the grocery store.  He says “What do I do??”.  Mom’s first guess: baby is hungry — dad cutely feels his chest with that “I don’t have boobs” goofy look.  Ok. Fine. Cute.  Then mom has an idea to play peek-a-boo over the phone.  Then, after this, dad — with a look that is somewhere between pain, fear and the trepidation of a 14 year old who has to change a diaper for the first time — reaches down and, wait for it…PICKS UP HIS CHILD. The baby stops crying almost immediately as mom watches on through an iChat or some version of video chat and tears up.  The look dad gives his daughter in this video is the same look that I saw on my husband on the day our daughter was born and every, single, day (numbered as they were before he deployed) of her first weeks of life: a look comingled between awe and love.  The tagline at the end of the ad is “technology can never replace love”.  True enough.  But, I have to ask, would people be fawning over this if the roles had been reveresed and MOM was the one “freaking out” and then picking up her baby.  No, I think not. I have to admit, sadly, that people would be up in arms and saying things like “what kind of mother does that?” and “why doesn’t that mom just pick her baby up?”  It wouldn’t be a “Grab the Tissues” spot.  This is parenting folks.  Dad’s have to figure out how to console and sooth their babies the same way that moms do, every day, all day long.

Ok, so next: In the August 2014 issue of Parent magazine, there was a little blurb about how a 37 year-old father was traveling on an airplane with his two children ages 4 and 5. The article, which was admittedly also making a little fun of this situation, stated that the flight attendants “made sure [the father] and his boys…could watch nonstop movies and have free first-class dinners” because they knew “it’s hard to bring kids on a five hour flight [and she] wanted him to have the best experience possible.” (20). Um, seriously?  I have been on eight different flights – BY MYSELF – with my daughter as a 3 month and then 6 month old and have seen at least three different mothers in my travels – also solo – with their kids who have gotten…wait for it…No Special Treatment.

But hey, let’s just assume dad here is doing something very special and needs all the help he can get.

COME ON!

Dad’s ARE NOT SPECIAL!  I mean, not any MORE special than Mom’s.  Parenting is a two person job and each of those two people should be able and willing to do ALL of the things required of them as parents.  Doing the job of a parent doesn’t make you special, wether you are the Mama or the Daddy. These stories and examples are sending a message that I am uncomfortable with.  They are sending a message about gender and norms and roles that I think does a disservice to parents of BOTH genders.  Gendered norms that are antiquated and that I had hoped were disappearing (sadly, I realize this is not yet the case…). They are sending the message that dad’s, doing what parents just do, are doing something special.  I have to think that MOST dad’s do not think of themselves as doing anything special or out-of-the-ordinary when they are just simply being a parent – a good parent, don’t get me wrong – but a parent…just like mom.

I know that dad’s like Daddy Doin’ Work (http://daddydoinwork.com/) and The Daddy Diaries (http://thedaddydiaries.net/) go about their daily daddy-duties simply as “parent duties” that sometimes are specific to dad, but also sometimes not.  They are being parents. They aren’t, as most dad’s aren’t, asking for special treatment. I hope that most dad’s aren’t anyway and I hope that our media world can more closely examine the message that they send when they put one parent up on a pedestal for doing what they should be doing to begin with – being good parents.

NOTE: I would have, I believe, the same reaction to media that glorifies moms for these same things…as I said, I don’t want any parent praised for doing the job of being good parents, particularly when gender is defining those roles.

I witnessed something incredibly interesting (at least to me) recently that has made me wonder what I will do in similar parenting situations and what lasting impact my decisions in these situations will have, on me and on my daughter.  It made me wonder if what I do, or what I will do, in any given situation is “wrong” or “right” and how I will know. It made me consider, and has me continuing to consider, how every action I take in parenting my daughter will have a consequence, a reaction — and depending on when/how/why I react, that reaction may not be what I bargain for.

I was at the SDCJC and they have this gorgeous stone garden, with a fountain and a little rock/slate walkway by a tiny pond…it’s a small little garden.  You can see from one end to the other very easily. I was by the fountain and on the other side of it sat this father.  He was just sitting, relaxing.  His daughter was flitting around the rock garden, running after hummingbirds and bees (yep, she was chasing the bees) and simply having a charming time.  But, she was running.  On concrete.  And at one point she fell.  And she fell hard.  I mean, I would have sworn that she cracked her face wide open, literally, based on the sound she made when she hit the ground. Needless to say, she screamed and ran over to her father.  Her father did nothing. Not a thing.  He let her climb into his lap and bury her face in his chest, but he didn’t really even “hug” her and he certainly didn’t say anything soft or gentle or encouraging. Nor did he say “don’t worry” or “stop crying” or any of the ‘suck it up -isms’ we sometimes hear people say (or say they’ll say) to children when they fall.  Now, to be clear, there was no blood.  I looked.  The kiddo really was, it seems, fine. Probably more rattled and startled and with some stinging hands and maybe chin, but overall…fine.

And within one minute, she was done crying.  Up and running again and looking at the water trickling down to the rock pond.

A full five minutes later her mom walked out of the building and into the garden and the girl ran up to mom and started crying again.  Mom cooed at her, “what happened?” and the girl explained through actual sobs, what had happened.  She kept crying, and mom cuddled her and lifted her up and the girl whimpered into her moms shoulder.  And this went on for some five minutes longer.

Isn’t that interesting?

She was totally, fully comforted by the presence of her father, even though he did not say a word. She was clearly NOT hurt that badly.  She got over it quickly and was completely fine.  Then her mother appeared and she reverted to hurt child mode and started crying again, clearly long enough after the initial fall that she was not in any pain any longer.

What messages are both of these parents and their reactions sending?  What is this child learning from these messages?  It was clear to me that the child knew that her parents have different responses and while she was fine with the one she got from her father, she also wanted the response – softer? gentler? coddling? comforting? nurturing? – of her mother.

What will I do, when Charlotte falls down for the first time and scrapes her knee?  She clearly will be all right…but I’ve been wondering ever since this. What will I do?  What is more, I wonder, what will what I do “say” to my daughter?

Will I tell her “it’s OK, honey, you’re ok” and pick her up and comfort her with kisses? Will this teach her that I will always be there to comfort her? Or will it teach her that she needs me to fix things for her?

Will I say “get up, it’s all good, you’re ok” and not pick her up, but just be there for her and brush the dirt off her knobby knees?  Will this teach her to to be strong and resilient?  Or, will this send a message to her that I do not think her pain is a big deal?

What will happen when the scraped knee is something bigger? Something more painful? Something more significant?

I know, I know.  I’m overthinking this a bit. But, it’s worth thinking about, isn’t it?  It’s worth considering how we respond to our children, in their moments of triumph and their moments of pain.  It’s worth considering what messages we are sending to them so that we can be sure that they are getting the messages we want, the messages we actually intend to send.  Perhaps the message that we think they can do anything but that we also will be there for them always.

I’m not sure what message I think these parents were sending, or what message their daughter was receiving from their actions.  What I do know is that the message of their actions and interactions has certainly got this mama thinking…

Yesterday my daughter did not have any teeth. Yesterday she was five months and 23 days old.  Today she has a tooth.  One. Day. Later. It happened that fast – nobody tells you it happens that fast.  I thought that I would be happy about this, excited for this next stage of our lives.  She would then learn to sit up totally on her own, we’d work on baby led weaning, starting with something yummy like avocado, as we are in Southern California after all.  But I’m not happy about it.  In fact, after my initial excitement and double checking and trying to get a picture and posting on FB, I became increasingly sad about this.

It’s happening too fast.

All of it, all of her growing up.  And, what’s more sad to me, what brought me to tears as I watched her gnaw on this teething ring that’s been waiting patiently to have a purpose, is that her dad, my husband, has missed so many milestones already because he is deployed. In the past, I have been very good with deployments.  I haven’t liked them, but I’ve managed pretty well.  I’ve worked out more, learned to cook some fun dishes, organized and re-organized closets…all good.  Even this deployment, which has been hard with a new baby, our first, has been OK. Not great, but OK.  I have not loved at all having my husband gone – for the middle of the night wake-ups, the first illness, the laundry, the dirty diapers – but we’ve managed.  We’ve Skyped or FaceTimed when we could, though not often enough.  He’s called when he could, though also not often enough.  Neither of which are even close to as good as having him here, for all the hard stuff, but for the good stuff too.  But, regardless, we’ve managed even though: He’s missed her first real smile.  He’s missed her first giggle. He’s missed her first fever (he’s probably happy about this). He’s missed her rolling over and sitting up and finding her hands and her feet.

I knew for all of these firsts that he’s missed that there were going to be so many more firsts that he WILL be here for that I just took pictures and sent him an email and simply soaked up being with my baby – mama and Charlotte time.  But today, this tooth. This tooth took me by surprise.  I wasn’t expecting that I would be so NOT ready for this.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m happy, sort of.  I am happy that she’s reaching milestones and she is happy. I’m enjoying every single minute of our lives together right now.  But I am just not ready for it to be going by so quickly.  It’s all happening so damn fast. I want to press pause and savor these moments for longer than they actually are lasting.  I want to keep, permanently, the sweet baby smell of my toothless (not any more!) smiling gift of a baby.  I want to have her remain in awe every time she takes her tiny little hand and touches it to my face.  I want to keep the snuggles and the cuddles and the breastfeeding bonding and the little “I’m tired” whining and the “I like that” grunts — I want to keep them all and I want to give back this tooth that is making it all go by so quickly.  Too quickly.  I want to keep my baby a baby.  At least until her daddy can come back home to us.  😦

For thousands of years (c’mon, don’t quote me, I’m not an historian) parents have been raising children. For thousands of years this has happened. It’s been without books, blogs, the “interweb” and diapers.com and, frankly, I think the world, mostly, has seemed to do just fine.  Babies have grown up, for the most part, into happy, healthy and well-adjusted adults. The tiny humans have, mostly, grown into larger humans that have thrived enough to, shocking, procreate and create more tiny humans!

Why then, as a new parent do I fall into the trap that I feel many new parents fall prey to: feeling the need to read, research and stress out over every single step of our new parenthood.  What happened to instinct?  What happened to just raising your baby?

Things that there is, in my opinion, simply too much information out there on include: diaper rash, nursing to sleep, colds, toys, teething, immunizations, starting babies on food, sleep training, and so on and so on and so on. I know that there is a lot of GOOD information on all these topics but there is just as much bad information and honestly, my brain is starting to hurt from trying to sort through the piles of malarkey to find those gems of advice.  Admittedly, I find myself going to a few sources for information on the regular (Semi Crunchy Mama, Badass Breastfeeders of San Diego, San Diego Breastfeeding Center, KellyMom, just to name a few…) and I try, somewhat unsuccessfully I might add, to avoid all the other “crap”.

But, what if it’s not crap? I wonder to myself (literally, because the only other person in my house right now with the baby-daddy/husband off on deployment is my 5 1/2 month old…). What if someone has a new idea that would work better? I find myself scrolling through “just to see”.  And don’t even get me started on Google searching.  Talk about a Can o’ Worms!

Here’s the thing.  I want to rely on instinct.  I think my instincts are, generally, pretty good.  Solid, I’d say, for a mom who is new to this whole mom thing.  I’ve taken a gander around at other moms long enough to know what I want to do and what I’d like to try** and avoid.  When I find myself unsure, I reach out to other mamas whom I know, from my interactions with them, have similar desires for raising their kiddos and similar beliefs.  Will we all always agree?  Probably not.  For example, I had our daughter immunized (separate post on immunizations to follow).  Not everyone does that. Everyone DOES have their opinions about this and I respect that my opinion differs from some of these same mothers whom I adore and respect.  It does not bother me one iota that they have chosen, because of their instincts, to not immunize their child.  And I suspect, because they still interact with me, that it does not bother them that I have chosen to immunize our daughter.

That all being said, if as an older, well-educated, relatively self-assured woman, I am overwhelmed with the amount of information that is thrown at new parents, I can only begin to imagine how other parents – younger and/or older than me – are feeling.  I think being a parent is hard enough without having to sort through all this information and to “know” what is right and what is wrong – or to be made to feel guilty when you don’t know.  My advice to new parents:  trust your instincts.  Every baby is different, and you will learn to know what your kiddo is telling you in their cries, their smiles, their looks and you will learn to know what they need – until they can tell you and then, well…you still have to trust your instincts, I think. 🙂

**Notice here that I don’t say “what I don’t want to do” — and I’m purposeful about this. I have learned to “never say never” because you never do know what this life called “being a mom” is going to throw at you, and when, and how you are going to handle it…so, just take notes.  

Today there was a crazy man who came into the bank at the same time as me. I think about how I would tell my daughter “it’s not nice to call people crazy”, but this man, I am almost positive, truly was.  As I was walking into the bank, he was outside speaking to a motorcycle.  I wasn’t sure, at first, what was happening.  I watched for the few moments it took me to walk from my car into the bank and I realized he was, in fact, speaking to the bike. As I entered the bank doors, I clicked my car key fob again until I heard the beep that indicates the doors are locked.  Then he came into the bank behind me.  

He and I filled out our deposit slips at the same time. He was not writing anything that made sense on his form. He was writing in spaces along the edge of the form, in all the white spaces, not on the lines.  I didn’t want to be paying attention to him and what he was doing, but I also couldn’t help but pay attention.

Then we were at the counter at the same time and he was sharing that he needed money, from a settlement from when he left the military and that he hasn’t touched a bank in years and has no ID so he should have great credit and it’s hard to get money because he was in witness protection and so on and so on and so on.  I was nervous being in that space with him, I’ll admit. I also felt, and have continued to feel, so horrible for him. I can’t shake the feelings of sadness and concern for this man, who clearly was delusional, likely homeless, and from the looks of it, not very much older than me. He was so sincere about wanting to “just get a little something to get him started” and it was heartbreaking for me to think how, in some way, independent of anything he has done, the world has failed him.

And I can’t shake it.  I can’t put my feelings aside tonight for this guy, that I have never really met, I will never really know.  I still feel a tug, a pull, an urgency in some way that tells me that I should have done something – anything.  Took out an extra $___ and given it to him.  Gone down the street and bought him some food and brought it back to him.  I’m not even sure he would have accepted either.  I don’t know that he wouldn’t have either.  All I know is that I find myself reeling in the fact that this man is, for all intents and purposes, invisible in this world — his delusion of being in witness protection, having no identity, nobody that can vouch for him (as the bank teller asked), nobody that knows him and can help him — that’s NOT a delusion for this man.  And today, I was one more person who continued to place him in an invisible space.  Today, I was one more person who didn’t see him.  Today, while I maybe didn’t make his life any harder, I certainly didn’t step in, or step up, and make it any better either.  And I feel like I could have.  Maybe?  Perhaps?

I don’t have any solutions to the overwhelming issues of homelessness and mental illness and substance addiction, and maybe none of those things have anything to do with this man.  Maybe all of them do.  I can think of solutions though, to helping another human being in need who is reaching out, in the only fragmented way that he knows how.  I can think of several things that I could have done and I did not do any of them.

And I have to live with that.  And I am ashamed.