My 2012 wrap up, as it is.

At the beginning of 2012, I declared that my one word for the year was going to be kindness.

I can't begin to tell you how such a simple thing could pay me back so much.

Sometimes, it's so easy to focus on the big things, to think of accomplishments and achievements in such a macro sense.  I see people make big life lists and check things off, and I wonder what I've really done in a year.  When I look for big steps or changes, it seems like I haven't moved forward at all, like all I really did this year was to tread water and survive.

But that's not the truth.  I'm not who I am last year, and my world isn't what it was last year, and it's not because of any grand gestures.  It's because of the little everyday things that I do and that I am.  It's because of the deliberate way I choose to live.  It's because of kindness.

My relationship with BG is so amazing, and truly she is so amazing, not because of any activities I do with her but because I listen to her.  I see the person that she is, big feelings and all, and I do my best to give her what I understand she needs.

I have friends, true friends, in both my local and blogging communities because I stop and take an extra second to show kindness to everyone I  come across and particularly to people who need it.    Stepping up to make sure other people's needs were met made me braver, made me clearer and stronger, and made me part of something bigger than myself, something that I would never have believed I even deserved.

And, miracle of miracles, I've been kind to myself.  I learned to stop fighting with my feelings no matter how overwhelming and to just accept them.  I learned to stop trying to fix myself because I'm not broken.  I was so afraid  of how I would handle having two kids, but I let myself be afraid.  I decided it was okay to be afraid, okay to not know what I was doing.  It was okay to write and okay not to write.  It was okay to not be excited, to not love every second of everything.

And right now?  Sleep deprived, overwhelmed, milk drenched and cranky?  I'm okay.

And all  because of a little kindness.

On good babies

So, umm, in case I didn't mention it?  I had a baby last week.

I can't begin to explain all the ways this time is different.  But the most noticeable way is how different my baby is.

Little sister is calm.  And quiet. (Who knew they made them quiet?)  She doesn't care who's holding her, doesn't mind being put down.  At night, she sleeps in her bassinet and only wakes up to eat.  She only cries when she's hungry, and when she is awake and not nursing, she is calm and alert - although to me her expression always says "what's with you crazy people?"  Which?  Fair enough.

She is pleasant and agreeable, and in every way an easy baby.

But please don't call her a good baby, or I'll want to scream.

Because as much as I'm enjoying the quiet, as much of a relief it is not to be pacing the floor all night with an(other) inconsolable child, as great as she is to be around, when you call her a good baby, all I hear is that BG wasn't.

And that's so not fair.

Never once, whatever we went through together, did I think my sweet eldest girl was a bad baby.

And I worry too about my little one, being in the shadow of her charming, demanding, endearing, crazy-making big sister.  Is it really in her best interest to be so calm?  On Christmas Eve I forgot where she was, while I was nursing her.

The truth is I am absolutely crazy about both of my girls, and all  I want is for them both to be happy and loved.  And if it is possible to have a "good" baby, well then I have two.

It's not her, it's me

I've been saying for a while that I'm not good at playing with my kid, that I'm not good at crafts or projects or making busy bags or anything like that.  I always get the sweetest responses about how that stuff isn't necessary, about how it's okay to let her play by herself, about how I don't always have to have a project for her to do.

And what I have trouble explaining is, the problem is: well then what am I supposed to do?

Sometimes I feel guilty for not entertaining BG more, for not providing more meaningful educational experiences, for not encouraging her sensory and motor development (say what?), for letting her veg out in front of the TV.  Sometimes I see things that other people are doing and I wonder if I am doing her a disservice, wonder if somehow I am letting her down.

But mostly?  I'm bored.

I'm understimulated.  I'm frustrated.  I'm disappointed.  Two years in, and I still sometimes feel like I was sold a false promise of what being a mom was supposed to be.

Sometimes we play.  Sometimes we have lovely tea parties.  We do puzzles and I grit my teeth while she dumps the puzzle out after being 70% done.  (Why does this drive me crazy?  I have no idea.)   Once in a while I let her finger paint, and then 5 minutes later I spend 20 minutes cleaning up. 

Sometimes I do housework (shocker) and she follows me around making herself perfectly happy sitting on the sheet I'm trying to fold or pulling out all my Tupperware and stacking it.  And I'm okay with that.

But there's still something missing.  It's like, when I went to the English major table in college and asked them what I could do with an English major and they said "Whatever you want!" and I said "But what does that have to do with English?  I want to be an English major because I like books, not so that I can go to business school."

I became a SAHM because I wanted to be a mom.  And it doesn't seem like there's nearly as much momming to be done as I thought there would be.  I mean there're meals and diaper changes, and there are snuggles.  And we talk, although she needs to work a little more on filling up her end of the conversation. 

But it's all so tedious.  I feel like most of it is about just being a warm body.   And a lot of times I feel like that must mean I'm missing something, like there's part of my job description that people just forgot to tell me about and I haven't been doing it.  And some days (mostly the days when the sads start to overcome me) I wonder if she wouldn't be better off with someone else, someone who knows what to do with a toddler.

Except I don't think there really is anything in particular to do with a toddler.

And even though most days I don't want to be anywhere in the world except with her, I can't shake this feeling that it just isn't enough.

How am I supposed to do this?

In 3 months I'm going to be a mom of two.  I feel like I haven't even gotten the hang of one yet.

In my head, I know that's not fair.  My sweet, precious big girl is doing great.  She is developmentally right on track, she is kind, she is funny.  I know that I must be getting it right, that I am not failing her, that we are doing just fine.

But that's not how it feels in my heart.

Almost every day lately, I feel overwhelmed.  I feel like I can't handle her.  Everything seems Big and Important.  Everything is a crisis.

We watch a lot of TV.  A really lot.  We still take swim lessons, we still go to playgroups, we still read books.  But I don't know how to play with her.  When I'm alone with her and there's nothing planned to do, I panic a little.  I don't know how to possibly fill the time.  I lose my patience quickly.  I cry more than I'd like to.

And in the back of my head, there's always a voice that says, "If you can't even handle this, how are you ever going to survive with two?"

When there are two small people I don't know what to do with.  When I haven't had any sleep and still have to chase BG around and stop her from scaling everything.  When the three of us are stuck in the house all winter staring at each other, and I'm the one who's expected to know what to do.

People say that once you have two, you should expect to be in survival mode for a while.  But I kind of feel like I'm already in survival mode, so where do I go from here?

Getting it right

It's been 22 months since Baby Girl was born.  22 hard and exhausting and beautiful and life changing months.

Sometimes I wonder if I did it right.

I'm not talking about what I did for her.  I'm not talking about her sleep or her eating or her mental development and play.  I'm not talking about the magnitude of my love.  Because somehow, whatever mistakes and missteps I may have made, she's doing great.  She's beautiful and smart and funny and PERFECT and she loves me like nothing else.  I know that I am lucky, but I also know that I am doing something right.

But I'm talking about me.

I had a really hard time.  Especially in the beginning, but even still now, I've struggled.  I cried.  I worried.  I got lost.  I forgot how to be me, and had to start from scratch instead of remembering.

I still sometimes get twitchy when someone else is playing with or holding my toddler.  I still sometimes want to scream "Give her to me, she's MINE."

And I know I've come a long way.  I know I'm better.  I know that I've created something for myself in the world, that I've spread the kindness that was so important to me, that I have purpose in a way I never expected.  I started to write and created something here that truly is beautiful and made me proud. I made myself go out into the world, social anxiety be damned, and I'm a better person for it.  I made a lot of choices that really healed me, and they were hard.

But sometimes I still wonder if I did it right.

Maybe it didn't have to be so hard.

I never talked to my doctor.  I never took medicine or went to therapy.  I did make heavy use of online support groups, change my social life, change the way I took care of my body and mind.  And all that is important work, but maybe I didn't have to work so hard.  At least, maybe I didn't have to do it on my own.

I cringe a little when people call me a PPD mom or survivor, not because I'm ashamed of the title but because I don't feel like I earned it.  I don't have a diagnosis.  And if I got so much better on my own, maybe it never really was truly depression.  Maybe becoming a mom is just hard, and I needed to grieve and adjust and learn how to do this totally new thing.

But maybe not.

I don't want to beat myself up.  I don't want to think that any of the trouble I had was because I did anything wrong.  I just want to make sure I do everything right next time.

Because next time is coming in December.

Sorry.  I may have buried the lead on that one a little.

On weaning

My 20 month old Baby Girl and I have been done breastfeeding for a few weeks now.

I haven't really wanted to talk about it.

I'm not sure why exactly.  I really do feel okay about the decision and about the way it happened.  I really don't think my beautiful readers friends will judge me or criticize me for weaning her. I just haven't been ready to put myself out there about this because I am afraid it will draw controversy, and for me nothing about this was political.  Every ounce of it was personal, and it was between me and my daughter and no one else.

I want to say I'm proud for making it to 19 months, for going as long as I did, but honestly I think that's going a little far. I don't think my choices are any more admirable or honorable than anyone else's, and if I get to this point again I can't say I'll necessarily do things the same way again.  The best I can say is that it is what I did, and I have no regrets, and Baby Girl and I turned out just fine.

In truth, I never really intended to nurse as long as I did.  Everyone told me to nurse on demand for the first year, and so I did.  And then we hit a year, and I said "Okay, now what do I do?"

And everyone kind of looked at me and said "Well, whatever do you mean?"

You either keep going, or you stop.

Oh.

BG loved breastfeeding. It was pretty much her favorite activity. And well into her second year, she was tugging at my shirt at least 10 times a day.  When she learned to sign, her little cupped hand was asking for milk almost every time I looked at her.  Dang it, whose idea was it to teach her that sign anyway?

If I'm being honest, which is my intention, there were times I couldn't stand it. I resented it a little.  If I have any regrets at all, it's that I let myself continue to nurse in a way that made me annoyed at my baby for longer than I should have.  Because when they say "for as long as it's working for both mom and baby," well, the mom is an important part of that.

But at the same time, I still did love nursing her.  Maybe not quite  as often as she enjoyed it, but it was something that for me was worth continuing.

And then, when I was ready to night wean, I did.  It wasn't easy.  Several times I tried, and declared that I couldn't.  Looking back, I just don't think I was really ready or interested because boy, when I was ready, I just did it.

And then, when I couldn't stand being mommy on demand, I started telling her "not right now."  For a while, that was met with tantrums.  Then not.  She still asked from time to time, and you can't blame a girl for trying, but I'd just tell her no, and she'd move on.

And then one day she woke up in the morning and when she said "milk," I said "neh, let's just cuddle."  And she seemed okay with that, so we did.

And then one night at bedtime, I said "let's not do that tonight."  And we read an extra book.  And she didn't cry.  And then we were done.

Am I sad about it?  A little.  But at the same time, I was ready.  Really ready.  Is she sad about it?  Not so much that I can tell.  She still nestles her head in my chest.  She still gropes me when we're out sometimes. (Umm, does anyone know how to get her to stop doing that?)  She's a little clingier than she was.  

But she's still my little girl, and she's still her sweet happy charming self.  No one has been damaged, nothing has been lost.  Every moment we've had together still exists and is still as perfect as it was.

It's just time for the next thing.

Things I thought

Before I got pregnant

Everything in moderation.
I'll have a glass of wine once in a while.
A little TV isnt' bad for kids.
It's okay to let babies cry a little.
I might supplement with formula, and will definitely express bottles, so someone else can help.
I'll find a great sitter.
My child will be predominately accelerated.
I'm going to have time to read and write.
I am going to be a genius at mothering.

When BG was a newborn
Must follow all the rules.
Letting a baby cry is torture for everyone.
I can't drink any coffee or wine until I wean.
I will never ever leave her with anyone until she goes to college.
I would never let a child under two watch TV.
She's never going to sleep.
She's never going to meet her milestones.
She's going to be permanently attached to my boob.
I am never going to think about anything except my child again.
I am totally incompetent at this.

This morning

I'll just turn on Sesame Street and go back to sleep.
More coffee? Please and thank you.
Okay, just one more nursing session and then we're done for the day. Really.
When did my kid get so smart?
Oh really? Another tantrum? I'll just be over there.
Everything I do is in the context of everything else that I do.
Oh, maybe I'll blog about this.

Letting go

This morning I woke up angry. Spitting fire. Without words to describe what was going through my mind. Coffee didn't help.

BG and I had an appointment downtown to do another experiment at 9:30, and at 8:30 I realized that we weren't dressed and BG hadn't eaten. There was no way in the world to not be late. And I hate being late.

I threw clothes on us both, put her in her car seat with some Cheerios (mom of the year, right here), and booked it to the city.

The pretty young grad student met us at the gate, the same one that did our study last time. And BG sat quietly in my lap and cheerfully watched the video she was shown, only looking away a few times. A physics genius, my one year old. She grabbed the "Where's Pooh" book off the thank you gift shelf before she was even offered something. She babbled and giggled all the way to my car.

I pulled out of the parking lot. My gas light went on. BG started saying "mamamamamamama" and signing for food, both with increasing intensity. I looked at the clock and thought of how long it would take us to get home, of how much I had to do to get there. I turned corners, apologizing to my baby, listening to the petulant woman on my GPS tell me she was "recalculating" every five seconds.

And that is how I found myself in front of the botanical gardens, a furious baby in my back seat, my gas needle below empty, at 10:00 on a Wednesday morning.

And I parked my car.

Climbed into the backseat.

BG giggled when she saw me. We sat in the car and I fed her an applesauce, nursed her, and talked to her a little. Then I scooped up my now-pleasant baby, grabbed my diaper bag, and went inside.

The ticket was $12, which is a lot of money for me (I'm well aware how lame that sounds), but I didn't even pause. I grabbed a map, paid the lady and in we went.

I immediately realized I hadn't brought my stroller and my hip was getting sore, so I set BG down on the ground and let her run. At first I tried to hold her hand and read the map, but I quickly realized I wasn't the one in charge.

So I let go.

We stared at the fish. We pointed at the banzai trees. We walked around the orchid room 5 times.

Then she reached out her hand for me to take it and we walked out.

This job, of being a mom? I'm not patient enough for it. I'm not brave enough for it. I'm not strong enough for it. But this job of being my kid? BG has that one down pat.

And maybe that's all we need.

When no one's clapping

When BG had just turned one, we managed to teach her to hold up one finger. When we would ask her either "How old are you?" or "Are you one?" She would hold up one finger and say "DA!" with a huge smile on her face.

I remember telling one of my friends, "I'm almost certain she doesn't know what it means, but she knows that when she does it we cheer, so she does it. It's like I'm teaching her to do tricks, i.e., this is the secrete to education."

He laughed and said, "Well, isn't that the way it is all through life? You work hard for the grades, and then for the girl, and then for the job and the raise?"

I smiled and said, "Well yeah, so how do you know you've done a good job if no one claps?" And I thought about it for a second. "Actually. That's the secret to education."

The secret to education, and I suppose to parenting, is to eventually make yourself irrelevant. To teach them how to learn, to self-monitor, to evaluate. To make it so they don't need the clapping to know when they've done the right thing.

I win at teaching. Maybe I even win at parenting. But I don't so much win at life.

I still need the clapping. Actually, I need it a lot.

But I always got the A's. The awards. I never interviewed for a job I didn't get. I won teacher of the year. I have thank you letters from students that take my breath away.

When I was in high school, my friends threw me a party to thank me for taking care of them and helping them with their problems. That doesn't even sound real.

It's normal to need to feel appreciated and respected. It's human. It's healthy. And maybe I'm not getting enough of that these days. But, at some point, I need to learn to do it without the clapping.

I take criticism way too hard, and I take rejections way too personally. I don't know that I'm doing a good job unless someone is handing me a prize. I measure my worth as a human being on things like my blog stats and my twitter mentions. I beg for approval and stroking.

I hate that about myself.

(Yes. I hate my own low self esteem. No, that's probably not even the most counter-productive thought I've had today.)

I want to be the kind of person who can separate her own worth from other people's opinions of her. I want to care about and try to address other people's needs, but not be owned by them. I want to take pride in things I do, even when no one notices them. I want to believe that I am good and smart and have value, that I matter.

I don't know how to do that.

What if?

What if instead of making resolutions we couldn't possibly keep, we just focused on making every day the best day it could be?

What if instead of trying to lose weight or declutter the house or take a million photographs we just tried to be happy and to make those around us happy?

What if instead of worrying about the end of the holiday season and the beginning of the New Year, we just decided today would be an ordinary day, but that every ordinary day would be extraordinary?

What if instead of setting goals based on numbers or outcomes, we just strove to make positive progress towards the good, and to do that with every step we take?

What if instead of starting the New Year by pointing out all of our own flaws, we started by celebrating ourselves for where we are right now?

What if we all decided to sleep more, to laugh more, to play more, to give more, but we also decided that on any given day it would be perfectly acceptable to do none of the above?

What kind of a world would that be?



I'm linking up with Just Be Enough for Be Enough Me. Wishing you all a happy New Year, one that is filled with love and winning and most of all with hope.

Tradeoffs

Over Thanksgiving, my brother was telling me about one of his friends. She has a six month old at home. "She works full time, she has a baby, and she's disappointed with herself that she is down to only two book clubs. I don't know how she does it."

Almost without thinking, I responded, "Really good childcare."

My brother looked at me like I'd slapped Santa. My husband started laughing. My mom said "Yup." All at the same time.

It wasn't a judgment. I didn't mean to be critical. In fact, I think it's a perfectly valid choice, and it sounds to me like she's doing great. But the truth is, in this life there are tradeoffs. We can't be in more than one place at the same time. We can't do everything in a single day. We all only have the same 24 hours.

Sometimes, if we have extra money, we can buy a little more time. But unless you are a Rockefeller, that money costs time too.

I forget all this sometimes. I think that because I am a SAHM, I should have time to do everything. If a working mom can do a full time job and still have a clean
house, a healthy child, and even a hobby, doesn't that mean I'm failing somehow?

No. Because she isn't doing it all herself any more than I am. She just does different parts of what I do.

There are so many things that I would like to do, but in this life, there are always tradeoffs. If we're lucky, and I am, we mostly get to choose them. That doesn't, however, stop what we're missing from stinging a little.

Surviving

If you aren't a teacher, there's a good chance you haven't heard of Harry Wong. He's written books and made videos about classroom management. They are brilliant and helpful and hilarious, and they helped me through my first few years of teaching, but what I remember most is this.

Harry Wong says there are four stages of effective teaching:

1. Fantasy
   
2. Survival
   
3. Mastery
   
4. Impact

His description of surviving is so funny and so familiar. Teachers who give kids busy work. In elementary school, the ditto. In high school, reading the chapter. And my favorite line? "Friday? Here's a movie. It kind of relates."

Oh boy.

"For the very new teachers," he says, "I give you permission to survive."

Whew. What a relief.

But, he goes on to say, if you've been teaching for years and are still just surviving? Something has gone wrong.

I feel like, as a mom, I'm still just surviving. When is it time to stop giving myself permission to survive?

Three Girls

Hey guys, I'm out of town again this week. (Keep me in your thoughts please. I will have fun. I will, I will.) But don't worry, I'm not leaving you hanging. I have a treat for all of you. If anyone knows that sometimes parenting it's hard, it's Charity. If you ever need advice about babies or just a shoulder to cry on, hit her up on twitter, where she's @signingcharity. And check out her lovely blog, Giggles and Grimaces. Now, without further ado:

Three girls, I have three girls. I must say that thought still boggles my mind. It is amazing to me that I am a mama, even if I have had 5+ years to get used to the idea!

What a five years it has been. With the arrival of Caitlyn I got to use a name I had picked for a daughter, 15 years before. Bringing her home was indescribable. I was shocked at the love I could feel and the immediate desire to have more children.

I am an only child. Pregnancy was not as easy as I had hoped, neither was delivery. I said, while in labor, “women do this again?!” As soon as they put her on my chest, I knew why, I wanted another one.

Not all of it was easy. I hated seeing her grow up so fast. I hyperventilated in the store once because she was going to grow up and leave me. I was still on maternity leave at the time. I knew I could handle the age she was, an infant, but what if I could not mother the next age?

But regardless of my fear, she grew, she changed. And I could handle each age. I found joy in her advancements. I learned to trust my instincts, such as they were. I found my mothering style. Much to my surprise, it was more relaxed than I thought it would be. It included, and still does, a lot more fly by the seat of my pants moments than I ever dreamed I could tolerate.

• I started out with the plan to cloth diaper my oldest. I didn’t really know what I was doing, it just added more stress. I stopped after two months. Disposables became my friends.
  
• Co-sleeping was not for me…until our first week home and I realized baby would sleep if next to me.
  
• I was never going to give my baby a pacifier. She got hers at one week old and loved it until she was 10 months old; my second got hers at 3 days old and loved it until she was 3 years old. My youngest has never taken a binky. She hates them.
  

The biggest thing I have learned in motherhood is to go with the flow. Babies and children change by the day, hour, minute.

One night they might sleep all night in their bed without seeming to move, another night you might end up with all three children in your bed! One night I became the bed, my three year old slept on top of my side! That was truly the worst night sleep I’ve ever had, but the love she shows by wanting to be near me. That is a love I will miss someday. I will miss it when my girls are too old to cuddle with mama. So I will do my best to savor the extra moments of love, even if I would rather be sleeping and to glory in the nights I actually get to sleep.

There are days I get to go to the bathroom alone. Other days I have all three kids in there with me. I used to wonder when I would get to be alone, then started to notice the conversations that went on while I had company. We have talked about God, friends, growing up, work, good and bad memories. All because I shared my bathroom time.

I am learning to balance the two, the joy of now, the joy of the future, the sadness of them growing up, the wonderful moments of my own time, the great pleasure in having my girls close. And this I hope for all mamas, a bit of all worlds. Love and joy from all angles. Happy to balance the challenges, perspective to contain the frustration of today and excitement to face the tomorrows.

I'm not a bad mom

Do you know Cristi from Motherhood Unadorned? She is one of the most eloquent, graceful, and compassionate people in the blogging and twitter universe, she does amazing advocacy work, and she has the most beautiful blue hair. I'd been rather taken with her "I'm not a bad mom" series, so I decided to take the plunge and make myself sit down and write one.

So please come visit with me over at her blog and see why I am not a bad mom.

My love is enough

In case I haven't mentioned it? This mom gig is hard. This tiny person who I held in my arms the moment she was born is a complete and total mystery to me. I don't know what she wants to eat, when she wants to sleep, how she wants to play. She cries and I don't know what's wrong.

Calculus I can do. Nap schedules blow my mind.

Some days I get so frustrated and disappointed that I scream. Or I sit down with my head on the couch and cry.

And on those days, do you know what Baby Girl does? Crawls into my lap. Hugs me. Noms on my face. And giggles.

And do you know why?

Because I am a good mom. I am a really good mom.

I don't need to buy the best toys or serve the most perfect homemade organic baby food to be a good mom. I don't need to spend every second of my day playing with the baby and coming up with brilliant and creative ways to stimulate her. I don't need to have a plan or even know what I'm doing really. I just need to love my little girl.

I don't like the word just there.

I love my little girl. And my love is the most powerful force in the universe. And that's why even when I falter or flail, even when I feel defeated, Baby Girl is still happy and healthy and beautiful and so crazy about me that neither of us can stand it.

My love is enough. My love is more than enough.

For a Rainy Day

A few months ago, I read a post called The Opportunities in Setbacks by the lovely Yael from PPD to Joy. At the time, I was floundering. I was struggling. I didn't see when or how I would be able to write a rainy day letter because all the days seemed rainy.

But last week I wrote one. And Yael was so kind as to publish my letter. So, if you'd be so kind as to click over and join me there, I'd appreciate it.

Also? If you aren't reading Yael's blog and following her on Twitter? You are missing out. Whether you have ever had PPD or not, you will find so much joy and wisdom in her words. She regularly banishes shame and guilt with such a beautiful and elegant mix of the silly and the profound. My absolute favorite post is her This I believe.

She also hosts monthly PPD support phone chat called the PPD SpeakEasy. It is free, confidential, and loving. This chat happens on the 2nd Tuesday of each month at 8:30pm Eastern. For more info and dates click here.

I'm sorry, did you say mother or martyr?

On days like this? I'm glad I'm anonymous. Because in this story, I don't come out so well.

This weekend, my husband and I had a screaming match heart to heart about which of us wasn't holding up our end of the bargain in this whole parent/partner thing we're doing. It quickly reverted to a battle of "who has it worse?" (A proud proud moment for me.) Which inevitably ended here:

"Yeah, well I can't even brush my teeth or go to the bathroom without the baby all over me."

"Well why the heck not? You have a playpen, a crib, a swing, and a high chair. Put her down and go to the bathroom."

Blink.

"Well, that's not the point. Maybe I'd do more housecleaning, if you'd come home and hold her instead of always handing her back to me when she cries."

"Well, maybe I would if you hadn't spent the past 9 months telling me I was doing it wrong."

Double Blink.

I don't do that. Do I? Oh gosh, do I?

I love my kid. I love to snuggle with her, I love to play with her on the floor. I love taking her for walks, going to playgroups. I love babywearing.

But geez, people, I'm not a machine.

Sometimes I need to sleep. And sometimes I need to eat. And sometimes (I know, I know), I need to go to the bathroom.

And you know what? Sometimes I'd like to read a book, and focus on it for more than 2 minutes at a stretch, or take a bubble bath, or exercise or sew or bake. And sometimes I'd like to do those things without a baby on my hip or climbing up my leg.

And maybe that's okay.

Maybe it's okay to put her down for a few minutes now and then so I can switch the laundry over. Maybe it's okay to let someone else take her outside if she starts fussing in a restaurant. Maybe it's okay if I'm not 100% available to her 100% of the time.

I don't think she's spoiled. I don't think I've done any harm by giving her all of myself. But maybe I've done me a little bit of harm. I feel exhausted. I feel touched out. I feel like I'm losing me. And I'm tired of whining about it. I'm tired of acting like I have no control over the situation. I'm tired of blaming other people for not helping me when I haven't given them any opportunity to do so.

I'm tired of being a martyr, folks. I'm tired of doing this to myself.

Being a mom is humbling

I was sure I knew exactly the kind of mom I'd be. I'd be kind but firm, innovative, attentive, and fun. My daughter would be brilliant, athletic (okay, that one was always a bit of a stretch), and impeccably behaved. She'd walk early, talk early, sleep through the night early; we'd sign, we'd play, we'd go on outings. She'd love me and respect me and appreciate how awesomesauce I was at this whole mom gig. And I wouldn't ever brag. I'd be totally gracious about how perfect we were.

Bwahahahahaha.

Here I am now with a 9 month old who doesn't sleep and who has now begun to throw temper tantrums. (Does that count as an early milestone?) She eats cheerios with every meal. We have no consistent nap schedule. She doesn't sign. She has a giant bruise on her face from an unfortunate incident with the coffee table.

But she's a great baby. Don't get me wrong. She's beautiful, she's funny, she's pleasant, and she loves me like crazy. She's healthy, she's growing, she's hitting all her milestones within the average range (although not early. Oh no. It's okay baby, mom's a klutz too). I'm not in the least disappointed with her.

Me on the other hand?

Meh.

I've always been good at things. I was a straight A student. Usually I didn't have to try too hard, but when I had to? I did. Am I trying hard enough at this mom thing? Am I just incompetent at it? Why is it so hard?

I whine too much. I tweet too much. I forget to sign. I don't try enough new foods. I don't read enough books. I don't keep the house clean enough. (That Cheerio on the floor? Not for eating, Baby Girl. Not for eating.) I don't cuddle enough. I cuddle too much. I need to sleep train. I shouldn't think about sleep training.

I am not a star at this.

And I know other people struggle too. Although, not everyone, right? Some people are brilliant at it. So why am I not? It's so conceited of me, but I assumed I wouldn't just be AS good at this as all the other moms. I assumed I'd be better. I'm not even on the low end of average, people.

Probably it's good for me. Probably it's good for both of us. Hopefully, Baby Girl will turn out okay despite all my failings, and she'll have a mom who can tell her, it's okay not to always be perfect. It's okay to lose sometimes.

And, y'know, really mean it. Not just say it because I'm being gracious.

Swimming lessons

Two weeks ago, I took Baby Girl to Swim Babies class for the first time. I had the highest of hopes and expectations, and when we got in the pool, she seemed to live up to all of them. She smiled, she laughed, she splashed at the water.

Then halfway through class, she had a meltdown.

A real, honest to goodness, if-we-do-this-for-another-30-seconds-we'll-both-explode meltdown. She was screaming at the top of her lungs, tears running down her face. I practically sprinted out of the pool. I walked the deck. I took her in the locker room and nursed her. She calmed down a little, but as soon as we got back near the pool, she started crying.

She was still crying when, in the locker room after class, I was trying to get us both dressed. How to get dressed while holding a wet, squirmy, screaming baby? If anyone knows, please share.

She was still crying when we walked out of the locker room.

"It happens," said the instructor. "She's doing fine. You just keep trying."

Thankfully, as soon as we got in the car she fell asleep. She slept the whole way home, and when we got here, I brought her upstairs in her carseat and let her sleep in the kitchen while I emptied out our pool bag. I threw the towels in the wash, and was about to wash our suits out in the sink when I realized her suit was gone.

Her very first bathing suit, which she'd only worn once, and which I had no pictures in. Then I had a meltdown.

First, I sat down on the kitchen floor and cried. Then I did something very unlike me. I sprang to action. I threw my sleeping baby in the car and drove the 20 minutes back to the pool, not sure I'd even be able to get back in, let alone find the suit. I drove faster than I should have, balancing my panic about losing the suit with the caution my sleeping baby girl provided. I held my breath at every red light.

But it was there. On the bench where I'd fought to get a diaper on her. It was such a relief I couldn't even describe it.

That day was such an adrenaline nightmare for me, I haven't been able to write about it until today.

Today, we went back for our second swimming lesson. I was filled with dread, certain it would be miserable. As I eased into the water, Baby Girl started to whimper. This time, she wasn't nearly so sure. She clung to me. She whined a little. I hugged her tight, and just went slow.

Then about 10 minutes into class, we learned the back stroke. I put her head on my shoulder and my arm under her back, and I held my breath.

Baby Girl looked around at the other babies. She kicked her feet. And she stopped fussing.

And at the end of class, as I lifted her up and down from the water, she looked me in the eye and smiled softly at me, as if to say, "I understand, mom. It's fun, really. I'm going to be okay."

Me too, Baby Girl. Me too.

Trying not to be THAT mom

Yesterday, I went to lunch with a friend. (Yay, right?) I've only known this friend for about a year, she's about 5 years younger than me, and she's not a mom. No big deal. None of these things would stand in the way of me having a really fun lunch with a cool chick.

Except that she has a niece and nephew who she spends a lot of time with. Which makes her an expert. Doesn't it?

Five minutes into lunch, the waitress came over to fuss over Baby Girl.

"Did you tell the waitress thank you?" I said, signing thank you as I said it because, hey, you never know.

My friend raised her eyebrows. "Are you teaching her sign language?"

I laughed. "Yeah. Well, I sign. Not so much her. But we'll see."

"Yeah. I've never seen that actually work."

Gee, thanks.

After the food came, she asked me if the baby likes french fries.

"Oh, no, we're waiting on french fries a bit. Just so she doesn't get a taste for the junk yet."

"Oh. Well there's nothing you can do about her getting a taste for french fries."

Sure there is. Not give it to her.

Then, when we were about to leave, she looked at Baby Girl who had given up on her Cheerios and was eating the actual table.

"Does she need a bottle?"

"What? Oh, no. I'll nurse her when I get back to my car. She'll be okay until then."

"Oh. I think I'm just going to do bottles. That's what my sister did and her kids are fine."

Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

"Oh. Well. You have to do what works for you."

Because it's true. That is what I believe. I don't judge french fries. I love french fries. I don't even judge people who give 8 month olds french fries. I'm sure it's something lots of awesome moms do. Just not, you know, me.

And while it makes me sad to hear a young woman say that she doesn't even want to try breastfeeding, that's not really my business, and I won't think any less of her as a person or a mom if that's the choice she makes for her family.

So why do I feel guilty? Why do I feel like I need to hide the fact that I want to teach my baby to sign, give her healthy food, and breastfeed her? Why does doing these things publicly make me feel like I'm doing something wrong, like I'm being rude? I'm not trying to flaunt my choices or claim that they're better than anyone else's. But I AM proud of the way I'm raising my daughter. What's so wrong with that?