Tag Archives: Family

Daughters

So, I never thought I would have kids, much less a daughter. The thought of having a daughter was like…well…there wasn’t any thought of it. Because I just KNEW that if I had kids, I wanted a son. A son just seemed easier. Like, I wouldn’t have to have “the talk” because, obviously, as the opposite sex parent, I would get to be oblivious of all those nasty things that happen to boys during puberty. I wouldn’t have to explain that it is totally natural. I wouldn’t have to pull a Dan Connor and advise him to “put a book in front of it”. Because…gross. I don’t want to know about any other uses for your books than reading, kid. That’s Daddy’s department. I don’t have a penis.

But then I found out I was pregnant. With L. And she didn’t have a penis either. And holy shitballs, you guys. What the hell was I to do with this tiny female fetus? A fetus that would eventually go through a totally different puberty that warranted ZERO books. Puberty is totally shitty for girls. Because it isn’t just embarrassing. It is messy as hell. And, much like in pregnancy, things happen to your body that you not only can’t control, but don’t understand. And those things make PREGNANCY, like, POSSIBLE. Which is terrifying. And maybe the thought of that is MORE terrifying for the PARENTS of these little things. Because no parent wants a pregnant, barely pubescent kid. And you, as the parent, are responsible for making sure that this little spawn of yours understands that all this mess and embarrassment comes with some responsibility. How do you teach this to someone who can’t even drive a car? Or drink legally?

I know I have  a little while to stew on this, you guys. L isn’t even two. Right. I get it. But I definitely think about it a lot. Because as her same-sex parent, I want to make sure that I am a role model. And an information source. A trusted one. Because I sure as shit didn’t feel comfortable talking to anyone about anything like this. But I also waited until I was 19 to have sex. And with someone that I genuinely loved and trusted and planned to be with forever. And I definitely don’t regret that three-year relationship. Because I was responsible. But not because I had anyone explaining why I should be. But because I am just a pretty logical person. And I am kind of scared of everything. So…the combination did me well. I just want to make sure that my kid…you know…isn’t a total ignorant mess about the whole deal.

There are SO many things I worry about with my little lady. As she grows, I hope that she doesn’t ever get caught up in bullying. I hope she isn’t bullied either. But I hope that if she is, she will be strong and confident enough not to fall into a trap that threatens to ruin her. Because she is beautiful. And she is already so smart and funny and amazing. Kids are so mean. And society is mean to kids. We make them believe that they have to be this impossibly beautiful, thin, imaginary person. We make them small. We make women small, in general. And women are NOT small. We are the center of the universe, ladies. We are where life starts. And we are responsible for the next women. And we will plant the seeds for the women after them. And we have to do them proud.

And this scares me.

We don’t need more Kardashians. (Please, Cheesus, no more Kardashians.) We need more strong, brilliant, beautiful women. Women who are strong because they are proud. And not women who are famous for the size of their asses. Or whatever those Kardashians are famous for…

We need to lead by example.

It is especially daunting because, though I know I am strong, I am sort of delicate. I have anxiety and I like to blend in more than I like to be seen. And I could definitely benefit from being a little easier on myself these days, after two babies in two years. I have to be the one to show L that she, despite whatever flaws she might think she has, IS BEAUTIFUL. And to do that, I have to start recognizing the beauty in me. Because that’s where it all starts. With me.

 

An Open Letter to Baby O at Six Months

Oh, my Darling, Oliver,

You are growing SO FAST. You turned six months old the other day and I am having a hard time processing that. Because about this time last year, I was starting to plan your sister’s first birthday party. And now here you are…catching up with her. I can’t believe it.

You got your first tooth on December 7th. And not without a lot of screaming. I will be the first one to tell you, son, that you are the loudest screamer EVER. You are quiet and content and giggly almost all of the time, but when you scream, little boy, you don’t mess around. Your sister had a hard time with the teething too, as all babies do, but she didn’t come close to your range of angry sounds. L just kind of fussed continuously for months while those stubborn teeth popped in, one by one, taking their damn time and ruining any plans I had of sleep or peace in general. You are like a really pissed off air horn. I will forgive you sometime between now and your first birthday (hopefully) when all of these little bastards are in place and I can sit back peacefully and wait for the molars. At which time, I will move out of the house until you are finished growing them. Just kidding. (Kind of.)

You sit up unassisted. Which, I mean, isn’t new. But it is something you are doing. You seem to be hitting your milestones a little slower than you are supposed to. But this is totally my fault. Or, rather, your sister’s. I am terrified to put you down on the floor to let you explore your body and strength and surroundings for two reasons: 1. we have hard wood floors and I am constantly concerned that you will lose control of your giant noggin and crack it open and 2. the other day, I put you on this baby gym thing that lies on the floor and has toys dangling above your head. I went to the bathroom and left the door open to where I could hear you and your sister but could not see you. I heard your muffled cries and ran into the living room with my pants around my ankles, only to find your sister, straddling your face, attempting to reach the dangling toys. And I screeched like some sort of bird not yet identified by scientists and pulled her off of your face. So…needless to say, our home is a dangerous place for the likes of you. And if it takes you a little longer to crawl but your cranium remains intact, so be it. Score one for mommy.

Aside from almost being smothered by your sister, you seem to really enjoy being around her. You get so excited when she is around. You giggle at each other and you babble to her and she treats you just like I do. When you cry, she strokes your head and says, “It’s OK, baby” and she gives you hugs and kisses ALL THE TIME. And you eat it up. And it melts mommy into a big, slimy puddle of gooey love all over the place. I really can’t believe how quickly and beautifully this bond is forming between the two of you and how blessed I feel about getting to witness it as it does.

You have giant, pink cheeks and beautiful hazel eyes. And you have a wonderful, happy disposition. You sleep well and you eat well and at your six month checkup on 12/12, you weighed in at a whopping 20 pounds, 11 ounces and you were 27 inches long. You are a big boy. Rightly so. You are definitely your father’s son. And that makes me happy. I hope that you learn from him how to treat the ladies. Because, honey, your father is truly a gentleman. I am so lucky to have him. And so are you and your sister.

We are finally about to transition you into sleeping in your crib full-time. And yes, we may be slow to do this, and we are aware. But your sister didn’t start sleeping in her crib until six months old (although, she pretty much still hates it) and your room was an utter disaster until this past weekend. And now, it is complete, and ready for YOU. Daddy put all kinds of things together for you and we bought all new toys and bedding and fun things for you to look at and play with. Just in time for Christmas!

I hope that, when you read these letters, you know that I love you more than I could possibly document here. I hope you know that there is nothing better than you and your sister and our little family.

I love you always, little man.

Mom

Related articles

20131218-140213.jpg

Validation

I love being a parent. I love it so much that sometimes I wonder how I got to be so lucky to have been given these adorable little people to teach and love and raise.

And then there are days like today. Days when you wake up, optimistic, and get started on diaper changing and breakfast cooking and then the shit hits the fan. Someone has a tummy ache and the other is teething. L doesn’t want oatmeal for breakfast and she very loudly protests it, throwing Baby O into an almost melodic tantrum just because, you know, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em! Then no one wants to play. Or bounce. Or partake in any tummy time. And someone else is NOT HAPPY unless some wildly annoying children’s show is on TV. And then no one wants to take a nap. And when you put one down, he starts screaming, which forces the other one to become concerned and start screaming as well. And then, once they are finally calm enough for you to attempt the nap time ritual, they become monsters again. One literally JUMPS out of her crib and onto her head while the other angrily yells from the next room. And you freak out about the bump on the head of the one, while simultaneously trying to rub Orajel on the other one’s gums so that everyone will just STOP. EFFING. CRYING. And then they do. And you walk out of the room and think that you are absolutely the worst, most inept parent that ever walked the earth. And you sob for exactly 35 seconds until one of them finds you. And then you turn off the waterworks and you carry on. Inept or not. You’re still mom.

I’ve said before that sometimes I just want to stick my head in the oven. And today has been that kind of day. I want to crawl into my bed and hide from the kids until their daddy gets home. And then HE can make 33 different kinds of food for L for dinner, 32 of which she will refuse to eat and will end up spattered on the floor and wall. And HE can bathe them and lotion them and strap the monitor to HIM for the rest of the night and attempt to do ANYTHING that doesn’t directly involve a baby. I am certain he couldn’t hack this job. But some days I want to see him try, so that I can relax. And maybe, for once, he can want to stick HIS head in the oven. And I will feel completely validated.

I wrote this post yesterday. And when MB got home, he made 33 different options for L’s dinner (32 of which ended up on the floor and/or the wall. And I did not feel validated. Because today turned out exactly the same as yesterday. Except that when I lost my shit, holding Baby O and trying to fend off the teething monster that has overtaken our lives, L came to me with a concerned look on her face and said, “It’s OK” and held out her tiny index finger for me to kiss. (Because, this week, when L wants to tell you she cares about you, she sticks her finger in your face and you kiss it. It does what its told.) And, it WAS okay, you guys. Because, THAT is validation. There is so much love here. And yeah, teething sucks. And diapers are the devil. And sometimes you just want to hurl yourself off of a 80 story building, but at the end of the day, there are tiny index fingers that need smooching.

And it’s OK.

 

An Open Letter to Baby O: Five Months

Dear Oliver,

Today you are five months old. I always say that I can’t believe it. Because I CAN’T FREAKING BELIEVE IT! You are not only no longer a newborn, but you do tricks!

You can sit up unassisted now! Not for long periods of time, yet. But I am a firm believer that this is because your overall chunk factor is outweighing your ambition to do so. Understandably so. You are CHUNKY. You are at your most motivated when I am eating food next to you and you are intrigued and drooling. I am thinking that if I create some sort of device that dangles donuts in front of your face, you will do lots more interesting things.

You are not a fan of tummy time. And this is not a shock because your sister hated it so much that it took literally TWO SECONDS on her tummy before she started wailing her pretty little head off. You aren’t quite as bad as she was. You will, at least, humor me for a minute or so before you get angry. But you’re strong. And that makes me happy.

You might not believe this when you finally read this post, and you might call me a liar, but you absolutely LOVE YOUR SISTER. Your eyes light up every time she is within your line of sight and you squeal with glee when she pays attention to you. I mean, like, ANY attention. Now, like I said, you may never believe that this was ever the case. But here it is, Ollie. In print. Mommy has spoken. I get so much satisfaction out of the two of you and your interactions with each other. When you cry, she brings your pacifier to me to give to you. (She sometimes tries to shove it, ever so gently into your eye mouth. She tries to help. She loves you too.

You are still such a happy baby. You sleep well most of the time and you coo and giggle and have all this personality and I just can’t believe how fast you are growing. You are generally content just to sit and watch as I put out your sister’s little fires all day. You bounce in the little bouncy contraption while she bangs pots and pans and creates a ridiculous amount of noise. You don’t mind. You just want to be near her. And when the mood strikes her, she pushes the bouncy contraption back and forth, saying, “WEEEEEEE!” for you so that it is like you are in a swing. (She used to push you in the swing too, if it wasn’t turned on, because she can’t stand you not to be moving?) You love this. You giggle and scream and just watch her. It melts my heart every time.

I hope that, by the time you read this, you and your sister are as close as you can be. I think that is the most exciting thing for me about you being this close in age. You, I hope, will grow to be best friends. I hope that you will love each other and look out for each other always. I hope that you get the best of the best out of having a sibling. Because, I mean, siblings are AMAZING. (Try and remember that when she plays tricks on your or tells you that you were adopted. You were NOT adopted and I have this blog, detailing all of the pain of my pregnancy, to prove it. But it is an older sibling’s DUTY to convince you of such things. Just kick her. No. Don’t kick your sister. Man…I maybe need to work on my parental advice before you get old enough that you actually do start kicking her. Crap.)

Anyway, I love you very much. More and more every single day. I can’t imagine my life without your smile. And your big, beautiful eyes. And being puked on 17 times before noon every day. (My guess is that I would probably smell better without that last one, though.) You should know that you, your sister and father are my whole world. And I couldn’t love any three people more. You all complete me. So, yeah. Thanks for that, little guy.

20131111-125531.jpg

To the moon and back,

Mom

Related articles

 

No Apologies…My Kid Watches TV.

DJ Lance Rock with King Khan and the Shrines

DJ Lance Rock with King Khan and the Shrines (Photo credit: greenplastic875)

This evening, right before bath time, L spilled her sippy cup of water all over the hardwood floor in the living room. She stood in a puddle of water next to the coffee table and looked at me with those little wide eyes as if to tell me that she had done something wrong. When I walked over to her, she looked down and her soggy socks and started to try and walk away. She slipped and lost her footing, but she didn’t fall. I realized what had happened, scooped her up and grabbed some paper towels to clean up the water. And when I started to clean it up she looked at me with those same giant blue eyes and said, “Oh NOOOOO! I sorry!”

This may not be such a big deal. But so many things happened in that moment. Like, I realized for the first time that, while she has previously exhibited some knowledge of what is going on around her on a deeper level than I expect her to, she actually KNOW THINGS, you guys. Like, she knows that she made a mistake. And then that the proper and polite thing to do was APOLOGIZE. And she’s not quite 18 months old and she walks and talks and sings and dances and it is like she learns more stuff so quickly that I can barely keep up! And it makes me feel so full of this immense joy that I feel like my heart might actually explode. But it also makes me so sad that SOOOOOON she won’t be my baby anymore. (Which, I guess, makes it pretty awesome that I get to do all of it simultaneously with her brother, who is just a year and 24 days younger than her. Yes. Most of you know that already.) But Oh. My. GOD. My baby is a PERSON.

That’s not really the point of this post.

I read a lot of stuff about the development of the brain of babies and toddlers. And, like, how they shouldn’t watch any TV before they are two years old. And then it is supposed to be a REALLY small amount. You know, you have all read the same things. And for a long time, with L, I was really stringent about letting her watch ANYTHING. And then I got to a point where I knew that, with her NEVER SLEEPING and all of that, I would need to find some SECONDS to do ANYTHING else and that might require DJ Lance Rock. And things worked out well. A half hour of DJ Lance was enough for me, when she was seven months old and bouncing up and down in some contraption or another, to do dishes. Or PEE. Or brush my teeth. And life was better.

And then I had Baby O. It was then that I realized, not only do I no longer have time to read these articles about baby and toddler brain development, but I don’t have time not to turn on DJ Lance for 30 minutes so that I don’t stab myself in the eye so that I can get a break (read: trip to the emergency room which would be the only way I would get a break most of the time). And I said, “Fuck this. I get to decide these things.” After all, my mom said that, at 18 months, since I was unable to walk due to an injury sustained during birth, I would watch entire episodes of Sesame Street and could read well by the time I was four. So, yeah. The articles say that allowing children under two to watch television will cause them to have ADD. And they will be socially underdeveloped. And BLAH BLAH MOTHERFUCKING BLAH. But the people who write these articles CLEARLY don’t have a four month old and a seventeen month old sucking the ever-loving sanity RIGHT OUT OF THEIR SOULS. Nope. I am sure of it. So my kid watches “Elmo the Musical” and happily sings the theme song to “Yo Gabba Gabba” but she also apologizes for spilling her water on the floor. And she interacts with everyone. And she shows NO signs of any kind of ineptitude in any area. Do I let her sit in front of the TV for 10 hours per day? No. (And that would make me a total asshole, b t dubs.) Does she watch 2 hours per day? Heck yes. And you know why? Because I’m the mommy. And there’s another tiny, demanding little guy needing something during pretty much ALL OF THE SECONDS in which she isn’t. So there.

In your face, article writers who make moms feel guilty about stupid shit. My kid is gonna be a damn genius.

To Work, Or Not to Work

Yo Gabba Gabba!

Yo Gabba Gabba! (Photo credit: Faceless Librarian)

I’ve been thinking a lot about going back to work.

Not because I am not enjoying being puked on and yelled at by tiny people all day or anything. And not because I don’t love “Yo Gabba Gabba” or waking up in the middle of the night with L to play. Or doing 37 daily loads of laundry. Because these things are fine. And the baby snuggles make all of that totally worth it.

Honestly, though, I think that, with MB working the schedule that he currently is, we’re just stretching ourselves too thin. We would both like to go back to school as soon as possible and we would like to have a lot more time to spend together and with the kids as a family. But right now, there just isn’t any time. I see MB for no more than one hour per night (usually at around 9 PM) and then one day per week, he is off. (And that doesn’t happen EVERY week.) So, that ONE DAY, we have to squeeze in all of the chores that we haven’t gotten to during the week, any family time we want to have, fun things with the kids, any alone time we might get, sleeping, and visiting with other members of the family. I don’t know if anyone told you, internet, but days only contain 24 hours. And that’s not a whole lot of hours for all that stuff. Considering that I haven’t yet figured out how to do anything else while also sleeping. (Which, seriously, you guys, would be amazeballs and I would be SUCH A ROCKSTAR if I could learn how to do that.) MB gets to spend so little time with the kids and I know that it is killing him to miss all the fun stuff that they are learning to do every day. But it is stressful on me too. And I am sure those of you who are SAHMs can agree that this job is super hard in and of itself. And I am sure that you will also agree that having a partner, even just in the evenings and on weekends doesn’t relieve all of the stress of the day, but it helps Mommy to be sane. And that, my friends, is important. Because if Mommy is wearing a straight-jacket, who is going to make the mac and cheese?

MB’s job is demanding. The pay is pretty good. But it is hardly worth having to sacrifice our time as a family to have a few extra dollars that we don’t have time to spend. It has been really hard on all of us.  But I really don’t know what the solution is at this point.

I am really not at all interested in putting my kids in daycare. In fact, I am super opposed to it. Not because all daycares are bad or scary or whatever, but because of my own experience in childhood. I have almost ZERO memories of hanging out with either of my parents when I was small. I remember my grandparents. And my uncle. And a daycare. And it wasn’t a bad childhood and that is not at all what I am saying. I just want my kids to have memories of…you know…ME. Playing with them. Taking them to the zoo. Playing hopscotch on the driveway. Not doing all of those things solely with other people. I want to be the one they remember. Or, I at least want to play a larger role than my parents did in my early years. (This was not their fault. My dad was in culinary school in New York and my mom was working full-time for next to nothing to keep us fed…) And I wouldn’t even mind so much if I was a close second to their dad. Because, obvs, that is equally important.

So, I am back on the hunt for a job. Ideally, one of us will work and the other will stay home with the kids and go to school. And I guess, what it comes down to, is that whichever one of us can make the most money will work, and the other will stay home and possibly work part-time if need be. I just don’t want to settle for some job that sucks all of the life out of me and leaves nothing for my littles. Because I am doing everything for them. I don’t want them to have memories of an overworked, miserable lady. And I don’t want MB to be that guy either. In a perfect world, I would be working from home, MB would work part-time and stay home with the kids while taking some classes on-line and we could just…SPEND SOME EFFING TIME TOGETHER. Hell, I’ve almost forgotten what he looks like.

Send us some good juju, internet. We just have to figure it all out. I just want my family. Together.

 

Jinxed

This part of the post was written a few days ago. And it has pretty much been this long since they have slept. At least, that’s how it feels.

I have been trying to get Baby O to sleep for the past two hours. He will only nap while I am holding him and I am currently sitting quietly just a few feet away from him, trying to pretend I don’t see him staring at me from his swing (which is so worn out, it no longer swings) with that “so when are you planning to pick me up?” look on his face. I remember these days all too well with L. You know, when it would take three hours to get her to sleep and then she would humor me for exactly 23 minutes and give me a break. Long enough to pee and sit down just long enough to find something I wanted to watch on TV, only to immediately hear her screaming again as soon as I breathed that sigh of sweet “baby is sleeping” relief and settled on a re-run of “Sex and the City“.

I can’t really complain about Baby O too much. He sleeps, usually, really well at night. Like, 10-12 hours on most nights. Very seldom does he wake up in the night to be fed or changed or anything. I think he realizes how much his sister does this and tries to do what he can to help me maintain some level of sanity. And I appreciate it. But as he gets older, and sleeps less during the day, I am finding it harder and harder to find a second for myself.

I manage pretty well, I think, for someone who is high strung and who has a really hard time just “rolling with the punches”. I mean, a four month old and a seventeen month old is no cake walk. The morning routine, alone, is sometimes enough to make me throw up my hands and surrender.

Nap time used to be my “me time”. And now, I can’t get them both to do it simultaneously. L, having previously been my problem napper, has become some kind of lovely little angel most of the time when I lay her down, still awake, in her crib (if you can believe this!) and Baby O babbles and babbles and insists on being held for the entirety of L’s nap, making it impossible to just…relax.

Skipping ahead a couple of days:

Okay, I have to be honest. I don’t even remember the last few days. There really isn’t much distinction between them these days seeing as I spend EVERY SINGLE DAY fighting the same battles of mommy-hood and waiting for Sunday when my husband MIGHT be home to help out. But I can tell you this, remember up there when I said that L was a great napper? Well, I lied. She is hateful. She is trying to make me crazy today. I am sure of it. (It is absolutely true that the INSTANT you start talking about how well your child is sleeping, they STOP DOING THAT.)

I have been attempting to get L to nap now for the last two hours. Which is only half true. Because I got her up and gave her a snack and some milk and then started the process all over again. And, she isn’t currently screaming. So, I can’t really say anything else about it. But, of course, the second I got L to ZIP IT and lay in her bed, Baby O woke up and started getting restless. And is now sitting beside me, refusing a bottle and whining. Because, he is dry, clearly not hungry, not tired and refuses to play with anything. Or take his pacifier.

It is gonna be a long week, internet. A LONG WEEK.

Elvis was Booked This Year

Elvis-impersonator-martin-fox-01-1-

Elvis-impersonator-martin-fox-01-1- (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So, internet, one year ago yesterday, MB and I got married. In Vegas. With an Elvis impersonator. Yep.

I can hardly believe that we have been married for a whole year. Not to say that this year has been particularly easy. Because it has been a total mindfuck. Right after we got married (L was 5 months old), we found out we were expecting ANOTHER baby. Then we moved into a house, had a baby boy, MB changed jobs, I had to learn how to be a mother of two (still working on this one) and we have had to combat a LOT of hard shit. With MB working more at this new place, he is gone more than he is present. He misses things that the kids do every day. He missed the first time L gave a kiss (which was the cutest thing ever), the first time Baby O laughed, and COUNTLESS things already in the two months that he has been working this new schedule. And it is heartbreaking for him. And for me.

And our relationship is sometimes strained. He goes to work, day in, day out and makes money so that I can stay home and be driven completely mad by raise the kids so that we don’t have to send them to daycare. (Daycare totally terrifies me. And I am not judging those of you who don’t have a choice in sending your kids there, I am just lucky enough, because of my husband, that I can be here with them myself.) Sometimes I feel resentful that he gets to leave the house and see adults and have conversations that don’t involve babbling or made-up words.  Sometimes, I get angry that I am here all alone with no support from him. And I am sure that sometimes he resents me for being able to stay home with the kids and be there with them while they learn and grow and discover. Because I know that has to sting.

But I am wrong in being resentful. And I do check myself when I feel that way. Because I appreciate him. For every single thing he does for me. For us. He makes this life possible and I love him infinitely. And I am so lucky. Sometimes I need to remind myself of that.

On our anniversary, we saw each other for about two hours when he got home from work before he passed out from exhaustion on the loveseat. I always regret not having the time to say the things to him that I think about when I have time to think about our relationship. And my gratitude. We get lost in a sea of to-do lists and last minute chores and taking the trash out before we forget. And our anniversary was no different.

He came home with a bottle of wine, a card, and flowers. After working a 13 hour day and not having had lunch. After sweating in the hot sun. All for us. All for me.

And I just love him, internet.

I have never met anyone so kind and gracious and generous and loving. IN. MY. LIFE. And he has made this life possible for me. And I am eternally grateful. Even if I rarely can find the time to say it.

He never has time to read this blog. And I am writing as a reminder to myself that he is amazing. And I am one lucky gal.

(Happy ONE YEAR, MB. I hope you read this sometime when you aren’t busy making our family work and know that you are my everything. I love you.)

An Open Letter to the Preggos (This One’s for you, Anna)

Dear Preggos (Mostly you, Anna),

I wanted to write you a letter because I feel that you are about to go through something that no one can really prepare you for. Something that you will remember for the rest of your life. Something that will be the most traumatic, yet ridiculously beautiful thing that will ever happen to you and your body. And no one can tell you how profound it will be. But I am stubborn. And I’m going to try.

First off, I want to let you know that everyone fears childbirth because the idea of squeezing that little person out of your vagina is a big deal. And when I say “big deal”, I mean it. Because, and I’m not gonna lie, that shit hurts. But, don’t worry, you won’t even remember that part. I mean, you won’t REALLY remember it. Because the adrenalin makes you a beast of a person and it will feel like hell but it will feel like you could seriously move mountains if you wanted to. (They won’t let you attempt that, anyway. You are pretty much confined to a bed. But you are a strong ass bitch.) So, you will have this vague memory afterward of this pushing and this nurse yelling at you and you wanting to rip her face off. But in the end, you will have a baby. And, I mean, seriously, what is better than that? Unless you happen to give birth to, like, a suitcase full of money instead. Because, holy shitballs, that would have been awesome. Anyway…yeah. It hurts. But it is a small price to pay. So get over that fear and accept the reality that that little thing is coming out. Whether you like it or not. You will sleep easier. I promise.

Secondly, I feel it is imperative that you know that parenting is super hard. Like, harder than being pregnant. (Which, if you ask me, is the worst fucking thing EVAR, because you have all this stress and no one will bring you a cocktail.) You bring this little meatloaf home from the hospital and you, if you were like me, are totally clueless as to what to do with it. And I read everything. And it didn’t matter. I was a total wreck for weeks. Because just when you think you got this thing all figured out, it does something new. Like, changing its sleep pattern. Or growing a tooth. Or going from being the happiest baby ever, to being a screaming, inconsolable monster. Because all of that happens. And no day is the same as the day previous. Ever.

Thirdly, you probably have this idea of how you will raise your kid. You know, like you won’t use a pacifier because nipple confusion, blah blah blah. Or you will only breastfeed. Because, after all, breast is best. But that baby doesn’t care about your plans. Sometimes, you have to find some way to plug that baby’s pie hole long enough so that your head doesn’t explode. And sometimes, breastfeeding is harder than you had anticipated. And you might do it, and if you can, you are my hero. Because I couldn’t make it happen with either of mine for varying reasons. I did it. But not for as long as I wanted to. And not for lack of trying. Those babies just had other plans. And guess what! They both use a pacifier and drink formula. And they’re alive. And they are thriving. And its okay. And you might be disappointed in yourself for giving in or not doing everything the way you had intended. But…seriously? Shit happens. And you just do the best you can. And that’s all anyone (including you) can expect.

You are going to have some days where you will want to run away from home. And you will feel like shit about feeling that way. But believe me, it happens to the best of us. (In fact, early this morning, I almost escaped through my bedroom window while both of the kids demanded things as I tried to get ANY amount of sleep to prepare me for the day ahead, wherein they would demand MORE THINGS…) Sometimes, you will want to jam sharp things into your ears to stop the noise. And sometimes, you will consider crawling into the oven. Because, motherhood is not a joke. And its all okay. Because then, that baby will look up at you, totally helpless and totally beautiful and innocent, and you will fall in love all over again. And you will. Again. And again. And again. Because you are a mom. And that’s what that means.

Sometimes, when I am having a hard time, and it is the middle of the night and someone is refusing to sleep. Or someone has a fever. And my husband is sleeping and I feel like I am all alone and it will never END, I have to take a step back and remind myself what a beautiful thing I have done by having these babies. I have to remember the first time I saw their little faces and how much I loved them, even then. And how smart and amazing they are. Which is sometimes easier said than done when you are sleep deprived and frustrated and haven’t washed your hair in four days. But it is all worth it, you guys, seriously.

My advice to you (especially you, Anna) is to remember, through all the crazy and even if you feel totally alone, that it will pass. And tomorrow is a new day. And while this is the hardest thing you will ever do, it is the most important. And the most wonderful. And you aren’t alone. (And if you ever need reassurance of that, you guys, I will be right here, blogging about being puked on and having been up for 72 hours straight. Don’t worry.)

Good luck to you!

Related articles

An Open Letter to Baby O: Four Months

Dear Ollie,

Tomorrow you will be four whole months old. And, I’d like to also point out that, while I can hardly believe that you are already this old, I can also hardly believe how you LOOK like you are NINE months old. You are huge. HUGE. (I will find out tomorrow at your check-up just HOW huge. But huge.)

I also think you are teething. Which also blows my mind because, Good GOD, kid, SLOW DOWN. What are you trying to do to me? With teething comes a lot of not sleeping. And drooling. And trying to gnaw your own appendages off. Which SUCKS for me because I have your big sister trying to climb the walls and rearranging the kitchen (read: dragging all of the pots, pans and Tupperware into the living room and banging it against the coffee table). The gnawing thing is pretty cute, but you are a soggy, soggy baby, Ollie.

You smile and giggle a lot now (when you aren’t shoving things into your mouth or screaming about the gums) and you are happy most of the time. Which is so great because if you were anything like your sister was, I would already have been institutionalized.

You found your feet a few days ago and you were so excited when you finally managed to grab ahold of one of them that I thought you might poop. It is so funny to think that I just watched Lilah do all of this same stuff a little over a year ago and she’s so big and all over the place now. It just reaffirms for me that time goes by super fast and before I know it, you’re going to be toddling all over the place too. (I am not sure that “toddling” is an actual word. But I like it. And it very much describes what your sister does.)

You make me so happy, Little Man. You are the spitting image of your daddy and you are just so freaking adorable that sometimes I am worried I might actually eat you. (I PROBABLY won’t eat you. But I can’t make any promises because you are just THAT YUMMY.) Sometimes I feel a little bit of guilt for having you so soon after having your sister because I wonder if I am giving you all the attention that you need but you seem to be happy and thriving just like you should be. It helps that you are not as much of a total spaz as your sister was/is. You are patient when she is destroying the house and I have to put you down to “regulate” the situation.

You are a good boy. You are handsome and strong and a joy and you’re all mine. I love you, little guy.
Always,

Mom

20131010-135312.jpg