Please Don't Say It's Just a Phase

I don’t know about you, but second to commenting on my appearanceduring pregnancy, nothing quite makes me squirm with annoyance quite like beingtold “It’s just a phase.”  Those fourwords mean you’re not getting any sympathy from anyone who has already beenthrough it. It’s code for “You’ve just got to tough it out. Sucker.” And theperson who tells you “it’s just a phase” is most certainly smiling on theinside knowing they wouldn’t want to relive that “phase” EVER AGAIN.

So what phases make you want to exclaim – You whine. I wine.

Here are some of my least favorite phases.

My kid hated diaper changes, too, but they grow out of it. It's just a phase.

Perhaps one of the most frustrating and disgusting phases. Nothingcompares to smelling that unmistakable smell of your kid having pooped. Yousmell it. God forbid you hear it happen. And you quickly think to yourself “didI change the last dump? If so, I’m definitely not changing this one.” But astoo often happens, with no else around, you sigh heavily (taking in deepbreaths while you still can) and head towards your toddler. As soon as you movetowards your child, he or she recoils as if to convey their deepest desire to keep the poop right where it is. In thesteaming diaper. WTF?! you think to yourself. This kid has got to be kidding.But no, not kidding. Not even close to kidding. And that’s usually right whenthe little monster sits down and you just think ‘super. Sit in it. That’sgreat.’  And you know, since there’s noway for a single wipe to come out of a dispenser at a time, that this diaperchange will definitely take a dozen wipes, and tears, and you may even need todouble bag it.  And with all thosethoughts in your mind, you just decide it’s time. You’ve stared at your childwith total disgust for long enough. And the fear that it will not remaincontained in the diaper for much longer is too much to handle.

 This whole “phase” gives newmeaning to the phrase Oh Shit. And let me tell you this, if we don’t get out ofthis “let me sit in my wet diaper; let me play in my poop” phase…. Well, someserious shit is going to go down. (whatever that means)

Oh, those terrible twos. It's just a phase.

WHAT?!!!! It's not a phase. It's an entire year of my life that I must livewith a two foot tall terrorist. ‘nuff said.

Yeah, sometimes kids experience sleep regression. It's just a phase.

Um, hell no!  He doesn't sleep, Idon't sleep. I don't sleep, husband doesn't sleep. And with no one sleeping, myhusband and I are definitely turning on each other as our wills get crushedeach night.

This isn't a phase, it's a form of torture. Just ask my husband howmany times he heard THAT phrase when we had a newborn. “Honey, it’s not justthat I’m tired. I’m tired in the way that sleep deprivation was used as torturein times of war.” Yes, I pulled the torture and war card. It seemed appropriateand accurate at the time.

Sometimes kids start to hate foods they used to love. It's just aphase.

Sure, says the person who isn't in a death match stare down with their childwho is looking at you like you’re crazy for even suggesting that he eat rice.Or chicken. Or applesauce. How dare you serve those awful foods.  Um….you loved them YESTERDAY! Seriously. Howdoes it happen so fast? Now I know where the love/hate thing comes from.Toddlers. They love it. They hate it. End of story.

And don’t even get me started on hunger strikes. Seriously. How dothese little people know about strikes?! Is eating too much to ask?

I’m aware that these are just a sampling of the many, many, many, manyphases that we go through with our babies and toddlers. If you’re up forsharing your best and worst, please do. I can tell you. It feels really good toget this off my chest. So now it’s your turn!

How Do You Know if the Grass is Greener?

Often times, I catch myself thinking about a world in which the grass is greener. Thanks to my husband's healthy ego (and I really do say that with love), whenever I'm "green dreaming" (term I use to refer to dreaming of the place where the grass is greener) he grounds me in some positive aspect of the shit show that we are dealing with -- or phase, as the pros would call it.  And it is the "green dreaming" that inspired the theme for my blog. Sometimes I wish this job of being a mom wasn't so Hard and didn't feel like a Job. But hands down, even though there are times I dream of something easier, what I have is the Best. Ever. And there you have it, my grassy green blog. A momztale of the Best. Hardest. Job. Ever.

Now, enough about me.  Let's talk about me.

My green dreams.. 

"I wish I didn't use nursing as an excuse to eat EVERYTHING."
Ok. So who can relate? You have a baby. You lose enough weight initially from the birth to make you feel like you've done good enough for a while. And as you start to get into your mom groove, you decide to lighten up on yourself. I mean, I'm not a Hollywood actress, so I don't have the pressure to lose all the weight in 6 weeks. And hey, it took 10 months to gain all this weight, so I might as well take 10 months (uh, or more) to shed the pounds. With this reasonable sensibility of facing the flab, I for one, began to eat MORE than I did when I was pregnant. I geniusly justified it because I was nursing and you know you MUST consume at least 500 extra calories a day when breastfeeding. Um, yeah. No. I most certainly did not need those extra 500 calories. Because for me, those were shitty, wasted calories. I didn't just eat an extra bite here and there --- or fruit with peanut butter as suggested by too many books. Instead, I treated this like my last hurrah. Like the way a guy enters his bachelor party --- with the sense that he must get as drunk as possible and have the most fun possible --- I entered post-baby "dieting" with the same mindset. I MUST make sure that I eat every last bit of food that pre-pregnancy I would have deemed as "bad." If I get it out of my system now, I won't crave it later. Oh sure. Yeah. That works. Uh, no it doesn't. But after 16 months, I was back to my pre-baby weight and in hindsight, I don't really care that it took so long. I really did enjoy my pregnancy and that first year of motherhood. A cake eating (mostly just frosting), cookies and ice cream enjoying, chip and dip craving and fast food (ew, but yes) indulging first year. And here I am, hoping to get knocked up again for a do-over. Hmmmm....

"I wish he was a better eater"
Something I've said to my husband countless times.  And my husband's wise words of comfort usually entail "You would be so annoyed if he was a good eater because you would have to prepare more elaborate meals everyday and do even more shopping." He's right. I now sound like the laziest mom of all time, but it's true. I myself would be perfectly happy eating a bowl of cereal for dinner. Maybe a bag of popcorn.  So when it comes to preparing meals and making sure my son eats a healthy diet, it's already work, just based on the mere fact that he can't live on cereal and popcorn.  My son who only eats things in the shape of a ball or that requires "sauce" (ketchup) helps simplify my life and certainly our evening routine. So yes, for me, my situation is actually the greener side of things (even though it's hard to remember in moments of total frustration -- like tossing away an uneaten dinner every night for a week!).

"I wish my son slept through the night"

Before he started sleeping for 10-12 hours, I used to dream of a life in which my son slept through the night (as most parents do). Well, now he does and whether it's pathetic to admit or not, I miss him in the night. Not to the point that I wish he would wake up (um, that would mean I wouldn't be up to speed on all things "Real Housewives" related) but when I climb into bed I think about how excited I am to kiss his sweet face in the morning.  While being honest, I confess that I'm then equally excited to turn on Elmo and throw a bottle his way in hopes of stealing another 15 mins of sleep in the morning. I guess I just realize that I wouldn't trade the late night cuddles that helped us get to this land of zzzssss.


So for all the moms out there who wonder what it would be like "if only..." let us not forget that there's a lot of joy in the way it just is. And there's also NO guilt or judgment to be passed for wishing for something else. Parenting, after all, is a guessing game. So who can blame us for trying to guess what the green dream would look like?

Please share --- what are your green dreams?

All that comes with being a working mom

A friend just shared this with me and I have to pay it forward. Here's to all the working mothers out there --- and a few bits of advice to those who like to weigh in on choices we have made.

From Huffington Post: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/devon-corneal/what-not-to-say-to-a-working-mom_b_2566952.html

The Gamble

It's a gamble for my husband and I to try to put Reece down for a nap on the weekends. Our incredible nanny can get him to nap seemingly effortlessly, however when mommy and daddy are home, all bets are off.

So today.... Dressed in Santa jammies, we headed to play with cousins (family is the best play date because we rolled in at 845 am this morning and I'm not sure who else would invite us over at that hour!). After 2 hours of play, R was done and honestly, my husband and I welcomed the upcoming nap. But as we contemplated heading home and wrestling him into his crib, we figured the safer bet was to drive around. So we did. For those in the DC area, you will appreciate that we drove all the way from GW parkway starting at the beltway, down to Mount Vernon and then headed back out to the beltway. 3 times.

As my husband drove and Reece slept, I flipped through Facebook updates, longing to be one of the parents whose kids no longer nap. Or one of the kid-less friends who wasn't posting because they were just getting ready to head to brunch.

I know the song all to well ... "You got to know when to hold em, know when to fold em..." But I never thought it would be naps that I would be gambling with. I mean c'mon.... I seriously need a dose of excitement.

How I Beat Muffin Top

Today, I beat my "muffin top" because today, I wore maternity pants to work.

Let me tell you how this very unattractive story unfolded in my house this morning.

I woke up and felt huge. Like I had eaten a sheet cake in my sleep and surely, none of my regular clothes would fit.  How is it that for no reason at all, I just woke up and felt bloated and big and like my body had changed overnight? [I acknowledge that this is all a bit cray cray (as in crazy) but it's just an honest account of my morning].

So, as any irrational woman may have done, I planned my outfit around tights (not just because it's 15 degrees outside today), but because I can pull the tights up to my bra for a very slimming effect.  (I doubt there are any men reading this blog post, so ladies, it's a safe place here to rejoice in the "up to the bra" move). By pulling my tights up to my bra, I can escape the snug fit of pants and skirts around my waist and with tights pulled up high, there is no muffin top to be found.

So there I am. I did it. Tights and bra. That's the outfit. 

As I stand in front of my mirror and take in the horror show that is my appearance, I realize I just can't possibly go out dressed like this today. Of course, I would have put clothes over top the tights and actually put on make-up and brushed my hair. But that intial sight was too powerful to overcome.

On to my next move.

As I looked at my clothes hanging in front of me, I reached for my favorite black pants. They don't always give muffin top because they have a bit of stretch, so I figured that was the next best thing. But then, to my absolute delight, I noticed that hanging next to them -- hiding underneath another pair of pants  -- were my black stretchy maternity pants. JACKPOT!!! You would have thought that I found Ryan Gosling hiding in my closet. That was the level of my delight.  But no, it was just the most comfortable pair of pants I have ever owned. 

I slipped them on and wouldn't you know it....I felt skinny. Nevermind that these pants fit when I had gained 40 pounds and had a human inside my stomach.  It didn't matter. I felt skinny. With that boost of manufactured confidence, I put on a cute top, make-up, jewelry and heels, and off I went!

Not long after I arrived at work, I was in the hallway chatting with a few friends. Another girl we work with walks by and comments "I love those black pants!"

My stomach drops.

I am reminded in that moment, that my outfit was not made for the destination of work. I am in fact, Destination Maternity. And although I then need to accept that I am wearing maternity pants when I'm most certainly not pregnant, I find a bit of joy in the fact that I'm not also wearing maternity underwear. Nor do I have a muffin top today.

Small victories. I will most certainly take the small victories.


 

Last Name = No No

Perhaps the funniest moment of my 21 months as a parent happened this weekend.

Over dinner with family, my brother-in-law asked my son Reece, "What's your name?" 

Reece answered with his correct first name.

Then followed the question, "Do you know your last name?" 

To which Reece replied, "No No." 

World, please meet my son, Reece No No.

Immediately we all burst out laughing and my husband and I quickly caught each others eye as we were equal parts amused and horrified that we say "Reece, no no" so much that he thinks it's his last name.

After the dinner, I sat-down at the computer with my husband to show him an old Cosby bit I remembered from many moons ago. It's the one in which Bill Cosby talks about how he thought his name was "Jesus Christ" and his brother's name was "Damn it" because his father would say things likes "Jesus Christ! Get in here right now!" and "Damn it, I said don't do that!"

In the company of Cosby, we continued laughing just thinking about the ways our little toddler was becoming a person who truly does absorb the things we say and do like a little sponge. Something I suppose we had begun to notice over the past months, but perhaps chose to also ignore because it's an indication that things are going to get more complicated. Gone are the days of just trying to get him to hold his own head up. Currently, we're in the stage of using to-go hot beverage cups for  morning coffee. Not because we're going anywhere, but because they have a lid and are less likely to spill and burn a wee one.  

Perhaps this is one of those funny things about parenting -- just when you get one thing down, it changes. Like doing the perfect burrito swaddle only to later realize you need to ween your child from a swaddle. It's like putting a safety lock on the toilet seats at home, only to later wish your child could have made it to the potty a split second sooner so your bathroom floor wouldn't be a puddle of....pee, I hope.

As we really began to think about it, we do say "Reece. No No." quite a bit. "Reece, no no. Don't touch that." or "Reece, no no. Mommy and Daddy don't like when you [fill in the blank with your pick of dozens of things].  So now, how do we undo something we didn't even realize we had taught our son?  Thank goodness for the parenting handbook that gives you step by step instructions on how to be a perfect parent and raise a perfect little citizen. Oh wait. That's right. There's no guide. No manual. Just this little bit of feedback we get from our children to let us know we need to course correct. What we were doing has not be working. So on to the next thing.

Now of course, I know there are dozens of "how to" books for parents. But as soon as there is more than one book, I view that as an admission that there's no one way. No right way. Just the best we can do.

So for the time being, we shall refrain from "Reece no no" and will try to be more specific with what he may not do at a given moment (like eat paint; draw on the walls; climb onto a table; attempt to jump off furniture, etc.).  We need to adapt our parenting to meet our toddler's savvy sponge skills. And actually, I plan on reveling in this stage because I know the next one to follow is the one where parents no longer talk to each other, but just spell out words. But perhaps with that stage, I'll be able to stop using a to-go coffee cup.

Birthday Party Anxiety

His birthday isn't for months, yet I'm already stressed about what we will do and where we will do it.

With almost 20 immediate family members in a 5 mile radius -- 10 of those are kids ranging from 2 to 12 -- we definitely can't host the party in our row house in DC.  Of course, we could, but surely all the nieces and nephews who live in the suburbs will come and do what they always do out of habit from what they're used to at home -- "where's your basement?" Um, yeah. About that. We don't have a basement. We have tenants living there. A very confusing thing for kids to understand. "Why do strangers live in your basement? Do they walk through your house to get downstairs?"  Oh those sill suburbanites.

So seriously. WTF am I going to do for a 2 year olds birthday? The weather won't be warm enough for something outdoors and every indoor "hot spot" (gag...there are hot spots for toddler parties?!) ranges from $300-$700 for a party. We are talking about 60-mins of activity and pizza and apple juice.  Perhaps I belong in the toddler party business. 

On the off chance you're also looking for party information, here's what I have uncovered.

National Zoo --- only takes kids 4 to 8
National Building Museum -- only takes kids 3-11
JCC --$525 for the room 
Kidville Bethesda --$595 (but includes activity, food for kids and drinks, cake and favors)
Bounce U -- $295 for the activity 
Children's Museum at the Waterfront -- they plan to start hosting parties in March 2013

If only the Baltimore Aquarium and Train Museum were closer to DC... Or the weather were warmer when we're planning for the party and we could take advantage of one of the fabulous playgrounds and parks in the area.

At the end of the day, I haven't lost sight of the fact that my son will simply be thrilled by seeing his cousins and following them around. And I will be thrilled when he is happy -- and of course when I snap that "must take" birthday photo of cake all over his sweet and delicious face.  But finding a "perfect" activity to show just how awesome city living is would feel pretty good. Petty, I know. But you're with me, right city dwellers?!

Like Dogs, They Smell Fear

To call it 'sleep training' is like calling a total ass-blowout the same as a poopy diaper.

We are not training these little people on how to sleep, we are forcing them to figure out how to sleep. And they certainly let us know that they hate it.

I was swapping stories with a colleague who has two children older than my son, Reece, and he told me that they two most important things to remember when starting sleep boot-camp are; 1) don't turn on each other (meaning me and my husband) and 2) kids are like dogs -- they smell fear.

Armed with sage wisdom from a father of two, I felt more confident going into the next night of baby sleep boot-camp. I was confident that I could whip (not literally) this kid of mine into shape (aka being best sleeper ever).  My husband listened as I told him the great advice I received and we vowed not to turn on each other and to try to be brave around our shitty sleeper so he wouldn't sniff out our fear.

Here's how that night played out.

7:30pm -- Reece gets put in his crib, drowsy but awake. He screams. I nearly break a nervous sweat wondering if I am about to ruin my loving relationship with my sweet boy.

7:39pm -- Screaming stops. Holy shit. He's asleep! Over confident Mom and Dad make evening cocktails and settle in for what we now believe is a lifelong fondness for evening hours as a married couple.

10:11pm -- Shit. He's up.  We check on him and then leave him to cry it out. 

10:11pm and 30 seconds -- He pukes from crying. Yes, he's quick to boot.

10:25pm -- Puke is cleaned up and I hold Reece --- nervously as I pray he'll go back to sleep. And there it was. He smelled the fear. He curled up as if he were a baby kangaroo trying to get into a pouch. He was NOT going to get back in that crib.

10:30pm -- 11:30pm -- Too many attempts to put him back into what he seems to believe is a shark tank. But let's be clear, it's just his over priced crib he is rejecting. This, too, was the hour when my husband and I turned on each other. Two anxious parents who challenge what the other is doing = 100% turning on each other.

I'm convinced, this little boss man of mine smelled the fear and knew he had me. So together, we slept in a chair. Then after a few days, I slept on the floor with him. And then, a few weeks after that, we started sleeping in a regular bed together. And now. Well, now our little fear smelling, shark tank hating prince sleeps in a queen sized bed with nicer linens that what his parents sleep on.

Pretty much sums up how this whole parenthood thing is going in my house.

Reece 1. Mommy 0. Daddy is still hiding b/c he reeks of fear.

When's my promotion?

This is my first post. My first blog. It's quite possible no one will read this, but I feel satisfied for simply writing something other than the schedule of when my son ate and slept today.

I'm a first time mom. I have a 21 month old son and can't wait until he's two so I can stop counting months and graduate to describing his age by years. I view that as yet another milestone for when Reece becomes even more of a "real" person.

While there are many, many, many topics to cover from pregnancy up until 21 months, at this given moment and on this given day, what I really want to know is when do I get a promotion in this job of Mommy?

Consider this. We become mothers and up until 18 months or so, we don't have any feedback on how we're doing. For the first year and half (at least), we can't even have a conversation with this little person we made. Suddenly a year goes by and you think, "Wow. We've never even spoken to each other."

Of course your child may cry if he/she is unhappy or frustrated, but there's no performance feedback. "Good job, Mommy!" "You're great at diaper changes." "You make a mean bottle, Mommy." We really just go on instinct (not just maternal, but instincts in general) and what we read in "What to Expect When You're Expecting." And not only do we lack feedback, until 16-18 months (in my case) kids can't even hug or kiss to show what they can't quite say. So we're left with a job that gives us endless joy and makes us feel superhuman for the depth of love and ability to somehow do it all, but there's no feedback. We have just self declared super hero status.

But more than feedback, what I want to know is when do I get a promotion? When do I get to shed the diaper changes (wouldn't it be nice if kids instinctively potty trained themselves?). When do I get to pee alone? Maybe take my pants off without asking my son to switch which leg he has a grip on so that I can get my leg out of the pants? When do I get to flush the toilet instead of my toddler insisting he be the one to say "bye bye pee-pee" to anyone and everyone's pee?

I'm not asking for a raise. Just perhaps a good ole fashioned promotion.  Or 90 seconds alone in the bathroom.