So I went to a COMEDY SHOW last night. Yeah, you read that right. I left the house! To be in public, and socialize with grown-ups!
This is a very big deal. I didn't realize until recently that I was going a little stir-crazy, until a couple of weeks ago I went to an impromptu work dinner with our sales team. It was only a few blocks from my house, so I was able to go, eat, drink, chat, and still be back in time to put the boys to bed. And it felt AMAZING. There I was - in a super-swanky Beverly Hills restaurant, eating on the company's dime, tossing back martinis (okay, one martini) and pounding insanely expensive sushi like it was my last meal. I wore heels and lipstick and brushed my hair and IT WAS GLORIOUS.
Afterwards I realized that it was a wee bit pathetic that I was so excited just to be out in public at night, and that perhaps I should start listening to my husband when he encourages me to get the hell out of the house (he says it much nicer than that). Because I really haven't gone out - not at night, at least, save for the very infrequent date night -for, oh, SINCE CARTER WAS BORN. Maybe I've met up with friends a couple of times in the past two years and eight + months? I can't even remember.
And as sad as that sounds, it never really bothered me, because every single ounce of my energy was totally preoccupied with momming. I went to work, I took care of my boys, I ate, I cleaned, I watched some TV/read magazines, I slept. Rinse and repeat, since September 2009. Sure, I'd see girlfriends for coffee or brunch on the weekends and meet someone for the occasional lunch during the work week. But nighttime? Gasp! People still do that? Huh? Go to dinner, see shows, have conversations amidst the happy noisy burbling of a crowded bar/restaurant?? How is it possible that this world has gone on without me?
I didn't realize that I wanted to get out of the house so badly until it almost didn't happen last night. The comedy show started at eight, and Griffin was resisting bedtime like never before. Finally I looked at the clock - 7:57pm. Even though it was only a few blocks away, I clearly wouldn't be there on time. Apparently something in my brain snapped, because I went into the living room where Max and Carter were sitting together at the computer and yelled at my husband for the first time in our almost-six-year relationship - how I'd missed the show, and I was sure that the doorman wouldn't let me in late, and OHMYGOD I had no idea it was so late WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME, THIS WAS THE ONE NIGHT I WANTED TO DO SOMETHING, THE ONE NIGHT IN OVER TWO YEARS! Max rightfully issued a stern "YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN" and I did, a little, and grabbed my keys and kissed my son goodnight and basically fled the apartment as quickly as possible, hanging my head in shame that Carter witnessed Mommy's mini-meltdown.
And of course I made it to the show. I met up with a girlfriend, a fellow mom. We were on "the list." We were fancy. A friend of ours was performing, and it was all kinds of hilarious. Afterward we waded through the crowd of people in the dark bar area, and I said to her "Look around - they don't know that we have kids! We look just like everyone else."
People were drinking, smoking, flirting and canoodling, and I got to watch it all with new eyes, like some bizarre cultural anthropology study of 30-something Los Angelenos. Huh. This is what people are doing while I am singing Moon River and nursing my baby, while I am reading Make Way For Ducklings and telling my little boy his favorite Mommy story, about the huge magical slide. There I was, in what is now a completely foreign universe, dabbling my toes into the waters of nightlife again. It was strange and intimidating and yet I felt the mild stirrings of something exciting and new - dare I say, balance? A happy, healthy medium of momming and socializing?
I didn't linger. I chatted a bit and then raced home to my boys, apologized to my husband for being an asshole, curled up on the couch down the hall from my sleeping babies, and felt proud. I did it! I WENT OUT. IN PUBLIC. WITH PEOPLE.
As a mother, I am confident, capable - but as a social animal, I need some serious practice. Because it seems that all mom and no friends makes Mommy go CRAAAAAAAAZY. So here goes nothing. The Great Get Your Ass Out of the House and Be Sociable Challenge. Bring it on.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
I recently spent two solid days in a state of near-complete inertness while an evil stomach bug ravaged my body, rendering me capable of only two activities - mumbling incoherently or thrusting my head into a large red plastic bucket to empty the contents of my gut. Oy - that was descriptive. Sorry.
Anyway, at the very least, said virus and accompanying downtime allowed me some rare moments to gather some words for this here long-neglected bloggity.
So after shelling out for a new desperately needed haircut AND highlights on Saturday, I was feeling pretty snazzy 'til the puking began. On Sunday my husband and sister–in-law took the boys to a long-anticipated playdate with their little cousin in Orange County while I laid at home trying to keep down thimbles of Gatorade. Aside from being at work, it was the longest I'd ever been away from my boys. The fact that I was only semi-conscious made it far more bearable.
Illness not withstanding, life is trucking merrily along these days. The working mom world does not seem nearly as daunting as it did a few months ago, but I've come to realize that that's always the case. Griffin is almost seven months old, packing on the pounds (17-something at last count, but he has a check-up next week) and enjoying his solids (favorites are carrots, squash and anything involving rice cereal). He's just SO mellow, it blows me away. Never cries. Seriously. Sure, maybe he'll wail for a moment at night when he wakes up hungry and clambering for boob - which he does, multiple times per night. The plan for last weekend was to begin sleep training, but then the whole barfing thing started. This weekend is my birthday and I would really love to celebrate by getting a full night's sleep, without a baby in my bed. Yep - he loves our bed. We moved his mini crib into Carter's room last week in hopes that some distance would help, since he wouldn't be three feet away smelling my awesome mommy smell all night. It seems to have helped a little, but he's still up every few hours, yelling for boob.
Carter was mercifully easy to sleep train - we did that dreamfeeds method (Sleep-Easy Solution? No-Cry Sleep Solution? Never did read the book - just got a five-minute synopsis from a friend and that was enough) and he was sleeping through the night by six months-ish. Little G (Griffin Schmiffin, Finnster Binnster) is a different story - he doesn't seem to follow a pattern like Carter, who awoke religiously at 11 and 2 to nurse, making it easy to anticipate and gradually phase out the night feeds. Griffin is all over the place at night. I'm beginning to wonder if he is uncomfortable in his little mini crib and if I should upgrade to a big boy crib, or get a new mattress. OR perhaps just let him cry it out one night and fall asleep on his own in his crib, which he's done OH, maybe three times ever. It seems that it's going to come to moving a sleeping Carter into the living room to camp on the floor with Daddy while I sleep-train Griffin myself. Ugh - and I wonder why I've been putting this off. Truthfully, there is something wonderfully snuggly about sleeping with your kids, isn't there? Then I wake up in the morning in some wonky position with my arm flung haphazardly across a pillow so as not to squish the baby, my shoulders in knots, and I think OH YEAH, this is why you have your own bed. Huh.
On a competely different note, our little family is currently faced with an extremely difficult and daunting decision. See, I work for a big old movie studio in Los Angeles, and we have one of those insanely awesome corporate daycares, run by Bright Horizons. I call it the Harvard of Preschools, because it's absolutely top of the line kickass incredible in every way. It also has a three year waiting list...which we have been on, for three years and a couple of months.
Last week I got an email that Carter had been accepted to a spot in the Preschool program, beginning in July. Well, hot damn! I should be totally psyched, right? Erm, no. Instead, I find myself RIDDLED with anxiety. I abhor change. Loathe it. And so does my little boy (though perhaps that's less due to genetics and more due to being two). I just keep thinking about how upset he'll be to leave his little school, his little friends, the teachers and toys that he knows. He's been at his current preschool (next door to Griffin's infant/toddler center and part of the same facility) since his second birthday over SEVEN months ago, and he just recently stopped whining and clinging to me every morning at drop-off. After SEVEN months. And that was just moving from one building that he'd known his whole life to another - right - next - door. He even knew the preschool teachers already, and had older friends who had already transitioned over.
SIGH. So there's one thing - the heartache of having my little boy adjust to a new reality every day.
Then there's the price - almost twice what we currently pay. Ouch. But that's not a deal-breaker. I know from reading Erica's preschool post and the subsequent comments that the cost ($1,178) is actually - shockingly - not bad. And we are willing to pay it to give him this experience.
Then there's the logistical nightmare of two kids at two different centers. Even with two kids at the same school I am rarely rolling into the office before 9:30 these days, and I leave at 5:45 to pick them up, then race home to fix dinner and do the whole nightly routine. Fortunately, the WB Children's Center (for that is its fancy name) is just a few blocks away from our current location, but it is still a solid extra 15 minutes both AM and PM (if not more), which means we'll now get home at 6:45 or 7 instead of 6:30. Lordy. Griffin (who is also on the waiting list) will get sibling priority once Carter is enrolled, but still probably won't get in til Summer 2013 (unless a parent from the Toddler A group is laid off sometime sooner, and HOW AWFUL is it that I am secretly hoping that occurs?!).
Lastly, there's my massive guilt in telling my current location that we're moving Carter. Although the owner can be a cantankerous and overbearing little person, with whom I've certainly had my differences (um, no, I am not rushing to the pediatrician EVERY SINGLE TIME my child has a fever to get you a damn NOTE before he can come back, crazypants), I do believe that she cares about my boys, and even respects my wacky crunchy views on stuff. Plus, I still try to go visit Griffin every day at lunchtime, since it's only a few minutes down the road. That said, dealing with her inevitable guilt trips about pulling Carter is not something I am looking forward to. And before you say she won't, I once heard her saying to a mother who had just LOST HER JOB and had to pull her kids out "It's such a shame - he was doing so well. He will miss it here so much..." Nice, lady. I think my best bet here is to tell a wee little white lie and say that the company subsidizes the cost of their Children's Center (which they do - a little. A very, very little). Other good ammunition - my company's daycare is open til 7, instead of 6pm like almost every other place in town. You know, so you can STAY AT YOUR DESK and WORK YOURSELF TO DEATH for just a lil' longer every evening before you are mercifully released to your children. Yeehah!
So there you have it. Those are all my anxieties, all the things giving me pause. Oh wait - not all. There's Parker. GAH! For some reason this one's like a knife through the heart for me. Parker is Carter's best friend. They adore each other, have known each other their whole lives and have been chasing each other around since they could crawl. I joke with Parker's dad that we're future in-laws (yes, that's MISS Parker). Every day when we drive home and I ask what he did that day, it's almost always the same - "I played with Parker with the orange ball." Or the legos. Or whatever. Parker is two weeks older than Carter, so they transitioned from the toddler center to the preschool at the same time, which made the change somewhat bearable for him. But at his new school, she won't be there. No Parker. KILLS ME.
Yes, yes - we'll have to arrange playdates. It will happen. It must. And I fully intend to enroll Carter in Parker's Sunday Gymboree class, just so they can hang out, to ease the transition.
Okay - so those are my worries. And yet, despite it all, today I emailed the lady telling her we would accept Carter's spot for this July. You see, I took my husband there for a tour last week. He'd never seen the place, as he wasn't with me on my initial tour THREE YEARS AGO, when Carter was a lima bean in my belly. And despite all of my worries, all of my anxiety, there was no denying that there's something magical about the place. The real turning point came when the tour lady asked me what Carter did all day in his current program, and I had NO IDEA. I couldn't give her an answer. Because I don't know, and that SUCKS. My brilliant little boy is counting to 100, knows all his letters and the sounds they make, and can identify some words on sight, so I know he's learning - but beyond that, I don't really know what he does all day. Aside from a dinky one-sheet of "March (or April, or May) Lessons" that they send home in his bag once a month (of which more than half is the same stuff from the month prior) and the collection of artwork/projects he brings home, I couldn't tell you what they are working on. There are no parent-teacher meetings. There is no communication. Sometimes Carter will be fussy on the way home, and it will take me specifically asking the next day to find out that he'd refused to nap all day. Or that he didn't want to eat his fruit. Or yadda yadda insert-whatever-here. They can't even tell me these basic things about my child, let alone have conferences and write journals about his development (which my company's school does). And even though I'm comfortable there, and he's happy there, and I really, REALLY don't want to rock the boat, I know that that's not okay.
So here we go. Clearly this has been weighing on me, and I'm still shaky with my decision. But we're jumping. Wish us luck.
Anyway, at the very least, said virus and accompanying downtime allowed me some rare moments to gather some words for this here long-neglected bloggity.
So after shelling out for a new desperately needed haircut AND highlights on Saturday, I was feeling pretty snazzy 'til the puking began. On Sunday my husband and sister–in-law took the boys to a long-anticipated playdate with their little cousin in Orange County while I laid at home trying to keep down thimbles of Gatorade. Aside from being at work, it was the longest I'd ever been away from my boys. The fact that I was only semi-conscious made it far more bearable.
Illness not withstanding, life is trucking merrily along these days. The working mom world does not seem nearly as daunting as it did a few months ago, but I've come to realize that that's always the case. Griffin is almost seven months old, packing on the pounds (17-something at last count, but he has a check-up next week) and enjoying his solids (favorites are carrots, squash and anything involving rice cereal). He's just SO mellow, it blows me away. Never cries. Seriously. Sure, maybe he'll wail for a moment at night when he wakes up hungry and clambering for boob - which he does, multiple times per night. The plan for last weekend was to begin sleep training, but then the whole barfing thing started. This weekend is my birthday and I would really love to celebrate by getting a full night's sleep, without a baby in my bed. Yep - he loves our bed. We moved his mini crib into Carter's room last week in hopes that some distance would help, since he wouldn't be three feet away smelling my awesome mommy smell all night. It seems to have helped a little, but he's still up every few hours, yelling for boob.
Carter was mercifully easy to sleep train - we did that dreamfeeds method (Sleep-Easy Solution? No-Cry Sleep Solution? Never did read the book - just got a five-minute synopsis from a friend and that was enough) and he was sleeping through the night by six months-ish. Little G (Griffin Schmiffin, Finnster Binnster) is a different story - he doesn't seem to follow a pattern like Carter, who awoke religiously at 11 and 2 to nurse, making it easy to anticipate and gradually phase out the night feeds. Griffin is all over the place at night. I'm beginning to wonder if he is uncomfortable in his little mini crib and if I should upgrade to a big boy crib, or get a new mattress. OR perhaps just let him cry it out one night and fall asleep on his own in his crib, which he's done OH, maybe three times ever. It seems that it's going to come to moving a sleeping Carter into the living room to camp on the floor with Daddy while I sleep-train Griffin myself. Ugh - and I wonder why I've been putting this off. Truthfully, there is something wonderfully snuggly about sleeping with your kids, isn't there? Then I wake up in the morning in some wonky position with my arm flung haphazardly across a pillow so as not to squish the baby, my shoulders in knots, and I think OH YEAH, this is why you have your own bed. Huh.
On a competely different note, our little family is currently faced with an extremely difficult and daunting decision. See, I work for a big old movie studio in Los Angeles, and we have one of those insanely awesome corporate daycares, run by Bright Horizons. I call it the Harvard of Preschools, because it's absolutely top of the line kickass incredible in every way. It also has a three year waiting list...which we have been on, for three years and a couple of months.
Last week I got an email that Carter had been accepted to a spot in the Preschool program, beginning in July. Well, hot damn! I should be totally psyched, right? Erm, no. Instead, I find myself RIDDLED with anxiety. I abhor change. Loathe it. And so does my little boy (though perhaps that's less due to genetics and more due to being two). I just keep thinking about how upset he'll be to leave his little school, his little friends, the teachers and toys that he knows. He's been at his current preschool (next door to Griffin's infant/toddler center and part of the same facility) since his second birthday over SEVEN months ago, and he just recently stopped whining and clinging to me every morning at drop-off. After SEVEN months. And that was just moving from one building that he'd known his whole life to another - right - next - door. He even knew the preschool teachers already, and had older friends who had already transitioned over.
SIGH. So there's one thing - the heartache of having my little boy adjust to a new reality every day.
Then there's the price - almost twice what we currently pay. Ouch. But that's not a deal-breaker. I know from reading Erica's preschool post and the subsequent comments that the cost ($1,178) is actually - shockingly - not bad. And we are willing to pay it to give him this experience.
Then there's the logistical nightmare of two kids at two different centers. Even with two kids at the same school I am rarely rolling into the office before 9:30 these days, and I leave at 5:45 to pick them up, then race home to fix dinner and do the whole nightly routine. Fortunately, the WB Children's Center (for that is its fancy name) is just a few blocks away from our current location, but it is still a solid extra 15 minutes both AM and PM (if not more), which means we'll now get home at 6:45 or 7 instead of 6:30. Lordy. Griffin (who is also on the waiting list) will get sibling priority once Carter is enrolled, but still probably won't get in til Summer 2013 (unless a parent from the Toddler A group is laid off sometime sooner, and HOW AWFUL is it that I am secretly hoping that occurs?!).
Lastly, there's my massive guilt in telling my current location that we're moving Carter. Although the owner can be a cantankerous and overbearing little person, with whom I've certainly had my differences (um, no, I am not rushing to the pediatrician EVERY SINGLE TIME my child has a fever to get you a damn NOTE before he can come back, crazypants), I do believe that she cares about my boys, and even respects my wacky crunchy views on stuff. Plus, I still try to go visit Griffin every day at lunchtime, since it's only a few minutes down the road. That said, dealing with her inevitable guilt trips about pulling Carter is not something I am looking forward to. And before you say she won't, I once heard her saying to a mother who had just LOST HER JOB and had to pull her kids out "It's such a shame - he was doing so well. He will miss it here so much..." Nice, lady. I think my best bet here is to tell a wee little white lie and say that the company subsidizes the cost of their Children's Center (which they do - a little. A very, very little). Other good ammunition - my company's daycare is open til 7, instead of 6pm like almost every other place in town. You know, so you can STAY AT YOUR DESK and WORK YOURSELF TO DEATH for just a lil' longer every evening before you are mercifully released to your children. Yeehah!
So there you have it. Those are all my anxieties, all the things giving me pause. Oh wait - not all. There's Parker. GAH! For some reason this one's like a knife through the heart for me. Parker is Carter's best friend. They adore each other, have known each other their whole lives and have been chasing each other around since they could crawl. I joke with Parker's dad that we're future in-laws (yes, that's MISS Parker). Every day when we drive home and I ask what he did that day, it's almost always the same - "I played with Parker with the orange ball." Or the legos. Or whatever. Parker is two weeks older than Carter, so they transitioned from the toddler center to the preschool at the same time, which made the change somewhat bearable for him. But at his new school, she won't be there. No Parker. KILLS ME.
Yes, yes - we'll have to arrange playdates. It will happen. It must. And I fully intend to enroll Carter in Parker's Sunday Gymboree class, just so they can hang out, to ease the transition.
Okay - so those are my worries. And yet, despite it all, today I emailed the lady telling her we would accept Carter's spot for this July. You see, I took my husband there for a tour last week. He'd never seen the place, as he wasn't with me on my initial tour THREE YEARS AGO, when Carter was a lima bean in my belly. And despite all of my worries, all of my anxiety, there was no denying that there's something magical about the place. The real turning point came when the tour lady asked me what Carter did all day in his current program, and I had NO IDEA. I couldn't give her an answer. Because I don't know, and that SUCKS. My brilliant little boy is counting to 100, knows all his letters and the sounds they make, and can identify some words on sight, so I know he's learning - but beyond that, I don't really know what he does all day. Aside from a dinky one-sheet of "March (or April, or May) Lessons" that they send home in his bag once a month (of which more than half is the same stuff from the month prior) and the collection of artwork/projects he brings home, I couldn't tell you what they are working on. There are no parent-teacher meetings. There is no communication. Sometimes Carter will be fussy on the way home, and it will take me specifically asking the next day to find out that he'd refused to nap all day. Or that he didn't want to eat his fruit. Or yadda yadda insert-whatever-here. They can't even tell me these basic things about my child, let alone have conferences and write journals about his development (which my company's school does). And even though I'm comfortable there, and he's happy there, and I really, REALLY don't want to rock the boat, I know that that's not okay.
So here we go. Clearly this has been weighing on me, and I'm still shaky with my decision. But we're jumping. Wish us luck.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
I Don't Know How She Does It
The other night, as I was picking up my boys from school, I ran into the mother of one of Carter's classmates. It was about 5:57pm, and I was tottering into the preschool in my pencil skirt and button-down, having just picked up Griffin at the infant center next door. I had Griffin in his carseat under one arm and was rounding up all of Carter's belongings with the other while trying to convince him that it was Driving Home Time instead of Lego Time, when this mom looked over at me and said "TWO little ones...I don't know how you do it."
Oh, other mom. Bless your heart, because you have no idea how happy that little off-hand comment made me. I smiled in response and said something like "Thanks - it's pretty crazy" but what I was really thinking was I don't know either, lady.
Now, I know there are plenty of women out there who do what I do every day and make it look easy. I know that there are also plenty of working moms out there who have more than two kids, who run out of the office at 5:45pm every night and race the clock to pick-'em-up, drive home, make dinner, get everyone in the bath and to bed on time, clean up all the detritus of the day and then wake up tomorrow to do it all over again. Women do this every day, in every city everywhere, and many of them do it with a lot less help than me.
But for just a moment, when this other mom looked at me admiringly and tossed out that small compliment, I felt like a little bit of a rock star. And in the tumult of my first week as a working mom of two, it was just what I needed to hear. And I thought I'm not sure either, other mom - but by damn, I'm doing it. I'm doing it!
And I am.
Oh, other mom. Bless your heart, because you have no idea how happy that little off-hand comment made me. I smiled in response and said something like "Thanks - it's pretty crazy" but what I was really thinking was I don't know either, lady.
Now, I know there are plenty of women out there who do what I do every day and make it look easy. I know that there are also plenty of working moms out there who have more than two kids, who run out of the office at 5:45pm every night and race the clock to pick-'em-up, drive home, make dinner, get everyone in the bath and to bed on time, clean up all the detritus of the day and then wake up tomorrow to do it all over again. Women do this every day, in every city everywhere, and many of them do it with a lot less help than me.
But for just a moment, when this other mom looked at me admiringly and tossed out that small compliment, I felt like a little bit of a rock star. And in the tumult of my first week as a working mom of two, it was just what I needed to hear. And I thought I'm not sure either, other mom - but by damn, I'm doing it. I'm doing it!
And I am.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Wobbling on the brink of madness
Griffin seems to have decided to make it much easier for me to return to work next week by becoming VERY difficult recently. Doesn't want to nap in his swing, won't fall asleep in my arms, screams when laid down in his crib, waking up at night umpteen million times, etc. Last night he woke up at 8:45, 10:45, 1:30, 3:30, and 4:30. YEEHAH!
He seems to have embarked on a lovely little adventure in reverse cycling - lucky me! I know this can be common when moms go back to work, and it appears he's quite the overachiever because he seems to be getting an early start. Most frustratingly, I can't rock him back to sleep when he awakes - no, he just gets increasingly fussy until he's picked up, at which point he usually flings himself in the general direction of my boobs. Sometimes he goes back to sleep after nursing, and sometimes I need to hold him and bounce him until he sleeps.
I suppose this is karma biting me in the ass for yammering on about what a GREAT sleeper I had a month or so ago, when he'd conk out from 8pm til 3am, wake to nurse, and sleep til 6. Oh, those beautiful days of long ago...I don't remember Carter doing this, though frankly, memory doesn't serve me well these days in my current state of stupefying exhaustion. At some point around 4.5 months I started doing dreamfeeds with Carter, and around 6 months I slowly cut down on the times of the feeds until I eliminated them altogether, which was an effective and painless sleep training. I would love to do the same with Little G, but he'd have to sleep longer than, oh, TWO HOURS IN A ROW in order to do it.
So there you go. I'm cranky, frustrated and (occasionally) MAD at my baby, and that's the worst feeling. He can't help it. He's four months old (15lbs, 11oz at our last appointment on Saturday). And yet, when he's exhausted but refusing to sleep or nurse and just wants to scream at me, my delirious mind starts racing with thoughts like You have been sent here to drive me mad! The gods must hate me!
I know this will get better. I've read enough baby development crap to know that we've been contending with the three-month growth spurt and the four-month sleep regression and all that good stuff. Plus, I recently stopped swaddling him AND last night moved him into a mini crib in our room instead of the tiny bassinet. Lots o' changes for one small person.
Today I asked my mother how she did it, how she coped with THREE of us under 5 (and according to my aunt's stories, we were kind of little assholes), and my dad who scarcely diapered a day in his life. That must have been a special kind of hell indeed. She said she had no idea. BUT she lived to tell the tale. So that's something.
He seems to have embarked on a lovely little adventure in reverse cycling - lucky me! I know this can be common when moms go back to work, and it appears he's quite the overachiever because he seems to be getting an early start. Most frustratingly, I can't rock him back to sleep when he awakes - no, he just gets increasingly fussy until he's picked up, at which point he usually flings himself in the general direction of my boobs. Sometimes he goes back to sleep after nursing, and sometimes I need to hold him and bounce him until he sleeps.
I suppose this is karma biting me in the ass for yammering on about what a GREAT sleeper I had a month or so ago, when he'd conk out from 8pm til 3am, wake to nurse, and sleep til 6. Oh, those beautiful days of long ago...I don't remember Carter doing this, though frankly, memory doesn't serve me well these days in my current state of stupefying exhaustion. At some point around 4.5 months I started doing dreamfeeds with Carter, and around 6 months I slowly cut down on the times of the feeds until I eliminated them altogether, which was an effective and painless sleep training. I would love to do the same with Little G, but he'd have to sleep longer than, oh, TWO HOURS IN A ROW in order to do it.
So there you go. I'm cranky, frustrated and (occasionally) MAD at my baby, and that's the worst feeling. He can't help it. He's four months old (15lbs, 11oz at our last appointment on Saturday). And yet, when he's exhausted but refusing to sleep or nurse and just wants to scream at me, my delirious mind starts racing with thoughts like You have been sent here to drive me mad! The gods must hate me!
I know this will get better. I've read enough baby development crap to know that we've been contending with the three-month growth spurt and the four-month sleep regression and all that good stuff. Plus, I recently stopped swaddling him AND last night moved him into a mini crib in our room instead of the tiny bassinet. Lots o' changes for one small person.
Today I asked my mother how she did it, how she coped with THREE of us under 5 (and according to my aunt's stories, we were kind of little assholes), and my dad who scarcely diapered a day in his life. That must have been a special kind of hell indeed. She said she had no idea. BUT she lived to tell the tale. So that's something.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Grateful
You know what I love? I love that I am blessed with honest mom friends, the kind that love their children but don't sugarcoat just how freaking HARD it is to parent, instead of being all "oh, what? Every single second of this sh*t is MAGICAL! Rainbows and sunshine and bunnies!! I want six more! WHEEE!!!"
I love that I just texted my darling Katherine, saying that Griffin just had the most epic crying session of his young life and ISWEARTOGOD I almost left him in a basket on someone's doorstep. And she just responds with "Don't you wish there was an off switch?"
And yes, yes I do. And I'm no less of a mother for admitting that. Because this crap is HARD, ladies. So more power to you - every single one of you.
Oh SWEET MOTHER OF GOD, the crying is about to begin anew. Is 2:14pm too early for a stiff drink??
I love that I just texted my darling Katherine, saying that Griffin just had the most epic crying session of his young life and ISWEARTOGOD I almost left him in a basket on someone's doorstep. And she just responds with "Don't you wish there was an off switch?"
And yes, yes I do. And I'm no less of a mother for admitting that. Because this crap is HARD, ladies. So more power to you - every single one of you.
Oh SWEET MOTHER OF GOD, the crying is about to begin anew. Is 2:14pm too early for a stiff drink??
Saturday, January 21, 2012
My return to work looms ominously close on the horizon, and for the past few weeks I have been a bit melancholy. It really started when I discovered that of all the six couples in my birth class, I am the ONLY mommy still working (well, truthfully, we lost touch with one of them, but I am pretty sure she's SAHMing now). Earlier this month, the last two workin' moms from birth class quit their jobs (I'm looking at you, Erica!) to do the stay-at-home-mom thing, and for some reason this really hit me hard.
I remember exactly how difficult it was to go back to work and leave Carter. I remember standing over his little sleeping body, weeping, desperately wishing I could quit my job and stay home. I remember feeling so tremendously guilty for depriving him of a full-time mom. And then, when I did go back to work, feeling more guilty for (somewhat) enjoying it.
Leaving your baby in the care of someone else, no matter how loving, how capable, is gut-wrenching. You are handing over your heart to an $8 per hour daycare employee and trusting that - that what? That they will love them like you do? That they will coo at them, talk to them, give them kisses, play games with them, read books to them, make them know how special they are? That they will love them more than the other ten kids in the room? Or just that they will somehow, in some way, try to minimize the trauma your little one faces?
I read today that at 4-5 months, babies experience little separation anxiety because they're too busy being amazed at all the great stuff there is to look at around them. I really want to believe that's true. All I know is that when Carter started daycare at four months, he screamed for two days straight, refused bottles, wouldn't sleep, and generally freaked the F out. SIGH. But Griffin is a very different baby with a very different temperament. Where Carter was high-strung, the Finnster is mellow, which I hope will serve him well on February 1st when I slap some makeup on (for the first time in a loooooong while), throw on something presentable, and totter off to the office.
It's such a strange thing to return to work after having your child. Everyone treats you basically the same, but you're not the same. The you before children is an entirely different person than the you with children. I have little fantasies of leaping on top of a cubicle, yelling "I'm not just PAIGE - I'm someone's MOTHER, you a-holes! Which is more important than ANY FUCKING SPREADSHEET and all your DAMN BUDGETS PUT TOGETHER." Because by damn, I will tell you this - there will be no more 3:30 meetings that are pushed til 4, that are then pushed til 5:30, that I am then guilted for being unable to attend because I need to leave at 5:45 to pick up my children. Well, there WILL be those meetings - quite frequently no doubt - but I WILL NOT let them break me down about it. And if I get yet another "I know you're a mother now, so you have new priorities, BUT you have to understand that many of us here work until 8 or 9 at night, and maybe we're just more ambitious than you are..." (YES, I DID GET THAT SPEECH. NO LIE.) talk, I will damn well stand up for myself and let them know that I am quite capable of doing my job, and doing it exceptionally well, between the hours of 9am and 5:45pm, thank you very much, and I don't need to sit in my office until 9pm to prove my worth like the others who are so DAMN SCARED of you. And if that gets me fired, so be it.
Ahem. That felt good. Thanks.
I was really down for a week or so, but the clouds are parting lately. I'm feeling brighter, and I'm not going to waste one moment of the remaining days with my baby feeling cranky.
In other news, Griffin has FINALLY taken the bottle. And after spending approximately $40 trying various bottle/nipple combos (including all the "best for breastfed babies" fancypants ones), what did he like? The same $5 for 3 classic glass Evenflo bottles that his brother used, the same bottle that Betty Draper probably gave her kids in the early 60's (okay, I guess Betty never got off her bitter, depressed ass to give those kids bottles, but the housekeeper sure did), with a Dr. Brown's nipple - same as Carter. Go figure.
Also, I have been a cooking FIEND since last I wrote:
Turkey Meatloaf
BBQ Chicken
Turkey Tacos
Chicken Mole Tacos
Curry Tofu (recipe TBD)
Chicken Stir-Fry
Veggie Lasagna
Pesto Pasta
Sesame Noodles
Turkey Chili
Plus other stuff that I am too lazy to write down. Perhaps most shocking is that I am really ENJOYING making dinner. Who knew making something that didn't involve chocolate could still be so satisfying?
I remember exactly how difficult it was to go back to work and leave Carter. I remember standing over his little sleeping body, weeping, desperately wishing I could quit my job and stay home. I remember feeling so tremendously guilty for depriving him of a full-time mom. And then, when I did go back to work, feeling more guilty for (somewhat) enjoying it.
Leaving your baby in the care of someone else, no matter how loving, how capable, is gut-wrenching. You are handing over your heart to an $8 per hour daycare employee and trusting that - that what? That they will love them like you do? That they will coo at them, talk to them, give them kisses, play games with them, read books to them, make them know how special they are? That they will love them more than the other ten kids in the room? Or just that they will somehow, in some way, try to minimize the trauma your little one faces?
I read today that at 4-5 months, babies experience little separation anxiety because they're too busy being amazed at all the great stuff there is to look at around them. I really want to believe that's true. All I know is that when Carter started daycare at four months, he screamed for two days straight, refused bottles, wouldn't sleep, and generally freaked the F out. SIGH. But Griffin is a very different baby with a very different temperament. Where Carter was high-strung, the Finnster is mellow, which I hope will serve him well on February 1st when I slap some makeup on (for the first time in a loooooong while), throw on something presentable, and totter off to the office.
It's such a strange thing to return to work after having your child. Everyone treats you basically the same, but you're not the same. The you before children is an entirely different person than the you with children. I have little fantasies of leaping on top of a cubicle, yelling "I'm not just PAIGE - I'm someone's MOTHER, you a-holes! Which is more important than ANY FUCKING SPREADSHEET and all your DAMN BUDGETS PUT TOGETHER." Because by damn, I will tell you this - there will be no more 3:30 meetings that are pushed til 4, that are then pushed til 5:30, that I am then guilted for being unable to attend because I need to leave at 5:45 to pick up my children. Well, there WILL be those meetings - quite frequently no doubt - but I WILL NOT let them break me down about it. And if I get yet another "I know you're a mother now, so you have new priorities, BUT you have to understand that many of us here work until 8 or 9 at night, and maybe we're just more ambitious than you are..." (YES, I DID GET THAT SPEECH. NO LIE.) talk, I will damn well stand up for myself and let them know that I am quite capable of doing my job, and doing it exceptionally well, between the hours of 9am and 5:45pm, thank you very much, and I don't need to sit in my office until 9pm to prove my worth like the others who are so DAMN SCARED of you. And if that gets me fired, so be it.
Ahem. That felt good. Thanks.
I was really down for a week or so, but the clouds are parting lately. I'm feeling brighter, and I'm not going to waste one moment of the remaining days with my baby feeling cranky.
In other news, Griffin has FINALLY taken the bottle. And after spending approximately $40 trying various bottle/nipple combos (including all the "best for breastfed babies" fancypants ones), what did he like? The same $5 for 3 classic glass Evenflo bottles that his brother used, the same bottle that Betty Draper probably gave her kids in the early 60's (okay, I guess Betty never got off her bitter, depressed ass to give those kids bottles, but the housekeeper sure did), with a Dr. Brown's nipple - same as Carter. Go figure.
Also, I have been a cooking FIEND since last I wrote:
Turkey Tacos
Curry Tofu (recipe TBD)
Veggie Lasagna
Plus other stuff that I am too lazy to write down. Perhaps most shocking is that I am really ENJOYING making dinner. Who knew making something that didn't involve chocolate could still be so satisfying?
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Mission...Impossible?
I am one of those people who makes 87 zillion New Year's Resolutions, and promptly forgets 95% of them by January 15th. So this year I've streamlined a bit, and made precisely one: I WILL LEARN TO COOK. Come hell or highwater, I shall feed this family of mine, and feed it well!
As I've mentioned before, my mom knows her way around a kitchen and I was raised on pure deliciousness, so the time has come to step it up and get cookin' myself. Mind you, if you were to find yourself at Chez Me in the morning hours, I could whip you up some ass-kicking pancakes or muffins. If you wandered into my home after dinner, I could bust out the big guns with the world's best brownies and the like. But actual meals, involving proteins? Save for some quick veggie stir-fries, I'm pretty much hopeless.
NO MORE, friends. In a few weeks' time I will be a working mother of two, so it's time to get down and dirty with the meal planning, cooking-stuff-ahead-and-freezing, and becoming good friends with my Crock Pot.
So far I've done of lot of web surfing in search of easy, tasty recipes to try (keyword EASY), and this month I will be doing run-throughs and letting y'all know how they turn out (you're welcome, friends). Here's the list so far (with links!):
Turkey Meatloaf (I've already made this one - it's my mom's favorite - and it is fab, although I think I overcooked it slightly)
BBQ Chicken (already made - although I cheated and used bottled sauce - but it was delish)
Turkey Tacos (no recipe yet...must find)
Chicken Mole
Curry Tofu (recipe TBD)
Chicken Stir-Fry (ditto)
Veggie Lasagna
Pesto Pasta (I'll add some chicken or tofu to this, and probably ditch the cream)
Sesame Noodles (ditto, with some broccoli too)
Turkey Chili (if you can't tell, I really like mole)
Note: I am in the midst of a love affair with all things Pioneer Woman, clearly. Second note: as a former vegetarian, I just can't bring myself to cook red meat. And I know nothing about ham, except that it tastes really good in split pea soup (oooh, gotta make that too).
Wish me luck!
As I've mentioned before, my mom knows her way around a kitchen and I was raised on pure deliciousness, so the time has come to step it up and get cookin' myself. Mind you, if you were to find yourself at Chez Me in the morning hours, I could whip you up some ass-kicking pancakes or muffins. If you wandered into my home after dinner, I could bust out the big guns with the world's best brownies and the like. But actual meals, involving proteins? Save for some quick veggie stir-fries, I'm pretty much hopeless.
NO MORE, friends. In a few weeks' time I will be a working mother of two, so it's time to get down and dirty with the meal planning, cooking-stuff-ahead-and-freezing, and becoming good friends with my Crock Pot.
So far I've done of lot of web surfing in search of easy, tasty recipes to try (keyword EASY), and this month I will be doing run-throughs and letting y'all know how they turn out (you're welcome, friends). Here's the list so far (with links!):
Turkey Meatloaf (I've already made this one - it's my mom's favorite - and it is fab, although I think I overcooked it slightly)
BBQ Chicken (already made - although I cheated and used bottled sauce - but it was delish)
Turkey Tacos (no recipe yet...must find)
Chicken Mole
Curry Tofu (recipe TBD)
Chicken Stir-Fry (ditto)
Veggie Lasagna
Pesto Pasta (I'll add some chicken or tofu to this, and probably ditch the cream)
Sesame Noodles (ditto, with some broccoli too)
Turkey Chili (if you can't tell, I really like mole)
Note: I am in the midst of a love affair with all things Pioneer Woman, clearly. Second note: as a former vegetarian, I just can't bring myself to cook red meat. And I know nothing about ham, except that it tastes really good in split pea soup (oooh, gotta make that too).
Wish me luck!
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