Wednesdays are kind of crazy in our house: first J, our 2.5 year old, has a parent and tot swimming lesson at 9:30am at the local Y. Although the lesson is only a half-hour, I can NEVER get him out of the pool when it's done, and we're always at least an hour in the pool, plus time to get dressed again, pick up our 5 year old from his activities (he goes to Senior Kindergarten on opposite days, so he's home on Wednesdays), and drive home, often having to stop at the grocery store for some reason, and quite possibly not getting home until lunchtime.
I make lunches, I do dishes, I possibly eat something myself. I have a bit of time on the computer, during naptime, and then the girls are home from school, and before I know it we're getting ready to go back to the Y for swimming lessons for the other 3 kids, which go until 5:30. It's usually 5:45 before we get out of there. Since it costs a fortune for 6 people to have a fast food meal, when we get home I have to put a quick dinner together (unless I was smart/industrious enough to make something ahead of time to reheat). Then it's dinner, bath, bedtime. If I'm in the midst of a show, I often have rehearsals on Wednesday nights, too, making it even more chaotic.
So, when I looked around at the disaster I call my living room this morning, I seriously considered skipping the toddler's swim lesson. He loves them, but he is still at the age where he doesn't get the concept of dates and times, so if we go, he's happy. If we don't go, he doesn't know the difference. I could get away with not going, get my living room cleaned up, the dishes done (our dishwasher died recently - RIP - and my life has become about washing dishes), and maybe even put away some of the mountain of clean laundry that's currently residing at the end of my bed. I have a friend stopping by this morning, and I hate the idea of her seeing the way that we live (not that she doesn't already know, I'm sure, but I'd like to think she doesn't).
We're going to swimming lessons, though. I'll get back here as soon as I can wrestle the water baby out of the pool, and try to tidy up, but we're going. I thought about it, and then I had another thought: he won't be this small for much longer. In another 5 months, he'll be moving into "big kid" swimming lessons like his brother and sisters. He won't want to stand on the side of the pool and jump into my arms. He won't cling to me when the water gets too deep. He won't want me there beside him. He'll want to do it all by himself.
I know that's what we should be striving for as parents. We want our kids to develop that independence. But it's also bittersweet, especially when it's your last baby. Every milestone is met with joy, but also the realization that it's the last time that it will happen.
So today, my house is going to stay messy. The dishes will get done, eventually, the living room will stay chaotic, and Mount Laundry will just have to wait. I'm going swimming.
Showing posts with label Mommy Guilt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mommy Guilt. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Advice I Never Give to Parents-to-Be That I Wish Someone Had Given to Me
I was at a baby shower today for a long-time friend (she's not my "OLDEST" friend, as she likes to point out.) She mentioned that women have a tendency to tell all of their pregnancy, labour and delivery horror stories to moms-to-be. This is something I've never understood. Yes, you need to know what a "typical" labour is like, and you want to be prepared for any eventuality, but does a first-time mom really need to hear about your 4 days of back labour, your 47 stitches to repair your nether regions or the emergency c-section that you had with a bad epidural? No, she really doesn't. The idea of labour is scary enough to most moms-to-be without putting the worst case scenario in their heads.
However, after this, she also mentioned all of the unsolicited advice that people give out about childrearing. My favourite of these come from people with no children of their own. And of course usually whatever they tell you conflicts with the last person to grant you some of their wisdom. You really learn how to just tune it all out with a polite nod and smile. (Or, if you're in a really evil mood, you can agree with them and even egg them on without them realizing that you're mocking them.)
There are things, though, that I wish someone HAD told me before I had my first baby.
However, after this, she also mentioned all of the unsolicited advice that people give out about childrearing. My favourite of these come from people with no children of their own. And of course usually whatever they tell you conflicts with the last person to grant you some of their wisdom. You really learn how to just tune it all out with a polite nod and smile. (Or, if you're in a really evil mood, you can agree with them and even egg them on without them realizing that you're mocking them.)
There are things, though, that I wish someone HAD told me before I had my first baby.
- No matter what the nurses tell you, unless your baby has a serious medical concern you do NOT have to wake the baby at night to feed it. The idea here is for the baby to sleep THROUGHOUT the night. The baby will NOT starve if it sleeps through one feeding. You, on the other hand, will greatly benefit from any stretch of sleep that the child will grant you.
- Babies don't break easily. In fact, they're pretty darned resilient.
- When you get home from the hospital, you will stare at your sleeping child in wonder - and wonder how the hell any responsible adult let you take this little person home when you haven't got a CLUE what to do now.
- If you're planning to bottle feed, the bottles rarely come with the right speed nipples for a newborn. Nipples that are too fast will cause an alarming amount of spit-up.
- If you're planning to breastfeed, learn about it before the baby arrives. Read a book, watch a video, talk to a lactation consultant, anything. Just don't assume that it's natural, and therefore as easy as "Baby, meet boob." That is a surefire course to sore nipples and a whole lot of tears.
- Whether you plan to bottle feed or breastfeed, you will face criticism. Develop a thick skin NOW. Know that you're doing what is best for your family and be strong in your decision.
- Not every mom feels that immediate, overwhelming bond. It doesn't mean that you won't fall madly in love with your child, it just sometimes takes a while to set in, and that's okay.
- No matter how hard you try, you will never feel like a good enough parent. It just means you care.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Playing Favorites
Back in the 1960s, The Smothers Brothers were famous for Tommy’s “Mom always liked you best” lines. It’s something you hear a lot from people who have siblings: that one parent or another favored one sibling over the rest. As parents, I think most of us live in fear of “playing favorites” and do our very best not to allow it to happen (or at least not to show it.)
It’s hard, though. Your children, like everyone else you meet, will have some things in common with you, and other interests that you will never understand no matter how hard you try. I always dreamed of reading some of the books of my childhood with my girls, but so far my oldest flaked out after three of the “Little House” books, while my older son seems interested. I don’t know which, if any of them, will be interested in going to theatre productions with me. It’s quite possible I’m going to have to learn the rules of football, or hockey (yes, I am Canadian, I just don’t like hockey all that much, OKAY?) or badminton, for that matter.
And when it comes right down to it, it’s perhaps easier to spend time with someone who shares some of your interests. It doesn’t mean that you can’t or won’t love people who have no interest in cross-stitching or water polo, but it’s certainly simpler when you have things in common. You may love all of your children equally, but the relationship may simply be easier with one over others.
It’s not just parents, though, who sometimes show favoritism.
One of my sons (who shall remain nameless, at least in theory) has never been the easiest child. He slept in one hour increments as a baby, and only started sleeping through the night on a regular basis within the last six months or so, and he just turned four. Although undiagnosed, I believe that he has some sensory integration issues - he's a sensory seeker - and so he is constantly touching EVERYTHING. You can say to him, "Please don't touch that" and he'll say okay, and within seconds he's touching it again. It is truly, to my way of thinking, a compulsion, but it can be extremely aggravating when you're not accustomed to it (and even sometimes when you are). He has unlimited energy and finds it very hard to sit still, like many other boys, but to an extreme sometimes.
However, he can be the sweetest, kindest boy you could ever meet. He's also extremely smart. Yet some people just don't see that about him. Unfortunately, one of those people happens to be one of his grandparents. "Pat" (purposely going gender-ambiguous here) loves "Winston," I don't doubt that, but when it comes right down to it, Pat is awfully hard on Winston. It's great that Pat doesn't just want to be that permissive grandparent who lets the grandkids away with everything, but somehow it just gets taken to an extreme with Winston.
I've heard it from a lot of parents: the grandparent who either favors one grandchild, or seems to disfavor one in favor of all of the others. Robyn, a mom of five, tells me that her mother-in-law favors her two daughters because she always wanted a daughter and never got one. This seems to be a fairly common situation, or conversely favoring the same gender as their own children (ie if Grandma had all boys, she favors the male grandchildren because she “understands them better.”)
Another reader, Julie, says that as a child, she and her siblings would spend weekends visiting their grandparents in another town. “Our arrival was always treated with great fanfare,” she says, “which for obvious reasons didn’t go over well with the grandchildren who lived nearby.”
“Nathalie” has a different issue with grandparent favoritism: she lives near her husband’s parents, but her older daughter is not their biological grandchild, and is treated much differently because of it. They have gone overboard on birthdays, etc. for their biological granddaughter while all but ignoring Nathalie’s other daughter, and also have a habit of buying presents for “Cindy” just because, but not for “Ellen.” One of the biggest examples occurred when “Luke”’s parents wanted to take the family to an amusement park. Luke’s mother chose a date when Nathalie’s oldest daughter would be away with her biological father. Nathalie asked if they could wait to go until Ellen returned. Grandma told her that she had already bought the tickets for that date and they were non-refundable. It wasn’t until they arrived at the park, without Ellen, that Nathalie knew she had been lied to. “We got to the park and we got on line for the ticket counter. So I said ‘I thought you already bought the tickets’ and she said, ‘No, I didn't.’ So she flat out lied to me.”
We decided that although it’s not easy, we have to stand up to Pat about Winston. As he gets older he’s going to notice the difference, and we don’t want there to be that kind of tension in their relationship. It seems to have improved, too, to Pat’s credit. It’s never easy to hear that you’re treating someone unfairly, but most reasonable people will take the advice for what it’s worth, and at least attempt to make a change in their behavior.
Have you had experience with favoritism? What did you do about it, if anything?
It’s hard, though. Your children, like everyone else you meet, will have some things in common with you, and other interests that you will never understand no matter how hard you try. I always dreamed of reading some of the books of my childhood with my girls, but so far my oldest flaked out after three of the “Little House” books, while my older son seems interested. I don’t know which, if any of them, will be interested in going to theatre productions with me. It’s quite possible I’m going to have to learn the rules of football, or hockey (yes, I am Canadian, I just don’t like hockey all that much, OKAY?) or badminton, for that matter.
And when it comes right down to it, it’s perhaps easier to spend time with someone who shares some of your interests. It doesn’t mean that you can’t or won’t love people who have no interest in cross-stitching or water polo, but it’s certainly simpler when you have things in common. You may love all of your children equally, but the relationship may simply be easier with one over others.
It’s not just parents, though, who sometimes show favoritism.
One of my sons (who shall remain nameless, at least in theory) has never been the easiest child. He slept in one hour increments as a baby, and only started sleeping through the night on a regular basis within the last six months or so, and he just turned four. Although undiagnosed, I believe that he has some sensory integration issues - he's a sensory seeker - and so he is constantly touching EVERYTHING. You can say to him, "Please don't touch that" and he'll say okay, and within seconds he's touching it again. It is truly, to my way of thinking, a compulsion, but it can be extremely aggravating when you're not accustomed to it (and even sometimes when you are). He has unlimited energy and finds it very hard to sit still, like many other boys, but to an extreme sometimes.
However, he can be the sweetest, kindest boy you could ever meet. He's also extremely smart. Yet some people just don't see that about him. Unfortunately, one of those people happens to be one of his grandparents. "Pat" (purposely going gender-ambiguous here) loves "Winston," I don't doubt that, but when it comes right down to it, Pat is awfully hard on Winston. It's great that Pat doesn't just want to be that permissive grandparent who lets the grandkids away with everything, but somehow it just gets taken to an extreme with Winston.
I've heard it from a lot of parents: the grandparent who either favors one grandchild, or seems to disfavor one in favor of all of the others. Robyn, a mom of five, tells me that her mother-in-law favors her two daughters because she always wanted a daughter and never got one. This seems to be a fairly common situation, or conversely favoring the same gender as their own children (ie if Grandma had all boys, she favors the male grandchildren because she “understands them better.”)
Another reader, Julie, says that as a child, she and her siblings would spend weekends visiting their grandparents in another town. “Our arrival was always treated with great fanfare,” she says, “which for obvious reasons didn’t go over well with the grandchildren who lived nearby.”
“Nathalie” has a different issue with grandparent favoritism: she lives near her husband’s parents, but her older daughter is not their biological grandchild, and is treated much differently because of it. They have gone overboard on birthdays, etc. for their biological granddaughter while all but ignoring Nathalie’s other daughter, and also have a habit of buying presents for “Cindy” just because, but not for “Ellen.” One of the biggest examples occurred when “Luke”’s parents wanted to take the family to an amusement park. Luke’s mother chose a date when Nathalie’s oldest daughter would be away with her biological father. Nathalie asked if they could wait to go until Ellen returned. Grandma told her that she had already bought the tickets for that date and they were non-refundable. It wasn’t until they arrived at the park, without Ellen, that Nathalie knew she had been lied to. “We got to the park and we got on line for the ticket counter. So I said ‘I thought you already bought the tickets’ and she said, ‘No, I didn't.’ So she flat out lied to me.”
We decided that although it’s not easy, we have to stand up to Pat about Winston. As he gets older he’s going to notice the difference, and we don’t want there to be that kind of tension in their relationship. It seems to have improved, too, to Pat’s credit. It’s never easy to hear that you’re treating someone unfairly, but most reasonable people will take the advice for what it’s worth, and at least attempt to make a change in their behavior.
Have you had experience with favoritism? What did you do about it, if anything?
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Trading Places
Like a lot of people in this economic climate, my husband is out of work right now. Since a family of six can't exactly survive on EI alone, I have gone back to work. It's the first time since about July of 2006, one month or so before A was born, that I have "worked".
So now, my husband is a stay-at-home dad. It's only a temporary situation, we know, but it's been quite the transition. Even having both of us at home 24/7 was rather stressful, because the kids and I had our routines down, and having an extra person around who usually was allowed to make decisions all on his own just plain threw me for a loop. It went from Mommy making all of the decisions for most of the day to having that tightrope to walk where Mommy has to check with Daddy to be sure that Child B hasn't already asked, not liked the response and gone to the other parent, and vice-versa. One parent starts to question the other: "Why are you giving him a bottle now? He isn't going to be yet!" or "How long until naptime? HOW long???" or "Are you really going to let her go out with her shoes on the wrong feet?" Let's face facts: during the day, there can only be one Queen Bee (or King of the Hill, as may be the case.)
However, as much of a transition as that was, having me in the outside world while Dad is at home has been even more of a shock to the finely-tuned machine that is our family (ha!) Things that were second-nature to me are not so much to Dad. As involved as he's always been at child-rearing, and as much time as he's spent alone with the kids, 24/7 is different. It doesn't help that everyone seems to have an opinion, or a joke, about a stay-at-home dad, and while it's all in good fun, it can be hurtful after a while. Even though the SAHD isn't the "norm", shouldn't we be encouraging dads who DO take a hands-on approach to parenting? It ain't an easy job, and anyone who takes it on should be applauded, in my books.
The other thing about our trade, is that we're both getting a chance to see things from the other's perspective. I know how helpless you feel when hearing the frustration of the day getting to the one at home, and you can't do anything to help. I know how you're torn between being tired at the end of the day, and just wanting to get in every possible second that you can with your kids before they're off to bed. Last night as I was putting C to bed, she said to me, "Why did you say 'See you tomorrow'? Because you have to go to work tomorrow." It nearly broke my heart as I explained that I would see her tomorrow, just tomorrow night. It never seems like enough time.
There are so many debates over who has it harder: the parent at work, or the parent at home. Even just among moms it becomes a fight for your own honour sometimes, to say that you have the harder job. Truth is, parenting is a messy, dirty job, and no one has it easy (unless maybe you're "parenting" a Betsy Wetsy doll or something) but it never hurts to get a little perspective on just how good you have it, because no matter what, we ARE the lucky ones, too.
So now, my husband is a stay-at-home dad. It's only a temporary situation, we know, but it's been quite the transition. Even having both of us at home 24/7 was rather stressful, because the kids and I had our routines down, and having an extra person around who usually was allowed to make decisions all on his own just plain threw me for a loop. It went from Mommy making all of the decisions for most of the day to having that tightrope to walk where Mommy has to check with Daddy to be sure that Child B hasn't already asked, not liked the response and gone to the other parent, and vice-versa. One parent starts to question the other: "Why are you giving him a bottle now? He isn't going to be yet!" or "How long until naptime? HOW long???" or "Are you really going to let her go out with her shoes on the wrong feet?" Let's face facts: during the day, there can only be one Queen Bee (or King of the Hill, as may be the case.)
However, as much of a transition as that was, having me in the outside world while Dad is at home has been even more of a shock to the finely-tuned machine that is our family (ha!) Things that were second-nature to me are not so much to Dad. As involved as he's always been at child-rearing, and as much time as he's spent alone with the kids, 24/7 is different. It doesn't help that everyone seems to have an opinion, or a joke, about a stay-at-home dad, and while it's all in good fun, it can be hurtful after a while. Even though the SAHD isn't the "norm", shouldn't we be encouraging dads who DO take a hands-on approach to parenting? It ain't an easy job, and anyone who takes it on should be applauded, in my books.
The other thing about our trade, is that we're both getting a chance to see things from the other's perspective. I know how helpless you feel when hearing the frustration of the day getting to the one at home, and you can't do anything to help. I know how you're torn between being tired at the end of the day, and just wanting to get in every possible second that you can with your kids before they're off to bed. Last night as I was putting C to bed, she said to me, "Why did you say 'See you tomorrow'? Because you have to go to work tomorrow." It nearly broke my heart as I explained that I would see her tomorrow, just tomorrow night. It never seems like enough time.
There are so many debates over who has it harder: the parent at work, or the parent at home. Even just among moms it becomes a fight for your own honour sometimes, to say that you have the harder job. Truth is, parenting is a messy, dirty job, and no one has it easy (unless maybe you're "parenting" a Betsy Wetsy doll or something) but it never hurts to get a little perspective on just how good you have it, because no matter what, we ARE the lucky ones, too.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
I Want to Come Hooooooome!!!
Last night my three year old went to Grandma and Grandpa's for a sleepover. Not for the first time, but for the first time in quite a while, and for the first time by himself. Because we've got four kids, it's rare that any of them get one-on-one time with parents and grandparents, but at the end of March Break my husband's parents had offered to take the three oldest for a sleepover for a couple of days. Unfortunately that was at the height of Andrew's ear problems and he had not only his pre-op appointment for his tubes, but another ear infection which needed to be treated, so he ended up staying home while his two older sisters went for a few days away.
Grandma and Grandpa felt badly about this, so they offered to take him for his very own sleepover last night. I have to admit, it hadn't even occurred to me that he might get homesick. He adores Grandma and Grandpa, so I was more worried about my separation anxiety than his. However, at 11:20pm last night my MSN went off, with my mother-in-law telling me that they hadn't gotten Andrew settled down yet, and wondering what they should do.
Andrew has never been a great sleeper, so I honestly thought he was just having too much fun to sleep, but after a few minutes I realized that no, he was just plain homesick and scared. We called to talk to him, but all he could do was cry. My heart was breaking. My in-laws live 30 minutes away, so going to get him wasn't out of the question, but it was getting awfully late. The idea of my husband going and just staying there for the night was floated. We wondered whether or not to just let him "tough it out". As I hemmed and hawed about what to do my mother-in-law finally told me that he was snuggled up with Grandpa in his LazyBoy, and looking a little bit more relaxed. I suggested that they just turn the lights off and see if he fell asleep.
My husband, who's a bit of a night owl, was still awake a couple of hours later, and talked to his mom again. Apparently they were still snuggled in the chair, and Andrew still wasn't quite asleep.
Homesickness is so hard to deal with. Andrew is very young, which is why I was really questioning whether or not we needed to go and get him, but it can happen at any age. My oldest wanted to go to sleepover camp last summer, but I really hesitated because of the fear of having her get there and immediately change her mind. Maybe we'll try it this year.
I haven't heard from Grandma and Grandpa yet this morning. I'm hoping that means he's asleep, and still sleeping. I'm fighting the urge to call and check because if he is sleeping I don't want to wake him up, but my baby was hurting last night, and I wasn't there to make it all better, and I just want to know that he's okay.
So who do you think homesickness is harder on? The kid, or mom and dad?
Grandma and Grandpa felt badly about this, so they offered to take him for his very own sleepover last night. I have to admit, it hadn't even occurred to me that he might get homesick. He adores Grandma and Grandpa, so I was more worried about my separation anxiety than his. However, at 11:20pm last night my MSN went off, with my mother-in-law telling me that they hadn't gotten Andrew settled down yet, and wondering what they should do.
Andrew has never been a great sleeper, so I honestly thought he was just having too much fun to sleep, but after a few minutes I realized that no, he was just plain homesick and scared. We called to talk to him, but all he could do was cry. My heart was breaking. My in-laws live 30 minutes away, so going to get him wasn't out of the question, but it was getting awfully late. The idea of my husband going and just staying there for the night was floated. We wondered whether or not to just let him "tough it out". As I hemmed and hawed about what to do my mother-in-law finally told me that he was snuggled up with Grandpa in his LazyBoy, and looking a little bit more relaxed. I suggested that they just turn the lights off and see if he fell asleep.
My husband, who's a bit of a night owl, was still awake a couple of hours later, and talked to his mom again. Apparently they were still snuggled in the chair, and Andrew still wasn't quite asleep.
Homesickness is so hard to deal with. Andrew is very young, which is why I was really questioning whether or not we needed to go and get him, but it can happen at any age. My oldest wanted to go to sleepover camp last summer, but I really hesitated because of the fear of having her get there and immediately change her mind. Maybe we'll try it this year.
I haven't heard from Grandma and Grandpa yet this morning. I'm hoping that means he's asleep, and still sleeping. I'm fighting the urge to call and check because if he is sleeping I don't want to wake him up, but my baby was hurting last night, and I wasn't there to make it all better, and I just want to know that he's okay.
So who do you think homesickness is harder on? The kid, or mom and dad?
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Guest Blog: My Son's Battle...
When I found out I was pregnant, I was shocked, to say the very least. Shocked, because a so-called specialist had just told me a few months earlier that I would never have children without the aid of medical intervention.
Welcome to the world, my son ‘E’ in July of 2008 at a whopping 10 ½ lbs. He brought new meaning to the term “no small miracle”.
At 18 months, all medical and developmental resources say your child should be able to point to something you ask about (ask “Where’s the light?” and they point up), use about 20 or more words and come to you or look when their name is called.
My son, at 20 months, still hasn’t said “Mama”. He hasn’t said “ball”. He hasn’t said “Baba” or “bottle”. He actually hasn’t said much more than “Dada” (and not towards his father, just says it constantly, like “dadadadadada”), “Ya”, the noise that sounds like “TSE”, “ooooooooo” and lots of babbling. Those are the sounds he made at about a year, and hasn’t learned much more since.
At 16 months, his paediatrician was a little concerned, but figured he would catch up soon enough. I joked that because his father and I both like to talk a lot (ahem *cough*) that maybe he just hadn’t said anything yet because he couldn’t get a word in… that joke just doesn’t seem as funny anymore.
At 18 months and still nothing yet, E’s paediatrician was more concerned and decided he needed to be referred to a specialist who can help us with his speech.
Off to our evaluation at a local centre for children with special needs. By the end of the multi-team assessment, the Developmental Paediatrician had this to say…
DP: Your son is showing signs of Autism Spectrum Disorder.
Me (Confused): Okay…
DP: Have you heard of Autism Spectrum Disorder?
Me (Sheepishly): I’ve heard of Autism…?
After that, to be honest, I’m not sure what she said. Instead, this is what was flying through my head:
Autism? Are you sure? Check again… It can’t be right. What if it is? What if it’s not? How do I fix this? How can I help him? My son? Are you sure? Check again… Is he okay? What will happen to him? Is this my fault? What did I do wrong? What didn’t I do right? Are you sure? Check again…
Since then every single movement, every attempted communication with him, Every. Word. He. Tries. To. Speak. we are evaluating. Every time he does something even remotely similar to the list of “red-flagged behaviours” (which you can read here) we are wondering if that is what it is…
Welcome to the world, my son ‘E’ in July of 2008 at a whopping 10 ½ lbs. He brought new meaning to the term “no small miracle”.
At 18 months, all medical and developmental resources say your child should be able to point to something you ask about (ask “Where’s the light?” and they point up), use about 20 or more words and come to you or look when their name is called.
My son, at 20 months, still hasn’t said “Mama”. He hasn’t said “ball”. He hasn’t said “Baba” or “bottle”. He actually hasn’t said much more than “Dada” (and not towards his father, just says it constantly, like “dadadadadada”), “Ya”, the noise that sounds like “TSE”, “ooooooooo” and lots of babbling. Those are the sounds he made at about a year, and hasn’t learned much more since.
At 16 months, his paediatrician was a little concerned, but figured he would catch up soon enough. I joked that because his father and I both like to talk a lot (ahem *cough*) that maybe he just hadn’t said anything yet because he couldn’t get a word in… that joke just doesn’t seem as funny anymore.
At 18 months and still nothing yet, E’s paediatrician was more concerned and decided he needed to be referred to a specialist who can help us with his speech.
Off to our evaluation at a local centre for children with special needs. By the end of the multi-team assessment, the Developmental Paediatrician had this to say…
DP: Your son is showing signs of Autism Spectrum Disorder.
Me (Confused): Okay…
DP: Have you heard of Autism Spectrum Disorder?
Me (Sheepishly): I’ve heard of Autism…?
After that, to be honest, I’m not sure what she said. Instead, this is what was flying through my head:
Autism? Are you sure? Check again… It can’t be right. What if it is? What if it’s not? How do I fix this? How can I help him? My son? Are you sure? Check again… Is he okay? What will happen to him? Is this my fault? What did I do wrong? What didn’t I do right? Are you sure? Check again…
Since then every single movement, every attempted communication with him, Every. Word. He. Tries. To. Speak. we are evaluating. Every time he does something even remotely similar to the list of “red-flagged behaviours” (which you can read here) we are wondering if that is what it is…
Or is that just part of being a toddler…
When he doesn’t look right away when his name is called… Autism? Toddler?
When he is playing with his toys on the ground and rolling his cars around, staring at the wheels… Autism? Toddler?
Throws a temper tantrum… Autism? Toddler?
Do you see where I’m going with this? And maybe why I’m so confused?
I know she is a specialist and is supposed to know more about this than I do, but you can understand my reluctance to readily and easily accept a “specialist's” diagnosis – especially since I’ve already seen one proven wrong before.
The good news is that she did say that we could bring him back in for a second evaluation – although conducted again by her. Since she already has an opinion of him, I’m wondering if it will change at all.
Until then, we’re left with all the questions… The “what-ifs”, the “how’s” and most of all, the “why’s”. We’re instinctively evaluating every single behaviour, every move, every noise, every single little thing he does – Autism? Toddler?
At my worst, I feel like I’ve failed him. I did something wrong for him to deserve this. Whatever the reason, it’s my fault. And the worst punishment that anyone could come up with, wasn’t to punish me, but to punish my son.
At my best, I’m hopeful: hopeful that her diagnosis was wrong; hopeful that if it was right, it’s only on the low end of the “spectrum;” hopeful that my son will be normal and like every other kid in the playground.
Either way, I loved my son the moment I found out he was coming. I loved him the first moment I saw him and I still love him the same way now. I always will.
Janice is a quirky, working Mom of an active toddler (but then again, what toddler isn't active?). In her spare time, she loves to window shop for shoes she can't afford, belt out showtunes while driving, dreams of a house that never gets messy, and of course read her son his favorite book "I Love You Through and Through". She lives in Brooklin, Ontario with her fiancée.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Expectations vs. Reality
Any woman who has been through a pregnancy can remember the feeling of rubbing your belly and picturing what your little baby will be like: wondering whether his hair colour will be like Dad's, or her eyes green like Mom's. We picture our little angels being cooed at in grocery stores while we proudly accept the compliments. We picture a future scientist, or lawyer, or Pulitzer Prize winning author.
We don't picture blow-out diapers, or colic, or tantrums, or D's on report cards. We don't picture having a "biter" or the playground bully. Or the kid getting tormented by the playground bully, for that matter. No one pictures having a child who's physically or mentally challenged. No one pictures their son growing up to be Paul Barnardo.
The truth is, though, that every one of those children was once safely nestled in Mom's belly, having their future all dream-mapped out. Sometimes our children just don't live up to our expectations. Sometimes they just can't.
We all have our strengths, just like we all have our weaknesses. As much as it pains me, I will never be an Olympic figure skater. I can pretty much guarantee that I will never dance the lead in Swan Lake. Anything involving physical coordination is not my strong suit. That being said, I was always a pretty good student, I was usually pretty well-behaved as a kid, and from a young age I liked to write. I think my mom was okay with that. I don't know what she would've done, actually, if I had been an athlete. I couldn't see her sitting through soccer games all the time, quite frankly.
I have to remind myself sometimes that my kids just cannot always be perfect. They all sometimes do things that amaze us, but occasionally I feel like I'm beating my head against a wall while I'm trying to figure out why they just can't grasp something.
It upsets me when I see parents who have such strong expectations that Johnny or Julie will be just like them, and have all the same strengths and interests. Just because I love theatre, and my ideal weekend away involves the Stratford Festival and a nice hotel doesn't mean that my physical, tactile, energetic three-year-old will feel the same way. I hope that at least one of my kids shows a real interest so that I can share my love with them, but if they don't, I have to accept that. I'll learn to love what they love, because I love them. Even if it's hockey...
Not every kid is going to be Einstein, either. There will always be kids who just plain struggle academically. They might excel at auto shop or be an amazing electrical apprentice, but sitting at a desk will never be their strong suit. There will always be those whose future involves "Would you like fries with that?" It's just a fact of life. Not everyone has the capability of being a Wall Street stock broker or a brain surgeon.
The other thing is that we have to accept that sometimes our kids are going to screw up. Hopefully not at the serial killer level, but at some point Johnny will bite someone and Julie will snatch a toy away and hit the previous possessor over the head with it. When kids are toddlers, they all go through these stages. What drives me nuts is the parents who won't acknowledge this. If you're out at the local play gym and your kid hauls off and smacks someone else, or yanks the Little Tykes police car away from a barely walking toddler, knocking them over, don't pretend it didn't happen, or refuse to admit that your little darling could possibly have done such a thing. Any experienced parent knows that these things happen, and won't be a complete jerk about it. Just because their child is the victim this time, five minutes from now they'll likely be the perpetrator, and we all need to realize this and talk to (or discipline) the harasser when necessary, and comforting the harassed when the time comes. Trust me: those bite marks from Tommy might look horrible on Petunia's arm, but the horror that Tommy's mommy feels is much worse. Let's all give each other a break, will we?
We don't picture blow-out diapers, or colic, or tantrums, or D's on report cards. We don't picture having a "biter" or the playground bully. Or the kid getting tormented by the playground bully, for that matter. No one pictures having a child who's physically or mentally challenged. No one pictures their son growing up to be Paul Barnardo.
The truth is, though, that every one of those children was once safely nestled in Mom's belly, having their future all dream-mapped out. Sometimes our children just don't live up to our expectations. Sometimes they just can't.
We all have our strengths, just like we all have our weaknesses. As much as it pains me, I will never be an Olympic figure skater. I can pretty much guarantee that I will never dance the lead in Swan Lake. Anything involving physical coordination is not my strong suit. That being said, I was always a pretty good student, I was usually pretty well-behaved as a kid, and from a young age I liked to write. I think my mom was okay with that. I don't know what she would've done, actually, if I had been an athlete. I couldn't see her sitting through soccer games all the time, quite frankly.
I have to remind myself sometimes that my kids just cannot always be perfect. They all sometimes do things that amaze us, but occasionally I feel like I'm beating my head against a wall while I'm trying to figure out why they just can't grasp something.
It upsets me when I see parents who have such strong expectations that Johnny or Julie will be just like them, and have all the same strengths and interests. Just because I love theatre, and my ideal weekend away involves the Stratford Festival and a nice hotel doesn't mean that my physical, tactile, energetic three-year-old will feel the same way. I hope that at least one of my kids shows a real interest so that I can share my love with them, but if they don't, I have to accept that. I'll learn to love what they love, because I love them. Even if it's hockey...
Not every kid is going to be Einstein, either. There will always be kids who just plain struggle academically. They might excel at auto shop or be an amazing electrical apprentice, but sitting at a desk will never be their strong suit. There will always be those whose future involves "Would you like fries with that?" It's just a fact of life. Not everyone has the capability of being a Wall Street stock broker or a brain surgeon.
The other thing is that we have to accept that sometimes our kids are going to screw up. Hopefully not at the serial killer level, but at some point Johnny will bite someone and Julie will snatch a toy away and hit the previous possessor over the head with it. When kids are toddlers, they all go through these stages. What drives me nuts is the parents who won't acknowledge this. If you're out at the local play gym and your kid hauls off and smacks someone else, or yanks the Little Tykes police car away from a barely walking toddler, knocking them over, don't pretend it didn't happen, or refuse to admit that your little darling could possibly have done such a thing. Any experienced parent knows that these things happen, and won't be a complete jerk about it. Just because their child is the victim this time, five minutes from now they'll likely be the perpetrator, and we all need to realize this and talk to (or discipline) the harasser when necessary, and comforting the harassed when the time comes. Trust me: those bite marks from Tommy might look horrible on Petunia's arm, but the horror that Tommy's mommy feels is much worse. Let's all give each other a break, will we?
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Formula = Rat Poison... No, Really!
I've already told my breastfeeding story. Every mom has story, one way or the other. Some struggle for a long time, but finally come out victorious with a story of exclusive breastfeeding. Some get the hang of it with no problems. Some exclusively pump. Some just can't physically do it. Some just plain don't want to.
Another study is coming out now saying that if 90% of moms in the US breastfed exclusively for at least six months, the lives of 900 babies would be saved, and billions of dollars (I'm assuming this is in healthcare costs) would be saved, as well.
I love how all the way through the article they go on and on about how important it is to breastfeed, and all of the horrible things that happen to babies and children because of formula, but at the very end of the article there's this one little paragraph:
There needs to be a better way of encouraging moms to breastfeed without insinuating that they're bad mothers if they don't.
Another study is coming out now saying that if 90% of moms in the US breastfed exclusively for at least six months, the lives of 900 babies would be saved, and billions of dollars (I'm assuming this is in healthcare costs) would be saved, as well.
I love how all the way through the article they go on and on about how important it is to breastfeed, and all of the horrible things that happen to babies and children because of formula, but at the very end of the article there's this one little paragraph:
I understand how important it is to breastfeed your baby. I understand how much of an uphill battle it's been to convince moms to go back to breastfeeding when in a lot of cases their own mothers didn't. I'm tired, though, of all of the guilt. I'm tired of thinking that any illness my child gets is because I didn't breastfeed enough. I'm tired of feeling that my kids would have higher IQs if I had breastfed more (and believe me, no one wants them to have higher IQs - they're scary already). I'm tired of being told I don't have a good enough bond with my kids because they didn't breastfeed enough. I'm tired of feeling guilty for having a surgery that was strictly for my own benefit, that resulted in my not being able to exclusively breastfeed. It's all so insulting.
Dr. Larry Gray, a University of Chicago pediatrician, called the analysis compelling and said it’s reasonable to strive for 90 per cent compliance. But he also said mothers who don’t breastfeed for six months shouldn’t be blamed or made to feel guilty, because their jobs and other demands often make it impossible to do so.
There needs to be a better way of encouraging moms to breastfeed without insinuating that they're bad mothers if they don't.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Ear Infections SUCK!
My son, Andrew, has been plagued with ear infections the past two winters. Last year after five in a row, we got a referral to a local ear, nose and throat doctor. After two visits, he declared that Andrew had "survived" the winter and didn't need any further treatment.
So far this winter he has had another five - three since Christmas. I took him back to the ENT, who said that the pressure in his ears was normal, he was okay. Well of COURSE the pressure in his ears was normal - he'd just had his eardrum rupture! Anyway, when he started to say that Andrew would be fine again for this year, I stopped him. I don't want my son to just keep "surviving" the winter. His quick answer: okay then, we'll do tubes. Go up front and book the surgery. No discussion, nothing. Just surgery.
I booked the procedure and almost immediately started to freak out. Partially because it's my 3.5 year old, and we're talking general anesthetic, and no matter how "routine" it is, it still is a horrible thing to think that my baby is going to be "put under". I hate to think of him scared, or upset. As his mommy, it's my job to keep him safe.
The other reason I freaked out was that I didn't know if it was really necessary. If there's no fluid build-up in his ears right now, will it do any good? Am I putting him through unnecessary surgery? With no chance to really discuss it with the doctor I had no idea.
I have to take him to our family doctor tomorrow to fill out pre-op forms. I decided that I would talk to her more in-depth then, and if I changed my mind I could cancel the surgery as long as it was more than a week beforehand.
Then my ear started to hurt. I don't know how many of you have had ear infections at an age that you can remember them, but this is AWFUL. the urgent care doctor told me it was a bad one, but I already knew that. I was in so much pain I was praying for the eardrum to rupture, just to relieve the pain. Even after two days of antibiotics I was still curled up in a ball on the couch last night, praying that the way too many painkillers I had taken would FINALLY kick in so that I could sleep, and even then I was up every couple of hours looking for something else to take. And anyone who knows me knows that I don't like painkillers. I still have half the bottle of heavy duty stuff I was given after my c-section last year. I can't even close my jaw all the way, which certainly makes eating difficult.
I honestly feel like someone is trying to tell me that my son needs this surgery. As much as it may kill me as his mommy to have to hand him over to a surgeon, even if only for half an hour, I need to do it, and I need to be strong for him.
The purpose of ear tubes is to ventilate the area behind the eardrum, which keeps the pressure equalized. Bacteria and viruses can enter the middle ear from the eustachian tube, which connects the ear to the nose. This causes pus to fill the middle ear, putting pressure on the ear drum. Thus, the pain from the ear infection. Plus, because the eardrum has a harder time vibrating (which is how we hear), there is often a temporary loss of hearing in the ear.
The tubes (usually done in both ears, unless for some reason the patient only seems to have one ear affected) are intended to allow the fluid to drain, rather than build up behind the eardrum. They generally stay in place for anywhere from 6 to 18 months, although I've heard from a lot of parents that they often fall out and end up needing to be replaced.
You can see a short video on ear tube surgery here. It's does show the insertion of the tube, but it's not all that graphic. I've got a pretty queasy stomach for this stuff, but i found it interesting.
So far this winter he has had another five - three since Christmas. I took him back to the ENT, who said that the pressure in his ears was normal, he was okay. Well of COURSE the pressure in his ears was normal - he'd just had his eardrum rupture! Anyway, when he started to say that Andrew would be fine again for this year, I stopped him. I don't want my son to just keep "surviving" the winter. His quick answer: okay then, we'll do tubes. Go up front and book the surgery. No discussion, nothing. Just surgery.
I booked the procedure and almost immediately started to freak out. Partially because it's my 3.5 year old, and we're talking general anesthetic, and no matter how "routine" it is, it still is a horrible thing to think that my baby is going to be "put under". I hate to think of him scared, or upset. As his mommy, it's my job to keep him safe.
The other reason I freaked out was that I didn't know if it was really necessary. If there's no fluid build-up in his ears right now, will it do any good? Am I putting him through unnecessary surgery? With no chance to really discuss it with the doctor I had no idea.
I have to take him to our family doctor tomorrow to fill out pre-op forms. I decided that I would talk to her more in-depth then, and if I changed my mind I could cancel the surgery as long as it was more than a week beforehand.
Then my ear started to hurt. I don't know how many of you have had ear infections at an age that you can remember them, but this is AWFUL. the urgent care doctor told me it was a bad one, but I already knew that. I was in so much pain I was praying for the eardrum to rupture, just to relieve the pain. Even after two days of antibiotics I was still curled up in a ball on the couch last night, praying that the way too many painkillers I had taken would FINALLY kick in so that I could sleep, and even then I was up every couple of hours looking for something else to take. And anyone who knows me knows that I don't like painkillers. I still have half the bottle of heavy duty stuff I was given after my c-section last year. I can't even close my jaw all the way, which certainly makes eating difficult.
I honestly feel like someone is trying to tell me that my son needs this surgery. As much as it may kill me as his mommy to have to hand him over to a surgeon, even if only for half an hour, I need to do it, and I need to be strong for him.
The purpose of ear tubes is to ventilate the area behind the eardrum, which keeps the pressure equalized. Bacteria and viruses can enter the middle ear from the eustachian tube, which connects the ear to the nose. This causes pus to fill the middle ear, putting pressure on the ear drum. Thus, the pain from the ear infection. Plus, because the eardrum has a harder time vibrating (which is how we hear), there is often a temporary loss of hearing in the ear.
The tubes (usually done in both ears, unless for some reason the patient only seems to have one ear affected) are intended to allow the fluid to drain, rather than build up behind the eardrum. They generally stay in place for anywhere from 6 to 18 months, although I've heard from a lot of parents that they often fall out and end up needing to be replaced.
You can see a short video on ear tube surgery here. It's does show the insertion of the tube, but it's not all that graphic. I've got a pretty queasy stomach for this stuff, but i found it interesting.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Making Time for Mom (or Dad)
You see it everywhere: new moms and dads are reminded to “have a date night” or “take a bubble bath” or go out with friends. Every parenting book, magazine and website say the same thing. You want to take time for yourself so that you can be a better parent in the end. Have that date night with Dad so that you don't forget who you were BEFORE kids.
It all sounds wonderful, in theory. In reality it's not always so easy. As kids get older, they have activities, which tend to multiply. So your evenings and weekends seem to disappear before they even begin. Chances are you have things that occupy your “free” time, too, like volunteer work with your kids' school or church. While rewarding, it's still not really “me” time.
Even when you're part of a co-parenting team (I make no assumptions!) it's not so easy to get time by yourself. The bubble bath idea is probably the most laughable to me. I enjoy a good bubble bath now and then, don't get me wrong, but it happens about once or twice a year, if that. If the kids are awake, the possibility of me even peeing without accompaniment is next to none. I can only imagine me trying to take a relaxing bubble bath while Emma came in to tell me something she “forgot” about her homework, Charlotte coming in to ask me to watch her “big jump” or Andrew to whine about Emma or Charlotte bugging him. It's also quite possible that my husband would come in to find out whether I've given the baby his medicine (don't get me started on the topic of infant reflux right now...) or what he's supposed to make for dinner. Either that, or I'll be listening to him yelling from downstairs, “Your mother is trying to have a bath! Stop yelling!”
Once a month I do go out with a group of moms to a restaurant where we just sit and talk for a couple of hours. It is honestly my favourite part of the month, so rare is the chance for me to talk to adults other than my immediate family members.
It's not easy, though. I've been on both sides of the SAHM/WOHM conundrum, which is why I'm convinced that neither way is “better”. As a SAHM I work 24/7. There are no sick days, no vacation days, no statutory holidays. I adore my kids, but I'm so excited to leave the house without kids once in a while that it's really a little bit pathetic. Going to the grocery store by myself leaves me practically giddy. So time with adult friends is absolutely essential to my brain-cell retention.
That being said, as a WOHP (I'm including dads in this, since the majority still WOH) you still work 24/7, but now it's at two jobs. You get up, try and cram in some morning time with your kids (if you're lucky) and head off on your commute (which if you live in this area can be anywhere from 45 minutes to two hours each way). You get to work, try and cram in as much work as you can as fast as you can to avoid the dreaded overtime, make the commute back, and then as soon as you walk in the door you're at job #2. Kids are running screaming to see you, you have to try and gobble down your dinner in order to get the bath/story/bedtime routine going and you're still inwardly fuming over the idiot who messed up your day at work. The last thing that you want to have happen is for your co-parent to say “Hi, welcome home, I'm outta here!”
Date Night is probably the most elusive of all the me times in parenting. If it's hard to get a night for ONE of you to go out, it's a downright herculean task for both of you to go out at once sans children (see? I'm bilingual, too!) You may be lucky enough to have family around who are willing to babysit, but all but the most devoted grandparents don't want to be on call ALL the time, and it's not that common anymore for grown children to live down the street from their parents. Very few of my friends live in the same city as their parents.
Adult friends aren't always the answer, either. They either have families of their own and are just as busy as you are or they don't have kids and you suspect that they're not all that fond of being on-call sitters.
So then you're left with finding the hard-to-find teenage babysitter. Personally I've never had much luck with this option. I either find they're too young, or if they're older, they have “real” part-time jobs that limit their availability. Then there's the issue of having to PAY for a babysitter. Say you want to go to a movie. You're looking at $20 for tickets (if you're lucky), another $20-30 for snacks and then the sitter wants $5 per hour, and sometimes that's PER kid. In my case, to go to a two-hour movie, plus time back and forth I'd be looking at over $100 for a few hours out.
And then we'll end up spending the whole time talking about the kids anyway.
ME: “Did you sign C's permission form?”
HIM: “What permission form?”
ME: “For her field trip.”
HIM: “That wasn't her field trip, that was E's.”
ME: “No, not THAT field trip. That was to the museum. This one is to the apple orchard.”
HIM: “I didn't see that one.”
ME: “It was right on the fridge.”
HIM: “Where on the fridge?”
ME: “Beside A's painting of a yak that he did at nursery school.”
HIM: “That was a yak?”
ME: “Well, that's what he told me. Either that or a pumpkin. I'm not sure.”
HIM: “I thought we weren't going to talk about the kids tonight.”
ME: “Okay. We won't talk about the kids. Did you see the latest episode of Hannah Montana?”
So, to all those parenting experts who want us to experience life without our kids, I applaud the idea, but when are YOU coming over to babysit?
I thought so. Sorry Honey, date night will have to wait another 18 years or so.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Welcome!
Welcome to “Climbing Up the Slide”. It’s an idea I’ve had for a long time now. I wanted a place where I could offer my own musings on parenthood, but hopefully where other parents that I know (and maybe some that I don’t!) could offer theirs, too. Many of my friends and acquaintances have very different takes on parenting than I do, and personally, I like to hear about them. Sometimes I shake my head, but sometimes I learn from them.
To me, being a parent is like climbing up the slide at the playground when you’re a kid. It’s more work than going down the slide, but usually a lot more fulfilling if you make it all the way to the top. The other reason I chose this as a name was that so many parents now are afraid to let their kids do things like climb the “wrong” way on the slide, but that was such a big part of being a kid when I was young. It sort of sums up my parenting philosophy: I want my kids to experience life, not be wrapped up in bubble wrap all the time. Yes, they’ll get hurt, but as Dory says in “Finding Nemo” (and how many of us parents quote from Disney movies and shows on a daily basis now? Can I get a “hell, yeah!”) “If nothing ever happens to him, then NOTHING will ever happen to him.”
When you have your first child, it seems like it can’t be THAT hard – after all, a good portion of the human population does it at some point in their lives. There are zillions of books out there that tell you EXACTLY what you need to do, while you’re pregnant, with an infant, with a toddler, a rebellious teenager, so as long as you know what you’re doing it’ll be smooth sailing, right?
WRONG!
I remember coming home from the hospital with my oldest daughter, Emma. It was February of 2001 and I was 24 years old. I put her into the cradle beside our bed, stared at her for a while, and then thought “Oh my God – they actually let me take her out of the hospital! What do I do with her NOW?”
I still feel like that some days, and Emma is 8 years old now. I have two other kids, Charlotte, born in July of 2005 and Andrew, born in August of 2006. In 41 days we will welcome baby #4 – supposedly a boy, but I guess we’ll know for sure in 41 days. Every one of my children is different from the others in their own way, while at the same time being just enough like his/her siblings to confuse me!
Some days I feel like an awesome mom, but other days I feel like I’m drowning. I do some really cool things with my kids, but then I’ll turn around and do something I SWORE I’d never do. I have been known (*AHEM) to raise my voice occasionally. I even give a swat on the butt now and then, despite the fact that, in theory, I don’t believe in it. I always feel a raging sense of guilt whenever that happens.
I guess I wonder what makes us believe that even though human beings are inherently fallible, we should be perfect as parents. My husband and I have sort of become gypsies over the past few years. We’ve moved houses 3 times since June of 2007, which has meant that Emma has been to four different schools in four years of school, and only in her first year of school did she actually finish the year in the school at which she started. You want to talk Mommy Guilt? Try taking your kid out of a school that they’re happy at and having her say, “It’s okay, I’m used to it.” I’m convinced that she’s going to end up in therapy later on, raging about how horrible we were for never letting her stay in one spot. Then again, I’ve had people tell me that she’ll grow up to be really adaptable and comfortable in any setting, which could be a big plus, I suppose. It doesn’t stop the guilt, though.
I’m looking forward to sharing more of my kids with all of you. The site is still “under construction” while I learn more about how Blogger works, so have patience with me! I just really wanted to start getting some content up. I hope that you enjoy what you find here in the coming days! If you’re interested in contributing, please feel free to email me at 8thCyn@climbinguptheslide.com.
To me, being a parent is like climbing up the slide at the playground when you’re a kid. It’s more work than going down the slide, but usually a lot more fulfilling if you make it all the way to the top. The other reason I chose this as a name was that so many parents now are afraid to let their kids do things like climb the “wrong” way on the slide, but that was such a big part of being a kid when I was young. It sort of sums up my parenting philosophy: I want my kids to experience life, not be wrapped up in bubble wrap all the time. Yes, they’ll get hurt, but as Dory says in “Finding Nemo” (and how many of us parents quote from Disney movies and shows on a daily basis now? Can I get a “hell, yeah!”) “If nothing ever happens to him, then NOTHING will ever happen to him.”
When you have your first child, it seems like it can’t be THAT hard – after all, a good portion of the human population does it at some point in their lives. There are zillions of books out there that tell you EXACTLY what you need to do, while you’re pregnant, with an infant, with a toddler, a rebellious teenager, so as long as you know what you’re doing it’ll be smooth sailing, right?
WRONG!
I remember coming home from the hospital with my oldest daughter, Emma. It was February of 2001 and I was 24 years old. I put her into the cradle beside our bed, stared at her for a while, and then thought “Oh my God – they actually let me take her out of the hospital! What do I do with her NOW?”
I still feel like that some days, and Emma is 8 years old now. I have two other kids, Charlotte, born in July of 2005 and Andrew, born in August of 2006. In 41 days we will welcome baby #4 – supposedly a boy, but I guess we’ll know for sure in 41 days. Every one of my children is different from the others in their own way, while at the same time being just enough like his/her siblings to confuse me!
Some days I feel like an awesome mom, but other days I feel like I’m drowning. I do some really cool things with my kids, but then I’ll turn around and do something I SWORE I’d never do. I have been known (*AHEM) to raise my voice occasionally. I even give a swat on the butt now and then, despite the fact that, in theory, I don’t believe in it. I always feel a raging sense of guilt whenever that happens.
I guess I wonder what makes us believe that even though human beings are inherently fallible, we should be perfect as parents. My husband and I have sort of become gypsies over the past few years. We’ve moved houses 3 times since June of 2007, which has meant that Emma has been to four different schools in four years of school, and only in her first year of school did she actually finish the year in the school at which she started. You want to talk Mommy Guilt? Try taking your kid out of a school that they’re happy at and having her say, “It’s okay, I’m used to it.” I’m convinced that she’s going to end up in therapy later on, raging about how horrible we were for never letting her stay in one spot. Then again, I’ve had people tell me that she’ll grow up to be really adaptable and comfortable in any setting, which could be a big plus, I suppose. It doesn’t stop the guilt, though.
I’m looking forward to sharing more of my kids with all of you. The site is still “under construction” while I learn more about how Blogger works, so have patience with me! I just really wanted to start getting some content up. I hope that you enjoy what you find here in the coming days! If you’re interested in contributing, please feel free to email me at 8thCyn@climbinguptheslide.com.
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