Happy Tuesday

Just a little Sam and Will to start the short work week!

 

Enough is Enough

I am lucky to have a lot of mommy friends - or friends that are moms.  Most of them I knew long before the idea of kids even crossed our minds.  They are all amazing women, amazing friends and REALLY amazing moms.

Some breastfed past their baby's first birthday, some struggled to make it to the 6 month mark, some struggled to get started - watching their baby loose weight - and agonized over turning to formula rather than put their baby's health at risk, and some decided that breastfeeding wasn't for them. 

New moms do what new moms do and share their struggles looking for support and understanding and compassion and advice.  I was surprised at what a struggle breastfeeding was, pretty universally, across the board.  And what makes this even harder is the pressure that society puts on new moms.  The constant messages and images that define what a "good mom" looks like, what a "good mom" does.

I've watched this pressure turn logical, brilliant, strong women inside out.

The pressure turned me inside out.  With both of my babies I was determined to breastfeed until the 6 month mark.  But with both of my babies my supply plummeted when I went back to work.  I exhausted myself pumping and feeding around the clock, while working an intense full time job.  I snuck in extra pump sessions at work, gave up my lunch break, pumped in the car on the way to and from work and dissolved into a mess when I would come home and still not have enough for the next day of day care.

Every time I added formula to a bottle to make up the difference I felt like a failure.  I felt like I was doing it wrong.  And at the 5 and a half month mark with both babies, I sobbed as I made the decision to move exclusively to formula.  A decision that was right for me, my sanity, my marriage and my kids.  But that decision made me feel ashamed, made me feel like I wasn't doing the best I could, made me feel inferior.

Where the hell does this pressure come from?  Why is doing the best you can not good enough?  Why do we as moms feel like we have to compete with the best of every other mom or some ideal defined by society?

And breastfeeding is just one of the many many many topics that invoke this self doubt.  Cosleeping, sleep training, baby wearing, organic baby food, homemade baby food, cloth diapers, working, staying home.

It has to stop!  We are creating a generation of moms that constantly judge themselves against an unrealistic ideal.  We are creating a generation of moms who feel like they don't measure up.

There is no "one size fits all" guide to parenting.  There is no formula on how to do it right.  Parenting is not black and white, right and wrong.  Parenting is knowing your baby and trusting your instincts.  Parenting is trial and error and finding what works for you.  Parenting is a journey down a path that winds and splits off in many directions.  Parenting is making the best decision at that moment, celebrating when you took the right path and course correcting when you made a wrong turn.  Parenting is loving, beyond all else, parenting is loving. 

I wish my mom were here so I could ask her if she struggled with these same doubts.  If she had the same nagging feeling that, despite everything she did, she just wasn't doing enough good enough.  Is this just a side effect of being a mom or something else?

Regardless of the answer, there is one thing for sure, the media exploits this desperate need to be the best mom for our children.  They prey on our insecurities, our doubts, our gut wrenching instinct to do everything we can to give our children the best we have.  And to that I say enough is enough.  We are good enough.  In fact, we are better than good enough!

What I Learned about my Kids in 30 Hours

Last Thursday we embarked on a great adventure (or insanely bad idea) -- a trip to Florida. In the car!  Have I mentioned I have a 2 year old and a 1 year old?

For those of you doing the math, that's more than 30 hours of drive time. Not counting meals and stops for the boys to run around and expel energy.

By just about every measure it was a success. The boys handled the car like champs - better than I could have hoped for.

Hour 6 -- Teddy Graham Pit Stop

I thought I knew my kids inside and out but all that time confined to a small space I learned some new things.

Like how Sam likes to sing along to his favorite Sesame Street songs -- and he knows most of the words!

Like how Will likes to do the hand motions to Itsy Bits Spider.

That Sam has a generous heart and would quickly hand over his favorite toy to try to cheer his brother up.

How Sam loves digger trucks and water.  He thinks any kind of water is the Ocean and proclaims it loudly.

Will claps along to songs he likes.

They love to hold hands and laugh at each other.

They have their own language that consists of loud, high pitched shrieks.  Apparently what they say to each other is hysterical because fits of giggles always follow.

Sam narrates every minute of life.

Will points to something he wants and says "this."

Most of all I was reminded how lucky I am to have been chosen to be their Mom.  In the hustle and bustle of the every day it's easy to get frustrated at the little things, go through the motions and miss the moments that make memories.  But this weekend I got over 30 hours of uninterrupted moments with my boys and I enjoyed every one of them (well almost!)

Easter 2012

The Times they are a Changing

When Will was still a little bit of a thing Matt started playing soft ball once a week.  I came to DREAD Tuesday nights.  The chaos of juggling a newborn and a young toddler was enough to drive me to bottles of wine and Advil. 

There was no good way to get them both to bed.  Will needed to be rocked until he was O. U. T. but I couldn't leave Sam alone while I tried to lull the cranky baby into sleep land.  I couldn't put Sam to bed first because if I left Will's sight he would shriek at the top of his lungs making it impossible to settle the toddler who was learning to assert his independence by fighting bed time. 

It was a juggling act that usually ended in tears from all parties. 

So when Matt announced last week that soft ball was starting up I wanted to curl into a ball, put my hands over my ears and pretend it wasn't so.  I think I even grumbled about it to him.  The memories of those horrible nights a year ago came flooding back.  Can you have PTSD from the terror imparted by your children? 

BUT

Could this kid be any cooler?

It was fine.  Last night Matt headed to his soft ball game and the boys and I settled into our nightly routine.  Dinner, then play time, then bed.  I changed up Will's routine a little to minimize the amount of time that Sam would be left alone to his own devices and Will rolled with the flow.  Not a peep when I layed him down in his crib after some family snuggles on the couch.  And Sam sat quietly watching Sprout's Good Night show for the couple of minutes I left him alone. 

I was free to spend a few quality minutes loving on my big boy and then focus on getting him to bed.  Both boys were quiet and asleep within 20 minutes of each other.  I was amazed.   I even vacuumed the family room! 

Does someone have a cape I can borrow?  Because ya'll I felt like Super Mom! 

My babies are growing up and while I have twinges of grief for their early days we are settling into this stage of life quite well and I'm really enjoying it. 

The Scary Side of Being a Parent

Last week I heard that an eighth grader in my town, someone's little boy, took his life.  As a mom, the mere thought of this tares me into pieces.  It makes my heart ache for that child, for that child's parents, that child's family.  It scares me to pieces that something can make a child feel things are helpless, hopeless. 

Then today I read this.  And Oh. My. Gosh.  Being a parent is so frightening.  I looked at my little monsters tonight, whose lives' are entrusted to me, and realized that right now this is the easy stuff.  I've stumbled through the last 2+ years in various states of exhaustion covered in spit up and snot and who knows what other bodily fluids.  I've rocked and burped and nursed and fed and bathed and clothed and rocked and cuddled and rocked these babies into the wee hours of the night (morning).   I've worried about fevers and coughs and sniffles and bumps and ultrasounds and blood tests.  And they have returned this outpouring of love with giggles and babbles and snuggles and coos and I love yous.  All of this has been the easy stuff. 

What lies ahead, that's the hard stuff.  How do I teach them that hope exists even in the darkest moments?  How do I instill in them self confidence and resiliency?  How do I teach them kindness towards others, empathy and compassion?  How do I make sure they know that no matter what - NO MATTER WHAT - their mom and dad are there for them, love them and can help them through anything they face? 

There's no guide book for this and despite my best efforts I tremble thinking that I might get it wrong.  Or worse, that I'll get it right but it won't matter. 

Kids say the Darndest Things

Yesterday when I got the boys up we all boisterously sang Happy Birthday to Will.  Sam loved every second of it.  I quickly got them dressed and ready for school.

I was walking Sam out to the car in the beautiful 60 degree weather when he stopped dead in his tracks and said "Gama! Happy Birthday to you Gama!"

I. Kid. You. Not.

I don't know where it came from.  We hadn't talked about Grandma Linda all morning.  I hadn't made a big deal of her birthday to the boys.  It was completely out of nowhere.

Sort of makes you wonder, huh?

Happy Birthday Sweet Baby Will

Dear sweet Will,

Happy Birthday to my sweet little boy. 

You arrived early - on your Grandma's birthday.  But I would venture to say you were right on time. 

You've been keeping us on our toes ever since.  An easy going baby you were not.  Reflux and colic clouded our first few months but oh how you could snuggle.  And as your GI system gave you relief you settled into life in Mommy and Daddy's arms.   After all that is where you were safe from big brother!

My love, you can melt a heart with a single look.  Your eyes cut right to the soul of any person you lay them on.  I fear those eyes may get you (and many a young woman) into trouble in the future. Be careful!  They are the windows to your heart.  And unlike your brother who has always been more cautious, you tend to give your heart to anyone.  You've never shied away from someone's arms, you've always welcomed love and attention wherever it was coming from.

Will, I hope you always remain open to love when it comes your way.  I hope your heart and mind remain open.  That you continue to find the beauty within everything.  I hope when heartache comes your way, and it will, that you do not close your heart down but you learn and grow from it. 

I hope you continue to push boundaries and challenge rules (though let's not get out of hand on that one).  I hope you always want to see what lies outside the world you know.  This will open up doors you never knew existed.

I hope the love and fascination you show towards your brother continues to grow into true friendship.  I hope you protect him and let him protect you.   Together you two will be a force to be reckoned with.

I hope you never doubt the love your Dad and I have for you.  I hope you always find comfort and safety in our home.  I hope you spread your wings and fly, but that you always know that our nest is here when you need to take a rest.

My dear baby boy, on your first birthday the World lies ahead of you.  Things won't always be easy.  There will be trials and sadness and frustrations ahead.  But your ability to persevere in light of those challenges is what will define you as a person.  I will always be here to hold your hand, wipe your tears, kiss your scrapes and cheer you on along the way.  I can't wait to see where your journey takes you.

Happy Birthday my baby bear.  Don't grow up too fast.

I love you.

Mommy

Brotherly Love

 

Yesterday I was driving my boys to daycare.  Will was not happy about being in his car seat and was screaming.

All of a sudden Sam started singing a song for his brother.  "Will, will, crying crying.  Will, Will yay!"  (He's destined for stardom!) Followed shortly by demands, "Will, hand.  Will, hand."

I looked in my rear view mirror just in time to watch them each reach out their little arms to hold hands.  Fits of giggles from both followed.

My. Heart. Exploded.  I freaking LOVE these kids.  How darn lucky am I?  How darn lucky are they to have each other?

Sure, there will be fights . . . there already are.  Sure, they'll compete with each other.  Sure they'll get on each others nerves.  That's normal, expected.

But I hope they will always know brotherly love.  I hope they are each others' best friend, at the end of the day, when all their other friends have gone home.  I hope Sam continues to stick up for his little brother, Will, when other kids steal his toys.  I hope that Will protects Sam's feelings when one day another kid tries to hurt them.   I hope in the the face of adversity they stand united. I hope when one triumphs they celebrate together.  I hope they hold and build each other up.   

While they may go their own ways, like their own things, have their own friends -- I hope my boys grow to know what I see today -- that there is nothing stronger, or more real, than true brotherly love.

What I miss most about my Mom

There are so many things I miss about my mom.  Her mere presence in this World grounded me.  But the thing I miss most are her hugs.  Really there is nothing better than a mom's (my mom's) hug.  Her hugs could celebrate, comfort, and console.  They were so full of love and hope and pride and warmth.  If I close my eyes I can still feel the weight of her arms around me. 

Now that I'm a mom it's my turn.  I hope my boys always find comfort in my arms.  I hope my hugs provide a sense of home, stability and protection to them.  That they realize how much more lies beneath the surface of that hug -- pride and joy and hope and fear and love (oh so much love).  I hope they never get annoyed when I grab them for one more or pull away when squeeze a little bit tighter. Because in the end you are never to old for a hug from your mommy!

Holding My Breath

Every three months I hold my breath.  Hoping for the best but frozen by the thought of the worst.  I squeeze Sam a little bit tighter, rock him a little bit longer, tell him I love him a little bit louder.  I fight my anxiety and tell the negative voice inside my head to shut up!

You see Sam has a genetic disorder called Beckwith Wiedemann Syndrome (BWS).  BWS is a congenital growth disorder.  We are thankful that on the spectrum of disorders, this one will likely have a minimal impact on Sam's life.  In fact, we wouldn't have even known he had it if his backup pediatrician didn't suggest we look further into his large tongue.


 What we and other doctors chalked up to a big tongue, she saw as a potential symptom, warning sign.  And thank God she did.

Sam's symptoms of BWS are mild.  He has almost completely grown into his tongue.  His extremeties are evening out -- it is common for children with BWS to have one side of their body grow larger in either width or length -- makes for fun and expensive shoe shopping.  His umbilical hernia is shrinking (and can be corrected with surgery for cosmetic reasons if we choose.) We are thankful that BWS is not associated with mental or physical delays and though Sam started talking on the later side, now that he is talking, it is clear that his tongue has not had an impact on his speech ability.

But, the most concerning issue associated with BWS is an increased chance of certain cancerous tumors that can show up in his kidneys and liver.  The types of cancers Sam is at risk for are extremely treatable and have high survival rates if caught early.  So until he is about eight years old Sam gets quarterly abdominal ultrasounds and blood work to rule out the possibility of these tumors.

So every three months I become a bundle of nerves and anxious energy.  Every three months I am reminded that despite my best efforts I cannot protect my child from everything.  Every three months I panic that this might be the time when the doctor walks in and says "we found something on the ultrasound."

But today I get to let out my breath.  To go home and celebrate that my baby is fine.  Sam's ultrasound was clear and I get to put this out of my mind . . .until March.