Today was a defining moment in my journey as a mother. It was the day when I realized that my childbearing days were truly over.
In October when Nicholas turned 3 I told him that now he was a big boy and we could change his room from the nursery into something less babyish. My husband and I had recently discussed the possibility of having more children and realized that we enjoyed the one-parent-to-one-child ratio with the two children we had. And so we had no reason to keep the nursery any longer.
In comes January, a fresh new year and I'm armed with a list of to-do's, Nicholas's room change at the very top. In order to make his room over I only have to remove the wallpaper border and paint the walls blue. It's not rocket science, but for some reason I keep avoiding the task.
Today is the day, however. It only takes me 30 minutes to steam and strip the border from its light green wall but it is not an easy task. As I tear the first piece of cutesy John Lennon jungle theme border from the wall I remember the day the nursery was born. I was too pregnant with Michael to participate but my mom, grandma, and sister-in-law all pitched in to paint and wallpaper. As they painted and pasted, I watched from my soon-to-be permanent position in the new rocking chair, my belly swollen with child. We talked about the upcoming birth and of our hopes and dreams for this baby, infusing the room with love and comfort.
I remember how in this room I dressed two children as they grew from newborns to infants to toddlers and finally preschoolers. I remember the thousands of diaper changes I performed in this room and how many times the floor was peed on when we were going through potty training. I remember 2000 nights of listening to Brahms lullabies as I nursed and rocked the boys to sleep.
Now, almost six years later, this room is no longer going to function as a feeding/dressing/changing haven for babies but a room where a boy can grow and sleep and dream on his own.
For the last six years my body has been like that room, a haven that housed, birthed, and nourished my boys. Now, as I approach my fourth decade, my body is my own again. It's a bittersweet feeling for me, this knowledge that I'm done having children. Never again will I feel the elation that comes from knowing that there is another being growing inside me. I will not watch in wonder as a hand or foot stretches its way across my belly from the inside. My body will never again do the dance of power required to birth an almost 9 lb. baby through a 10 cm circumference.
On the other hand, now that the boys are done with diapers and are a lot more self sufficient, I look forward to having time to do more together as a family, like ice-skating and board games. We can now take vacations where we don't have to schedule every activity around naptime. And, possibly, I can take some time to rediscover who I am and what I might like to do with myself as I grow up.
Tonight my child sleeps in his unfinished room dreaming of baseball games and dinosaurs and whatever else a 3 year-old might have stored in his subconscious. I sit on the other side of the wall reflecting on the past and realizing how very full the future really is.
About Me
- Jennifer
- I'm a wife of 19 years to Jeff and mother to two teens, Michael 18, and Tracy 15. The cats, Hannah and Leia,are female so I have a little female energy in the house besides me! In my previous life BK (before kids) I was a technical writer, poet, and essayist. Now I'm a write-at-home mom who tries to find the balance between writing, doing for kids, doing for hubbie, doing for the house, and doing for myself.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Friday, December 5, 2008
The Twelve Days of Babymas
On the first day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. a smile that was meant just for me.
On the second day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the third day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the fourth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the fifth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the sixth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the seventh day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the eighth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 8 more months of milking, 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the ninth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 9 dirty diapers, 8 more months of milking, 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the tenth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 10 clean fingers and toesies, 9 dirty diapers, 8 more months of milking, 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the eleventh day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 11 messy burp cloths, 10 clean fingers and toesies, 9 dirty diapers, 8 more months of milking, 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 12 TP rolls a flowing, 11 messy burp cloths, 10 clean fingers and toesies, 9 dirty diapers, 8 more months of milking, 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks,
And a smile that was meant just for me!
On the second day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the third day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the fourth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the fifth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the sixth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the seventh day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the eighth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 8 more months of milking, 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the ninth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 9 dirty diapers, 8 more months of milking, 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the tenth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 10 clean fingers and toesies, 9 dirty diapers, 8 more months of milking, 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the eleventh day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 11 messy burp cloths, 10 clean fingers and toesies, 9 dirty diapers, 8 more months of milking, 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 12 TP rolls a flowing, 11 messy burp cloths, 10 clean fingers and toesies, 9 dirty diapers, 8 more months of milking, 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks,
And a smile that was meant just for me!
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Aly's Legacy
A neighbor of mine lost her only child a few months ago. Her only daughter. Her name was Aly. She had just turned 19 and had just finished her first year of college. She wanted to be a nurse or doctor, last I heard. She seemed like a good kid. She loved kids, even babysat for my son once. She died suddenly, from an accidental prescription drug overdose.
As a neighbor I am in shock, for this hits too close to home. As a mother, this is unfathomable. How do you lose a child, your only child, your world? As a mother, how do you recover from this? One day your daughter is here, the next she's gone forever, all her hopes and dreams with her.
When I first heard about Aly's death I was shocked. To read in the news that 1 in 5 teens has abused a prescription pain medication (The Partnership For A Drug-free America, http://www.drugfree.org/) is one thing, but when a young person in your neighborhood dies from partying with a morphine patch is somehow inconceivable. And yet, as I remember when I was a teenager and all that was available I realize that not much has changed. Back then instead of using prescription drugs teenagers sniffed glue or took cough medicine with codeine to get high, among other things.
I know how young adults are with their devil-may-care attitudes, for I was just one of them it seems. I feel lucky to have survived that period of my life, for I thought that I was invincible. However, it could as easily have been my mother who had to deal with her daughter's death.
But it wasn't and now I am a mother. Now I know how it feels to love someone more than yourself, to vow to protect someone to the ends of this earth, to feel the gut wrenching fear of loss. I cannot imagine life without my two young boys. I feel lucky to have them here with me under my roof, but guilty as I think about my neighbor several houses down whose daughter's room is empty. I feel fear as I think about my boys' futures: how do I protect them from something like this?
I received a letter from Aly's parents sometime after her death asking to spread the word about the dangers of prescription drugs that do not belong to you. "Warn your children," they wrote. "They think they are invincible, we all did. Just because the drug isn't illegal like heroin or cocaine or crack, doesn't mean it is safe if it is prescribed by a doctor for another. One tragic mistake can take their life away and leave many hearts broken."
After reading this letter I realized that my responsibility as a writer is to share this information with as many people as possible. My children aren't yet old enough for this to be a real threat to me but knowledge is power and if we get the word out now about the dangers of prescription drugs, perhaps by the time my boys are teenagers enough actions will have been taken to get these drugs out of the hands of young people.
As I get older I am finding that there are no guarantees in life. There is nothing written in stone that says that my children will be protected from all hardships and loss or that I will not experience an untimely loss myself. But I have to believe that all the love we bestow on our children will give us some insurance. And so let's hug them, squeeze them, love them, and TALK to them. And do a lot of praying.
Please do me a favor and share this information with your children or with the parents of teenaged children. Pass it on and spread the word. If the untimely death of a teenager can spark some change in this world then her passing will not have been in vain.
As a neighbor I am in shock, for this hits too close to home. As a mother, this is unfathomable. How do you lose a child, your only child, your world? As a mother, how do you recover from this? One day your daughter is here, the next she's gone forever, all her hopes and dreams with her.
When I first heard about Aly's death I was shocked. To read in the news that 1 in 5 teens has abused a prescription pain medication (The Partnership For A Drug-free America, http://www.drugfree.org/) is one thing, but when a young person in your neighborhood dies from partying with a morphine patch is somehow inconceivable. And yet, as I remember when I was a teenager and all that was available I realize that not much has changed. Back then instead of using prescription drugs teenagers sniffed glue or took cough medicine with codeine to get high, among other things.
I know how young adults are with their devil-may-care attitudes, for I was just one of them it seems. I feel lucky to have survived that period of my life, for I thought that I was invincible. However, it could as easily have been my mother who had to deal with her daughter's death.
But it wasn't and now I am a mother. Now I know how it feels to love someone more than yourself, to vow to protect someone to the ends of this earth, to feel the gut wrenching fear of loss. I cannot imagine life without my two young boys. I feel lucky to have them here with me under my roof, but guilty as I think about my neighbor several houses down whose daughter's room is empty. I feel fear as I think about my boys' futures: how do I protect them from something like this?
I received a letter from Aly's parents sometime after her death asking to spread the word about the dangers of prescription drugs that do not belong to you. "Warn your children," they wrote. "They think they are invincible, we all did. Just because the drug isn't illegal like heroin or cocaine or crack, doesn't mean it is safe if it is prescribed by a doctor for another. One tragic mistake can take their life away and leave many hearts broken."
After reading this letter I realized that my responsibility as a writer is to share this information with as many people as possible. My children aren't yet old enough for this to be a real threat to me but knowledge is power and if we get the word out now about the dangers of prescription drugs, perhaps by the time my boys are teenagers enough actions will have been taken to get these drugs out of the hands of young people.
As I get older I am finding that there are no guarantees in life. There is nothing written in stone that says that my children will be protected from all hardships and loss or that I will not experience an untimely loss myself. But I have to believe that all the love we bestow on our children will give us some insurance. And so let's hug them, squeeze them, love them, and TALK to them. And do a lot of praying.
Please do me a favor and share this information with your children or with the parents of teenaged children. Pass it on and spread the word. If the untimely death of a teenager can spark some change in this world then her passing will not have been in vain.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Survival of the Stitches!
Tonight Jeff and I can officially call ourselves seasoned parents: we survived a trip to Urgent Care for one of our sons.
It happened like this:
It was about 6:30 p.m. and Michael had just put on his pajamas. He'd had a busy week and weekend and was needing to go to bed early, says me. Apparently he didn't agree with this because he started that before bedtime rough housing thing that boys do with their fathers (at least mine do). I was putting away dishes in the kitchen and the boys and Jeff were in the living room.
All of a sudden I heard a loud thwack of head hitting solid surface. Immediately following was a loud, high-pitched scream, the one reserved only for serious hurts. I ran into the living room and saw Jeff holding Michael's head. His first instinct was to see if Michael's head was bleeding. Sure enough, it was.
"What happened?" I asked without raising my voice. Somehow I was not entering panic mode but instead was calm.
"Michael hit his head on the corner of the coffee table," Jeff replied.
"Murphy's Law," I said. "We haven't had a coffee table in the house since Michael was little for just this reason and 10 days after we get one someone gets hurt."
I was not experienced with head wound treatment but knew enough to find a spare cloth, wet it down, and put it on the back of Michael's head and apply pressure. After a few minutes I lifted the cloth to see the damage. What I saw was not good - a one-inch gash of broken skin on the back of Michael's head along with a lot of blood.
"Looks like a trip to the hospital for stitches," I said. Jeff agreed. Michael didn't.
"Noooooo!!!" Michael wailed. "I don't want to go to the hospital! I don't want to get stitches!"
Does anyone ever WANT to get stitches? Probably not. Michael doesn't do well with being hurt and has to have band-aids for little tiny paper cuts. The last time he had to have a shot at the doctor's office he hid under the table and I had to drag him out in order for him to get the shot.
I've never had stitches so I have no experience to go by as far as what happens, but I tried my best to assure Michael that it wouldn't hurt much and that we really needed to get his head fixed. Luckily for us we realized that we could go to the Urgent Care facility a mile down the road and bypass the ER experience.
"I'm scared Momma, I'm really scared," Michael said to me as I held the cloth against his head while Jeff drove.
"It'll be ok," I reassured him. "I'll be with you the whole time and hold your hand."
Despite this fact, he was pretty hysterical by the time the nurse took us back to the cot where he would get his stitches. I'm not the best at thinking on the fly, but I have to give myself a pat on the back because tonight I stood up to the challenge.
"How about if I tell you a story?" I asked him.
"Uh huh," he mumbled through his tears.
"Once upon a time," I began, "there was a little boy named Michael..." I don't know if it was the tone of my voice or if he really was enthralled by my stories (or maybe it was the 25 mg of Benedryl they gave him), but he calmed right down and remained that way while the nurse cut the hair around his cut and cleaned it, and through the doctor's assessment that he would indeed need 4 stitches.
We had plenty of time for stories too since we had to wait about 30 minutes for the Benadryl to take effect and the Lidocaine to numb his wound. By the time the doctor came in to stitch Michael up, he was pretty groggy. He only cried a little bit when the doctor gave him a couple shots of local anesthesia to numb him up. And he laid perfectly still for the stitches. Not even a peep.
So, 1 1/2 hours, $40, four Lego stickers, and two tired children later we said goodbye to the Urgent Care staff, thankful that we hadn't had to take a trip to the Emergency Room (for we would probably still be there) and thankful that the situation hadn't been much worse.
Nothing can prepare one for situations like these but I'm proud that Jeff and I were both mavericks through it all. No one passed out from the sight of blood or the gaping wound or the stitching of skin. We remained cool, calm, and collected. We survived.
Tomorrow, I'm afraid, will be a different story. That's when I get to tackle the fun task of washing the wound and putting salve on it. I'm sure that will be like trying to get a cat to take a bath. Maybe I can try the story trick again.
"Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Michael..."
It happened like this:
It was about 6:30 p.m. and Michael had just put on his pajamas. He'd had a busy week and weekend and was needing to go to bed early, says me. Apparently he didn't agree with this because he started that before bedtime rough housing thing that boys do with their fathers (at least mine do). I was putting away dishes in the kitchen and the boys and Jeff were in the living room.
All of a sudden I heard a loud thwack of head hitting solid surface. Immediately following was a loud, high-pitched scream, the one reserved only for serious hurts. I ran into the living room and saw Jeff holding Michael's head. His first instinct was to see if Michael's head was bleeding. Sure enough, it was.
"What happened?" I asked without raising my voice. Somehow I was not entering panic mode but instead was calm.
"Michael hit his head on the corner of the coffee table," Jeff replied.
"Murphy's Law," I said. "We haven't had a coffee table in the house since Michael was little for just this reason and 10 days after we get one someone gets hurt."
I was not experienced with head wound treatment but knew enough to find a spare cloth, wet it down, and put it on the back of Michael's head and apply pressure. After a few minutes I lifted the cloth to see the damage. What I saw was not good - a one-inch gash of broken skin on the back of Michael's head along with a lot of blood.
"Looks like a trip to the hospital for stitches," I said. Jeff agreed. Michael didn't.
"Noooooo!!!" Michael wailed. "I don't want to go to the hospital! I don't want to get stitches!"
Does anyone ever WANT to get stitches? Probably not. Michael doesn't do well with being hurt and has to have band-aids for little tiny paper cuts. The last time he had to have a shot at the doctor's office he hid under the table and I had to drag him out in order for him to get the shot.
I've never had stitches so I have no experience to go by as far as what happens, but I tried my best to assure Michael that it wouldn't hurt much and that we really needed to get his head fixed. Luckily for us we realized that we could go to the Urgent Care facility a mile down the road and bypass the ER experience.
"I'm scared Momma, I'm really scared," Michael said to me as I held the cloth against his head while Jeff drove.
"It'll be ok," I reassured him. "I'll be with you the whole time and hold your hand."
Despite this fact, he was pretty hysterical by the time the nurse took us back to the cot where he would get his stitches. I'm not the best at thinking on the fly, but I have to give myself a pat on the back because tonight I stood up to the challenge.
"How about if I tell you a story?" I asked him.
"Uh huh," he mumbled through his tears.
"Once upon a time," I began, "there was a little boy named Michael..." I don't know if it was the tone of my voice or if he really was enthralled by my stories (or maybe it was the 25 mg of Benedryl they gave him), but he calmed right down and remained that way while the nurse cut the hair around his cut and cleaned it, and through the doctor's assessment that he would indeed need 4 stitches.
We had plenty of time for stories too since we had to wait about 30 minutes for the Benadryl to take effect and the Lidocaine to numb his wound. By the time the doctor came in to stitch Michael up, he was pretty groggy. He only cried a little bit when the doctor gave him a couple shots of local anesthesia to numb him up. And he laid perfectly still for the stitches. Not even a peep.
So, 1 1/2 hours, $40, four Lego stickers, and two tired children later we said goodbye to the Urgent Care staff, thankful that we hadn't had to take a trip to the Emergency Room (for we would probably still be there) and thankful that the situation hadn't been much worse.
Nothing can prepare one for situations like these but I'm proud that Jeff and I were both mavericks through it all. No one passed out from the sight of blood or the gaping wound or the stitching of skin. We remained cool, calm, and collected. We survived.
Tomorrow, I'm afraid, will be a different story. That's when I get to tackle the fun task of washing the wound and putting salve on it. I'm sure that will be like trying to get a cat to take a bath. Maybe I can try the story trick again.
"Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Michael..."
Monday, October 27, 2008
All By Myself!
Nicholas has a new mantra: "I can do it ALL BY MYSELF!" He says it about everything from putting jelly on his waffle to putting on his shirt in the morning. He is very proud about this budding independence of his.
"Nicholas, come brush your teeth," I tell him as I get the toothpaste and toothbrush out.
"I can do it all by myself," he demands as he grabs the toothpaste from me and squeezes twice the amount he needs onto the toothbrush.
I try to let him do as much by himself as he can for I know this is important for his development. He'll ask me for help when he needs it, which is often. This morning he wanted to get dressed right after he got up. While I tried to clear my head for the day he went into his room, took off his pajamas, picked out a shirt, put it on, put some underwear on, and came to get me to get him some pants.
"Do you want to wear jeans or sweatpants today?" I asked him.
"Sweatpants," he said. I picked out a pair of sweatpants and automatically held them so he could step into them.
"Mom!" he cried. "I can do it all by myself!"
"I can do it all by myself." These words are music to my ears for up until about a month ago he could never bear to be without me.
From the time this child entered the world we were stuck together like glue. I knew right from the start that he was going to give us a run for our money. When Michael was born he didn't cry at all; he just looked around taking it all in (and to this day he is the same way - he absorbs his environment). Not Nicholas. He came out screaming and crying and wouldn't calm down until he was handed to his mother and put to the breast.
As an infant, Nicholas liked to be held and if you put him down he would scream and cry until you picked him up again. Eventually we were able to put him in his swing for a long nap. At 6 weeks old he slept through the night for 10 hours at a stretch. How we celebrated when this happened. Unfortunately it was short lived and then his need for me was so much more intense. It was a need, too. He just wouldn't be satisfied with anyone - not Daddy, not Grandma or Grandpa - unless it was Mom.
Last month, much to my delight, he took a couple major steps forward in the "All by myself" campaign. First he mastered going poop in the potty almost overnight (going pee pee took a little longer but now I don't have to constantly hound him about going every 30 minutes), and then he started preschool AND had a sleepover by himself at Grandma's all on the same day.
I was floored by the grace in which he executed the latter two steps. The first day of preschool he walked through the door full of confidence and delight. I hung around for about 5 minutes and then told him I was going to go but I would be back to pick him up soon.
"Ok, Mom," he said and gave me a hug, then went back to playing with blocks. As I walked out the door I was surprised to find that I was tearing up, partly with joy at how easily we parted and partly with sadness that my baby was already hitting this milestone. I kept my cell phone on as I ran errands, expecting to get a call that he was inconsolable and needed me, but the call didn't come. When I picked him up he was excited to see me and so proud of himself for staying all by himself.
That same afternoon we went over to my mom's house to visit and celebrate his first day of preschool. I don't know if he was still riding the high of his newfound independance or just trying to see how brave he could be, but I know that I just about fell on my face when he uttered these words that my mom had been waiting almost 3 years to hear: "Grandma, can I have a sleepover?"
Of course she didn't say no so we went home and packed his suitcase. Upon dropping him off, I told my mom to call if I needed to come pick him up, even if it was at 3:00 in the morning. Then I went home to wait for that phone call. O ye of little faith, I thought ashamedly.
That night I had the best sleep I've had for about 5 years. I didn't wake up once - the phone never rang. I waited until I got Michael off to school then called my mom, anxious to hear the report.
Apparently Nicholas had the best sleep he's ever had too. "He didn't wake up once," my mom told me. "He was happy and didn't even cry for his mommy."
I was so excited for him and for myself. This was nothing short of a miracle! My clingy babe was turning into an independant little boy. I could see my future opening before my eyes: weekends away with the girls, trips away with my husband. Finally I would have some freedom!
In a fairy tale, this is just what would happen: Nicholas would continue to love being apart from his mom and be content to go to school by himself and have sleepovers away from home all the time. Alas, he fell victim to the two steps forward one step back rule of thumb.
In a few weeks he decided that he really didn't like going to preschool without me and began screaming and crying when I would leave him. His teacher and I decided that in order to prevent him from being traumatized from school forever that it was in his best interest if we pulled him from the program. It broke my heart to do so because we love this teacher and this particular preschool program, but he hasn't mentioned going back ever since so I know that it was the right thing to do. As far as sleepovers, well, he likes the idea of having one, but when it gets down to the time when Mom or Dad has to leave, he decides that he wants to go too.
And so I get what I had wanted in the first place: more quality time with my second-born son. Weekends away will just have to wait a little longer, but I'm taking time for myself at night or on the weekend. And Nicholas, well, he is still asserting himself and his independance, this time by tackling tasks like pouring cereal and milk into a bowl by himself or getting the juice out of the refrigerator.
"Nicholas, come brush your teeth," I tell him as I get the toothpaste and toothbrush out.
"I can do it all by myself," he demands as he grabs the toothpaste from me and squeezes twice the amount he needs onto the toothbrush.
I try to let him do as much by himself as he can for I know this is important for his development. He'll ask me for help when he needs it, which is often. This morning he wanted to get dressed right after he got up. While I tried to clear my head for the day he went into his room, took off his pajamas, picked out a shirt, put it on, put some underwear on, and came to get me to get him some pants.
"Do you want to wear jeans or sweatpants today?" I asked him.
"Sweatpants," he said. I picked out a pair of sweatpants and automatically held them so he could step into them.
"Mom!" he cried. "I can do it all by myself!"
"I can do it all by myself." These words are music to my ears for up until about a month ago he could never bear to be without me.
From the time this child entered the world we were stuck together like glue. I knew right from the start that he was going to give us a run for our money. When Michael was born he didn't cry at all; he just looked around taking it all in (and to this day he is the same way - he absorbs his environment). Not Nicholas. He came out screaming and crying and wouldn't calm down until he was handed to his mother and put to the breast.
As an infant, Nicholas liked to be held and if you put him down he would scream and cry until you picked him up again. Eventually we were able to put him in his swing for a long nap. At 6 weeks old he slept through the night for 10 hours at a stretch. How we celebrated when this happened. Unfortunately it was short lived and then his need for me was so much more intense. It was a need, too. He just wouldn't be satisfied with anyone - not Daddy, not Grandma or Grandpa - unless it was Mom.
Last month, much to my delight, he took a couple major steps forward in the "All by myself" campaign. First he mastered going poop in the potty almost overnight (going pee pee took a little longer but now I don't have to constantly hound him about going every 30 minutes), and then he started preschool AND had a sleepover by himself at Grandma's all on the same day.
I was floored by the grace in which he executed the latter two steps. The first day of preschool he walked through the door full of confidence and delight. I hung around for about 5 minutes and then told him I was going to go but I would be back to pick him up soon.
"Ok, Mom," he said and gave me a hug, then went back to playing with blocks. As I walked out the door I was surprised to find that I was tearing up, partly with joy at how easily we parted and partly with sadness that my baby was already hitting this milestone. I kept my cell phone on as I ran errands, expecting to get a call that he was inconsolable and needed me, but the call didn't come. When I picked him up he was excited to see me and so proud of himself for staying all by himself.
That same afternoon we went over to my mom's house to visit and celebrate his first day of preschool. I don't know if he was still riding the high of his newfound independance or just trying to see how brave he could be, but I know that I just about fell on my face when he uttered these words that my mom had been waiting almost 3 years to hear: "Grandma, can I have a sleepover?"
Of course she didn't say no so we went home and packed his suitcase. Upon dropping him off, I told my mom to call if I needed to come pick him up, even if it was at 3:00 in the morning. Then I went home to wait for that phone call. O ye of little faith, I thought ashamedly.
That night I had the best sleep I've had for about 5 years. I didn't wake up once - the phone never rang. I waited until I got Michael off to school then called my mom, anxious to hear the report.
Apparently Nicholas had the best sleep he's ever had too. "He didn't wake up once," my mom told me. "He was happy and didn't even cry for his mommy."
I was so excited for him and for myself. This was nothing short of a miracle! My clingy babe was turning into an independant little boy. I could see my future opening before my eyes: weekends away with the girls, trips away with my husband. Finally I would have some freedom!
In a fairy tale, this is just what would happen: Nicholas would continue to love being apart from his mom and be content to go to school by himself and have sleepovers away from home all the time. Alas, he fell victim to the two steps forward one step back rule of thumb.
In a few weeks he decided that he really didn't like going to preschool without me and began screaming and crying when I would leave him. His teacher and I decided that in order to prevent him from being traumatized from school forever that it was in his best interest if we pulled him from the program. It broke my heart to do so because we love this teacher and this particular preschool program, but he hasn't mentioned going back ever since so I know that it was the right thing to do. As far as sleepovers, well, he likes the idea of having one, but when it gets down to the time when Mom or Dad has to leave, he decides that he wants to go too.
And so I get what I had wanted in the first place: more quality time with my second-born son. Weekends away will just have to wait a little longer, but I'm taking time for myself at night or on the weekend. And Nicholas, well, he is still asserting himself and his independance, this time by tackling tasks like pouring cereal and milk into a bowl by himself or getting the juice out of the refrigerator.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Bugs, Bugs, Bugs!!
The e-mail came late Friday afternoon. It said, "Dear Parents, we found out late today that we have several students in the building that have head lice."
My heart stopped. Lice?! LICE?! As in creepy crawly bugs that cling to a child's head like bears to honey? Come on, I thought. We're only one month into the kindergarten and already we're getting notes about lice in the school?!
"Please check your children for nits," the e-mail continued. "They look like dandruff, but are difficult to get off the hair shaft unlike dandruff." I hoped that since Michael only went to school twice that week he wouldn't be very likely to come in contact with the lice, but called him over to me to check his head anyway.
"Mom, what are you doing?" he said as I lifted up his hair and randomly checked the roots for nits. (Even typing the word nits gives me the creeps - to think that something could be crawling around in my son's hair is unimaginable.)
"I'm looking for bugs, buddy," I replied. "Sometimes little bugs can get in your hair and then you have to get them out."
"How would you get them out?" he asked, intrigued by the thought.
"Well, you might have to get your head shaved cause then the bugs wouldn't have any hair to hold onto," I told him, not really knowing if that were true but it sounded good and maybe it would scare him into holding still for me.
It did. "Oh, I don't want that to happen," he said and sat like a stone so I could do a thorough check.
Luckily, I didn't find anything. I know from hearing horror stories what a pain having a child with lice can be. I think that apart from the vomiting flu, having your child come home with lice is a mother's biggest nightmare. Not only do you have to get the lice out of the hair, which can be tricky, then you have to decontaminate the whole house and hope that you got all the lice because leaving behind just one can start the process over again. I know a woman who battled lice on and off for 2 years and finally got rid of them by smothering them with mayonaise and plastic bags.
Hopefully I won't have to go through that. Michael came home from school today and told me that someone went through his hair and looked for bugs. I didn't receive a phone call from the school so I have to assume that he is bug-free. And that's the way it will hopefully stay. Bugs belong outside in the grass and trees, not in little boys' heads. But I'll keep checking anyway.
Here are some informational links about lice and how to get rid of them:
http://www.oakgov.com/health/assets/Documents/fs_headlice.pdf
http://www.oakgov.com/health/assets/Documents/PPHS/headlice_checklist.pdf
http://www.s-e-a.net/
My heart stopped. Lice?! LICE?! As in creepy crawly bugs that cling to a child's head like bears to honey? Come on, I thought. We're only one month into the kindergarten and already we're getting notes about lice in the school?!
"Please check your children for nits," the e-mail continued. "They look like dandruff, but are difficult to get off the hair shaft unlike dandruff." I hoped that since Michael only went to school twice that week he wouldn't be very likely to come in contact with the lice, but called him over to me to check his head anyway.
"Mom, what are you doing?" he said as I lifted up his hair and randomly checked the roots for nits. (Even typing the word nits gives me the creeps - to think that something could be crawling around in my son's hair is unimaginable.)
"I'm looking for bugs, buddy," I replied. "Sometimes little bugs can get in your hair and then you have to get them out."
"How would you get them out?" he asked, intrigued by the thought.
"Well, you might have to get your head shaved cause then the bugs wouldn't have any hair to hold onto," I told him, not really knowing if that were true but it sounded good and maybe it would scare him into holding still for me.
It did. "Oh, I don't want that to happen," he said and sat like a stone so I could do a thorough check.
Luckily, I didn't find anything. I know from hearing horror stories what a pain having a child with lice can be. I think that apart from the vomiting flu, having your child come home with lice is a mother's biggest nightmare. Not only do you have to get the lice out of the hair, which can be tricky, then you have to decontaminate the whole house and hope that you got all the lice because leaving behind just one can start the process over again. I know a woman who battled lice on and off for 2 years and finally got rid of them by smothering them with mayonaise and plastic bags.
Hopefully I won't have to go through that. Michael came home from school today and told me that someone went through his hair and looked for bugs. I didn't receive a phone call from the school so I have to assume that he is bug-free. And that's the way it will hopefully stay. Bugs belong outside in the grass and trees, not in little boys' heads. But I'll keep checking anyway.
Here are some informational links about lice and how to get rid of them:
http://www.oakgov.com/health/assets/Documents/fs_headlice.pdf
http://www.oakgov.com/health/assets/Documents/PPHS/headlice_checklist.pdf
http://www.s-e-a.net/
Friday, September 26, 2008
The Fling
My husband is having a fling. I know about it too. In fact, he wants me to join in. I just don't know how I feel about having a threesome ..... with a boat. That's right, the other woman is a boat. A 1996 Four Winns Fling.
It all came about in August right before we went on our yearly vacation up north to a small cabin on a small lake by Sleeping Bear Dunes National Park. This would be our third year taking the kids up to the cabin we rented with my sister-in-law, niece, and brother, who, to put it mildly, is a fishing enthusiast.
The first year the guys went fishing in the rowboat that was provided with the cabin. The rowing proved to be too taxing for them so the second year my husband Jeff borrowed a motor from one of his friends with a boat. He and my brother spent the entire week trying to get that motor to work so they could attach it to the rowboat and go fishing in style. Alas, they never got it started and had to be satisfied with catching fish waist-deep in the lake.
So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised with what was coming next. As our trip approached, Jeff frequented the computer at every spare chance he got.
"Whatcha doing?" I asked him as he sat at the computer while I cleaned up the dinner dishes yet again.
"Nothing," he replied. "Just surfing."
"Surfing for what?" I asked as I walked over to peek at what he was doing. When he saw that I was not going to stop being nosy until I had a satisfactory answer he spilled his plan.
"I'm looking for boats so we can take one up north on vacation."
Oh, the boat obsession thing again.
"What are we going to do with a boat?" I began my argument, one of which he'd heard many, many times. "The kids are too little to tube or water ski and besides, they are afraid of the water anyway!"
"Well, I found a small one on craigslist.com and it's in good shape and is only a mile away. I think I'm going to take a look at it," he said, my argument falling on deaf ears. Oh crap, I thought, this time he's seriously looking. Time to pull out all the stops.
"Where would we store a boat? We can't even fit the cars in the garage right now? And with gas being so high - is buying a boat right now a smart thing?"
Apparently he'd been thinking about the boat for a long time and had done his research so he had an answer for all my questions.
"We can store it at your dad's - he'd let us right? And because this is a small boat it really won't take that much gas. Besides, I've already received an e-mail from the seller and I'm going to take a look tomorrow. Come on, it'll be fun to have a boat!"
He had such a happy look on his face that I conceded. "All right, go take a look at the boat and I'll think about it," I said, but even as I spoke those words I knew the decision wasn't up to me and that if the boat was in good shape the sale was already made.
I did, however, keep up my end of the bargain and think about what life would be like with a boat in it. And I didn't really like what I saw. For one thing, I am not a boat person. I am a land dweller. I like to have both feet planted on solid ground not in a wobbly boat that pollutes the air with gas fumes. Lakes have too many things in them, like seaweed and FISH. Anyone who knows me knows of my fear of the finned ones. I won't even go into the water when minnows appear at the shore. So for me to go in a boat on a lake where if I fall in I might come in contact with a fish is not something that appeals to me.
And another thing: Jeff gets very involved and obsessed with his toys and this boat would be yet another distraction away from me and the boys. I could see it now - the yard would go to pot because every nice weekend for the rest of the summer would be spent on the boat. And evenings would be spent tinkering on the boat.
I kept these thoughts to myself because Jeff came home from the viewing looking so happy as he said "Family, we are almost the proud owners of a boat!" He said almost because he did want to get my input first. So we went to have a look. I have to tell you, I didn't see stars or fireworks as he must have when he first laid eyes on the boat. To me I saw a tiny boat that looked like it was in good shape. To Jeff, it was fun, excitement, and thrill in a small package. Jeff tried to sell me on all the details, like the fact that this boat would retain its value if we decided in a few years that the boating life was not for us after all. "What fun we could have as a family on this boat!" he pontificated. I knew that if I didn't agree that he would either buy it anyway or continue his search until he wore me down, so I relented with strings.
"I'm not totally sold on this boat thing," I told him. "You'll have to do some heavy convincing."
The next day the boat was ours. And the affair had begun. His, not mine.
The first time he got a chance to drive the boat as the owner was on the lake up north, 5 days after he bought it.
"Do you know what you're doing?" I asked him as I helped him back the boat into the water. He assured me he did but I could tell he didn't. The wind was blowing kind of hard and each time he tried to get the boat started it would start to drift back into shore. I was no help because I knew absolutely nothing about boats. Luckily for him a kind, brave soul saw his need and came to help him get the boat started and going in the direction he wanted. I watched him throttle it to full speed as the motor took, hair flying off his forehead as the nose of the boat rose sharply in the air. Well, at least he's happy, I thought. I just hope he doesn't get stranded in the middle of the lake.
That week at the lake was the best week we'd had at the cabin. I'd actually have to say that the boat was a big reason: the dads got to spend some quality time teaching their kids how to fish on the boat; therefore, the moms got some alone time to relax and bake in the sun. And everyone knows that when moms are happy, everyone is happy!
Back home, however, real life with the boat set in. As I'd predicted, every nice weekend was planned around the boat. We took it out with friends one Saturday and were on it for 6 hours. Well, the guys and kids were at least for the novelty of going around a lake in circles had wore off on me up north. Plus, when I was on the boat with Jeff and the kids I was always worried about the kids' safety.
"Don't go so fast," I would tell him as we zoomed over the waves from another boat. "What if you bounce the kids out of the boat?" Jeff assured me that would not happen, but I didn't believe him.
Needless to say, I haven't been on the boat too much. I would much rather be at home than on the boat. He has gone out with the kids and with friends but I can tell that he really wants to take me for a ride and convince me that having a boat is fun. After all, that's what he bought it for.
Tomorrow he will get his chance. The kids are going to the zoo with their grandparents and the weather is supposed to be perfect. So I'll leave my misgivings about the boat behind and try to have fun. After all, why should the boat get to have all the fun? I'd like to have a fling with my husband too!
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