If you think you might be suffering from PPD, or need some extra support, visit www.postpartumprogress.com.
Picture this: a soft, cloud-like mattress that lulls your little one into the deepest and most peaceful slumber they've ever had. Imagine a dreamy sleep environment, filled with gentle sounds and soothing aromas that instantly calm your baby's restless soul. And most importantly, envision a cot that is fortified with safety measures to protect your bundle of joy throughout the night.
In the next few minutes, we will walk you through the process of choosing the right mattress, creating a serene sleep environment, and implementing crucial safety measures. By the end of this article, you'll possess the knowledge and confidence to set up the perfect cot for your baby, guaranteeing peaceful nights for both you and your little one. So, let's dive in and begin this journey towards the ultimate cozy and secure cot experience!
Choosing the Right Mattress
Now that we have covered the importance of setting up a safe and cozy cot for your baby, it's time to focus on choosing the right mattress. The mattress plays a crucial role in providing your little one with the comfort and support they need for a good night's sleep.
When selecting a mattress for your baby's cot, there are a few key factors to consider. First and foremost, safety should be your top priority. Look for a mattress that is made using only natural materials. Our luxury cot mattresses are made with a 100% wool lining which even contains a dust mite filter.
Another important aspect to consider is the firmness of the mattress. According to experts, a firm mattress is recommended for infants as it reduces the risk of suffocation and promotes proper spinal alignment. You can test the firmness of a mattress by pressing your hand onto it and ensuring it springs back immediately.
Additionally, you'll want to take into account the size of the mattress in relation to your cot. It is crucial that the mattress fits snugly in the cot without any gaps that could pose a potential danger to your baby. A gap between the mattress and the cot walls could lead to trapping hazards or suffocation risks.
Lastly, consider the materials used in the mattress. Organic and hypoallergenic options are available for parents who are concerned about potential allergens or chemical exposure. These mattresses are made from natural materials and provide a healthier sleeping environment for your little one.
By taking the time to carefully choose the right mattress for your baby's cot, you are providing them with a foundation for a restful and safe sleep. The mattress should be a perfect combination of comfort, safety, and support. With this knowledge in hand, let's move on to the next step: creating a soothing sleep environment for your little one.
Creating a Soothing Sleep Environment
Now that you've chosen the perfect mattress for your baby's cot, it's time to turn our attention to creating a soothing sleep environment that will help your little one drift off into a peaceful slumber. As parents, we know that a calm and comfortable space can make a world of difference when it comes to getting a good night's sleep, so let's explore some key elements to consider.
First and foremost, think about the lighting in your baby's nursery. Soft, ambient lighting can create a cozy atmosphere that promotes relaxation and tranquility. Consider using a dimmer switch, blackout curtains, or even a nightlight to create a gentle glow. This will not only help your baby fall asleep faster but also make nighttime feedings or diaper changes less disruptive.
Next, pay attention to the temperature of the room. Babies are particularly sensitive to changes in temperature, so it's essential to maintain a comfortable and consistent level. Aim for a temperature between 20°C and 22°C to ensure your little one stays cozy throughout the night. A simple room thermometer can help you keep track.
In addition to lighting and temperature, sound can play a significant role in creating a soothing sleep environment. Soft, rhythmic sounds, such as white noise or lullabies, can help drown out any disruptive noises from outside and lull your baby into dreamland. Consider using a sound machine, soft music, or even a white noise app to create a consistent and calming background noise.
Lastly, consider the overall ambiance of the nursery. Keep the decor simple and clutter-free, as too much visual stimulation can be overwhelming for babies. Opt for soothing colors like pastels or neutrals and choose bedding and curtains made from soft, breathable fabrics. Creating a peaceful and serene space will help set the stage for a restful night's sleep.
With the mattress chosen and the soothing sleep environment created, we're well on our way to ensuring a safe and cozy cot for your baby. But before we move on to the next step, let's explore some essential safety measures to further protect your little one.,
Ensuring Safety Measures
Next, it's important to position the cot away from any potential hazards. Keep it away from windows, blinds, curtains, or cords that could pose a strangulation risk. Make sure there are no loose electrical cords or small objects nearby that your little explorer could grab and put in their mouth. By creating a clear and clutter-free space around the cot, you minimize the risk of accidents or injuries.
Another crucial safety measure is to use a firm mattress that fits snugly into the cot. Avoid using soft bedding, such as pillows, blankets, or stuffed animals, as they can increase the risk of suffocation. Instead, choose a fitted sheet specifically designed for the cot mattress. This will provide a safe and comfortable sleeping surface for your baby without any additional hazards.
Additionally, regularly check the cot for any loose or broken parts. Ensure that all screws, bolts, and fasteners are tightly secured, and that there are no gaps or openings that could trap your baby's fingers or limbs. By conducting regular inspections, you can identify and address any potential safety issues promptly.
Lastly, consider using a baby monitor to keep a watchful eye and ear on your little one while they sleep. There are various types of baby monitors available, including audio and video options, allowing you to choose the one that best fits your needs. A reliable baby monitor can provide an extra layer of security and allows you to respond quickly if your baby needs your attention.
In conclusion, creating a safe and cozy cot for your baby doesn't have to be overwhelming. By following three simple steps - choosing the right mattress, creating a soothing sleep environment, and implementing necessary safety measures - you can provide your little one with the perfect space for peaceful slumber. Remember, a comfortable cot means a peaceful baby, which translates to peace of mind for you. So why wait? Start setting up the ideal cot today and watch your baby sleep soundly and safely. As the saying goes, "A well-rested baby is a happy baby!"
Of all childhood ailments, none strikes fear into the hearts of parents like an upset tummy. After all, no one gets out of the toddler years without at least one traumatic event that started with the phrase, “My tummy feels funny,” and the PTSD can stick around for ages. But the good news is that most childhood tummy aches aren’t caused by anything serious. So if you’ve ruled out a virus that would necessitate a trip to the doctor, you can treat symptoms at home with Pepto Kids Chewables, which relieve heartburn, acid indigestion, and upset stomach with a bubblegum flavored chewable tablet that even queasy kiddos will love. Here are five ways to be a Super Parent when you hear the dreaded words, “my tummy hurts!”:
Before you can address the issue, you need to know what you’re dealing with. First, ask your child for more details on where, exactly, the discomfort is coming from; this can help you distinguish between heartburn (upper torso/chest), sour stomach (right under the ribs), or intestinal woes (belly). If they have nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea, or your child has a temperature or trouble walking or you’re just not sure, call your pediatrician.
Think back to the last thing your child ate, and how much. Did they just inhale half of a large pizza (been there!), barely chewing as they washed it down with some electric blue soda that bore the highly suspect label “naturally flavored”? Did they try something spicier than usual, or eat a cornucopia’s worth of fruit in one sitting? Were cruciferous vegetables on the dinner menu? Even healthy foods can cause heartburn or acid indigestion, and consuming too much or too little, not chewing well (side-eye, children everywhere), or introducing new flavors can sometimes upset little tummies, as can running around too much immediately after eating, which we all know is a feature of most children.
Tummy aches may have different root causes, but they are always a good reason to stop moving and lie down. No, not you — although we know that’s tempting! Have your child lie in bed or on the couch with their preferred menagerie of toys and stuffies and their heads propped up on multiple pillows (lying flat can worsen indigestion from a sour stomach). Offer them sips of water, herbal tea (ginger and chamomile are all time-tested stomach-soothers), or some bites of bland food such as toast or banana if you suspect that hunger pangs may be the cause of the tummy trouble. Gentle stomach and abdominal massage or reflexology work on the feet can also help ease gas pains and aid digestion — just make sure to check with their pediatrician about any techniques you find online before you begin.
Grown-ups know Pepto Bismol as the go-to treatment for stomach woes, so it’s no surprise we adore Pepto Kids Chewables, which offer proven relief for heartburn, indigestion, and upset tummies in a formula that’s specially designed for kids ages 2-11. And any parent who has ever tried to force-feed liquid medicine to a recalcitrant child will appreciate the bubble gum-flavored chewable tablets, which kids love. The active ingredient in Pepto Kids, calcium carbonate, gently and safely soothes upset stomachs, heartburn, and indigestion in little ones as young as two (as with all OTC medicine, check the dosage chart), which means quick relief for your kid and for you.
Most mild upset stomach and digestive issues resolve quickly with the treatments outlined above, but it’s a good rule of thumb to keep an eye on your child for 24 hours from the onset of symptoms before letting them go back to their normal activity level and diet. Then again, kids tend to bounce back quickly, and after having a rest and taking a dose or two of Pepto Kids, we have a feeling they’ll be saying “Tummy ache? What tummy ache?” as they make a beeline for the pool, or the soccer field, or the ice cream truck. Your biggest challenge might be catching up with them!
]]>People ask me about the best baby apps all the time, but it’s really hard for me to judge them because there are just so many. I thought I’d ask you folks because you’re in the trenches and, man, you know your apps. The apps that were most popular with new parents had a few key things in common: they didn’t cost a lot (and ideally, were free), they were easy to use, and their features helped to take a little bit of the load off in those blurry days of pregnancy and new parenthood.
So, without further adieu, here’s what you should download on your next trip to the App or Google Play store.
The Glow App scored top points because its capabilities are pretty widespread. Eve by Glow tracks your period, Glow helps you monitor fertility, Glow Nurture is great for use during pregnancy, and Glow Baby can be your go-to once your baby’s been born.
As a fertility tracker, Glow helps you pinpoint ovulation and fertile days by using the Fertility Log and Period Tracker. There’s a daily health log to keep track of the rest of the goings-on in your body, which makes some of their data collection and predictions more accurate. Glow also gives health insights and allows you to sync the app with your partner, so you don’t have to give them a wink and a nudge when it’s time to get busy.
Cost: Free
Available for: iOS and Andriod
The Ovia Pregnancy Tracker has great standard features you’ll find in many tracker apps but with some fun twists. Choose a theme for fetal size comparisons, so instead of a tired-ass root vegetable, you can imagine your growing fetus as a delicious croissant or a ukulele. Try the “My Baby Names” feature to scroll through thousands of name options and avoid saddling your newborn with a moniker that 15 other kids in their kindergarten class are gonna have. The food safety, medication, and symptoms tool is a helpful reference guide.
The customizable health tracker can sync up to your Apple Watch to keep track of health data like blood pressure and weight so you’ll be ready to rock and roll at your next doctor’s appointment.
Cost: Free
Available for: iOS and Android
People love to bash “What to Expect '' but they are the tried and true in the baby world so I’m certainly not about to knock their free app. It’s a good, solid app that gives you the lowdown on what to expect (go figure). If nothing else, check it out for the communities to hook up with women that are having babies the same time you are.
Parents also liked the ovulation calendar to help with conceiving, the helpful daily tips and growth videos during pregnancy, and the feeding and milestone trackers for after their baby was born.
Cost: Free
Available for: iOS and Andriod
The last thing anyone needs during labor is to deal with the absolute goat rodeo of timing contractions to figure out when it’s time to call the midwife or head to the hospital. Finally, there’s an app to take the guesswork out of what the heck constitutes a minute between contractions so you can focus on the business of actually remembering to take those breaths you practiced so diligently in your L&D class (and get you to the hospital with some hard data to show the triage nurse, to boot).
Cost: Free
Available for: iOS and Andriod
This would have been my anal retentive dream when my kids were babies. This will track and chart just about everything you can dream of including baby’s feedings (bottle, nursing, solid food), diapers, sleep, pumping and expressed milk, developmental milestones (with charts and weekly reports), and mood. It also helps you keep track of doctor visits, medicines, vaccines, sickness, weight, and height. This baby tracker app can also synchronize data between accounts with the ability to email reports to spouses, doctors, nannies, and babysitters. For parents of preemies, percentiles are calculated with the birth date or with the due date.
I think the only danger with this one is feeling that if you just see the pattern you can crack the code (like Neo in the Matrix) whereas there rarely is a code with a baby. Still, I would have found comfort in that shred of control during the chaos.
Cost: Free with In-App Purchases
Available for: iOS and Andriod
Although my mind immediately went to “breast pump” when I heard of My Medela, the app offers more than just support timing feedings. It can also be used during pregnancy to track the duration, frequency and pain level of contractions, which is super handy. Once your baby arrives, the app can track breastfeeding, pumping, sleep, bottle feeding, diaper changes, weight and length for multiple babies. It also offers connectivity to the Medela Freestyle Flex pump and can be controlled by your voice. The virtual milk storage feature helps you keep track of your stash so you’ll never forget about a bag in the freezer and dig it out while searching for corn 2 years down the road.
Cost: Free
Available for: iOS and Andriod
Huckleberry was a popular pick for parents because it has a lot of useful features for tracking your baby aside from monitoring their sleep, although it does that really well. The free version of the app tracks sleep, breastfeeding, bottles, diapers, pumping, solids, growth, medication and temperatures, and makes up a little recap of all of the data from your baby’s first year (so if you felt like you spend 75% of that first year feeding your baby, you’ll have the proof to back it up). Paid versions of the app can be purchased in tiers and for monthly or annual subscriptions and get you features like customized sleep plans and access to “Sweet Spot” - a tool that helps you pinpoint that magical unicorn moment when your baby is ready to sleep, before they move into the hellish territory of being overtired.
Cost: Free, with in-app purchases and options to upgrade your plan starting at $15 per month
Available for: iOS and Andriod
Sleep trackers may not be your thing, so if that’s the case, give this one a skiparoo. But if you’re looking for some hot takes on getting your baby settled, sleeping for longer chunks of time at night, nailing down naptime and cracking the code on your baby’s sleeping and feeding needs, readers said this app is a great one to try if you’re looking to catch some long lost z’s. The app is a little pricey, but it also includes access to certified sleep consultants in the Little Ones Village who are available to answer questions or give moral support at any time of the day or night.
Cost: Starts at $59 with a 90-day money back guarantee
Available for: iOS and Andriod
This app essentially tells you what’s going on in your baby’s head from week to week by explaining all the amazing developmental changes they go through during their first 18 months.
It’s a handy reminder for when your baby makes a “leap” because these leaps come so quickly that it often freaks your baby out and can initially manifest in poor sleep, bad appetite, crying, clinging and crankiness.
This app comes up again and again when someone is at their wits’ end wondering why the hell their four-month-old wants to look around all day instead of eating.
Cost: $4.99 - $5.99
Available for: iOS and Andriod
The main feature in this app is tracking, but the thing I like about this one is the extra medical stuff in categories like Baby & Toddler Care, Illness & Emergencies, Vaccines and Baby Doctor Visits. There’s also a feature called “Ask The Pediatrician” with video and Q&A sessions with a WebMD in-house pediatrician. No, you’re not going to base all your child’s medical decisions on a phone app, but it may help point you in the right direction. Especially if you’re reluctant to go to the hospital with a baby that’s making a high-pitched wheezing sound because you don’t want to expose him or her to the germs and/or be told it’s a cold and feel like an idiot. This app will tell you to get that kid to a effing hospital (I believe I’m paraphrasing) so it may just help solidify your judgment.
Cost: Free
Available for: iOS and Andriod
What I really liked about this one is the clean, fresh layout. So many of these baby apps are as attractive as balls on dogs, yet this one manages to keep a ton of information looking simple and neat.
Plus, they have a very detailed poo section where you can keep track of bowel movement color and consistency – I would have loved that when I was trying to figure out if it was something I was eating that was giving my son gas when I was nursing. Only a parent would find a shit function thrilling.
Cost: Free
Available for: iOS
If posting photos to social media isn’t your cup of tea, but you’re still dying to share your favorite captures of your littles (and I mean, who isn’t?), Tinybeans is the way to go. The app offers secure storage for all of your favorite high resolution photos, and offers an easy way to share those memories with any users you’ve selected. Newly posted photos and videos get sent along via e-mail or push notifications so nobody misses a thing. It’s also easy to take your favorite photos and make them into a photo book - which makes a great gift for a grandparent, or memento for yourself.
Cost: Free 14 day trial; after that, it’s $4.99 a month or $39.99 a year
Available for: iOS and Andriod
Parenting is one of the best jobs in the world, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t get a little lonely sometimes. Peanut was created to connect folks who are at a similar stage in life, from fertility, pregnancy and parenthood through to menopause. Ask questions, get advice, and hear stories on topics that are relevant to the spot you’re currently in, join groups and communities with common interests, and check out live audio conversations hosted by experts in the pods.
Cost: Free
Available for: iOS and Andriod
My advice is to download a few of them and play around to see which ones you prefer using. The wonderful thing about apps is that they are really inexpensive (if not free) so even if you buy a $5 app and decide you don’t like it, well, we’ve all spent bigger bucks on dumber shit. I find the hardest part is just wading through all of them so at least this gives you a good starting point.
If you find one you really love be sure to leave it in the comments below so others can find out about it too!
Of course, the best app would be the Pregnant Chicken app (c’mon) but it doesn’t exist yet so you’ll have to sign up for the killer emails that give you a weekly update on your pregnancy without all that your-baby-is-the-size-of-a-plum crap, plus, we have giveaways and freebies too. You can sign up for it here.
Drop it in the comments. I'd love to check it out!
Our next reco: What Color Eyes Will My Baby Have? Baby Eye Color Predictor
I tossed the mini bag of Skittles leftover from Halloween into my daughter's lunchbox, nestled next to a scrap of paper with the joke of the day hastily written in sharpie. Patting myself on the back for being the world's coolest mom, I headed upstairs to drag my kids — still exhausted from trick-or-treating — out of bed for school. That afternoon when they got home, my daughter came storming in, incensed. "Kids at school today were telling me Skittles are poison!"
I was floored. Who is telling their children this? And why? To me, this report broke the sacred, unspoken parental oath reserved for Halloween: "I won't judge your kids' sugar consumption if you don't judge mine."
At the same time, I tried to see this as a teachable moment. Having struggled for decades to develop a healthy relationship with food, and unlearn the harmful messages I'd internalized, here was an organic opportunity to engage in a conversation with my children on the topic.
"Well, what do you think?" A calm, non-judgmental, curious response. Nailed it.
"I told them it wasn't true. I know it's not poison, but why would they say that?" She crossed her arms defiantly.
Her younger brother piped in: "Yeah, it doesn't kill you. I'm not going to stop eating candy!" He ran over to his Halloween bucket to protect it from theoretical interlopers as if people were going to charge in and confiscate a hazardous substance he'd worked so hard to earn.
Here’s my working assumption: Somebody was in a fight with their kids about their candy consumption and said the first fear-mongering thing that came to mind. And on the one hand, I get it: you’re responsible for feeding your kids a balanced diet, and sometimes you’re desperate to get them to stop demanding "just one more piece." But at what cost?
The poison comment triggered something in me. I was truly upset, and it wasn’t just about this one moment; it was about years of hearing about cleansing "toxins" and "clean" eating and realizing these messages were seeping into elementary classrooms. It's an extension of diet culture, under new branding, still assigning moral value rankings to food. And I’m sick of it.
I spoke to Jennifer Anderson, child nutrition specialist and founder of Kids Eat in Color, who shared my concerns. "Children need to understand that it's more than just bad versus good, and it's certainly not poison. That's dangerous in terms of understanding actual poison."
It's also confusing, especially for younger children, who aren't developmentally capable of understanding the nuances. "At the early ages, a child is unable to understand the idea that food is bad for you, but you would not be a bad person if you ate it. So you're adding emotional baggage," says Anderson.
Look, I get it. We’ve all got unlimited access to millions of articles, YouTube videos, and TikToks telling us all the ways we are parenting wrong. It's no wonder we end up desperately clinging to conflicting ideas about what a balanced diet and "healthy" really look like, obsessing about where to place them among the hierarchy on the parental anxieties game board. It's easy to eventually find yourself hunched over the kitchen counter, googling every ingredient in your bread and rifling through your cabinets to trash all the "bad" snacks some lady on Instagram said was making your kid hyperactive.
Far removed from our 80s and 90s childhoods watching adults sustain themselves on SlimFast, diet soda, and Special K, lots of parents now panic about ingredients because they can't pronounce them. We've replaced hysteria about trans fat and high carbohydrate counts with neuroses focused on "clean," "healthy," and "wellness" when it should be about access, safety, and togetherness. Does your water have lead in it? Are there families in your community experiencing food insecurity? Colorado just became only the third state finally to guarantee universal free school lunches instead. The third!
Young children are constantly being served conflicting messages about food. I routinely receive well-intentioned communication from our school district encouraging "healthy" and “good” snack and food choices, but birthdays, class reward systems, and special events are filled with all sorts of normally "off-limit" goodies. The implied message here correlates good behavior or special occasions with "bad" foods, as if it’s something kids must earn. But what makes a specific food good or healthy, anyway?
"Healthy and good are meaningless terms," says Anderson. "What if eggs are healthy to me, but they will kill my friend because they are deathly allergic? It's complicated. We want our children to have a positive perspective, not judge their friends, and also be able to have nuance for themselves."
As most young children lack nuance, it's our job to account for the cognitive gap. And there are lots of ways to do that naturally. My kids have been raised vegetarian, for instance, and so we’ve always emphasized that different people eat different things (like their meat-eating dad!) and that it’s important not to judge what other people eat.
Likewise, Anderson stresses the importance of conversations about food and how parents and caregivers should lay the foundation really early, using positive language around foods in your house. For young kids, this is as simple as, "some foods do a lot of things in your body, some foods do a few things." As they age, the details we provide and the discussions' complexity will also grow.
So, eat with them. Cook with them. And yeah, share that Halloween candy with them. Let children have joy and teach them how to enjoy and savor the experience of all varieties of foods. Skittles aren’t poison, but a culture of shame around something as basic as eating sure is.
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]]>People tell you a lot of things when you’re expecting a child, but no one can really prepare you for how it feels. At times, you’ll experience things that make it seem as though you’re living out a scene from Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Kicks, jabs, gurgles, flipping, flopping — it gets wild in there, y’all. But perhaps one of the strangest pregnancy sensations is fetal hiccups. Yup, baby hiccups in the womb happen, more often than you might think. And even though you’re new to this whole mom business, you’ve probably already got the worrying sitch on lock. So, are fetal hiccups normal? Could they be a sign something is wrong with the little bun in your oven?
As with most things that happen in utero, baby hiccups in the womb are typically just another way your child’s body prepares itself for survival in the outside world — another natural (albeit unnerving) reflex. However, it is important to be in tune with your baby’s movements. The more you listen to your body, the more likely you are to pick up on any irregularities.
If your baby’s hiccups in the womb ever start to concern you, don’t hesitate to reach out to your obstetrician or midwife. But for now, keep reading to learn all about fetal hiccups and why they happen.
Now that you know they do, your next question might be a follow-up — what do they feel like? When fetal hiccups first occur, it may be a little alarming. But with time, you’ll get used to them, much like you get used to everything during pregnancy. If you feel a bit of a jerk, that’s likely a hiccup. They should never hurt, nor should they be something that disrupts your day. But you may feel your belly move differently when they happen.
You might ask yourself, “Is it hiccups or kicking?” And, well, that’s a great question. Kicks won’t be as rhythmic of a motion as hiccups. They’ll also be felt all over your belly (since feet can have some range), while hiccups won’t be quite as drastic.
It’s crucial to distinguish whether or not it’s a kick or hiccup if you’re doing kick counts. You should count kicks separately to help ensure the health of your baby.
Consider hiccups to be more like “practice breathing” for your little one. As they take little breaths, their diaphragm contracts. When that happens, amniotic fluid enters your unborn baby’s lungs. It’s very scientific, and another reason why having a baby is a shockingly phenomenal thing to do. If you feel baby hiccups in the womb, consider it a good sign that their diaphragm is developing just like it should be.
You might be thrilled to know that it’s normal. But what if you feel fetal hiccups all the time? Most of the time, it’s normal. Some babies tend to hiccup more than others. However, if you’re feeling worried, it may be a good idea to check with your doctor. (Remember, it’s never silly to address any concerns whatsoever. If your OB/GYN makes you feel bad for asking questions, maybe it’s time to switch doctors.)
If hiccups seem to increase a lot during the last few weeks of your pregnancy, you might figure that it’s “movement” and a way for your baby to let you know things are progressing. Yet, it’s far more common for a baby’s hiccups to decrease during this time.
While there’s no need to panic right away, there may be something troubling about the umbilical cord placement if hiccups increase. If you notice them happening more than four times daily after your 28th week of pregnancy, it’s definitely worth bringing up with a healthcare professional. That’s typically when issues when the umbilical cord may be addressed. But like with all things, your mother’s intuition is the best judge here.
You may be wondering, “Do hiccups lead to fetal distress?” The answer is not usually, but timing is everything. An increase later on in your pregnancy can signify something’s not right. But early on, when you first feel them, it’s more of a sign that things are developing just as they should.
The big takeaway? If your instincts tell you something is wrong, then nothing should stop you from contacting your doctor right away.
The post Are Fetal Hiccups Normal? Why Those Little Spasms Usually Aren’t Worrisome appeared first on Scary Mommy.
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]]>My SUV has been in the shop for about a week now, and honestly, I’m losing my mind. “I don’t get what the issue is,” says my adorable, yet oblivious, husband. He doesn’t understand that that is not just a vehicle. It’s not just how I shuffle my kiddos from ballet to soccer and back to gymnastics. The car is my sacred space. And sometimes, I just need everyone to get out of it.
Lord bless him, but my spouse also doesn’t get why I insist on running errands alone. (Or maybe he does and just pretends he doesn’t, hoping I don’t run out the door sans littles in tow.) It’s not that I’m avoiding my kids. It’s just that sometimes I need a break from them. Yes, I said it.
Don’t get me wrong, my family is the light of my life, but too much together time can feel overwhelming. Between mom-ing, working, and the other million roles I fill, I need some downtime. And it’s not as easy to get as you might think. I do what I can to keep from rocking the boat too much. Kids will still get fed and bathed. Dinner will still be cooked, and dishes will be washed. All I’m asking for is my family to honor my time in my SUV alone.
Saturday mornings are my favorite. It’s the only day of the week you’re likely to catch me (intentionally) rolled out of bed before 7 a.m. What gets me up and moving? The chance to hit the Starbucks drive-through and maneuver through the grocery store without small people.
I don’t want to referee when they race each other up and down the aisle, knocking things off the shelves. And I certainly don’t want to fish random things out of the cart that are absolutely not coming home. I just want to listen to my favorite podcast and pat myself on the back when I stick to my grocery list (or close enough). I want to sip my overpriced coffee that won’t get spilled by small hands in a tug of war game over who gets to push the cart.
Growing up, I never understood why mom would grab the grocery ads and spend the morning zipping back and forth to three or more supermarkets. All that time in the car? Why? After I had kids, it seemed to make more sense. Sure, she was trying to get the best deal by saving money here and there, but I suspect she was probably trying to carve out her own sacred space, too.
Sometimes it’s just driving to pick up dinner alone. Other times, it’s getting to school early for parent pick up. But my special time is in my SUV. It’s still and it’s silent. If I’m trying to catch up on work, it’s just me and the clicks of the keyboard, without hearing “Mom, mom,” every five minutes. I mean, do you know how much you can get done when you aren’t being pulled in 100 different directions? And it’s amazing how much peace you can find in having time for the things that light you up.
But sometimes I just sit and catch up on my Netflix show in the pick-up line waiting for the kids to get out of class. Other times, it’s just about having the opportunity to relax and take a deep breath. There is nothing better than a deep sigh, or a good story to relax me.
I pop open a book and lose myself in the story. Yes, take me back, like way back, with 16th-century French historical fiction. It’s a break, and moms are allowed to have breaks. And that time is ultimately restorative: There is nothing like that still silence to bring you back to center. No matter how obnoxious the kids or your partner has been. No matter how many things have been spilled, dropped, or broken. Having a spot where you can spend a little me time without interruption isn’t just good for you. It’s good for everyone who interacts with you.
So moms, here’s your reminder. Give yourself grace and take some time for yourself. Even if that just means sitting in the parking lot in blissful silence.
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]]>It goes beyond Covid, too. Schools are ground zero for our nation’s brutal divides, and our children’s teachers have taken on pandemic teaching, along with increased censorship and criticism about how and what they teach. This can be destructive and dangerous. I’m in touch with several teachers and administrators who have received death threats. Two educator colleagues now get escorted to public meetings by armed police officers.
Two years of pandemic living have pushed many parents to the brink. A group of moms recently met at a local high school to let out a primal scream together. A California mom had her Twitter post go viral when she said: “Introducing Care Game! It’s like Wordle, but it’s how many days of full childcare you had that week.” The comments on the post make it clear that too many of us continue piecemealing school and childcare together each week. But things will get much worse if our children’s teachers burn out and leave. For everyone’s sake, we need do more to support the people charged with our children’s learning—many of whom are fellow parents and therefore carrying a double load.
We do this by going back to the basics. Here are three: Be kind. Practice patience. Have a plan.
A few days after winter break, our school principal called to tell me my son tested positive for Covid. It was a late-night conversation, and while it was new for me, it has become her nightly routine. When I shared my plan to reach out to my son’s teacher, her advice was clear: “Be kind. Be sure she knows it’s not her fault.”
Teachers have borne the brunt of many, many parents’ frustrations. While your outburst or complaint may have only happened once or been mild, there is a compounding effect. Also, some parents are being straight-up mean and hateful. Teachers are not customer service representatives you’ll never talk to again. They are the humans in charge of your kids at school. Often they spend more awake time with your kids than you do.
The next time you get frustrated, stop and ask yourself: “Does this need to be said? Does this need to be said by me? Does this need to be said right now?” The next time you are impressed, say something. Reach out, write a note, send a text message. If you have extra time, handwrite a thank you card. Many teachers tell me they’re giving everything they’ve got, but they rarely get positive feedback or thanks from parents. It’s quick and easy to say, “I see you and how hard you’re working. Thank you for showing up and caring about my kid. We’ll get through this together.”
Everything is taking longer right now. Our schools are facing their own supply-and-demand issues, just like grocery stores. More kids who need attention, accommodations, and extra support. Problem behaviors have been going up all year, and America’s pediatricians have declared youth mental health a national emergency.
This is a tough issue without a short-term solution. It scratches at a more significant problem to solve—we don’t have enough behavioral and mental health supports for our children, and recent graduates don’t want to go into education because of what they’ve seen. The teacher shortages we are seeing will continue and might get worse.
We can practice patience by harnessing the wisdom of the serenity prayer. Change what you can. Accept what you can’t. Seek to know the difference. Parents can’t solve supply-and-demand issues or staff shortages. We can control our reactions when they happen to us and our children. Practice patience, for your sanity and theirs. Most schools are doing the best they can in extraordinary times. When they interact with teachers in person, by email, or by app, be kind.
Inevitably, teacher stress and burnout will reach you and your child’s classroom. It probably already has. A teacher will go on leave or seem to stop caring or communicating. Compassion or Covid fatigue will be to blame. You will hear that the teacher you wanted your child to have next year has decided to retire early or stay home after having a baby.
When something like this happens, you and your child will have an easier time if there’s a plan in place. Now is the time to figure out what your child will need if his teacher leaves mid-year. This is especially important if you have a child with special needs, who receives individualized support and services.
In some ways, the exhaustion of 2022 feels more complex than ever. Let’s not make things worse by taking it out on people who are quite possibly more stressed than you but still showing up to teach and love your kids. Remember, most of them are in the parenting trenches with us. Simple acts of kindness and patience can make profound differences when people feel unappreciated and ready to give up.
To get through this time, we have to stick together. This is about encouraging one another during a part of the marathon where we feel like we can’t go on. Let’s hope that means we are finally in transition, that turning point in the race, where we’ve finally reached the final stretch.
Stephanie Malia Krauss is a mom, educator, and social worker. She is the founder of First Quarter Strategies and the author of Making It: What Today’s Kids Need for Tomorrow’s World. Her next book, Whole Child, Whole Life: 10 Ways to Help Kids Thrive Now and in the Future will be released in 2023. Find her on Twitter @stephanie_malia.
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]]>On one of the frigid days over winter break, I invited (forced) my 11-year-old son to take our dogs on a walk with me. We hadn’t gotten far when my son, the pint-sized philosopher of our family, turned to me and asked: “Mom, do the pros outweigh the cons as a parent?” I literally stopped in my tracks because I was so struck by his question. While tempted to launch into a long-winded response, I actually took the advice I give other parents and got curious. “Do you mean, is it generally good to be a parent more often than it’s bad to be a parent?” When he nodded, I pulled out another parenting trick and turned the question on him: “Well, what do you think?”
He took a deep breath and said, “Well, the pro is that you get to create another human being and watch them evolve, so that’s pretty cool. But that’s kind of the only pro.” Then I asked him what the cons were and he spent the rest of our 30 minute walk expounding on the negative aspects of parenthood. One example in particular stood out to me. My kid described a scenario in which a parent is stressed out about finishing her work, but instead she has to help her kid with something, so it can be really frustrating. (Ouch. It was not a mystery to me where he got that example.)
My son’s description of this “parenting con” – having to help your kid when you’re stressed about your own work – lingered with me long after we finished our mugs of hot chocolate. First, it made me realize how much the stress we feel as parents, knowingly or unknowingly, gets communicated to our kids. Second, in the context of that stress, my son seemed to have absorbed the message that parents have to help kids, rather than want to help kids. Third, and this was a gut wrenching epiphany, that my kid, consciously or not, was expressing that his needs were low down the hierarchy in the larger context of our family.
I don’t want my kid to feel like a burden, even though sometimes he is, as are all children. I want my child to feel valued, even in the moments when I feel overwhelmed by the responsibilities of raising him and the endless demands of life. The more I thought about my son’s question, the more I realized that he was seeking reassurance that he is a worthy member of our family from me, both in word and deed. So first, I circled back with him and told him that yes, being a parent can be really hard and I get frustrated, but the pro he articulated to me – creating a person and watching him evolve – was more important than anything else I do. Then I came up with three ways to demonstrate to my son, through my daily actions, how important he truly is to me.
I deliberately carve out time when I am completely focused on my son without phone calls, social media scrolling or texting. I aim for 30 minutes at least once a day where we play air hockey or bake together or watch a show and I have no competing responsibilities. These daily opportunities allow me to connect with my son in fun ways and help him feel secure in our relationship.
I learned this one from my husband: after my son and I have time together – take the dogs on a walk, make a run to the grocery store, play soccer in the yard – I thank him for spending time with me and for being such a wonderful companion. This communicates to him that I value and enjoy the time I have with him, rather than seeing it as a burden.
If I’m not going to be available to my son, I give him lots of notice beforehand so that he doesn’t feel abandoned and I don’t feel stressed that I’m letting him down. We take a minute together to see if there is anything he needs from me before I get to work and make a plan for me to be helpful when I am free. This demonstrates that I believe his needs are important even when I can’t help him at that very second.
None of this is rocket science, but it’s rooted in one lesson I’ve learned parenting four kids over nearly 20 years: so often it’s the little moments, not the grand gestures, that our kids appreciate. Frequently, it’s the passing compliment or words of encouragement that help our kids feel good about themselves. I am always amazed at how consistent, small efforts lead to big, meaningful impact in helping kids to feel loved and valued in our families. As winter turns to spring later this year, I hope that when my son and I take our dogs for a walk, he will know in his heart that for me, the pros do outweigh the cons as a parent.
Vanessa Kroll Bennett is the co-host of The Puberty Podcast; the founder of Dynamo Girl, a company using sports and puberty education to empower kids; and the author of the Uncertain Parenting Newsletter, musings on raising adolescents.
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]]>It was my choice to stay home with them. Their dad, my ex-husband, would have supported me in whatever I’d wanted to do, but staying home with them was something I felt passionately about — and that never changed no matter how many hours I’d cry, feel tapped out, or wanted to run.
However, I needed an escape every now and again. After all, mothers aren’t designed to want to stay with their kids at every waking moment, no matter what anyone thinks. We are humans with other interests, relationships, and passions. Pursuing those things is what makes us better moms.
We all need time away whether it’s to go to work, away for the weekend with our partner or friends, or just an afternoon sitting alone reading without any kids.
But this past year, something in me has shifted. My kids are 17, 16, and 14, and the only thing I want to do is hang out with them. When my friends ask me to meet them for lunch, go shopping, or go away for the weekend, I have zero desire unless it’s their time with their dad and they won’t be home anyway.
If I make an appointment, I try my hardest to schedule it when they are at work or have plans.
The desire to have that physical and mental escape from them has left me, and all I want to do is soak them in.
Every second counts, and I’ve lost interest in doing a lot of things that used to fuel me — because getting time with them during these days, when seeing them is rare, is so important that it makes everything else fall to the bottom of the pile.
I realize this is one of those stages that will come to an end. I know I need a life outside of them, and I do have one. I just prefer, right now, to do my hobbies and plan my social life around them because damn, I don’t have much time left.
They all work, they are going back to school in a few days, and they have friends and hobbies that keep them really busy. Their moments at home with me when we don’t need to be going to the doctor’s office, the dentist, grocery shopping, or getting them something they need are few and far between.
I’d rather be present with them than rushing off to lunch, going to a class, or browsing Target. These are all things that used to get me through the long days of motherhood, and while I’m not sorry I lived my life and took these respites from my kids, I just don’t need those anymore.
My kids are older, independent, spend a lot of time in their rooms, and do their own thing.
It doesn’t feel like a sacrifice to me. It’s intentional; I treasure each second and it’s what’s giving me life right now. Kind of like sipping a Diet Coke through Target alone used to, only this is better.
I’m not sure if this feeling I have, this shift in my mood, is from COVID, from the fact they are getting closer and closer to moving out, or if something is wrong with me.
I’ve often wondered over the past year if it’s depression and if I’m withdrawing from my life too much. I used to crave time with my girlfriends. I made more of an effort to reach out, get together, and find time to leave the house and pursue things like shopping and different hobbies.
But now, I only crave time with my kids. I am content and feel whole. I’m calm and am happy to be with them and don’t have the urge to keep up with a social life like I used to.
I’m happy to get up and workout or hit spin class before they are even awake because that means more time with them.
I’m sure this is all happening because I can see how soon they will be leaving to spread their wings and my time with them is already so much less than it used to be. They are so busy with their lives and that is my break — they are giving it to me whether I want it or not. So, I’m just going to continue to scoop up all the time I can with them while they’re home.
Besides, good friends understand that your friendship may ebb and flow — and my hobbies, and love of browsing Target alone, aren’t going anywhere.
Right now, I’ll spend every second I can with my kids because that’s what I want to do … and that’s reason enough.
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]]>A few months after I returned to work from maternity leave, an opposing attorney I hadn’t seen since before I had gone on leave welcomed me “back.” “You’re back in the game now,” she said, and I nodded, acknowledging that I was in fact back to the adult world of daily commutes, phone messages, and carefully worded e-mails to my adversaries.
I agreed with the sentiment that maternity leave was a different world than my previous work life, and different still from life as a working mom. Still, the thought that I had gone somewhere and had now “come back” did not exactly ring true for me.
Like many moms might agree, the person I was before becoming a mom pretty much evaporated the second the labor and delivery nurse called the time of birth. I am unabashedly a different person now than the one who first decided it was a great idea to throw a baby into the mix.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m still me. I still have many of the same goals, dreams, and desires. I still like Diet Pepsi a little too much. I still love getting my daily workout in. I still like to have fun with my husband and laugh at jokes that only we find funny. I still want to be a good attorney and do well for my clients. The difference now is that I have a tiny person who, along with my husband, comes before all else.
In motherhood, we make it work however we have to. Whether we choose to continue our careers after having children or choose to focus solely on parenthood, or some mix of the two, we take what we choose or what we are given, and we find a way to make things work for us and for our children. We work from home. We adjust our schedules so that our time with our children is maximized. We negotiate for time with our partners, ourselves, and our children.
We know that sometimes there are sacrifices we have to make. We take time off from work. We return to work. We give up rock-climbing or parasailing or temporarily disavow sushi and wild-caught Alaskan halibut. Whatever it is, we negotiate these choices because we want what is best for our children. We become inherently different people than who we were before we became “mom”—and that’s OK.
It has been a year since I returned to work following my maternity leave, and in that time, I’ve worked from home a couple days each week to maximize my time with my son. I’ve adjusted my office hours. I’ve stressed. I’ve worried. I’ve known that much of this is temporary. In one year from now, my husband and I will be in a position that will allow me to begin working part-time or stop working altogether, at least for awhile. Whatever I choose will be my choice, and I know I am fortunate to even have the choice.
The choices I make now as a mom may be different from the choices I may have made in my pre-baby life. But just as I wouldn’t defer to my younger self on most important life issues, I’m not going to wonder what my pre-baby self would do. I trust my new mama self to make the right decisions for herself and for her family. In fact, I’m way more badass as a mom than I ever was before having my son.
Before becoming pregnant, I never would have thought I could survive chairing a trial with constant nausea or vomiting, or that I could get through a deposition with a 7-pound bowling ball on my bladder. And that was even before the first labor pain, the final push, the first sleepless night, the hundredth sleepless night, and the million and one other changes that followed after I became a mom.
Returning to work in itself was a feat of emotional strength, as was developing the trust in our caregivers I needed to have following my return. Being a mother is liberating. The love and concern I have for my son and our family easily overshadows any judgment or opinion anyone else may have about our life.
I am more motivated to excel and to make a difference in ways that matter. The time away from my son is a sacrifice, which makes it all the more important that that time be valuable—that it be worth something. I’m more efficient with my time. I do more with less. I cut to the chase. I care about my work, and I work hard.
The difference now is that it is my son who is literally my life’s work. Motherhood is my game now. Everything else is just a part of it.
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]]>I’m not a fan of sappy marriage and relationship posts. I love being married, but I think there’s a lot of fake bullshit surrounding the institution of marriage, and I don’t think the key to a strong partnership can be summed up by a cute meme, Instagram post, or greeting card. I also think a lot of advice about marriage sets people up for disappointment and impossible-to-fulfill expectations.
That said, people often ask me how my husband and I have made it work all these years. I honestly don’t know the answer to that! I think we just have many of the same values about marriage, family, and relationships, and that our personalities complement each other.
Still, when I sat down recently to compile a list of things that I think have made our marriage work, it turns out I have many thoughts. There are a lot of ingredients that go into strong, long-lasting relationships — at least in my experience — and I’ve come to understand them better as the years have ticked by.
So, without further ado, here are 20 things I’ve learned in 20 years of marriage.
Humor is essential in marriage and in life. And oh my God, if the trials and tribulations of raising kids aren’t met with a healthy sense of humor, I don’t think it’s possible to survive. My husband is the most hilarious person I know, he thinks I’m pretty funny too, and I’m not sure our marriage wouldn’t work without laughter.
You may not realize this at first, but it’s just a fact that you’ll have the same damn fight over and over, just with different examples and scenarios. Once you realize this, you’ll be better able to navigate each thing that comes up. You’ll be able to say, “Oh, this again! Let’s try to remember how we got through it the last time.” You’ll still get pissed off every time, but it won’t feel as insurmountable.
There are some things about your partner that just aren’t going to change. There are some things about yourself that aren’t going to change. After many years together, this will become clearer and clearer, and you’ll stop trying to change your partner (or yourself) into the person you want them to be.
You’ll learn to accept the other person for who they are and will stop trying to “fix” them. At the same time, you’ll be clearer about what is totally unacceptable for you. For some relationships, getting to this place might be the beginning of the end. For others, it will mark a time of growth and solidification.
No matter how many years pass, it will still feel like you’re making everything up as you go along, from finances, job decisions, household roles, and parenting. Each year, new shit comes up and you will have to figure it all out, as if for the first time. But you’ll get used to that, and have more faith that it will all work out.
It’s going to feel totally unromantic to schedule dates (and sex), but the more years you are married, the busier and more exhausted you will be. And so scheduling that stuff in will be crucial. You’ll be less embarrassed and uncomfortable about doing so, and you’ll understand the importance of making this stuff happen.
In many ways, you’ll always be the same two people who fell in love all those years ago. But you’ll also realize how very different you are as you move through different life stages. You’ll mature and grow as people, and sometimes you’ll look back at the person you married and feel like you barely recognize them (this is usually for the better, but not always, of course).
This is one of those rules of marriage that you are supposed to abide by, but as you get deeper into marriage, you will start to feel more tolerant of each other’s difficult feelings, and you will learn to give space for the hard shit. But this is because you’ll trust that these things work out with time and space (and often, with a good night’s sleep!).
Some years of marriage are really freaking hard. But just like in life, the more hard things you go through together, the more resilience you build. This means that next time your marriage faces a difficult bump in the road (and believe me, it will), you’ll know that your marriage can withstand the challenge.
Marriage means showing up, period. It means that one person isn’t burdened with all the housework, childcare, planning, decision making, etc. Love is nothing without that.
I do think sexless marriages are pretty much doomed to fail. That said, it’s important to accept that some years and months are going to hotter in terms of sex and desire than others. Talking about this is key. Usually if there’s a significant dry period, it’s because someone in the relationship is feeling overburdened, stressed, or uncared for. Addressing this helps.
Little political or moral disagreements are one thing. But for a marriage to last, you are going to need to really align with your partner on your core beliefs. As the years go on, this shit becomes more important, and you’ll become less tolerant of someone who clashes with you about the basic stuff.
Perfection is highly overrated in marriage, and so is happiness. In fact, the term “happily married” should probably be banished from our vocabularies. It’s impossible to feel happy with your spouse or your marriage all the time. However, you do need to feel emotionally safe, and you need to feel that your partner has your back.
You need to have an identity outside your marriage. Expecting your partner to fulfill all of your needs for connection and personal interests put them in an impossible position, and isn’t healthy.
You’re never going to stop being irritated AF by the sound of them slurping soup, or their habit of leaving their socks on the kitchen counter.
We have a rule around here that whenever one of us breaks a glass or spills something in the kitchen, the other person swoops in to clean it up if they’re around. 10/10 would recommend.
Once you start being a married couple in your 40s, with aches and pains galore, and with aging parents who need your help, you begin to truly understand what it means to grow old together. And you’ll appreciate having someone to do it with.
All those years ago, it might have been weird to tell your partner that your butthole was itchy, or that you didn’t like a move they pulled during sex, but once you’ve been married for a while, all those fucks go flying right out the window. It’s very freeing.
Early on in your marriage, it may have been tempting to try to figure out why some marriages worked and others didn’t. But after a while, you’ll realize that what makes a marriage work is actually very specific to the couple, their life circumstances, and even their luck. Most of the time, comparing your marriage to someone else’s and trying to avoid another marriage’s mistakes (or adopt their successes) actually doesn’t make much sense and doesn’t work.
The one good thing about the pandemic is that many of us gained new clarity about our relationships with others, and our marriages specifically. Being trapped in the house with someone for weeks and months on end will do that. Many folk realized that their marriage was just not working, but many of us also realized that if our relationship can stand quarantine, then it can stand virtually anything.
So there you have it. It should go without saying that this list is based on my experience, and my experience alone. I’m sure other married couples will read this and completely disagree. That’s okay. As the saying goes, “Take what you want, and leave the rest behind.”
It’s also possible that my husband will read this list and think that I’m way off. That’s okay too! If anything, being married all these years has taught me that a healthy level of disagreement is actually vital and necessary, and he agrees too.
Love you, babe.
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]]>One thousand, four hundred and forty minutes, and another day has gone by where it feels like I’ve accomplished nothing. How is the house messy already? Didn’t I just clean up yesterday? How can one little person who can’t even walk need so many things? More laundry? Life becomes repetitive: The baby sleeps, the baby eats, mom tries to sleep, mom might get to eat, attempt to pick up the house while the baby sleeps, and repeat. Chores used to be something that I fit in before work or at lunch. Laundry was never an insurmountable task that seems to take an entire day.
One thousand, four hundred and forty minutes in a day, but I haven’t even had time to shower. When was the last time I showered? Remember when the day started with a fresh blow dry, a cute outfit and makeup? Today, I’m happy if I remember to change out of my pajamas and brush my teeth. Do I even own clothes that aren’t designed for yoga, because I can’t remember the last time I was wearing pants that zipped, but who’s counting?
One thousand, four hundred and forty minutes in a day, and if I place the value of my day in what I accomplished, my days would seem worthless. When my husband comes home from work, he asks, “What did you do today?” and it’s hard to even express what passed the time. Between feeding the baby, consoling tears, and attempting to not let my house look like an episode of Hoarders, I’ve been busy all day, yet none of it feels measurable. I didn’t complete a big project at work, I haven’t made any progress toward my goals, and if I were to judge how busy I was with chores by how clean the house looks, well then, I’ve done nothing, and we will repeat it all again tomorrow.
One thousand, four hundred and forty minutes in a day: No shower, more laundry, and the house just seems to be getting messier and messier, but I remind myself every day that these moments are ones that I will look back on years from now and wish I could have back. I’m sitting here writing while my 1-month-old son is asleep on my chest. When did that happen? I blinked, and a month went by. If only my last month of pregnancy could have gone by so quickly! In the midst of sleepless nights and dozens of diapers, the early weeks and months of motherhood fly by while I try to figure the whole thing out.
The pace of repetitive days but speedy weeks induces a whirlwind of emotions. I’ve never been this happy and in love, but simultaneously felt so trapped by my house and mildly resentful that my husband gets to leave the house and go to work. I am depressed at the same time that my maternity leave is flying by, and soon, I will have to leave my precious bundle to return to work, but all the while, I think, that I must be crazy, because it can’t be possible to feel all these feeling at once.
But I do feel all of these feelings at once as I am struggling to learn to be present and enjoy these fleeting moments, because it won’t be like this for long. Someday too soon, the baby won’t be crying at 2 a.m. He won’t need me to hold him so that he can fall asleep. The moment when I get to hold him will be far less than the moments that I won’t be able to. It’s so hard to be reminded of how quickly infants become toddlers in the middle of the struggle because there are parts of mothering an infant that make me thankful that it is just a phase, but also parts that I know I will miss.
There are only one thousand, four hundred and forty minutes in a day, and I can’t measure their value by the how long it’s been since I’ve been able to leave the house, how big the pile of laundry is, or what I’ve “accomplished.” Those minutes are measured in snuggles and smiles, because those minutes are too fast and too few, and despite the sleep deprivation, messy house, and crying baby, I am thankful to get to enjoy the journey.
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]]>As the new year begins, I reflect over the past year with fondness, nostalgia, and regret. Last year was one of the most rewarding yet challenging years of my life. It was the best year yet the most fearful. Becoming a mother has filled my heart with love that I never knew I was capable of and at the same time a fear that seemed to consume me.
I didn’t understand what was happening at the start, and it began gradually. I was happy, completely happy with our new family and besotted with this gorgeous bundle we had made. I loved being a mom. Sure, it was tiring and demanding, but I loved every minute of it. I wanted time to slow down so I could really cherish every single moment I had with my baby who I knew would grow up too fast. So when a nurse breached the subject of postpartum depression, I shot it down straight away. I wasn’t depressed — I was over the moon!
It started with little intruding thoughts here and there: “What if I fell down the stairs with the baby while my fiancé is away on business?” and “What if another car hit me while I was driving with the baby in the car?” but I managed to shrug them off until about three months postpartum when I started getting joint pain. I first had a little pain in one knee, then my fingers started clicking, until one morning I woke to find my thumb and forefingers were all bent and stiff.
After a trip to the doctor, I was referred to a rheumatologist, and that is when it all began. I became a Google doctor, googling my symptoms every moment I could, to the point my fiancé begged me to hand over my phone and computer. By the time I actually saw the rheumatologist, I had convinced myself I had an autoimmune disease and was going to die or be permanently disabled. Fortunately the rheumatologist confirmed that I have nothing of the sort and that it is common for women to experience joint pain after pregnancy.
My relief was only short-lived as I couldn’t accept that was the answer. What if I had something horrible and they were missing it? My constant googling and paranoia started to take control of my life. Any symptom I felt, I would google it. In one afternoon, I had googled over 10 different cancers and was fearful that I might have one of them. My breaking point was when I was taken to hospital in Australia for abdominal pain and was told I had a cyst on my right ovary. Unfortunately for me, I was first told by a student doctor who had no idea what she was saying, whose uncertainty and elusiveness sent me into a panicked crying fit.
I pleaded with God and life to not let this happen, that I had a baby who needed me and that I didn’t want to die. Since the death of my father when I was young, I had always wanted a family of my own to fill the void. Now I finally had my family, and I was finally happy. I begged to God: Please do not take this away from me.
So when the senior doctor came in and explained that the cyst was benign and was most likely caused by endometriosis, he shone a light and made me see that I had a problem. My brief outburst had brought up feelings that I didn’t realize I still had. It made me face the fact that I still had issues concerning my dad’s passing. My fear of missing out on my son’s life is rooted in the sadness that my dad is missing out on mine — that he will never be able to meet his grandchild, that he won’t be here to walk me down the aisle.
When I got home, I looked up postpartum depression and found postpartum health anxiety. I was shocked to see that I was not the only one. It is a very common part of postpartum anxiety that is not often talked about. Women all over the world were feeling the exact same way as me, whether they had lost a parent or not, and were in need of help. As I read all the stories of all these different mothers I felt relief and sadness. Relief that I was not the only one and that with help I could address my issues. Sadness at seeing so many others suffer and torment themselves all because there is not enough education on this subject.
There is a stigma regarding postpartum depression and anxiety which needs to be addressed. Women need to know that no matter how strong, independent, and good a mother you are, you can also experience a form of postpartum depression and there is nothing wrong with that.
I falsely believed that because I was not having difficulty bonding with my baby, and did not experience sadness, I didn’t suffer from postpartum depression. We give up our bodies, lives, and sometimes our sanity for our babies. It takes time and patience to bounce back.We need to learn to admit that having a baby is hard and does take a toll on us without feeling like a failure and that it is okay to ask for help. I am the poster child for not asking for help.
If you are experiencing postpartum depression or anxiety, please speak up and let other women know they are not alone. It was difficult for me to write this and share with you all, but if I can help just one person by writing this and encouraging others to tell their story, then it is worth it.
If you think you might be suffering from PPD, or need some extra support, visit www.postpartumprogress.com.
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]]>The post 10 Reasons You Shouldn’t Touch A Pregnant Woman’s Belly appeared first on Scary Mommy.
]]>It’s bad enough your “bundle of joy” will completely rearrange your organs and use your bladder as a loveseat. But your outside world will also be under attack by other people’s yucky fingers hoping to cop a feel of your bump.
PSA, folks: keep your hands to yourself. A pregnant belly isn’t license for family, friends and random strangers to go around touching you — and here are 10 reasons why.
Most people I know ask permission before touching someone’s dog. Unfortunately, that same courtesy isn’t often extended to protruding bellies. Pregnant women are still women — we’re people — and there’s still this little thing called body autonomy. It hasn’t gone anywhere just because we’re pregnant. You wouldn’t walk up to a non-pregnant woman and start rubbing on her belly, right? If you did that at work, you’d likely find yourself taking anti-harassment training. Yet, for some reason, the moment people find out you have a baby on the way, they think touching your belly is fair game.
Pregnant women, especially those who are in the later stages, already feel hyper-visible. When pregnant, it feels like everything you do or say is a source of scrutiny. The last thing we want is to bring even more attention to ourselves by being the human petting zoo that everyone has to rest their hands on.
If you’ve seen a zombie movie, you know that just because you are asymptomatic doesn’t mean you aren’t a carrier. Same is true for nasty little viruses and infections. Cold and flu seasons have been hitting us hard for the last few years. The last thing you want to do is spread germs to a mom and baby.
Automatically reaching out and touching a pregnant person’s belly can lead to unintended mental harm as well. Social anxiety leaves millions of people uncomfortable in public. But certain conditions like haphephobia — an extreme aversion to being touched — might cause a simple graze to lead to a breakdown. Remember, some people are living with physical and mental disabilities. Don’t assume every pregnant person is neurotypical or someone with “normal” cognitive functioning.
I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume we’re all adults here. By now, we are all aware that babies are in the uterus — not the belly. Depending on how pregnant someone is, the baby might not even be in the stomach looking area, yet. So what are you feeling for? The plushiness of one’s uterus? The kicks that you have a one in a million chance of catching? Or are you just testing the waters to see how many times you can invade someone’s space before you face long-term consequences?
When’s the last time you saw someone walk up to an expecting father and rub his ball sack? Sure, a ton of dudes wouldn’t mind, but there’s a high likelihood it would be accompanied by possible legal consequences. So why are women’s bodies public domain? Answer: they’re not.
As a Black southern woman, I was brought up just a tad superstitious. One of the warnings I remember hearing a lot growing up was about touches from strangers. Something about evil spirits and bad intentions harming the unborn. Do I find that a bit dramatic? Sure. Do I wanna find out the hard way? No, thanks.
Other cultures might have similar beliefs and customs about touches from strangers, as well. Best to keep your hands off.
Some women aren’t even comfortable with their partners touching their bump — and they were involved in the decision to put them there. Don’t overestimate your importance in any woman’s life, especially one who is pregnant. We are often moody and grumpy. You don’t wanna make that moodiness worse by granting yourself permission to someone else’s body. Even if you were close before, you might not be as close after the lashing you get afterward.
This one is easy enough — my body my rules. If you want to caress someone slowly touch your own belly fat.
Although all of these reasons can explain why a pregnant woman doesn’t want you to touch her belly, this one is the most important. As a human being, I don’t owe any more in-depth explanation of why I don’t want to be touched by friends, family members, or strangers. Respect personal space and keep your hands to yourself.
Despite all of the above, there is nothing wrong with a pregnant woman who likes others touching their belly. Some find it comforting, enjoy the attention, and don’t mind physical touch. But be sure to allow each woman to make this decision for herself. Don’t assume anyone is comfortable with unsolicited contact.
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]]>The post Being Loved And Feeling Seen Are Not the Same Thing––Kids Need Both appeared first on Scary Mommy.
]]>He knows that I love him, but it is just as important for him to know that I see him. What does that mean? I see him. It means that I understand that he has opinions, and feelings, and value. His thoughts are just as important as everyone else’s and he needs to know that it is OK to use his voice and speak his mind. When I say that I see him, I mean that I recognize his emotions and his fears, his joys and his talents. He isn’t just a face in our crowded house. He is vital to our family unit.
Kids need to understand that they are seen, even if they think that they are not always heard. Parents’ lives are busy. We are working and taking care of a house and managing kids’ schedules and trying to find time to make dinner in between. It is easy for our children to go unnoticed. Even though you are with them, how many times have you completely zoned out when they were telling you a story? Your mind is so filled with just the day-to-day that it can sometimes be hard to focus. But our children need our focus.
Knowing that you are seen helps to create a sense of self worth and gives a child self-confidence. When you feel good about yourself, you have a positive attitude and that can be contagious. People want to be around people that our happy. As our children grow, their attitude and the way that they carry themselves will aid them in many aspects of their lives including intimate relationships and future careers. People who feel seen feel valued and are successful.
So how do you make your child feel seen? When they are doing something well, compliment them. When they are having a hard day, ask them how they are feeling. If they need some one-on-one time, give it to them. Put down your phone or close your laptop and just listen. These don’t need to be grandiose gestures; just a little extra attention here and there is what our children need.
We are our children’s first teachers and we set the example for their behavior. It is important to teach our children to recognize other people. Encourage your kids to be complementary and empathetic to their siblings and friends. Help them to understand how far a kind word or gesture can go. We have all seen the classmate who is left out; make sure that your child knows to include them and to be a friend. Kindness matters. And when someone is kind to you, you feel seen.
If we’re doing our jobs, and I would say that most of us are, our children know that we love them. We tell them that not only in words, but also in actions. We feed and clothe them. We drive them to school and pick them up from practice. We help with their homework and calm them after a bad dream. There is no doubt that a child needs to feel that love every day.
Take the time to go beyond telling them that you love them. Make the extra effort to recognize that which you love about them. Every child brings something special to the table. We have all been given gifts; for some, it is a talent like a musical instrument or being a gifted athlete. In others, they may be an empath and excellent listener. Learn to be intuitive with your child. Find out what it is that makes them feel the most valued, and do your best to help them to make that characteristic shine.
When the family is deciding on dinner, ask for everyone’s opinion. It may not be a consensus, but every vote counts. When your child brings home a good grade, post it on the fridge for the whole family to see. If your child has a part in the school play, sit in the audience and beam with pride. In the end, those are the things that matter. You child will feel your love the most when they are seen for the gift that they are.
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]]>The post Running On Empty appeared first on Scary Mommy.
]]>“Hi,” I said, fanning my face before starting to lay my groceries on the conveyor belt. My usual meticulous grouping of like products flew out the window as I hurried to match the speed of the scanning and bagging. Onions mixed with ice cream, mixed with shampoo, into the bag they went, messy—like my unwashed hair, banana-smeared top, and scrambled brain.
Meanwhile, my daughter, sitting in the cart’s designated baby seat, screamed at us and not those cute little yelps designed to say, “Look at me, I’m so bloody adorable with my little white teeth, golden curls, and pink leggings.” No, the screeches she was producing were terrible. Imagine the sound a miniature pterodactyl/rhinoceros hybrid would make when angered. Then multiply it by 15.
Willing the tears to stay back, I turned to the girl serving me. Her discomfort was palpable. I forced a smile and said, “Have children, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.”
It was meant as a joke, something to break the tension. We were supposed to laugh together and then relax into a chat about how full on kids can be. But that didn’t happen. She looked up for a split second, gave a fleeting smile, then concentrated extra hard on bagging my vegetables.
I let out an awkward laugh and started placing my messy bags neatly into the cart, hanging on to the tiny shred of control I had over the situation. The baby was tantrumming. I was sweating. My jokes were falling flat. The groceries were not grouped correctly. Dammit, at least the bags would be stacked in a civilized fashion.
I’d been listening to my daughter’s tantrums since we started shopping. In my desperation to console her, I handed her whatever she happened to point at—a ball, water, food, my keys, a freakin’ cucumber. Every single item ended up on the floor. So not only was I shoveling things into the cart like a shopaholic on crack, I was also bouncing up and down like a demented jack-in-the-box picking up her rejected playthings.
I had known it was going to be a longer shopping trip than usual as I needed to stock up on supplies for her two birthday parties. No one was available to babysit. My husband was playing golf. My sister was working. My mother was working. Of course, my husband had made sure I didn’t need him before he booked the round, but really, who the hell knows a breakdown is around the corner?
I paid for the groceries and made a beeline for my car, desperate for some privacy. I looked down at my daughter. I wanted to say, “Stop. Stop screaming. Stop whining. Just stop.”
Instead, I stopped. I brought the cart to a grinding halt and took a deep breath. All of a sudden I was overcome with guilt. Because when I looked down at my daughter, I didn’t see a small predatory animal intent on tormenting me. I saw a sad little girl holding her arms up to her mom for a cuddle. Two of the tears I’d been holding in escaped and rolled down my cheeks. I leaned forward, planted a kiss on top of her head, and then continued walking to the car. The moment we got there, I scooped my baby up into my arms and held her close until she calmed down. When the cries subsided, I buckled her into her seat and loaded the groceries into my car.
Once home, I forced my list of to-dos out of my mind and sat on the floor with my daughter as she proceeded to take every single toy out of the toy box one-by-one—her favorite game. Every so often, she’d hand me a random object and babble something incoherently. Smiles replaced screams. It wasn’t two damn birthday parties and a special monkey cake she needed. It was her mother’s attention, her mother’s time.
Maybe she didn’t need the cake, but my Instagram account did. Okay?
Why was I finding it difficult to give my daughter what she needed? Quite simply, my tank was empty—the fuel spent long ago on planning, list-writing, shopping, article research, Googling cake recipes, and more list-writing. Ridiculous. I see that now.
We spend so much time thinking about what our kids “need”—all the Bonds onesies so they look fab even when they sleep, a little extra money in their bank accounts because last month they got $48 instead of $50, gold for their birthdays “just in case they need to sell some stuff for a quick buck in the future” (or is that last one just me?). But really, all your kids need is you. The best version of you. But here’s the thing: To actually have the capacity to give your children what they need, you need to give yourself what you need.
Whether it’s a long walk, therapy, or Keeping Up With the Kardashians that feeds your soul, find a way to give it to yourself. Baby’s napping? Ignore the dishes and sink into the couch with a cup of tea instead. Craving some alone time? If possible, drop your little one off at a friend or relative’s house once a week—even if all you do is stare at a wall for the following two hours. Losing your mind from sleep deprivation? Okay, I got nothing. But I will say this: I share your struggle. You’re not alone.
Deny yourself the time you need to refuel, and you deny your child the best version of you. I felt like a genius when the penny finally dropped for me. I wanted to stand on the roof of my house and yell, “I get it now! I need to look after me so I can look after her!” But let’s face it: I’m just too tired for that shit.
I made it through that busy weekend without anymore hiccups by the way—well, not major ones anyway, just a handful of embarrassing ones. Instead of ordering a prawn and pork rice paper roll for another on-the-run lunch, I ordered a “porn roll.” Thankfully the girl serving me knew what I really meant. I also announced to everyone at my daughter’s birthday party that I’d bring out the “Chim Cham Teesecake” (Tim Tam Cheesecake), just as soon as I changed the baby’s “wappy” (wet nappy). Not the words I intended to use, but sometimes, when a mom’s run off her feet, her brain becomes tired too. That weekend, I was a tired mom who couldn’t be fully present for her daughter’s birthday. I decided to take the following few days to slow down, use my words, and throw all the lists out the window.
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]]>The post I Didn’t Know I Was Meant To Have A Little Girl appeared first on Scary Mommy.
]]>I was meant to have a little girl.
I’ve always been the march-to-my-own-drum kind of girl. I never planned my wedding or even thought about it. I never imagined having kids or their names. Hell, I didn’t even like baby dolls but played with stuffed animals instead. My toy dinosaurs ate my Barbies and dirt was my best friend.
Fast forward to my teenage years. They were rough. I was always convinced everything was a fight. I had to fight everyone and everything. Only I knew what was best. Needless to say, I exhausted myself. I wore myself down. I was too young and dumb to be that stubborn. In those teenage years, I lost myself. I lost myself to boys, to drinking, to the party life.
Kids were never on my to-do list. So, when I popped up pregnant after years of being with my current significant other and pretty convinced I was sterile, I was in shock. I really didn’t know how I felt. I was no longer a young dumb teenager, but a young adult who had made it out on the other side.
As the idea grew on me and I realized I was going to bring a new life into the world. All I could hope for was a boy. “I don’t know how to be a girl. I need a boy. I really have no idea how to be a girl” replayed in my head.
So when the day to find out the sex came, I was shattered. My baby was a girl. I cried. Uncontrollable, unlike me to show emotion. I cried in the doctor’s office to the point I couldn’t hide it from the doctor. My amazing doctor said, “Just wait; it will be okay.”
Now, here I am 2 years later, with my baby girl. The fire of my soul, the light in my life. The reason I breathe. A love I never even knew existed but swore I knew.
I didn’t know. I had no clue the power of becoming a mother. As I sit here with this sponge of a 2-year-old flying around my kitchen, I realized I know how to be a girl. Well no, not a girl, but a woman.
I’m starting to realize I’m perfect to have a little girl. I know what it’s like to be a true woman. I will teach her about how to be happy in her own skin. I will show her to never be ashamed of who she really is.
She can wear the dress or the camo pants. We will play tea party and with a toolset. My daughter will never be in a box. She will never be told what she can’t do. I will reassure her and push her.
I’ll show her how to be a part of the wild and not tamed to society’s standards. She will know she gets to choose.
I have never for a second thought of myself limited because I am a girl. Thinking this made me less of a girl, and yes it did. It made me less of a girl and more of a woman. Realizing this has made me feel ready more than ever to teach my daughter how to not just be a girl, but a limitless woman.
Now, if I ever have more children, I want another girl.
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]]>The post A Love Letter to My Bed appeared first on Scary Mommy.
]]>Dearest Memory Foam Lover,
I know you don’t see much of me these days. I know you miss me and I hope you understand that I miss you, too.
I miss the nights we would spend cuddling for hours without interruption or words breaking the sweet silence. We would merely lie there together knowing in our hearts that nothing needed to be said because we both knew we were exactly where we wanted to be.
I miss the long mornings we would enjoy together in each others embrace. I would drift in and out of sunlit slumber until 9, 10, 11AM and you were always there—cradling me and comforting me. You never left my side.
I miss just relaxing with you during winter afternoons. I would read a book or play on my phone and you would just be there with me. It was enough for us to simply exist together.
I miss you. I miss us.
I know for the past couple of years I’ve been distant and as though I don’t love you anymore, and I want you to know that is certainly not the case. In fact, I’ve longed for you even more since… well… you know.
The kids.
They don’t love you like I love you. They climb up on me and unceremoniously scoot under the comforter to make themselves at home. They don’t realize they’re intruding on our love affair. They spill their milk all over you without remorse. They desecrate you with drool and other bodily fluids. I wake up in the middle of the night, wanting to be with you and only you, but I find my toddler’s feet in my face instead.
And even on those days where they leave us alone at night, those hours we get together are so few and far between. They say they need to go potty, they need a drink of water, they just want to play. They drag me away from you whilst I kick and scream because it’s you I want. You and only you.
I’ve talked to other women who have these problems—older women—women with more maturity and wisdom. They tell me that someday you and I will once again be reunited, yes, but it will never be the same. They tell me that, though the opportunity to languish in your presence will be available, I will be much too busy to enjoy it. And then there’s “the change” which will cause me—your soul mate—to drench you in sweat from hot flashes or leave you much too often throughout the night to pee.
I hear their words, but I can’t accept them. It hurts too much; the idea that our days of easy breezy living are gone breaks my heart. Perhaps they are right, but I choose to live in denial and believe that one day our romance will bloom once again.
Please don’t abandon me, my memory foam lover. Someday soon I hope my kids will stay in their own beds. I hope they begin sleeping in to hours later than 6 a.m. so I can spend more time with you. I hope that when they move out and leave me with an empty nest that I will find solace in your sweet softness once more.
Please know it’s not you—it’s me—and someday, oh how I hope, someday we will be together once more.
Related post: I Am So Tired
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]]>The post Dear Family: A Resignation Letter From Mom appeared first on Scary Mommy.
]]>I’m writing to inform you that, effective immediately; I’m resigning from my position as person who handles everything food related.
It’s been a pleasure working with you in this capacity, and I’ve learned innumerable skills and lessons in my fifteen years on the job, including, but hardly limited to cooking multiple dinners per night to accommodate the various dietary restrictions (also known as pickiness) from diners; creating a weekly online shopping list and navigating the many aisles of the grocery story to supplement said list; efficiently unloading all of the groceries independent of any assistance 90% of the time; creating a menu to satisfy all eaters; enjoying only lukewarm dinners; loading and emptying dishwasher on a daily basis.
While I welcomed this job when I stepped into the role fifteen years ago, it occurred to me over time that while my responsibilities grew, my compensation—in the form of gratitude, praise and assistance—didn’t grow at the pace of my increased roles. In fact, the compensation decreased over time, and rather than receiving my fair share for work endured, I have been offered complaints, criticisms, and a startling lack of involvement from the rest of the diners and kitchen staff.
And so, we must part ways.
Please note that I am happy to continue investing in the company. Though I will no longer be the person-who-handles-everything-food-related, I will continue to contribute my weekly paycheck to the purchase and production of food.
I am happy to work with you to help you train a replacement and ensure a smooth transition. I expect the following items to be outstanding on my last day, and though I will strive to complete as much as possible, these items should be considered regular tasks.
I’m sure upon consideration of above tasks, you’ll see what was quite obvious to me—this executive position was truly too big of a job for one person to handle effectively, unless it is one’s only full time position. With that said, if you reformat the position, I would be willing to consider returning on a part-time basis with a functioning team in place.
Thank you very much for the professional experience and opportunities over the years. I’ll look forward to running into you in the building, as I’ll be maintaining my other positions as person-who handles-all-the-laundry; person-who-handles-all-the-family-logistics including doctor appointments, weekday recreational travel and scheduling; and person-who-handles-overseeing-of-schoolwork, relationships and parties.
Wishing you all the best.
Sincerely,
Mom
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]]>The post 13 Ironies of Parenthood appeared first on Scary Mommy.
]]>1. You are constantly cleaning. Nothing is ever clean. Unless you have a maid or are on amphetamines, there is one thing completely out of reach to you from now on: for all rooms in your house to be clean all at the same time. You may get the upstairs. You may get the downstairs. You may get the bathroom, or the kitchen, or the laundry. But you’ll never have it all done at the same time. Unless meth.
2. Your bedtime is far earlier than it ever was before in life. You are always tired. I remember the college days, when staying up till 2AM was the norm. Now I couldn’t get past 9PM if red bull and strippers were involved. And yet still, I’m exhausted on a daily basis.
3. The thing which required sex to make (baby) results in you never having sex again. Although I didn’t make a baby within a gender normative relationship, this one still affects me. Of course I’m exaggerating—only slightly. In my case, it might be better stated this way: the thing which would be ideal to raise with two parents makes it impossible to find second parent.
4. You spend more time on personal care than you ever have in your life, but look and feel your worst. That’s because 99% of time spent grooming is on the kid, leaving 1% for the cat. Hours and hours spent bathing her, feeding her, brushing her… and then there’s the child. I used to look like 1990’s Janine Turner, and now I look like 1980’s Jason Bateman (photo evidence to follow). The irony for others here is that—at least presumably—they had to have some sort of sex appeal to attract someone to make a baby with them in the first place. And now it’s gone, just like number 3.
5. You make more money than you ever have in your life, but your piggy bank has never been emptier. Kids are expensive. In the last four years I have spent approximately $45,000 on Caroline’s school tuition. I’m considering demanding a bachelor’s degree when she graduates pre-K.
6. You successfully manage other people all day long, but can’t manage the tiny one at home. Or (in my case) you spent years on your higher education, graduating at the top of your class, but act like a slobbering moron to get the child to do what you want (which doesn’t even work half the time). The other day, in order to get Caroline to eat, I pretended to be the grean beans. “No, don’t eat me!” I pleaded, wiggling around one of the beans. “Please don’t turn me into poop. Anything but that. Just don’t eat me and turn me into poop! I don’t want to be poooooop!!!” It worked. Because poop is funny. Either I’m smarter than the kid, or dumber. I haven’t figured out which yet.
7. You force family fun situations. No one has fun. I took Caroline to Disney World several months ago and noticed this one everywhere. Parents dragging teary-eyed children through It’s a Small World or onto the Flying Dumbo ride or waiting four hours in line to see princesses. Four. Miserable. Hours. It was hot, the days were long, the kids were out of their routines, temper-tantrums abounded. I’ve noticed the same thing getting pictures with Santa. But we do it every year, maybe because our folks did it with us. “You will have fun dammit!” we say.
8. You always told yourself you’d never become your parents. When your child is old enough to be defiant, the first thing out of your mouth is something your mother would say. It’s ironic in the first place that you get a child as difficult as you were. But for you to turn into your mother on top of it is just salt in a wound. I have actually said to Caroline, “I’ll give you something to cry about!” I don’t even know why I said it, because I certainly didn’t mean it the same way my mother did, right before she’d reach into her purse for the dreaded plastic spatula she’d use to smack at me and my brothers as she chased us around in public places. But I said it. It came right out of my mouth. I don’t even know who I am anymore. Even if you’re determined not to make all the mistakes your parents did, don’t worry, you’ll make all new ones. Because irony.
9. You are constantly on your kid about listening to you, but tune them out all the time. I don’t know how many times I’ve lectured Caroline or ended up yelling at her because— She. Does. Not. Listen. To. My. Words. The flip side is I also don’t know how many times I’ve been trying to have a conversation with someone while she’s tugging at my shirt saying “mommy” over and over, and— It. Doesn’t. Even. Register. The day I realized we mutually don’t listen to each other was a total Keanu Reeves “Whoa” moment for me.
10. The child looks to you as a pillar of strength, assurance and safety. But life is just as scary for you as it is for her. You’re not afraid of the dark or the creepy looking Easter Bunny costume worn by some guy down at the VFW. Actually, scratch that, the bunny costume is emotionally scarring for anyone. But you are truly frightened when you hold your sick child and her temperature reaches 103 degrees and you don’t know what to do. Or when you think about how you’d put food on the table for her if you get injured or lose your job. Or when you worry about all the things that can happen to her when she goes out into the world, or when you wonder if you’re royally screwing up the whole raising-her-thing. You rock her gently and tell her everything is okay and there’s nothing to be afraid of, and you wish there was someone to comfort you in the same way. But there’s not.
11. You are never alone and still feel lonelier than you ever have in your life. I’m never alone. Never. I’m not alone for my morning pee. I’m not alone during the day at work. I can’t cook dinner without tripping over a 5-year-old full of questions I can’t answer (another irony). But, at least at times, I’ve never felt lonelier in my life. I’m a working single parent, but I know SAHM’s must feel the same way. I have cried myself to sleep wondering if I’ll ever be in bed next to another person again (who doesn’t have a diaper on, and I don’t mean when I’m 80). But unlike many SAHM’s, at least I get to interact with adults during the day. Being with children for long periods of time is lonely.
12. You constantly wish you could have “me” time. But when you get it you either miss your kid or feel guilty over wishing for their absence, or both. This one is ironic considering number 11. The times I feel the loneliest, I just want to be alone. The times I can’t do it anymore. The times I break, and there have been many. The only “me” time I get naturally built into my day is on my commute, in the morning after I’ve dropped off the child but before I get to work. Those are ten glorious minutes, and sometimes they are my favorite minutes of the day. But when someone takes the child off my hands for a longer period, I often spend my “me” time missing her or feeling guilty. Dammit all, what the hell is that? Or sometimes before bedtime I’ll be thinking how much I can’t wait to be away from her, but then when she falls asleep I stare at her thinking how amazing she is. This literally makes me feel bi-polar. Like, I’m pretty sure parenting has made me bi-polar.
13. You have a child to save your crumbling marriage. Baby turns out to be opposite of marriage glue. Okay I said I’d only have a dozen. But then I thought of this one, so now it’s a baker’s dozen. Obviously I’ve never experienced this personally, but I’ve watched plenty of you crazy straight people do it. Babies are often called bundles of joy. They are, in fact, bundles of screaming diarrhea. Because irony. It’s a head-scratcher why that wouldn’t save a troubled marriage.
Being a parent is hands-down the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. It’s soul-crushing, sobbing-on-the-floor hard sometimes. And perhaps the biggest irony of all is that I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Even with the constant exhaustion, the gray hair, the stress, the worry, all of it—I wouldn’t trade it, even though I never planned it. I may daydream about my previous life, but I’d still take the one that makes me feel bi-polar. Seriously, though, what the hell is that? That is beyond irony. It’s madness. No, it’s beyond madness. It’s motherhood.
Related post: 10 Things I Said My Children Would Never Do
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]]>I didn’t know I would fall in love at first sight when each of my own three children were born. I didn’t know the overwhelming love I would feel when my sons were placed on my chest or the instant protectiveness I would feel when my daughter was whisked away to the NICU before I got a chance to hold her.
I didn’t know the pure bliss that is holding a baby as they drift off to sleep, knowing they are safe and loved in the comfort of their mother’s arms. I didn’t know I would be content to rock them for hours in the nursery, inhaling the scent of freshly washed baby hair, and staring out the window while imagining our lives together. I didn’t know how gratifying it would be to provide them simple, basic necessities — food, a warm bath, clean jammies, and a quiet, dark room to sleep in. I didn’t know they would transform our house into a home.
I didn’t know how much I’d miss them when I returned to work after maternity leave. And that I would quickly decide to turn away all visitors during the workweek because our time together was so precious and limited that I didn’t want to share it with anyone else. I didn’t know that the highlight of my workdays would be racing home just to make them smile at me.
I didn’t know that their babbling would be music to my ears or that their little giggles would become my favorite sound. I didn’t know how amazing it would be to bear witness to their pride and excitement each time they learned something new. I didn’t know how early their little personalities would begin to emerge, or that such young people could have such big opinions, or that all of these things would be an endless source of entertainment.
I didn’t know that I (never really a morning person) would begin to love mornings, waking up to the sweet sound of baby chatter on the monitor, and being greeted with a big smile and chubby little arms reaching out from the crib to hug me. I didn’t know that sometimes after a long, hard day, I would dare to tiptoe into the nursery after they’d been fast asleep for hours, just to steal an extra snuggle.
I didn’t know their existence would transform me, beginning a never-ending quest to better myself in order to be the role model they deserve.
I didn’t know how fast it would go. I didn’t know I’d cry bittersweet tears with my son’s teacher on his last day in the baby room, with the realization that somehow my baby had already become a toddler. I didn’t know I’d look back on those baby years and miss them. And that if given the chance now, I’d gladly turn back time and relive those years, knowing now that the sleepless nights, long days, and exhaustion all pale in comparison to the cuddles and the giggles, the wonder and the innocence, the simplicity and the joy.
Now I know.
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]]>It might not be what motherhood looks like to you, and it sure as hell isn’t what the commercials, social media, and society tells us motherhood looks like.
As parents, there are a lot of messages thrown at us about what it means to be a mother, what mothering looks like and, to some extent, what motherhood should feel like. These assumptions and expectations and pressures are so deeply ingrained in our society that we hardly notice them anymore—except when we don’t fit the mold.
On the one hand, we glorify mothers, putting them on some kind of saintly pedestal. Yet at the same time, we hold mothers to some unrealistic and unhealthy ideal, shaming and judging them when they don’t meet those standards.
I’ll be honest: I’m always a little relieved when Mother’s Day is over. In the days leading up to it—not to mention the day itself—these idealized and unrealistic messages about motherhood are at a fever pitch.
But Mother’s Day is a complicated holiday, just as motherhood itself is complicated.
While I am fortunate to have an amazing mom, I am well aware that many people have less-than-ideal relationships with their mothers. There are mothers estranged from their children, and children estranged from their mothers. There are people grieving the loss of their mother, and mothers grieving the loss of their child. There are people mourning that they are not mothers. There are mothers gritting their teeth through the muddy waters of motherhood, desperately trying to get their bearings.
Yes, there are plenty of people who have lovely mothers, are lovely mothers, and enjoyed a lovely Mother’s Day. But glossy images and sticky sweet quotes about motherhood do not change the fact that motherhood is complex.
It is hard not to remember my first Mother’s Day when, due to postpartum depression, all I wanted to do was pretend that I wasn’t a mother, and instead slapped on a happy face at the family barbecue. It is hard not to remember the Mother’s Day when I fell asleep on the couch in front of our guests because my body was still raging with pregnancy hormones even though a few days later I would have a D&C because I had miscarried—again. And it is hard not to remember the Mother’s Days, birthdays, Christmases, and every other holiday on the calendar when I was living in the limbo that is infertility treatments.
Motherhood is complex, and sometimes, for some people, Mother’s Day is really hard.
But what I have realized over the course of the nearly 10 years I have been a mother is that those shimmery images of motherhood—like the kind we get on Mother’s Day—are not what motherhood is to me. And that’s OK, because motherhood looks different, feels different, and means something different for everyone.
This photo right here of me and my boys in the minivan on the way to school is what motherhood is to me. Not brunch or a day at the beach. No photo ops, filtered and captioned with hashtags. No makeup or fancy clothes. Just me and my boys living our lives, together. This is motherhood—to me.
I’m fairly certain that when my boys look back on their childhood, they will not remember a mother in fancy clothes at brunch. What they will remember, however, is a tired-looking mom in yoga pants. They will remember our time together in our very messy minivan on the way to school, sporting events, and birthday parties. They will remember the fights and apologies and hugs that happen in the 10 minutes it takes to go from here to there. They will remember that the last thing I call out as they leave the car is “Be kind!” and the first thing I ask when they get in the car after school is “Who were you kind to today?”
This is what motherhood, with me as their mother, looks like to them.
And I’m fairly certain that when I look back on motherhood at this time in our lives, I won’t remember the gifts or cards or holiday outings. What I will remember are the paper hearts my younger son taped all over the house for me. I will remember how my older son says, “Don’t you want to know whom I was kind to today?” if I forget to ask. And I will remember all of these rides to and from school.
This is motherhood to me.
Motherhood looks different to everyone. Motherhood feels different for everyone. Motherhood means something different for everyone. It is complicated, messy, and not always pretty. But it is beautiful nonetheless—really freaking beautiful.
Not just on Mother’s Day, but on all the days.
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]]>I don’t even care if that sounds terrible. It feels like such a freaking challenge every day, and maybe it’s the teenage years or the fact that I am divorced and sharing my kids with my ex-husband or maybe it it’s the fact that my bank account is almost always hovering near (or below) zero or maybe it is both all and none of the above simultaneously. Because if it isn’t one thing it’s another. If it isn’t this mom, it’s the one down the road.
Parenting is hard freaking work; it requires us to be the equivalent of a CEO (of a company) whose employees we love so damn much and whose futures we are way-too invested in. The challenge of balancing parental love with discipline and responsibilities and just the right balance between authoritative and fun is near impossible. Every day, I start over and try to be better (actually, I try to be perfect) and every day I fail.
I love my kids so freaking much. I enjoy my time with them more than anything in the world. They make me laugh and they warm my heart and they are the best little (well, kind-of big) people I know. And when they leave my house to go to their dad’s, I miss them so terribly much that it physically hurts. And then the guilt sets in. And I desperately want a do-over of our time together so I can be the perfect mom I strive to be every damn morning and I beat myself up because I am so not perfect; I am not even close and while I know that none of us are perfect and I know that I never will be perfect, I still set the expectation of myself as a mother to perfection.
My own mother, who has five children, has always told me, “You are only as happy as your saddest child,” and oh my goodness is she right on the money with that one. And guess what? One child is always sad or upset or anxious or jealous or fighting for my attention. One always feels left out or less-loved or like everything in life is just not fair and oh-how it hurts my soul – no matter which child it is or why they are upset or even if they are justified in their emotions — it doesn’t matter. It hurts me to the core. If they are sad, I am sad times ten.
And I feel like the solution to their sadness lies in me. Like if I were a good enough mom they would never be sad. If I always choose the right words and hugged instead of yelled or gave space instead of invading it, or if only I had enough money for fun spa days and exotic vacations, then their pain would disappear. If I was patient enough and loving enough and fair enough in my parenting, well, then, they would be content and they would never fight with one another; they would never retreat to their rooms and bury their heads in their phone or roll their eyes or slam their doors. I want to take their every pain away and for some delusional reason, I think I can do it.
If only.
But I can’t. It does matter how hard I try or how much I pray for strength or how patient I am — I will never be perfect and I will never fully take away their sorrow and pain. And maybe that’s a good thing, in addition to an inevitable one.
Maybe my kids need to learn that life isn’t fair and that we can’t have our way all of the time. And maybe as a mother it isn’t my job to stop or prevent or take away the pain. Maybe as a mother I need to embrace the imperfection as a stepping-stone to growth and strength and to help my kids see the lesson. Maybe I need to embrace my children’s pain and learn from it. And maybe, maybe above all else, when I wake up each morning, I should promise myself that I will not try to perfect, but I will do my best on that given day because moms aren’t meant to be perfect. And neither are kids. Or life. And maybe that’s okay.
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]]>Until March, of course.
I needed this break, this COVID-19 break, more than I even knew. I no longer commute into New York because of the pandemic, but gratefully, I still very much have my job. Being home, being a teacher to my three children, making sure all are fed, safe, and that I am on the clock when I need to be, is teaching me about boundaries — a lesson I’ve been cultivating my entire life.
Boundaries are required for my sanity. They have a place in my everyday life, yet building them has not always been easy. In college, I learned how to say the word “no” and stand behind it, even if its delivery was as soft as a feather. COVID-19 has forced me to dust off the words I’ve buried down over the years to advance in my career. I’ve been speaking up for my needs (and those of my kids) in all the ways I need to, which I never would have imagined nine months ago. The structure of our lives has depended on me using my voice, setting boundaries, and declining work calls to finish my twins’ kindergarten phonics lesson or to ensure they were adequately logged into their own Google Meet with their “bosses” — their teachers.
According to a 2015 CNN Money report, women spent 7 hours 49 minutes working while we, on average, spent a mere 7 hours 56 minutes sleeping — yes, sleeping. We are now working from home, sleeping upstairs and working downstairs; it’s easy to work a little longer, to put in extra hours when the kids go to bed or schedule emails while bingeing one of the top 10 Netflix shows of the week. Do you know what else is easy? To not do those things. It’s easy to close the laptop, to shut off your cell phone, to let that one email go unanswered until your work clock starts again. We have the choice, the power to choose differently, to opt-in to a work/life balance that we wholly control.
When Friday arrives, I turn off, just shy of deleting my Google app from my phone. I do not check email after 5 pm. I do not check email over the weekend; that includes Saturday and Sunday. Given the nature of my job, I am available for emergent calls, which are very infrequent but happen throughout the year.
I do not feel like I am missing out on some important work email by signing off on Friday and not logging in again until Monday morning. What I am gaining is more valuable than staring at the bright screen of my iPhone. What I am gaining is time for me: to pour myself a glass of wine if I choose at 5:01 pm or to binge-watch Bridgerton on a Saturday or attend virtual church on Sunday. I’ve heeded the call from Representative Maxine Waters and reclaimed my time, and given myself back the moments that were taken away from me.
Don’t get me wrong, I value the role I play on my team at the nonprofit I work for. I am grateful for the hand I have in changing lives, and the humility I carry knowing the opportunity I have to get up and “go” to work. The honor in being a working person, an American with a job during a pandemic, is something I do not take for granted. But the pandemic has tested me in more ways than I can count: my mental health, my stamina, my strength, my marriage, my health, and my ego. The lesson I am most grateful for in all of this, the apology I will never have to make to anyone, is that I am not sorry for putting myself first.
Being a mom, we know, is hard as hell. We also know that we constantly put our kids first, and when we are asked to put ourselves first, we struggle. COVID-19 has given me the ability to not struggle with put myself first. My emotional and mental health depend on setting clear and healthy boundaries for my work (and life) balance, and both of those things are how I carry my family.
Let’s be real though, guilt is a nasty monster who can rise from the dead lookin’ like a zombie from “Thriller.” I sometimes feel the tug of guilt when I reschedule a work meeting because my kids’ teachers decided to move their Google Meet to another time, or hit the red button on my cell phone instead of the green one, declining a work call to follow-up later in the day.
But at that moment, I needed to be somewhere. Someone had to be available, and as of late, that “someone” is me. And I cannot be everywhere and everything to everyone. It is an impossible job to be at the top of my work game, the mom who bakes chocolate chip cookies from scratch every week, the wife who has meals prepared each evening for my partner, without allowing something to fall off of my very full plate.
I am putting myself back in the center of it all, setting these boundaries: turning off at the end of each workday, not answering emails while I bathe my kids or shushing them so I can complete a work phone call. This is my (and our) reality. COVID-19, we can all hope, will be a distant memory in the next few years, but what will remain are the boundaries I’ve put in place, the choices I make today, to use the voice I’ve been given. To stand up and decline work calls, reschedule meetings, tell my boss (in the most diplomatic and respectful of ways) that I cannot do something or I won’t make a deadline, has empowered me. It has also shown my kids that balance can be had, but only when we carve out time to tip the scales in our favor.
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]]>Before my first child, I had watched many women in my life slowly create humans in their bodies. They would give me their tidbits of insight and I would absorb the information like it was a foreign language. Staring with squinty eyes at their bulging bellies, wondering if I would ever actually learn the words they were speaking.
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I wish I had written down my opinions before I got pregnant, because today, I know the language so well that I speak it fluently. Motherhood is one of the biggest parts of who I am now. It is like once I crossed that line of bearing children, there was literally no turning back – even with my memories.
Yet there is one aspect of pregnancy that plagued me before kids, and still does today. It is the simple fact that getting pregnant is extremely complicated and confusing, and there is very little to prepare you for it.
What I do know now is that making a baby is a game that has no set rules – what works for one, won’t work for all. Each step is like running through a minefield of conception fortune. You yearn deeply to land on that lucky mark – you just have no idea where the spots are to step on.
My daughter came after two lost pregnancies and the use of an app that suggested we “try” so many times we got tired of even looking at each other. We were ready to quit at the two year mark of our first lost pregnancy, and that third positive test was the one that finally made us parents.
Nine months after her birth, we found out we were expecting again. We had just started talking about a second when my son popped into our world. He was the perfect twin of my daughter, and the absolute best unplanned surprise.
My husband still looks stunned in disbelief when he speaks to people about the pregnancy process. He repeatedly says he had no idea how painful and grueling it could be. As young adolescents, we were taught about pregnancy in such a fact based way – you have unprotected sex, the sperm travels to the egg and babies are born.
Yet the truth is so much more complicated than that.
I have friends who got pregnant on the first try and some that took years and years to make a baby. I know people who have done IUI, IVF, surrogacy, adoption and some that even eventually just stopped trying. I have others who drained their life savings through multiple infertility treatments, and then ended up miraculously pregnant naturally down the road.
A lot of people lose pregnancies like me in many different stages in the process, or some painfully give birth way too early. While others go to full term and devastatingly lose their babies after they have already held them in their arms.
And some, like me with my son, get pregnant with no issues and deliver full term chubby babies.
You see, that’s the problem. We all blindly go into this pregnancy process with no idea how to do it or what the outcome will be. There is no set guide you can buy or checklist you can make that will guarantee anything.
Of course your doctors will give you their educated opinions on what has worked and how to up your chances to make a baby, and some suggestions can and will help certain people. But sadly, even the professionals don’t know with 100% certainty what will work for you or me.
During my fertility struggles I heard it all – exercise more, do acupuncture, stop eating processed foods, have sex less to build up the sperm count, have sex more to up your chances, and the best was to “relax and stop trying” (which doesn’t even make sense).
Everyone wants to help, but no one really knows the answer.
I sometimes wish someone had told me about the potential struggles before we started. I know it wouldn’t have changed the path my body went through to become a mother, but I somehow felt wronged by the little I knew about the fragile nature of fertility.
During my second pregnancy I started bleeding right in the beginning, and doctors, friends and family still reassured me that I was fine. And when the unthinkable happened and I miscarried, I felt an urge to yell at them and ask why.
Yet deep down I know the reason why no one talked about it – they simply didn’t know. The possibility of the pregnancy remaining was equally as possible as the pregnancy ending.
Being pregnant is supposed to be about life and renewal. It’s the new chapter all hopeful parents want to start. So we keep the negative at bay in the hopes it actually will be just fine.
It seems as though anything can happen when you’re trying to have a baby, because pregnancy is equal parts miracle and mystery. There are too many factors in our lives and bodies to ever really understand how it will eventually happen. There is no guarantee or way to predict what your future journey will be.
So my best advice to all the hopeful mammas out there is to never give up. Families are made in so many different ways, and just because you don’t follow a predictable path, it doesn’t mean it’s the wrong one. It simply means it is the path that you were meant to take.
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]]>As our friends trickled out and headed home for the reprieve of nap time, I scrambled to pack up the diaper bag, get shoes on the toddler, and wrangle my baby back into her carseat. After one final pit stop to the restroom for my son, we finally made our way awkwardly out to the car to head back home.
That’s when I realized that the car keys were missing.
After emptying out every pocket of the diaper bag, digging through the carseat and peeking through the car window to make sure they weren’t locked away inside, I picked up my haul again and herded the toddler at my side back into the building.
What came next was the most thorough search I have ever conducted for a missing item. I checked trash cans, bathroom stalls, the dusty void beneath the tattered couches in the parents’ seating area and everything in between. After checking with the front desk and sorting through the lost and found collection, a few of the employees joined me in my search. For roughly an hour we scoured the premises and the parking lot but had zero luck. We finally came to the conclusion that the only possible place left to check might be in the deep and enormous pits of foam cubes that were spread throughout the gym as a cushion for daring jumpers. We dug along the edges of some of the pits close to where we were playing and came up empty handed once again. At this point, we finally conceded that the keys were genuinely gone. They were lost.
The employees jotted down my details and promised to call me if my keys were to ever miraculously materialize, which of course they did not.
When I hear the word “lost,” I think back to this experience. I envision a pair of keys being hopelessly and eternally surrendered to the bottomless depths of the foam pits in a trampoline gym. The word “lost” has such a final ring to it. One definition of the word is “cannot be recovered.” Unlike something that has been misplaced, a lost item is unlikely to ever be found again. Just like missing socks that disappear into that mysterious black hole inside the washing machine, once something is truly lost there is no point in wasting energy on hoping that it will eventually come back.
I think that’s why I cringe so much when I hear moms lament that they have “lost themselves” since having children.
Not that I’ve been immune to feeling this way or using this phrase. I used to genuinely believe that I was lost as well. A few years into young motherhood, I experienced that phase where survival is the only goal each day, and you no longer know the answer when people ask you to tell them something interesting about yourself. At that point, I definitely started to buy into the idea that my pre-Mom self was a distant memory of someone that I would never again embody. That’s a pretty hopeless and exhausting place to be as a woman when it feels like motherhood is the only thing left to define you.
Thankfully, I know better now. I finally understand that motherhood, though it’s a huge part of my current identity, does not define who I am as a whole and complete person. I love my kids and I am honored to have the responsibility for their care, but I also understand that loving and caring for them does not have to come at the expense of loving and caring for myself. It never did.
In retrospect, I can see now that I was never “lost” to motherhood. It was more like I had forgotten myself temporarily. What I had categorized as “losing myself” in early motherhood was actually less like those keys that were surrendered to the void of the foam pits and more like the really cool coding robot that has been temporarily forgotten, but is safely tucked away in the back corner of my son’s closet. That robot is not “lost.” Actually it is exactly where it should be, and will be ready and waiting for him to rediscover and utilize it again when he is ready. Just because it is off of his radar at the moment doesn’t mean that it has lost its value to him or that he loves it any less. It has simply been forgotten for a time while my son has his attention focused on exploring other interests.
What happens to us mothers can be just like that robot sometimes. We might leave certain parts of ourselves in the back corner of the closet while we are deeply and intently focused on the mothering tasks at hand. We might even forget that certain parts of ourselves ever existed, but that doesn’t mean that they are truly lost. It just means that there are beautiful pieces of ourselves that are safely stowed away until we are ready to rediscover them again.
I can tell you from experience that the process of rediscovery is actually an amazing gift. I don’t regret those first few years of hyper-focused motherhood for a second. As my kids have begun to slowly grow out of needing me for every little thing, I have found so much joy and fulfillment in getting acquainted with myself again. The process of uncovering forgotten pieces of myself has even given root to the discovery of further parts of myself that I may not have otherwise known existed.
So, no. Being a mother does not ever have to mean losing yourself.
I wasn’t ever lost.
And you, sweet Mama, are not lost either.
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]]>My sister and I would laugh at that thinking she was ridiculous. Until we became mothers. Or the time when we were out clothes shopping when I was a teen and I pointed out a top that I liked and she said, “You wouldn’t fit one boob in it.” I certainly grew up with a dearth of hearty, loving advice. However, I still feel like my mom could have passed down some real wisdom to me before she left this earth.
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Now that I am in my early forties, physically things are starting to change and I wish my mom would have told me. When I was little, I remember my mom spending inordinate amounts of time in the bathroom with her tweezers looking in the mirror, but it never dawned on me until the last year or so what my mom was actually doing. She could have sat me down and said, “Honey, we need to talk about facial hair in your forties.” The only advice she did give me about my forties was that I needed to beware of migraines because she and my aunt suffered from hormonal ones. I’d never had a migraine in my life, but I did shortly after she said those words. I was sure she had jinxed me somehow.
Now that I am in my forties, I’ve experienced the ravages of ridiculously long, irregular menstrual cycles that brought me to my knees with anemia. It seems like I just had my kids and now I am starting down the road to perimenopause. It’s too soon! Why didn’t Mom tell me this? Mom, too, had problems of her own. Her uterus prolapsed in her fifties and she had a hysterectomy. Why didn’t she warn me that I was headed down the highway of messed up periods and hormonal fluctuations, the likes of which I could never have imagined?
And don’t get me started on sneezing while standing up or coughing while sitting down. Forget going on a trampoline with your kids. I had to find these lessons out the hard way. After birthing three kids, my bladder is not what it used to be. She could have started the conversation out like, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about prolapse and urinary incontinence.”
Dryness? My mom bought eye drops by the truck full. I figured this was something that was singular to her as she had medical issues. But now I know the lovely splendor of “dry eyes due to age,” as my optometrist pointed out. A little heads up from Mom would have been helpful.
Or the appearance of crocodile skin that my kids would call “leathery” when they hold my hand. If she could have warned me ahead of time that all of this would happen, I think it might have made the swallowing of the “you’re getting old” pill easier. At least I’d like to think so.
I remember as a kid crawling into bed with my mom while she was reading the newspaper. I always vied for her attention. I’d ask her questions and she’d tell me to stop talking. “This is my quiet time,” she’d say. I was resentful that she never took the time to pay attention to me. It wasn’t until recently when my son opened my bedroom door for the twelfth time, as I was relaxing watching television before drifting off to sleep, that I remember my mom saying “this is my quiet time.” In fact, I now tell my kids this when they barge into my room at night. I have come to understand the sacred place at the end of the day for a mother. Those blessed last moments that are all mine and no one else’s. I can watch TV without anyone interrupting or read a book quietly. She could have told me all this.
She could have told me how ridiculously short the days are with your children. How they literally grow up before your eyes. Even though it seems the whole world tells you this, it would have been nice to hear her say it. That you could never possibly love humans as much as your own but still be incredibly scared wondering if you are raising them properly or if you’ve let them know everything they need to know before they leave the nest. Or that when most of your older family members have passed on and your generation is left in charge that it can feel lonely and isolating, but that you need to soldier on as best you can.
Perhaps she just wanted me to experience the splendors of aging for myself. Maybe it was her last little joke. Or maybe she prepared me enough for life and knew I could handle it on my own.
But because I don’t want my daughter to be caught with wet pants when she’s forty-something, I will be sure to have that talk with her.
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]]>I can’t even begin to explain how nervous I was when I found out about you.
RELATED: What The Heck Do These Bizarre Pregnancy Dreams Actually Mean?!
I cried for days.
When I found out you existed, I thought my dreams flew right out the window.
These big dreams I had for myself were no longer an option.
You see, I never expected to be a mom. I was dead set on being married to a career that I loved, living in a big city, chasing big dreams.
I dreamed of the days where I’d stop at my favorite coffee shop on the way to work. I’d watch the barista make my latte and I’d pay way too much money for it, but it was fine, because money wasn’t a worry.
I dreamed about myself sitting at my oversized desk in my fancy office building. I pictured myself working too many hours there, but it wouldn’t bother me, because I’d love it.
I dreamed about the business attire I’d wear, all down to the shoes.
I dreamed about the ridiculously expensive salon I’d go to for my all my hair care needs, the nail salons, etc.
Then, I’d picture myself going home at the end of the work day to my luxurious condo on the 23rd floor that overlooked the city skyline.
I dreamed of my over-the-top stainless steel appliances, the polished granite counter tops.
I dreamed of my glass walk-in shower, my walk-in closet that was lined with an endless amount of clothes and shoes.
I dreamed of superb home decor, my white couch, and marble coffee table that was lined with Architectural Digest and those outrageous tabloids.
I’d picture my weekend mornings on the balcony with a cup of hot coffee, just listening to the traffic and watching the people that go by. The dog walkers, the shoppers.
That was the life I dreamed of.
But then you happened, my unexpected child.
And suddenly, my dreams changed. I no longer dreamed of my booming career or fancy condo.
I no longer dreamed of my overpriced latte.
I dreamed of you.
I pictured us going on walks, holding your little hand while you ask me a million and one questions, like why the grass is green or why the sky is blue.
I dreamed of us going on ice cream dates and giving you extra sprinkles just to spoil you a little.
I dreamed of our average home, in our little town, with a backyard that had room for you and our family dog to run around in.
I pictured the bond you would have with your father.
You see, I never wanted to be a mom until I became one.
I didn’t think I’d be good at it.
But every day, I wake up and prove to myself just how great I am at this.
I was built for this.
Suddenly, my dreams became a reality when you were born.
I have so much to thank you for.
Thank you for giving me a purpose. I truly didn’t know I had one until you came along.
Thank you for loving me unconditionally.
Thank you for waking me up with kisses in the morning and for always being so happy to see me.
Thank you for all your little quirks, and all the funny things you do.
And most of all, thank you for being you.
To my unexpected child: I thank God every day for choosing me to be your mother. It truly is a dream come true.
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]]>The post I Meditated Every Morning for a Month, And Here’s What Happened appeared first on Scary Mommy.
]]>I even tried to get my kids in on it. To me, a group activity is a form of multitasking. I could supervise my children while we collectively got our mindfulness on. You’ve probably already guessed that this was a total fail. Two complained, one was over-the-top restless, and my oldest relentlessly asked the others to just sit still and be quiet so she could focus. Understandably, I gave up.
I wasn’t going to rise early in the morning to meditate, exercise, and then sip coffee. I’m not a morning person. I also didn’t want to stay up late, trying to calm myself before bed. I was far too tired to even think about putting forth meditation effort. From the minute my feet hit the floor until I plop into bed at night, I’m on the go. I’m working, I have a child who is remote learning, another one who is homeschooled, and a mile-long daily to do list.
Yes, meditation has so many benefits. The problem wasn’t convincing myself of the pluses. The problem was putting meditation into practice—daily practice.
What finally pushed me to take the plunge and commit to meditation? I was talking to a friend who has the same autoimmune disease I do. I wanted her tips, since she has a lot more experience than me. We talked about medication, supplements, dietary choices, sleep, pain management, and exercise. “Oh, but one more thing,” she said before we got off the phone: “Meditation.” She was choosing to meditate, and it had made a night and day difference in her overall attitude and pain level.
This is someone I trust. Someone who wasn’t trying to sell me anything. She had experience. Instead of asking myself, “Why should I finally commit to meditation?” I went with, “Why not?”
The Mayo Clinic defines meditation as “a type of mind-body medicine” that’s been in practice for thousands of years. You “develop intentional focus—minimizing random thoughts about the past or future.” The benefits of meditation include relaxation, improved concentration, stress reduction, less fatigue, and peace. Additionally, they remark that research has shown that meditation can reduce anxiety and depression symptoms, may improve physical health when paired with conventional medicine, and can help with symptom management when a person suffers from cancer, digestive issues, heart disease, insomnia, and more.
I downloaded a free app and started exploring guided meditations. Basically, a host uses their voice and sometimes background music or sounds, to help the listener meditate, usually on a specific topic. It took some time to choose the right hosts to listen to. I don’t like to hear chimes, waves crashing, or anything else that might distract me. I prefer a calm voice, but not patronizing. I love guided meditations because the host says what to focus on and what to do, rather than me having to make another decision. I know I’m not the only mom who has serious decision fatigue, especially right now in the midst of pandemic.
My meditation style is short and sweet. I’m realistic. Unless I can knock out meditation as soon as I wake up, setting the tone for my day, I’m not doing it. There are no quiet moments or spare time throughout the day, and at bedtime, I just want a snack and some Netflix. Knowing my personality and needs made it easy for me to decide when, for how long, and why to meditate.
The experience isn’t always perfect. I swear my kids have some sort of mom radar where they sense I’m awake and jump into my bed. I’ve decided to include them in meditation if they hop into the bed before I’ve started. Since only meditate for two to five minutes, they are able to sustain attention. My son is particularly fond of a Scottish man’s meditations; something about his voice is charming and soothing.
I’m on day forty-something of meditating, and I have absolutely noticed a difference. My usual go-to is to wake up and start getting anxious. What day is it? What has to be done? What meetings or appointments are on the calendar? How am I feeling physically? I basically create a terror checklist for myself and start the day with that. It is absolutely not healthy, or helpful.
Meditating in the morning means you know the day will have its demands, but you’re getting your mind right first. You’re choosing to prioritize self-care, even if it’s just for a couple of minutes. The result? I feel calmer, I have a clearer sense of purpose, and I’m more chill. I’ll be honest: I never thought “chill” would be part of my self-description. I’ve been anxious my entire life.
Has meditating been life-changing for me? Yes and no. I don’t think my life is magically better, with an aura of unshakable calmness wrapped around me as I float throughout the day. However, I do think that I’m giving myself a better, more grounded, more purposeful start to the day. I’ve taken back some of that control I desperately craved, but never seemed to grasp.
Other mindfulness techniques can be added perks. Going for a walk outside for vitamin D3 exposure, sensory experiences, and movement can be helpful. Yoga, too. Journaling has been helpful for me in processing emotions and difficult situations. Perhaps meditation really isn’t for you. There are other options.
My advice to any person who is considering meditation is just to do it, but do so realistically. Don’t take on an all-or-nothing approach like I did for years. The cliché is true. A little bit can go a long way. With all that’s going on in life right now, I’ll take any ounce of peace I can get.
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]]>It’s happened too many times to count.
The Washington Post recently ran an article about how the pandemic, even as it draws us together to help one another, is also forcing us apart. We are now “sizing up friends as lethal threats.” Science journalist Lydia Denworth, author of “Friendship: The Evolution, Biology, and Extraordinary Power of Life’s Fundamental Bond,” tells The Washington Post that COVID-19 is “causing stress and strain to every relationship.”
Basically: we have to feel out every single person we know.
We’re discovering different levels of “risk tolerance” and “what might seem like irrational optimism on one side vs. hysterical alarmism on the other.” There are the political differences: who thinks masks are a freedom issue, and who thinks we should all wear masks in public and never leave the house. Who thinks schools should open and who doesn’t? What does it mean when your friends are having a pool party and you refuse to go?
And once those differences are revealed, how do people react to them?
After moving down to our state to be closer to her grandsons, my mother has refused to socially isolate. My husband has asthma; my health issues give me a bad immune system; if we get COVID, we have no one to care for our three sons who aren’t at serious risk for complications from the disease. We simply cannot contract COVID. We’re the people who don’t leave the house. We used to sterilize the mail. I didn’t go through a drive-thru until the first week of August (and then masked, using one hand to touch everything, only a credit card I had to tap, and sterilizing my drink—which was all I ordered—then everything else I could possibly have touched, including the steering wheel and my credit card). My husband visits the grocery store. I go to the pharmacy.
Our pandemic relationships: family and friends—must be strictly controlled. People simply must be isolated.
My mother has refused to socially distance. When we discovered she was seeing a friend, my husband told her we couldn’t see her for two weeks—as long as she didn’t see the friend again. The conversation didn’t go well, and we discovered she lied to us about what she did with said friend. And that the friend, whom she said was seeing no one, was seeing practically ever Boomer in the greater metropolitan area. We couldn’t trust her anymore.
In that conversation, we begged her to Zoom with the kids and call us during those two weeks.
She did not. She moved, and informed us via text message. I don’t know her new address.
My aunt messaged to see if she could see the kids “outside, at a restaurant.” I told her no. Did she think we were punishing my mother? This wasn’t a decision we made from meanness. We can’t see my mom because we can’t get sick.
My homeschool group is a hot mess. Very, very few of them mask and distance. I try hard to be respectful. I try hard to say “you do you.” But I live in one of the worst COVID hotspots in the world— because of people like them who refuse to believe in basic scientific principles and epidemiology. They’re more concerned with selfishness (gotta get out!) and politics (freedom not masks!) to stay home and wear a mask when they must leave. These pandemic relationships have shown me people’s true colors. And while I tolerated their differences before, I’m finding that when it comes down to life and death, I just can’t anymore.
They are throwing pool parties. Pool parties. They are having co-op classes in people’s houses. They are opening up sports teams.
We were iffy friends before. The pandemic relationships have now dropped to “cordial nod” territory. I can’t be friends with people who refuse to take this seriously. I’m near tears on a regular basis from isolation, but I’m determined to do my part to keep my family safe and to keep other people in my state safe. They are taking their unmasked kids to football practice.
Our views on science and risk have made it impossible for me to take them seriously as people who I want to socialize with on a regular basis. Period.
My in-laws are older, and they know they are at serious risk for COVID complications. They didn’t hug their grandchildren at all for three months. They saw them only through glass doors. Once each family had been under complete isolation, they were able to see one another. In order to meet at the beach for two weeks, four families stayed in total and complete isolation for over a month. No one saw anyone because we wanted to see each other. It makes me cry to think about how those pandemic relationships have worked.
My best friend Joey sees people because of his job. But he shows up at my house, sits a far distance away, and talks to me, because he loves me and he misses me. He shows that even with varying levels of risk, pandemic relationships need not be destroyed. You can make them work.
I have online friends I would never be so close to without the pandemic. Those pandemic relationships have become so special to me. We drink and talk and keep each other sane. They’re far away. But I hold them close, and when I’m breaking down, they’re the ones I call on. I’m grateful for them, and I wouldn’t have that same sort of relationship with them without COVID.
Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one following the rules, and it sucks. It’s scary out there. I’ve lost people I cared about, and it hurts. I’ve cried a lot over them.
But I’ve found my people. I’ve found the relationships that matter, the people that go out of their way to see me, to check on me, to make sure I’m okay. I’ve found the people who matter— who send me the care package, who call, who sit in my yard, who socially isolate so they can see me. Thank you to all of them. I see you. And when this pandemic has finally ended, I won’t forget who you are.
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