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Thursday, July 23, 2015

My Child Will NEVER Throw a Public Tantrum (Just One of the Lies We Tell Ourselves Before Having Kids)

I wasn't as ill-prepared as some to have a daughter. I was already 4 nieces deep when I got pregnant with Violet, and while having nieces is nothing like having your own kids, I knew enough to know that even the best of parents know the struggle can sometimes be all too real.

Some of you may have read about the Portland diner owner who made national headlines for screaming at a toddler in her diner because the child was being unruly. I'll be honest - I didn't read her side of the story, or even much of the story itself. I knew what the gist of it would be. Some people would praise her for her actions, and some would be appalled. Me? I was indifferent.

And why? Why, as a mother, would this not upset me to read about? Because I'm not surprised. We're all guilty of it. Judging other moms, telling ourselves that we can do better, that we WILL do better. That I won't let my child pick out a toy every time we go to the store because I don't want her to learn that she gets whatever she wants. My child will know what it means when I say no. My child will listen.

Cut to my 2 1/2-going-on-16 year old toddler girl, who hears the word "no" on a daily basis, and gets put in time out, and is forced to eat "just one more bite" before she's allowed anything sweet after dinner. I do all of these things. I try. I try to be a good example, and not give in, and teach her to say please and thank you and have some semblance of patience.

And you know what? She would have also been screaming her head off in that diner. And not because I'm letting her win every time, but because SHE'S TWO YEARS OLD.

You know what my daughter ate today so far? A cup full of Trix cereal, some orange slices, a fruit juice box, some torn up cheese and maybe one saltine cracker in it's entirety. That's two meals, people. And not because I didn't give her some turkey, or offer her a muffin, or try for another fruit. It was all there for her. But short of me shoving it down her toddler face myself, she wasn't having it.

She pitches fits in the grocery store and lays on the floor crying. She gets overtired in restaurants when she's off her schedule and throws her food. And sweet servers will ask me, "Is there anything I can do? Does she not like the food?" and I'll look at them like the angels they are, and say "Thank you, but the only problem we have here is that she's two years old." Those are the good times. Other times I will get the stares from people who think I'm letting my child run all over me. How can I not control her? Did I just order her CHOCOLATE MILK for her dinner? I must be young/single/or spoiled myself.

Here's the truth, people. All children behave badly at some point. Even on the days when they slept 12 hours, had a two hour nap, have recently eaten and are clean with a brand new toy in their hands. These are all merely stalling mechanisms. And let's be honest, how often does this perfect storm of toddler happiness REALLY happen?

Yes, it is very possible to be an above-average AWESOME parent, and have your kid be at total jerk to a stranger, in public, or even to you. Sometimes all three at the same time. They can't control their emotions as adults we learn to do. They feel what they feel, when they feel it. I often look at my daughter lying on the floor crying crocodile tears, and think "How GREAT would it feel if I could just allow myself to do that when I got angry, or hurt or sad? I envy you, kid." And then I throw her into the superman position while she kicks me and fly her out of the place quickly. Maybe I'll promise her something if she agrees to get in her car seat. Maybe I'll threaten. Maybe I'll sit in the parking lot for ten minutes just to let her have it out. No matter what, it will pass.

So let's all give a little grace, ok? And let's not make national news out of one person's outburst. All that will do is strengthen the debate, and feed the mommy wars. Meanwhile, real issues, like the deplorable maternity and paternity laws that exist in the US and NOWHERE else, are rarely circulated. But that's another issue for another day.

Happy Thursday, everyone! May your children have a happy day. And go to bed early.

Love,
Dominique



Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Is It So Hard to Balance Daily Life? In a Word, Yes.

I, like so many others, wear a lot of hats in my daily life. I can be a lot of things at once, but so often I can only do one or two of them well, while the others suffer and fall behind for the day, week, month or even year.

If I could make a production chart showing everything that I am to different people - mom, wife, friend, sister, employee, daughter - and cross reference it with how well I am fulfilling those roles during any given week, I guarantee at some point each one would be marked with an "excellent" and an "epic fail" within those seven days. The truth is most days I will be a good mom, a decent wife, a tolerable employee, an ok friend and an ok sister or daughter.

I've been very overwhelmed as of late. I'm certainly not one of those people who paints motherhood as a ray of sunshine every day, but in the interest of not being a total bummer, I've hidden that the last week or so has been a "screaming internally while remaining stoic" kind of time for me. A lot of it is pregnancy. I'm bigger, I'm rounder, I'm sleeping less. I'm hungry, I'm hot and I'm not as flexible in any sense of the word.  My toddler both drives me insane and makes me cry with her sweetness at how fast she's getting bigger. I am a pregnant, emotional beast.

But some of these issues that are making me upset, or wracking me with guilt, are every day problems that I have long had. I don't take my daughter outside enough. It's literally 100 degrees by the time we get moving in the morning, and if my house is a wreck, or we have some errand we have to do, I put on PBS kids and we build blocks on the carpet, or play with her bows box or some other air conditioned activity until I can quietly slip away to wash dishes or take a shower for work.

I get angry with my husband when he's gone a lot. Sometimes it's because I miss him, and honestly, sometimes it's because I've had to do dinner, bath, and bedtime solo for three nights in a row and it's his turn, dammit. I get all fired up in my mind about how "it's so hard to be a full time mom," and "I'm with her crying and whining all day long," and whatever. Things that aren't necessarily even true most days, but were maybe true that one day. It usually takes a good meal and a good night's sleep to soothe the savage pregnant beast, and then I wake up and remember that he works 40 hours, and he's gone because he's taking real estate classes or had a work meeting or needed to run around on a field with a bunch of other guys throwing Frisbees to keep his sanity. He doesn't deserve my anger.

I don't speak to or spend time with my friends enough. I've never been much of a talk on the phone person, but I've realized lately that I have to get out of my comfort zone if I want to ever be good at maintaining friendships. My sisters have always been really great about that. All of them have female friends from all stages of life that they may not see regularly, but they make the effort. I have exactly two close friends who I love dearly, but hardly ever make the time to see. It's true that as many stay at home moms there are in the world, it's one of the loneliest professions. Paying jobs at least force you interact. Misbehaving toddlers and nap schedules and life always seem to get in our way.

So these are my confessions. To my daughter: I'm sorry that I hate being outside. I'm sorry that I get lazy or obsessive about keeping my world together, or that I flat out ignore you sometimes. To my husband: I understand that we're in this together, and sometimes it's going to pull us apart. I'm sorry that I too often lose sight of what you're doing for our family just because what I'm doing is not working out so well for the moment. To my friends and family - new and old: I'm sorry I don't call you, or remember to ask you about your life, or turn the conversation to myself if I feel like venting. I'm sorry I don't make time in my life to see you, and I use my mom life as an excuse of why I can't. Sometimes it's probably very true, and sometimes it's probably just exhaustion getting the better of me.

But to everyone, I am always trying to do better. I am always trying to improve, and recognize not only what I need to work on, but what I'm doing right. And hopefully, one day soon, I will see a vast improvement in my life balance imaginary production chart. But for now, just know that I'm thinking of ya'll always.

Love,
Dominique


Tuesday, July 7, 2015

I Might Never Stop Buying My Daughters Boy's Clothes

Good afternoon! Happy Tuesday! 

Since apparently the only thing not three years old about my daughter is her actual age, we had to make a quick trip to Old Navy today for some new 3T jammies. All of her 2T stuff is basically too short, and buying a size up is just a mid-year thing for us. 

I love ON for children's clothes (and my own, a lot of the time). Their patterns are cute, it's well made, the sales are usually pretty good, and the sizing is generous. However, like all other clothing stores, they tend to do very gender-based marketing. The girl's section is filled with purples, pinks, and pale yellows, with the usual mermaids and butterflies and ballet dancers. And believe me, we got a few sets of those. Violet herself picked out her favorite pair - a white shirt and shorts set with a gold star smack in the middle. This girl knows her star appeal.

After lingering a while trying to choose between an aqua green mermaid set and a light blue princess set, my eyes wandered over to the boys section. It had the usual too - dinosaurs, bears, and minions. I saw a really cute pair of long sleeved pj's with bright red firetrucks on them. Side note: since my house is in unincorporated tax territory, I have to make a trip to our local fire station every month to pay our fire dues. They are right down the road, and always very nice to me and V. Last month they were kind enough to let her sit in the fire truck and pretend to drive. 

I made the mistake of saying over and over "What a cute fireman you make!" And I was actually corrected - by one of the veterans-  "We say firefighter around here, because women can fight fires now too." I remembered that as I looked at that those firetruck pajamas and heard Violet saying over and over "Look at da fighter-fighter, mama! Look it's da fire truck!" I added them to our basket and we headed towards the front. 

I would say I'm a feminist. The word has gained so much more meaning as the years have gone by, because it's no longer about superiority as it is about the strive for equality. Men are important, and we love our men, and we call them out to be good friends, husbands and fathers. But more and more we're seeing things balance out on what used to be considered specific gender roles, like stay at home dads and bread winning moms. Women are gaining more attention in sports (hello, WORLD CUP CHAMPS!), and men are gaining more praise for being hands-on dads and sideline husbands. 

So when my two year old, who knows nothing yet of this world, gets super excited about a pair of firetruck pajamas, I'll never be the one to tell her "No! Those are for boys!" 

And no, I don't think letting her wear what I consider to be more "gender-neutral" clothing is going to change the world, or even change her. She loves butterflies, and the color purple. And she tells me things are "soooo cute!" and seems to be a (troubling) huge flirt. It's not about trying to mold her into something I want her to be, but rather giving her the option to be who she wants to be. I want to open her eyes to the possibility of all things this ever changing world is presenting to her. 

Maybe one day she will be a firefighter, and she'll remember her pair of firetruck pajamas. And I'll never sleep again, because good Lord, a firefighter. Or maybe she'll complain when she's 13 and looking at pictures that I dressed her like a boy. For now, I'm just going to enjoy her face lighting up when she chooses them from her pj drawer.

Have a great afternoon!

Love,
Dominique 


Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Induction or C-section Birth Shaming is Just as Bad as Any Other Mom Shaming

Sit right down, and let mama Dom tell you a little story about the time I gave birth to a nine pound baby at 38 weeks pregnant.

Warning: I'm about to let it aaaall hang out, and it's gonna get graphic. But I'm not embarrassed, because my stories are shared to help, never hurt. And I think it's important for people to understand that giving birth, and the way you give birth, is about as much of a personal choice as you get.

The first time my daughter tried to enter this world was Christmas day, 2012, at 31 weeks gestation. Little did I know that the back pain I was experiencing  was actually full on contractions 2 minutes apart - and by the time I found this information out, I was already 2 1/2 cm dilated. Through the grace of God, after 8 days in a hospital and 7 weeks on bed rest, I was able to keep her in until my 38 week appointment on Valentine's Day, 2013. The girl loves a holiday.

I went into that appointment expecting to be sent home afterwards. After all, I felt fine (if not large and in charge) and it was just a regularly scheduled appointment. I, like so many others, assumed my first baby would take her sweet time getting to her due date after settling down the first time, and that my doc would allow me to "go the full 40" as it were.

To my surprise, my doc told me I had dilated another cm - leaving me already at a 4 - and that she was admitting me to the hospital. If I wasn't already a mom by that night, she said, she would induce me in the morning.

I had heard horror stories of inductions, and I was a bit nervous. Particularly since I was alone, admitting myself to the hospital, no bag and a Chris was at work, and since I had no idea I was in labor the first time - I didn't know what things were going to be like this time either. But I called Chris, told him this baby was happening, and that I was going to Labor and Delivery to be admitted. He decided to work through lunch (because seriously, there was no rush) and meet me with the bags in about an hour. This was about 10:30am that morning.

A few hours later, my doctor came to see me and told me she was going to go ahead and break my water - something you soon to be first time mothers should know does not hurt in the slightest - and that she was going to put me on the lowest level of Pitocin. It looked like Violet was well on her way. I was fortunate enough to be able to get my epidural soon after, and after what felt like just a few hours, I was told it was time to get this ball rollin'.

This is where things get interesting. I pushed to get that baby girl and her giant noggin out of my body for three. full. hours. Her head was stuck for literally an hour and a half. I was periodically given oxygen, and after what seemed like an eternity, it seemed like everything stopped.  My doctor very calmly told me that we had to think about our options to get this girl out - including vacuums, forceps, and the dreaded emergency c-section. What you should know about these options is that they all have their significant risks, and sometimes the ones you think sound better can actually be a higher risk. The forceps had risk of scarring, and not being effective. The vacuum had risk of bleeding on the brain, and of course a c-section was a major surgery.

After seeing my reluctance for all three of these, they called in what I can only assume is the Brookwood Medical Center's baby whisperer:

Daphne.

Daphne looked like she had done it and seen it all, and she came in like a drill sergeant, telling me I was about to push harder than I had ever pushed in my life, and that she was going to use her arms to physically move this baby out of me. She pushed on my stomach in a way that I'm sure what have felt like I was being murdered had I not been numb in that area, and I kid you not - 10 minutes later, Violet popped out at 8:43pm.

The next phrase I heard after "A beautiful baby girl!" and "You did it!" and "Congratulations!"
was "There appears to be some significant tearing."

A fourth degree tear, to be exact, which means my beautiful little sumo wrestler had literally ripped me a new one. I had to spend most of my recovery family hour being sewn back together. Later I would find out that I was about 5 minutes away from them intentionally breaking Violet's collar bone in order to get her the hell outta there had Daphne not been able to work her magic.

This time around, my doctor and I have discussed my options for birthing a bigger baby, and yes, induction and scheduled c-section are on that list. It's not for my comfort, or to prevent further injury to me. It's to prevent my second baby girl from having a broken collar bone for the first several weeks of her new life. It's also not decided yet. It's very possible this baby could be smaller, and I could have her the way I hope to - the old fashioned way. But I'm not going to argue with my doctor. Part of being a mom is giving in when you know it will benefit your child.

People who already know my story have been supportive of my "laid back" attitude when it comes to deciding my birth plan. But I have heard some more discouraging words of not listening to my doctor, and I did it once so I can do it again, blah blah blah. Yeah, I did do it once. And it was risky, and it was painful, and it almost cost me my perfect newborn experience. So, whatever women decide to do with their bodies during birth is completely up to them, and we should all respect that. It's not always a choice we make because it's convenient.

Happy Wednesday everyone! Here's hoping baby Hazel is an 7-8 pounder!

Love,
Dominique