We were driving home from dinner, my husband and I in the front seat of the car, both girls in the back. The little one had been sleeping since we'd left home, so we knew we were already on borrowed time before we heard the whimpers start. My husband and I glanced at each other, silently assessing how long until we would be home, how long we had until she erupted into screams.
BG had different ideas.
"Mommy, pick up this baby! Mommy! This baby needs milk!"
Ever since I got pregnant, I've worried about how to do right by everyone. Someone, it seemed, was sure to get shortchanged. Would big sister be forever heartbroken at the loss of my undivided attention? Would little sister always get less than what her big sister got? How could this be fair to anyone? What had I done to my poor little girls?
But, for the most part, it hasn't been that way. My big girl asks for her little sister every morning when she wakes up, right after asking for mommy and daddy. She points out when it's the baby's turn, protectively hovers when the baby is crying, offers toys and blankets at any opportunity.
My little girl kicks happily by herself on her playmat, seems to enjoy a little alone time in her swing, but also gazes intently when her older sister puts a face three inches away from hers.
And sure, there are times when it's hard. When BG says, "No mommy! Daddy take baby! I take mommy!" or wants me to twirl RIGHT NOW while I'm feeding. When my little one decides to start screaming hysterically right when I need to put her sister down for a nap, when she Will Not Be Put Down at a time when the two year old is FINALLY asking to use the potty. When I don't know how to be in two places at once, and I feel like I'm ripping in half because I can't make everyone happy.
But yesterday, when I was winding my big girl down for her nap, and she had just started to melt into me on the couch, the baby started whimpering. I knew she'd want to eat soon, but I wanted to put her off just a little so I could get her sister to bed, so I started shushing and patting her.
Her head laid against my chest and without taking her eyes off Daniel Tiger on the TV, BG reached across me. She crooked her index finger, pressing the second knuckle to her sister's lips. The baby opened her eyes wide, opened her mouth to gently suck on the offered finger, and stopped fussing.
"Oooh, baby sister," giggled my eldest. "Baby sister kiss me."
I think what I'm giving my girls is more than enough.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Doing it right: It's not me
This week, I had to dig deep to think of what I've been doing right. I made some seemingly huge mistakes this week, one involving a car and the side of my garage, and it's been hard to get past that. And as far as daily life goes, I feel like I took a huge step backwards with some of the things I've been working on. The counters aren't clear, the TV's been on all day, and I haven't been unplugging AT ALL.
But here's the thing.
None of those things define who I am or what I'm worth. They're all things that happened or things I've done, and some of them I really regret. But they aren't me.
This is something new for me. To separate the things I've done from who I am, to feel guilty but not ashamed, to be able to come back from something I feel crappy about and not let it take me over completely. It's hard. Really hard. But all new skills are hard, and I hate being at the beginning of things, I suck at sucking at things. And this may be the most important skill I've ever learned.
So, that's what I've been doing right.
What have you been doing right? Link up with Jaime from James and Jax
Friday, January 25, 2013
I want to be present
I keep reading about being present, and I'm not sure I know how.
It sounds so wonderful. I want to slow down, to experience each moment - or at least some of those moments - in a more complete way. To sit on the floor with one of my daughters and be wholly engrossed in what she's doing. To think of nothing else but blocks or princesses or the imaginary tea I'm sipping. To not be worried about the dinner, or what the next activity will be, or how long it is until naptime. To really experience everything with every one of my senses and faculties, and to remember it afterwards in a way that is both physical and spiritual.
Is that really something that happens to people?
I know I need to get rid of some of the noise, that I need to keep my computer and TV shut off for more of the day. I know that I already do a good job listening to my big girl, that I do enough snuggling my little one. I know that I could do better, but that I am doing plenty good enough as a mother. I know that in the long term it will matter.
But I want it to matter now.
Sometimes, when we're all cuddled on the couch, I get glimpses of it. I have seconds where all of me is flooded with the reality of being a mom, and I am suddenly not waiting for a thing and am filled with gratitude.
The rest of the time? At my best, I'm thinking of objectives and goals, of how what we're doing will get us to the next best place. At my worst, I'm overwhelmed and completely shut off.
I know, I KNOW that it's okay not to cherish every moment, that there will be plenty more moments. That my kids are getting from me what they need, and most of the time I'm getting plenty back from them.
But I go to write and I realize that from the past 2.5 years of being a mom I can hardly remember a thing. Where have I been? For good or for bad, I want to be here, now.
It sounds so wonderful. I want to slow down, to experience each moment - or at least some of those moments - in a more complete way. To sit on the floor with one of my daughters and be wholly engrossed in what she's doing. To think of nothing else but blocks or princesses or the imaginary tea I'm sipping. To not be worried about the dinner, or what the next activity will be, or how long it is until naptime. To really experience everything with every one of my senses and faculties, and to remember it afterwards in a way that is both physical and spiritual.
Is that really something that happens to people?
I know I need to get rid of some of the noise, that I need to keep my computer and TV shut off for more of the day. I know that I already do a good job listening to my big girl, that I do enough snuggling my little one. I know that I could do better, but that I am doing plenty good enough as a mother. I know that in the long term it will matter.
But I want it to matter now.
Sometimes, when we're all cuddled on the couch, I get glimpses of it. I have seconds where all of me is flooded with the reality of being a mom, and I am suddenly not waiting for a thing and am filled with gratitude.
The rest of the time? At my best, I'm thinking of objectives and goals, of how what we're doing will get us to the next best place. At my worst, I'm overwhelmed and completely shut off.
I know, I KNOW that it's okay not to cherish every moment, that there will be plenty more moments. That my kids are getting from me what they need, and most of the time I'm getting plenty back from them.
But I go to write and I realize that from the past 2.5 years of being a mom I can hardly remember a thing. Where have I been? For good or for bad, I want to be here, now.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
In which I take a nap
I'm going to be honest about something.
I don't really like naps very much.
(For me, that is. I LOVE naps for the toddler.)
When BG was a newborn, and didn't sleep AT ALL at night, I treasured the three hours of sleep we got in the morning after my husband left for work because it was the only sleep I got all day. But now, it's different. My little one sleeps a lot at night and, more importantly, my big one is awake most of the day.
Two hours a day is all I get to myself.
I want to read, I want to write, I want to learn, I want to play. I want to eat lots of chocolate. I want to feel pampered. I want to get things done around the house, and do it quickly and efficiently.
But man, I'm so tired.
Usually when I take a nap, I wake up feeling worse. I wake up to my big girl screaming for me from her room, and it takes me a minute to be able to get out of bed. I feel guilty, groggy and resentful.
But today I'm not sure what happened. I opened my eyes on the couch a minute before I heard her yell. And then I slowly got up and finished my water before I went upstairs. I stopped to pick things up before I went upstairs. By the time I got there, BG had stopped yelling for me.
I opened her door, and she smiled at me from her bed. "Good girl!" she announced.
"Yes, baby, you are a good girl."
"Let's go see baby sister!"
"Okay, sweetie, let's go."
I feel human again, I feel refreshed. And, no, I didn't meet all of my needs during this naptime, but somehow that's okay right now.
I don't really like naps very much.
(For me, that is. I LOVE naps for the toddler.)
When BG was a newborn, and didn't sleep AT ALL at night, I treasured the three hours of sleep we got in the morning after my husband left for work because it was the only sleep I got all day. But now, it's different. My little one sleeps a lot at night and, more importantly, my big one is awake most of the day.
Two hours a day is all I get to myself.
I want to read, I want to write, I want to learn, I want to play. I want to eat lots of chocolate. I want to feel pampered. I want to get things done around the house, and do it quickly and efficiently.
But man, I'm so tired.
Usually when I take a nap, I wake up feeling worse. I wake up to my big girl screaming for me from her room, and it takes me a minute to be able to get out of bed. I feel guilty, groggy and resentful.
But today I'm not sure what happened. I opened my eyes on the couch a minute before I heard her yell. And then I slowly got up and finished my water before I went upstairs. I stopped to pick things up before I went upstairs. By the time I got there, BG had stopped yelling for me.
I opened her door, and she smiled at me from her bed. "Good girl!" she announced.
"Yes, baby, you are a good girl."
"Let's go see baby sister!"
"Okay, sweetie, let's go."
I feel human again, I feel refreshed. And, no, I didn't meet all of my needs during this naptime, but somehow that's okay right now.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Doing it Right: Digging Deep and other wins
1. This week, I came upon this thought from Gretchen of the Happiness Project, suggesting that we dig deep. I've really made an effort to live this. Last night, my toddler was sitting on my lap asking to watch Wheel of Fortune for half an hour before it was on. Every time she put her face 2 cm in front of mine and said "Mommy Wheel!" I would just take a deep breath and say "Yes, honey, but it's not on yet. We have to wait." To which she would reply, "Wait, Wheel" -- then pause for 30 seconds and we'd start over. I will now accept my trophy.
2.I let my husband sleep late this weekend without grumping or grouching at him at all.
3. I shaved my legs on Sunday night. In January, people.
4. I have been making an effort to keep my kitchen counters clear, including putting away my clean dishes instead of leaving them in my dish rack every day. I haven't been perfect but I've been doing pretty darn good.
5. I've been reading and writing most days this week.
6. I'm okay with not being perfect at any of these resolutions.
Linking up with Jaime from James and Jax
Monday, January 21, 2013
Still my baby
A strange thing happened the day I came home from the hospital with my littlest girl.
Suddenly? My two year old wasn't a baby anymore. And I so wasn't ready.
Two months ago, 36 weeks pregnant, I took my big girl to Target to pick up some portraits. It had been a long no-nap day and I just needed to go, to get something done, to accomplish one task. And so, when she fell asleep in the car on the way there, I scooped her up and carried her into the store. Amazingly, she stayed asleep, and I walked around the entire store with 28 pounds of toddler draped over my shoulder, her feet hanging down over my very pregnant belly.
As I felt the weight of her settle into my body, my breathing slowed. My shoulders lowered. Several times, I paused just to press my lips to her head and smooth down her hair with both hands.
But here, next to her little sister, she looks impossibly big. She wants to hold the baby. She wants to help cook dinner. When did she start talking in articulate sentences?
I don't remember her newborn smell. I don't remember her feeling light in my arms, the weight of her draped over just one arm. I only remember the sharp, insistent sound of her infant cries as a story that I tell, not as the stabbing in my chest they once were.
Sometimes she crawls around or lies on the baby's playmat with her feet in the air, and my eyes fill with tears.
And I know that I love the girl she is now. She snuggles in my armpit on the couch, tells me she loves me, makes up songs about mommy and daddy and baby sister. She is a source of joy in my life like nothing I can describe.
But as I hold them both in my arms watching Sesame Street, I wish I could keep my big girl little, just a little bit longer.
Suddenly? My two year old wasn't a baby anymore. And I so wasn't ready.
Two months ago, 36 weeks pregnant, I took my big girl to Target to pick up some portraits. It had been a long no-nap day and I just needed to go, to get something done, to accomplish one task. And so, when she fell asleep in the car on the way there, I scooped her up and carried her into the store. Amazingly, she stayed asleep, and I walked around the entire store with 28 pounds of toddler draped over my shoulder, her feet hanging down over my very pregnant belly.
As I felt the weight of her settle into my body, my breathing slowed. My shoulders lowered. Several times, I paused just to press my lips to her head and smooth down her hair with both hands.
But here, next to her little sister, she looks impossibly big. She wants to hold the baby. She wants to help cook dinner. When did she start talking in articulate sentences?
I don't remember her newborn smell. I don't remember her feeling light in my arms, the weight of her draped over just one arm. I only remember the sharp, insistent sound of her infant cries as a story that I tell, not as the stabbing in my chest they once were.
Sometimes she crawls around or lies on the baby's playmat with her feet in the air, and my eyes fill with tears.
And I know that I love the girl she is now. She snuggles in my armpit on the couch, tells me she loves me, makes up songs about mommy and daddy and baby sister. She is a source of joy in my life like nothing I can describe.
But as I hold them both in my arms watching Sesame Street, I wish I could keep my big girl little, just a little bit longer.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
One month
Sweet little girl,
I am having a hard time believing you have been here for a month. As you rise and fall with my breath, your legs still curled frog-like under you but your arms wrapped around my waist in what I can pretend is not an accidental hug, I realize that you are already starting to grow up. I hope that in the craziness that was your first month of life - holidays, visitors, and of course your charming big sister - that I haven't missed any moments that I can't get back, but I know I probably have. I'm sorry for that.
But there have been enough moments that I haven't missed, and I think you haven't missed them either. You see everything with those wide blue eyes, and I think that even when you have your eyes closed you are listening to us. You know how much we all love you, and how hard we're all trying to get this right. And I'm pretty sure if I asked you, my calm, alert, agreeable baby, you'd tell me that we're doing just fine. I think you have been telling me, and for that as well, I am grateful.
In our moments alone together like this one, I breathe slower and easier. When you are sleeping, I want to hold you against my chest like this, flooding us both with all the chemicals that are really science's way of explaining love. When you are awake, I am as fascinated by the newness of everything you see as you are.
I can't believe that your first month is already finished, that some of your tiniest is already gone, and I miss it. But I also know that what's coming next is going to be in so many ways so much better. And while I can't promise that I will always get things right - I'm going to go ahead and promise that I won't - I can give you my word that I will always do the best I can for you, and that you and your sister will ALWAYS always be good enough for me.
I am having a hard time believing you have been here for a month. As you rise and fall with my breath, your legs still curled frog-like under you but your arms wrapped around my waist in what I can pretend is not an accidental hug, I realize that you are already starting to grow up. I hope that in the craziness that was your first month of life - holidays, visitors, and of course your charming big sister - that I haven't missed any moments that I can't get back, but I know I probably have. I'm sorry for that.
But there have been enough moments that I haven't missed, and I think you haven't missed them either. You see everything with those wide blue eyes, and I think that even when you have your eyes closed you are listening to us. You know how much we all love you, and how hard we're all trying to get this right. And I'm pretty sure if I asked you, my calm, alert, agreeable baby, you'd tell me that we're doing just fine. I think you have been telling me, and for that as well, I am grateful.
In our moments alone together like this one, I breathe slower and easier. When you are sleeping, I want to hold you against my chest like this, flooding us both with all the chemicals that are really science's way of explaining love. When you are awake, I am as fascinated by the newness of everything you see as you are.
I can't believe that your first month is already finished, that some of your tiniest is already gone, and I miss it. But I also know that what's coming next is going to be in so many ways so much better. And while I can't promise that I will always get things right - I'm going to go ahead and promise that I won't - I can give you my word that I will always do the best I can for you, and that you and your sister will ALWAYS always be good enough for me.
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