Everything’s Changed, But Nothing Really

I’m going to make this brief: we had a baby in late August, I posted about it, I thought I would have time to post more about it and all the other stuff going on in our lives like a major home renovation that’s left us with all three kids in temporary housing, but I was wrong.

The baby’s now 4 months old. The house is still being remodeled. We’re still in temporary housing, and will be for a couple more months.

I find it ironic that I started this blog as a way to capture experiences and life as a busy mom given that it’s all moving so quickly, yet without a little time in a bottle, I just can’t seem to find the time to commit to this on a regular basis. It frustrates me to no end. I want to, but it eludes me. Like my inability to workout on a regular basis (or at all, for years), I just can’t get a system down.

I tend to view things in a processed, linear fashion. You can’t get to point C until you’ve passed through points A and B. And that has definitely held me up when it comes to this blog. I can’t write about experience C, until I write about what got me to that point, via experiences A and B. Well, I’m going to stop thinking that way. At least when it comes to this blog. Linear is good. But sometimes, there’s a different way to get there. Or you can just skip a step or find a shortcut.

So I’m jumping ahead, to the present. Everything’s changed, but nothing really. I’m still a mom, but with a new one to love – and I utterly adore and am enraptured by him. I’m now back to work, full-time, and that is challenging, just as it was before. The home remodel is thrilling and stressful and overwhelming and thrilling again. And there’s still, always, too much to be done. You can never get ahead. But it’s my life.

Let’s get back to the present.

Today was not the perfect day, but it was one of those days when I just felt GOOD to be a mom. It started on the wrong foot, with the girls fighting over their baby brother and the general rush of trying to get all three of the house for 10 a.m. piano. I get that they each like to have one-on-one time with the baby, so I took my youngest aside, and made sure she had some alone time with me first. She hung her head low at first, in defeat. But it all changed when I told her I needed her help. She became animated again, happy that I chose her, my sweet, sensitive middle child. We made breakfast, and she got to crack the eggs and load in the cheese. She was over the moon. And it changed the course of the morning. The rush to piano wasn’t so much of a rush. We were actually on time. No meltdowns or tears … from anyone.

We ran errands later with the whole family and ended up at the mall, a very rare occasion for us. Though she was never too interested in getting her ears pierced like her big sister or I, she really wanted to today. She beamed as she picked out her little pink earrings and listened to her big sister give her pointers (or boss her around, depending on how you looked at). She sat in the chair patiently, obviously a little nervous as she twirled her hands. But she had made up her mind.

The deed is done.

And when it was done, not a flinch or a tear or even a watery eye. She looked in the mirror and grinned from ear to ear. I saw my little girl – who is always trying to keep up with her big sister and be heard and feel special – see that she is special. Not because she got her ears pierced, but because it was all about her. And that can be hard to come by these days.

It All Comes Back to You

Just over a month ago, we welcomed another child into our lives: our little boy, J. The anesthesia has since worn off and we’re settling into a “routine” if you can call it that as it’s little more than being completely reactive to all the little guy’s needs, 24/7, while blocking-and-tackling with our older girls. While he’s currently sleeping on the couch (I’ve just jinxed myself), I thought I’d capture my semi-coherent thoughts on what I’ve learned five weeks into my maternity leave:

1. It all comes back to you. We last had a baby six years ago and, miraculously, we remember how to soothe, change a diaper, hustle to get things done when the baby is sleeping (or nap, as sleep is a commodity around here). And what’s even better is most of it gets easier, especially if you have older children who have a thing for babies. Leaving the house with an infant, however, STILL feels like an Olympian feat.

2. It is possible to live in sweat pants and have absolutely no recollection of the last time you showered.

3. If you have a brown-skinned husband – even if you are VERY pale – people expect your child to be brown. Period. Give it time, people. (And on a related note, I still find it odd that people will comment on this.)

Asleep in his 'Swaddle Pod'

4. The inventors of the Boppy and Swaddle Me swaddle ‘pod’ are geniuses. I’d like to have their babies, if I didn’t already have one, who is much more manageable thanks to their brain child(ren).

5. Putting an addition on your home is far more stressful than welcoming a new addition to your family. Period. And we technically haven’t started the addition yet, because unlike your due date, construction permits can be more than 2 weeks late.

6. It’s never too early to introduce a child to family dance parties. Like swimming, babies just naturally fall into the rhythm of the dance. (I’d show you the video but I don’t want anyone calling Child Protective Services.)

7. With no family within 300 miles of us, we are truly blessed with a wonderful network of friends and neighbors who treat us like family and have showered us with presents and home-cooked meals, play dates for our older girls and errand runs. My co-workers have been pretty amazing too.

8. My iPhone and Twitter, Facebook and Pinterest apps have been my lifeline to the world outside of round-the-clock feedings, interrupted sleep and the general chaos of having a “non-scheduled” infant in the house while trying to maintain a schedule and some sense of normalcy for your older school-aged children. Like soap operas or reality TV, all of these offer mindless fun and entertainment.

Loving on Little J

9. “Let down” is no longer a term I associate with certain relatives, though it’s still just as painful. (On the plus side: breastfeeding is working well this time around and my little boy is gaining some serious L-Bs and thriving.)

10. Our two daughters make kick-ass big sisters. Wonder if he will one day say, “I have three kick-ass moms!”

11. Wayne Brady is wasting his talent on “Let’s Make a Deal.”

12. I absolutely loathe the witching hours between 3 to 6 p.m., before husband is home. The kids are home from school, often cranky and starving for a snack. The baby inevitably starts crying to eat. The kids start bickering. Homework needs to be supervised. Inevitably, somebody ends up in tears, and sometimes, it’s all four of us. (Consequently, I’m sure my husband hates the “picking up the pieces of my shattered family” hour of 6 to 7 p.m. Welcome home, honey.)

13. You will let your children watch much more tv when they’re bickering and the infant is screaming. Pick your battles.

14. A 2-week old infant is about the size of an American Girl doll, much to the delight of little girls everywhere.

American Girl, Meet Boy

15. Do Not – I repeat – Do Not push your luck when the baby is sleeping, especially if he’s grunting loudly and trying to eat his fist. If you keep writing this post, he’ll inevitably wake up before you shower. So that’s it for now.

I’d love to hear from other moms about what you’ve learned in those early weeks, whether it’s your first time around or you’re a seasoned pro… What else is in store for us?

On the Birth of a Son

One week ago today, we welcomed a son into our family. Our first. For once, my mother’s intuition was right and our daughters were right too – “Sprout,” as we called this mystery child in utero, was a boy. A soft, sweet, beautiful, healthy baby boy.

Sleepy little J.

I write this in a bit of a haze, coming off a night of little sleep. The past week has been a bit of a blur, with the seemingly constant nursing and the need to rest following another c-section.

But I will say it’s much, much easier, this time around. The third time’s a charm. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy my little girls in their first days, but I’m not sweating the small stuff and questioning my skills like I did the first two times around. You learn as you go. You adjust your expectations. You adapt. And you give yourself permission to be human. I only wish I could go back in time to tell that new mom I was eight years ago to take it easy on herself – it will get better and what they say is true: it will go by so fast! Before you know it, you’re kissing them on the cheek and sending them off to third and first grade – wondering how those little babies became such independent little girls.

Doting big sisters

Since his arrival, I’ve only had one total crying jag in the middle of the night (patting self on back), and I know this doesn’t signal that there’s something wrong with me or I can’t handle being a mom. I’ve accepted that there will be other meltdowns, when the exhaustion gets the best of me, because it’s hard, especially in these first few weeks. And, IMHO, anyone who tells you differently is lying, heavily sedated or has round-the-clock care.

He will certainly be our last – unless life has some more surprises up its sleeve – so I’m soaking it all in: those little sighs while he’s sleeping, the softness of his skin, the way his eyes dart about when he’s nursing or hears our voices, even his high-pitched dolphin-like cry when he needs something NOW.

I still can’t believe we have this little boy. I know I should be sleeping, taking advantage of the fact that my little man is doing the same, but I just wanted to capture this moment, of a mind and heart full of gratitude.

I’ve fallen in love all over again.

Happy one week birthday, little J.

‘Twas the Night Before Baby Arrives…

I can’t sleep. In 12 hours, I’ll be welcoming our next child into the world, and though I NEED rest, I just can’t stop my train of thoughts. It’s hard to believe that, as of tomorrow, I’ll be holding this little guy or gal.

Before this pregnancy comes to an end, there are just a few things I’d like to capture for prosperity’s sake.

All in all, this was a good pregnancy. I had only garden-variety complaints, nothing major and for that I’m blessed. Everything did feel more cumbersome this time around, but that was probably due to the fact that I’m older now, work full-time, have two school-aged children and started this pregnancy heavier and more out of shape than before (if there were going to be a next time, I’ve learned my lesson on that front). But there were some things that made this time around really stand out:

1. My kids.

Last time I did this, I was raising a little 2-1/2 year old spitfire who demanded so much of my time and attention (naturally) that I spent the better part of my pregnancy worried about how she’d fare having to share it, as she was our entire world in the way that only your firstborn can be. Now, I have two independent little girls who share my world, although sometimes begrudgingly on their part. I haven’t had to question if more than one child can fully occupy my mind and fill my heart as I have proof in those two that, yes, they can. And it will be no different with No. 3.

Those little girls have made this pregnancy special and unique. They have showered ME and my growing belly with attention, in a way that a toddler – in their me-centered world – cannot. And I mean that literally. For months, they’ve greeted me at the door by hugging, kissing and rubbing my growing belly; they’ve talked to it and singed to it and watched in awe as it moves in response to their voice and touch. They’ve wonder allowed what it will look like, if it will be a boy or girl, and what it must feel like to be on the inside. In general, they treat it like it’s their own. I’ll admit that all of that handsy-ness can, and does, get a little irritating at times (we’ve all heard the phrase ‘touched-out’), but I’ve embraced it for the fleeting experience it will ultimately be….

2. Experience.

Been there, done that. Being that this is the third time around, this pregnancy doesn’t get that all-encompassing, laser-focused attention as my first. But that’s not a bad thing. I haven’t stressed about every little thing, and I don’t think I will once the baby arrives. I know things will be tough at times, and we’ll get through it. My husband is more laid back and is actually embracing this huge life change with something that resembles ‘fervor.’ We were the old pros on our hospital tour, with zero questions about our ‘birth plan’ or comments about foregoing an epidural, and that was comforting. I remember that anxiety of not knowing what to expect all too well. Now I know enough to know that you can’t really have too many expectations, because that implies control, and I’m of the mindset that you have very little when your little one decides to make his or her entrance into the world.

3. A pregnancy boom.

Unlike the last time around, I’m surrounded by other pregnant women. On my street. At work. At the playground, neighborhood square, in the gossip magazines and every else in between. I’ve lost track of how many times people have commented that is must have been a long, cold, snowy winter. There must have been quite a few holiday parties last December. Or, there must be something in the water. I get it: I’m not alone. And there’s something very comforting about that this time around.

4. The kindness of those around you.

Say what you want about people being assholes (I’ve encountered quite a few myself), but people seem to be on their best behavior around pregnant women. Or else they are world-class actors. Whatever the case, I admit that I love the attention you get when you’re pregnant. No one wants you to overdo it. They offer you water, their seats, a place ahead of them in the bathroom line. They ask how you’re doing and seem genuinely interested. They often share their own parenting or pregnancy stories, reaching out for a connection when in normal cases, they wouldn’t feel the need.

5. The top of my head, and my mid-section.

Not everything about this pregnancy is deep and insightful. It also comes down to vanity. I’m not one of those women blessed with thick, glorious, shiny hair. But that changes when I’m pregnant. So, yes, I’ll miss these flowing locks, which I know I’ll be seeing all too soon in the nearest shower drain.

And then there’s this belly. I’m not someone who shies away from a ripe, pregnant belly (though there were no bikini incidents this time around). I like how my body changes when I’m pregnant, and I really embraced it, despite the added aches and pains I can only assume are due to my ‘advanced maternal age’ and general out-of-shape-edness. I love that you can just put it all out there – no need to check my profile and try desperately to suck in (yes, I still do that) or forgo a pair of pants for fear of the dreaded muffin top. For now, I’m growing life. At least until tomorrow. Then I can return to those mundane concerns that will probably get the best of me.

But you know what? It’s all worth it in the end.

And baby makes… five

Full Disclosure: I wrote this more than six months ago, but never got around to posting it (see last post for a little background on that front). It makes me smile to read if now – happy I captured the moment.

****

I just experienced once of my all-time top 10 parenting moments. After weeks of obsessing over how to tell our young daughters that they were going to be big sisters, we sat them down to tell them the news. I prepared myself for a ho-hum response, especially from my youngest, who’s five. But they exceeded my expectations… and then some.

We certainly could have waited to tell them the news. If nothing else, waiting awhile would mean less time to endure 27 weeks of the inevitable ‘when will the baby come?’ questions. But it was getting to the point that I could no longer hide it (a lovely effect of it being baby #3) and we couldn’t really share the news with our tight-knit group of our friends and family while keeping it from them. The last thing I wanted was for a little friend or classmate to overhear their parents talking about it and break the news.

My husband had the brilliant idea to tell them while looking at the plans for our house addition, which will of course make room for our little “Sprout.” They love the excitement of looking at the drawings and making plans for their rooms. So we took them through the plans room-by-room and when we get to the larger of the kid bedrooms, I tell them that will be the room they get to share, while the smaller room next door is for the baby. They don’t miss a beat. They both look up with open mouths. “The baby? Really?” asks our oldest. “You’re having a baby?” “Yes.” “Now?” “Yes, mommy’s really going to have a baby. It’s in ‘here’ (pointing to expanding mid-section), now. You’re going to be big sisters.”

Oh, their expressions. Pure delight. Beaming smiles. My youngest, who I was expecting to be pretty apathetic to the whole thing, was so excited she kept burying her face in her hands and hugging me.

We told them they would be great big sisters. My oldest quickly interjected, “I’m already a great big sister.” (And a “typical” firstborn I think.) Then the questions came: how big will my belly get? How big is the baby now? When it is coming? Is it a boy or a girl? Can they tell their friends?

They’re excitement overwhelms me. And grounds me, bringing me back to what matters: my little family, which is growing bigger with this unexpected blessing.

Update: We’re less than 48 hours from Sprout’s arrival and their excitement, questions and pampering of their dear old mom has never ceased. They’ve made this beautiful experience even better. I hope to capture some of that here soon.

Where has the time gone?

Where has the time gone?

A rare moment with Hilary and I

Twenty years ago today, my littlest sister, Hilary, was born. It was a Sunday night, the eve before my freshman year at Marquette. I was 350+ miles from my home and my entire family when I got that dorm room call: “Mom had a little girl. And there’s something wrong with her.”

I remember the immediate panic flooding through me like it happened this morning – the wondering if the ‘her’ in question was our Mom or my new sister. And it soon become very clear.

It was one of those moments that literally changed my life’s trajectory … my very being, in ways big and small that I still feel like I can’t entirely explain. And it created a fault line in my family that exists today: pre-Hilary and post-Hilary.

So, what was ‘wrong with her?’ Hilary was born with a genetic condition, Trisomy-18, that’s in the same ‘family’ as Down’s Syndrome. And since my mom had opted out of any invasive testing during her pregnancy that would have revealed this to us, we were woefully unprepared. What was going to be a happy yet poignant moment – my sister’s birth, experienced far away from my family – was in fact one of my life’s worst moments. I received horrible news while away from home for the first time, as I sat in a dorm room with near strangers. I was helpless – and hopeless – in turn.

We learned very quickly that children with this condition rarely live beyond a year, if that, and many never leave the hospital. Hilary did get to leave the hospital, and I made it home a couple of times to be with her before she died at home – with her parents and six siblings gathered together – at just 28 days old. Just a blink of an eye when you look back at 20 years.

Where has the time gone?

Ready for baby no. 3

I ask this today not only as I’m reflecting back on that night 20 years ago, but on these past nine+ months as well. Today, I’m less than one week away from welcoming child No. 3 to the world, and though I intended to write about and document this pregnancy in this blog and elsewhere, I haven’t.

When we found out, my husband and I joked we should name this one “Content,” as I would never be at a loss for subject matter. And indeed, I haven’t been. The experiences with this pregnancy have been rich. My childrens’ enthusiasm has touched and grounded me. And with all this ‘content,’ the ideas have flown freely. For months, I’ve molded posts in my mind like fresh Play-doh, turned them around and around, reshaped them, yet ultimately, I’ve just stored them away. Every time.

Tonight, it’s painfully clear that part of my reluctance has to do with my mind state throughout this pregnancy. To be blunt, it was rather unexpected. I’m older. My youngest is about to enter first grade. Though we always talked about a third, we never officially made the decision. And that’s life. Not everything has to be plotted out and planned for and scheduled. But it has thrown me off guard. It has, and will, change my life trajectory, and that of my little family of four, the one my husband and I have created.

Tonight, more than any other time during this pregnancy, I cannot deny the effect that my sister’s death has had on this pregnancy. I didn’t feel this way the first two times around, but now, there are more similarities between this pregnancy and what my mom went through. Like my mom when she had Hilary, I wear the ‘scarlet letter’ of being a ‘high risk’ pregnancy. This is not reflective of anything I’ve gone through during this relatively easy pregnancy, but due to my ‘advanced maternal age.’ I just turned 38.

I too opted against any sort of genetic screening or testing that would reveal the probability or confirm something like Down’s or Trisomy-18. And like my mom, I was thrown for a loop with this pregnancy. It wasn’t expected and I’ve questioned it and doubted myself repeatedly – do I really have the mental capacity to start over from scratch? Raising a 1st grader and a 3rd grader while working full-time and trying to juggle so much is exhausting at times. Do I have the energy and focus to be a good mom the third time around? I like to think these feelings are normal. But my mom also had these normal feelings and questioned her last pregnancy and has spent the better part of the last 20 years wracked with guilt about it – as if those feelings of doubt caused Hilary to have an extra 18th chromosome and a life that lasted just 28 days.

But I understand where she’s coming from now.

I spent a couple nights ago in Labor & Delivery being monitored, and it became painfully clear to me that, despite two successful pregnancies, I’m worried about this baby and the great unknown that it represents, and I probably have been all along. I feel I’ve spent this pregnancy more on the edge, bracing myself for something to go wrong. It’s hard to write this and put it out into the world. I’ve been trying to bury those feelings – as if by acknowledging the fear, it will make it so.

All I can do is hope and pray that we will welcome another healthy child into this world – and I’ll look back in 20 years as my youngest is about to turn 20 and wonder, “where has the time gone?”

But as for tonight, I think of Hilary.

My American Girl

We took the plunge.

On Christmas morning, our daughters were treated to one of the biggest surprises of their (short) lives. After months of incessant pleas and my steady stream of “no”s, they unwrapped their first American Girl dolls. And they were over the moon …

They were also completely oblivious to the inner battle that I have waged on account of their American dream.

The “issue” is the doll my 5 year old put on her Christmas list: an Irish lass of a doll with freckled, fair skin, red hair and green eyes. And this is my daughter: a headstrong yet sweet little caramel-skinned girl with striking brown eyes, dark curls and a shotgun laugh that melts me every time.

See the resemblance? Yeah, me neither.

Although there are finally many variations of dolls to choose from that look like her – at American Girl and otherwise – she chose the freckled, red-haired doll.

I hate to admit it, but when the American Girl doll discussion started, I gave them one ‘restriction’: the doll had to have brown hair and brown eyes. (Cringing.) And initially, I didn’t feel bad about it, because there were more than a few dolls that fit the bill. Her first pick was a lightly brown skinned doll with straight hair, but it was clear by her demeanor that she didn’t really want that one. She went on to choose a pale skinned doll with straight hair and bangs, and finally, the red-haired doll. By then, I had come to my senses and told her and her sister that there were no restrictions. I realized that by giving restrictions in the first place, I was making an issue of something that may be nothing more than a little girl’s desire for a doll that caught her eye.

Yet I still ask myself, Why doesnt’ she want a doll that looks like her?

It’s clearly the not knowing that bothers me. My older daughter choose a doll that resembles her, but with straight hair. Her reason was simple and practical: the curly-haired doll’s hair would get too tangled (and she’s right on that).

But I don’t know the reasons behind my little one’s choice.  She just wanted the red-haired doll.

My happy doll with her Irish lass

Is that really all there is to it? Or is there something more going on? When you’re a white woman raising biracial daughters, it’s not always clear. I just keep rehashing that long-ago “doll study” from Sociology 101, when children of color repeatedly chose the lighter skin dolls and attached negative attributes to the darker skinned ones like themselves, all a testament to internalized racism. And there are more recent studies to point to on that front, like this.

My husband reminds me that my girls adore me and I happen to be an (alarmingly) pale skinned, blue-eyed blond woman. Is it any wonder that they might want a doll that resembles me? My friends claim their daughters don’t always pick dolls that look like them. But they are not raising biracial daughters. I just feel it’s different, because they are different.

My daughters are not like me – they are women of color. And I want them to embrace this. I want them to carry their brown-skinned dolls in their arms proudly, for the whole world to see. What message does it send if one of them carries a doll that is the antithesis of her? Or am I being oversensitive to assume it sends a message at all?

I don’t really know if The Great Doll Snub of 2010 has a greater meaning, but I have to believe that my little doll is not making a statement against her beautiful brown curls and café-au-lait skin by choosing a doll that has none of those traits. But, without making an issue of it, how can I be sure?

The Golden Pen

I’m having a not-so-golden moment, wondering why I squandered years of my life not fulfilling one of my most basic desires: writing.

Here’s a completely meaningless fact about me: I won my high school’s “distinguished” Golden Pen award my senior year for being one of those nerdy girls who lived for English class and poetry assignments. I thought I was the shiz-nit for winning this award, presented at a private, invitation-only banquet held in the cafeteria. It was a big deal to my 17-year-old self, one of the highlights of high school, which should tell you something. (The other was show choir, pre- Glee, so that should paint a winning portrait). I truly thought that by winning The Golden Pen, I was well on my way to being a famous writer – as soon as I graduated from college with my journalism and English degrees and became a sought-after magazine writer or award-winning author. You know, cause life is just that simple. And scripted.

Twenty years later (gulp), the pen is no longer golden. It lies tarnished in a drawer somewhere, the ink long dried out. I’ve come to terms with the ordinariness of my life and the fact that I’m not a famous author or journalist (oh, the starry-eyed innocence of youth). I can no longer imagine the time, research and focus that would go into pulling a real story together, especially PK (or post-kids for the non-parents out there). Poof! The years just whizzed by and I let them, and my intense desire to write, pass me by. There’s little to show of it but a few barely touched journals and the need, which never did dry up. It’s still here, just waiting to fill the page.

Most of us have had desires and needs in life pushed aside by the weight of something else. I’m still not sure what was so much more pressing that I couldn’t stick with writing and  have something more to show for it than a bedside table drawer full of half-started journals and that tarnished golden pen.

So, is there a favorite pasttime or desire from your younger self that you lost as the years passed you by? Did you find your way back to it? Or did you let it go?

 

There She Goes

I just had one of those moments when I got a glimpse at the world through my oldest daughter’s eyes. Literally.

I just downloaded some videos off of my Flip cam and came across a few that my daughter took the morning I left for my last business trip. I was so caught up in getting out of the house that I never knew until I found these that she had been recording my movements that morning. Over the course of the few videos, you see the luggage on the couch, hear me rustling about, watch as her 5 year old sister looks up at the camera somberly and hear my little videographer says softly, “her cab is here,” while panning to the waiting cab outside. She then follows my slow trek out the door and into the cab, with a ‘there she goes,’ before I wave and blow kisses over the soft voiceover of “bye mom, have fun in New York.”

Cue violin.

For the past year, I’ve worked full-time, and I can’t help feeling mommy guilt at times like these. It’s not often that I travel for business, but I am away a lot between commute time and time at the office. It’s a big change from the years I freelanced part-time, often from home. We’re all still adjusting, but something about my daughter’s video makes me think my sensitive firstborn is still adjusting quite a bit. She doesn’t sound particularly sad in the video, but the attention she paid to me that morning – while I was off in my own little world – struck a chord. I find myself focusing on the fact that there have been more meltdowns lately and spars with her younger sis. Maybe it’s unrelated, but still I sit here, trying to connect the dots.

Am I overreacting? Probably. Making too much out of what’s probably nothing more than a child playing with her mom’s cool new toy? Yep. But at times like these, mommy guilt gets the best of me. I miss my girls and I’m touched by this video.

For all you working moms out there who have YOUR moments, how do YOU cope?