Keeping My Wits About Me

The hardest thing for me, and probably a lot of parents, is how do I--bombarded by my baby's cries, advertising, and social expectations--remain reasonable towards my child? What I mean is, how do I keep from spoiling and overreacting when it comes to Rain?

You've seen it: a boy in a store hollerin' at his parents for a new toy, a toddler faking tears to get her mommy to carry her, a child celebrating his first birthday with trappings snazzier than a wedding. Parents can't expect help from any corner, either. Advertisers in parenting magazines and TV are relentless about "give your child ____, and she'll be the happiest kid on the block." Isn't that what I want? Having the happiest kid makes me the best parent, doesn't it?

Before Rain was born, I worked in a preschool program. We constantly celebrated birthdays. Some parents were reasonable and brought homemade cupcakes for the class, sang "Happy Birthday," and snapped a few photos. Others ... well, the children became the audience for parents determined to outdo each other. I've seen the same thing done for kids as young as one, and I ask ya, who's the party really for? The sleeping baby with a party hat surrounded by strangers? Be realistic, people! That kid would be just as happy with a balloon and tub of frosting at home.

So, today is Halloween. A month ago I bought Rain a cute Pooh Bear onesie with an autumn theme. She has worn it once a week, so I feel I got my money's worth. A friend got Rain a Halloween T-shirt, hat, and mitts which Rain will wear tonight. Did I buy Rain a costume? No. Through the "but it's her first Halloween" complaints, I haven't budged, though I can't say I wasn't tempted. Rain doesn't know or care what today is, so why should I buy a pricey costume she'll wear for an hour before it's her bedtime?

The experts say you can's spoil a child as young as Rain. I think real people (that's right, I'm not sure experts are real people) know that babies are much more clever than people give them credit for. They quickly learn that crying (tears optional) will bring about the results they want. At first, Rain's crying was necessary to alert me when she was lacking essentials, but after a few months, she has learned crying has so much more potential, so much more (muah ha ha). Since babies come from the hospital completely helpless, plenty of parents don't see (or want to see) them grow and change. This is why some parents get up at 3 A.M. every night to comfort their three-year-olds--they still treat their kids as if they just left the hospital.

Must go! Rain is crying. Maybe she's hungry or mad? Must find out, must find out ...

The BMOY Awards

Have you heard of the BMOY awards? It's not as flashy as a Grammy or coveted like an Oscar, but it's noteworthy all the same. The award committee is very selective, but as luck would have it, I'm this year's BMOY winner.

To win the award, you have to be exceptionally picky about what you listen to. I won by doing just that. No matter how many articles, books, and Internet guidelines I read, I chose not to listen to how quickly a baby can go from slight movements to full body swings in a day.

Rain fell off the bed.

Congratulations to the newest Bad Mommy of the Year. (*bitter wail*)

Passing the Baton

Today I visited a friend who is due to deliver her baby in the next two weeks. She is homebound now, as she has had a very difficult pregnancy. I came especially because I remembered what it was like those last few weeks of my own pregnancy. At the time, I had plenty of time on my hands (boy, those were the days), because physically, there was very little I could do. Sleeping for longer than 3 hours at a time was impossible, and finding the energy to do more than that was difficult. Everyone in my life went about their days as usual, and the circus going on inside my belly was my private event.

As I talked with my friend, I remembered all the fears and questions that came at the end. Sure, a mother-to-be wants the burden of pregnancy over with, but she also cringes at the thought of labor. She wants to be free from the constant kicking in the ribs and breathlessness, but knows the baby is safest in the womb. She yearns for her former life but is excited about the new one. So many things to panic over ...

"What about my single friends? Will they still want to hang around me?"
"Should I take the epidural if the pain gets bad?"
"How will I find time to take a shower during those first weeks after the baby comes?"
"Was breastfeeding hard to learn? Was it worth it?"

The list of questions is, well, quite a list. But who really has all the answers? (Um, me. In short order: (1) Some will, (2) Yes, (3) Late at night or before partner goes to work, (4) Yes. Yes.) Point is, mothers everywhere should do what they can to comfort the newbies. Let's not re-invent the wheel with every baby, folks. Tell 'em there's no point in buying loads of newborn clothing because their children will outgrow it in 2 weeks, and that hair bows/sneakers are both pointless and expensive. But don't give them too much information, as telling the truth about child-rearing will only (a) scare them numb, and (b) make you wonder why you got involved in such a shenanigan in the first place.

Suck it Up

I don't like to cry. In fact, the only person who ever sees me cry is my husband. I've had my heart torn and handed back to me, and still, I don't like to cry in front of others. I don't want people to feel sorry for me. Today, I've been thinking: parents, many times, stop their tears, because they don't want their children to see pain. It's this strange reasoning that if they never see pain, they will never know pain.

Over the last few weeks, several things have happened that cumulatively, made me want to break down. My mom, after 21 years of service to a company who didn't deserve her, was laid off. That began a series of unrelated problems. In the last 2 weeks, I've been let down, I've attended a wake, I've spent time with a friend who finally has to face difficult consequences, I've allowed some things I shouldn't have, and other things that I haven't made peace with. And the stress ... well, I did what I could.

Today, finally, was the last thing that had to be attended to, I think. I hugged my little brother goodbye, and sent him on his way to start a new life in New Mexico. There is a job opportunity there that, hopefully, will provide his family the financial security every good father wants for his kids. I was feeding Rain when my brother was finally ready to leave. I gave him a hug, told him I loved him, and walked him out. When he was gone, I returned to Rain. I held up another spoonful of rice cereal, swallowed the feelings I had, and smiled for her.

Ring of Fire

Some people say that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. If that's true, I bet there's a pit stop at a hospital first.

I had good intentions. All I wanted to do was make Tim a special dinner for finally accomplishing one of his long-term ('bout 6 years long) financial goals. I was so proud of him for disciplining himself and keepin' the faith that things would work out. I decided I would make him a dinner featuring anything he wanted. Tim, of course, thought up the most unhealthy combination his heart could probably endure: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, homemade macaroni and cheese, and apple pie.

A deal's a deal, so Monday morning I went grocery shopping. A few people had said they might be able watch Rain for me while I cooked, but neither panned out. I didn't think it was a problem since I've cooked plenty of meals since she was born. True, this menu required more hours of work than normal, but I was happy to cook whatever Tim wanted.

The factor I didn't calculate into the mix was that Rain had a day-long teething bout. While we were in the checkout line at the grocery store, she fell apart. The cashier did everything she could to get us out of the store ASAP (I tried not to blush as another cashier came over to help unload my cart for me in an effort to hurry things along). Rain wailed until I was able to put Orajel on her gums. Even then, she whimpered until she fell asleep. When she awoke, she cried again. This went on the entire time I tried to boil potatoes, stir sauce, roll out the pie crust, etc. I wanted to put her in her soft carrier, so she could hang from my chest while I worked. I had the tiniest worry, however, that if anything should happen ... well, I decided to lay her on a blankie near the entrance to the kitchen. Rain wanted no part of this arrangement. After three hours, I had a headache, was merely halfway done, and was doing headstands to settle Rain down.

But. I could not--I would not--allow my exasperation to ruin Tim's special dinner. I was so proud, after all, and I really wanted to show it. Ten minutes before Tim came home from work, I was nearly done. The macaroni was warming in the oven, potatoes sat in a happy pile in a pot, and a fresh-baked apple pie cooled nearby. It was a Martha moment as I dipped my chicken in buttermilk, happy to finally be in the home stretch.

I should say that (1) because of Tim's cholesterol, I fry food about once a year, seriously, and (2) I'd forgotten some of the precautions necessary when frying food. I grabbed a chicken thigh with my tongs and flipped it over to cook the other side. Pop! Grease flew from the pan towards me. Without a splatter guard, lid, or even a towel to protect me, it splattered on my face and onto the floor.

I was stunned. It took three or four seconds to realize what happened. I grabbed a towel and covered my face. The next ten seconds I spent thinking the burning would pass. Um, no. I ran to the phone and called Tim, saying, "I burned my face with grease! I can't think. What am I supposed to do??" Tim, thankfully, was only two minutes away. When he came in, it was a scene from Steel Magnolias: baby crying on the floor, and mommy nowhere in sight. I was washing my face in the bathroom and crying. In the mirror I could see red splotches, and they hurt worse than they looked.

We applied and reapplied loads of medicated aloe vera. I kept a cool, moist towel on my face the rest of the night. The pain made my eyes water, but mainly, I was sad that I totally ruined Tim's special occasion. I was mad that I messed it up, and mad, in a way, that I didn't manage Rain and what I was trying to do in a workable way. I just wanted it to be like it was before, when Life seemed more ... manageable. Rain's crying wasn't at fault; she couldn't help it, after all. It was that I didn't know how to overcome all the distractions to be safe. Tim told me again and again that the dinner didn't matter as long as I was OK, but I was still disappointed.

As of today, I have a burn mark over my eyelid, and a few splatter marks that are still healing. The one great, wonderful blessing I think about at times is this: how terrible would that day have been if, when the hot grease splattered everywhere, Rain was hanging in front of me?

2nd Fiddle

My brother & his wife were at a conference in California for 4 days. They asked me to watch their 2-year-old son while they were gone. Why anybody would trust me with their child when I'm clearly struggling to raise my own, I can't be sure.

Isaiah, my brother's son, is a sweet kid. He's a little on the sensitive side (read: a man not afraid to cry), but he's sincerely charming. He smiles at anyone who will look his way, and he's all about free kisses. He shakes hands like a gentleman, and loves to hold his 5-month-old sister.

And then there's Rain ...

Rain was less than cordial with Isaiah during his stay. Oh, she was fascinated with our short visitor for the first hour, but once she got that feeling he wasn't going anywhere ... well, she rolled up the welcome mat. Then he made the mistake of trying to love on her while she was nursing. Rain grunted, gave him the "Can't you see I'm busy here?" eyebrow, and shrugged him off.

But Isaiah is a determined suitor. He attempted again and again to snuggle Rain, and she rebuffed him with howls. He stared at Rain, puzzled by her agitation. I never realized that for the past few months, while Rain nursed, I hardly spoke. I'm usually reading, typing, or sleeping when she's nursing (hmmm ... that doesn't make me sound like a very involved mom, does it?). Poor Isaiah is standing beside Rain, cooing and chatting for her attention, and she's grunting for him to put a lid on it.

Our first night together as a temporary family was tragic for those living within a quarter-mile of our apartment. Isaiah cried because he hates to go to sleep. Rain cried because she hates kids who cry when she's ready to go to sleep. Isaiah cried louder, because he hates for anyone to feel bad enough to cry. Rain cried loudest, because she wouldn't be outdone. She might've had to wait one minute longer to get her diaper changed while her cousin got his changed, but by golly, when it came to screamin', she played second fiddle to no one.

To Mr. Upstairs Guy

Dear Mr. Upstairs Guy,

Yes, that was my daughter crying for thirty minutes at 2 AM last night. I apologize for any sounds that may have drifted upwards. Let me just say that (1) my husband & I could do nothing about it, (2) be honest, my daughter hasn't done that in a month, and (3) she wasn't trying to be annoying.

I get it: you want to teach us a lesson. So, you've decided to play knock-our-eardrums-out-loud music for the last 3 hours, eh? Is this really fair? It's 10 minutes 'til midnight, you realize I'm sure. What exactly do you hope to teach us from this punishment?

Because let me tell you, we're doing the best we can. All you have to do is hear it. We, unfortunately, are in charge of ending it. Picture two monkeys juggling in a gerbil wheel, and you'll have an idea of what it takes to calm our child down.

By the way, here's the sad part for both you and me: Rain sleeps through background noise.

See you at 2:00,

Grandma Dowdel

Funny, I Don't Remember Dating Harrison Ford ...

Have you ever seen somebody in a movie and thought, "Now where have I seen him before?" For stubborn types like myself, that distracting thought will remain until the mystery is solved. I can't get lost in the movie until I figure out what other role the actor has played, even if it was a minor one.

I've had the same experience with Rain. She smiles a certain way, sort of this wry smile, as if she's only somewhat humored with the situation at hand. I had seen the exact same smile before, but where? Weeks passed. One day, my sister came for a visit, looked at Rain, and said, "You know, Rain smiles just like ______."

She nailed it! Although I wish I had a better picture as proof, I now present to you ....



RAINDIANA JONES!

Be Good for Mommy

Saturday night, a family friend watched Rain while Tim & I went to my good friend's wedding. It was the first time Rain was in the complete care of a non-family member. I really wasn't worried about the care she would receive since I've known the family for about 15 years. In fact, the kind lady who volunteered to watch Rain is the wife of an upstanding preacher--what more could ya ask for in a babysitter?

Honestly, I was more worried about how Rain would treat her. The way I figure, I've got a limited number of babysitters to work with; I don't want to run them all off before Rain turns 1. See, especially because Rain's teething, I don't know when her next meltdown will happen. The first 2 months of her life, hysterical crying fits happened so often that I just accepted them as our new way of life. Even though for the most part she's outgrown the fits, I'm still kind of leery of all public outings. I never go to restaurants without a game plan anymore. Is it too close to her nap time? Can I feed her immediately before to keep her pacified during the meal? Is there a decent place to change her diaper? All those things have to be dealt with before I'll venture into my local Olive Garden.

Rain's teething episodes have put me back in the panic zone (though I'm not sure I ever left). Every time we go out and she doesn't make a scene, I'm thankful from the deepest part of my heart. As you can tell, I was palm-sweaty handing my baby over on Saturday.

Though I was sure the report when we returned would be ugly (she had been wailing when we dropped her off--not a good start), the sitter gave Rain about an A-. She played well and enjoyed the new company, though at one point, there was a crying fit over teeth. The preacher said, "We couldn't find the Orajel in the diaper bag, and it's hard to think when she's really screaming ..." Who you tellin'?

So for now at least, I think my babysitter roster is still intact.

Tipping the Scales

I am finally, finally, finally able to start running again. My toe has officially healed, so it's time to increase the exercise schedule. It's too late to save tomorrow's faux pas, however.

Tomorrow I will be a bridesmaid (bridesmaid! Married and with a kid, and someone wants me as a bridesmaid!) at a good friend of mine's wedding. All of you ladies who have had the experience of fitting into formal dresses know that most of the time it's a strain anyway. But fitting a mom-of-four-months' body into a formal dress? Yikes.

I heard someone say about a woman who had just had a baby 2 months before, "I'm not trying to be mean [Note: People say this right before being cruel], but she still looks bloated. Shouldn't she have lost the weight by now?"

"Sure," I thought. "If only she hadn't fired the nanny, housekeeper, chauffeur, wet nurse, and chef, she would've had plenty of time to hit the gym." Monkey! We don't all have Hollywood budgets to afford the help we need to make it to the gym. New moms are sleep-deprived and adjusting to a new life; give 'em a break.

Anywhose, tomorrow I'll do my duty and squeeze into a fancy frock for a friend, but ya better believe mine will have forgiving sleeves!

Pound for Pound

One of the hardest things about breastfeeding Rain is that the last generation of parents, on the whole, didn't breastfeed. Consequently, as grandparents, they tend to have a mistrust towards breasts as a food source. Forget that breasts have, since humans have been in existence, kept us in existence, they think, if it doesn't come in a can, it can't be good. I get a lot of, "How do you know Rain's getting enough to eat?," "She's crying again, so she's probably still hungry," and "Why can't you give her just a little formula, you know, to make sure she's had enough."

The other factor at play here is that I come from a family of shorties (5' 2" to 5'6" is standard). All our babies our stout specimens ready for a Butterball ad. My husband is 6 feet tall. Rain, thankfully, takes after Tim. Since birth, she's stretched out more than she's filled out. She is in the 75th percentile for height (meaning, I think, that she's bigger than 75 percent of kids her age) but only the 50th percent for weight. Yes, I realize that makes her average, but that's not acceptable in my family. For the first 2.5 months of Rain's life, I constantly had to hear sermons from my ma & grandma about giving her more, more, more. Once, Tim busted my mom slipping Rain a taste of ice cream. Even though Rain's pediatrician constantly told me she was right on target, I let doubt overtake me. What if she isn't getting enough? What if something is wrong with me? Maybe I should give her formula, too, to cover my bases. All those thoughts caused for some miserable feedings with Rain. Moms are supposed to be relaxed to be able to feed, and I was sitting there terrified that my breasts were defective.

A week ago, Rain had her check-up. She weighed 13.5 lbs. Her cousin, who is a month older, is a hair's breadth away from 20. I was just at a party where another child, 3 weeks older than Rain, was in the 97th percentile for weight. Rain, in comparison, looked like she just came out of the womb.

This last appointment was pivotal for me. "She only weighs 13.5 lbs??" I said in despair to the nurse. "Is that normal?" The nurse assured me it was, and I had to have a moment of reckoning. The fact is, Rain will likely be tall, which means she won't put on the weight I want her to. Acceptance. Acceptance. I sighed and realized that was the way things were going to be. I had to stop comparing her to other kids.

Every morning, I tell Rain, "Look at your chubby little thighs! I bet they're juicy. I think I'll have them for breakfast. Maybe lunch and dinner, too ..." She smiles, and I kiss her fat--well, decently plump--legs. That will have to be good enough for now (so no more lectures, Ma!).

The Great Divide

This past weekend, I went to a baccalaureate party for a good friend I've known since high school. The plan was for 9 of us to meet for dinner downtown at 7:00 p.m. and see the night view from the city's landmark tower. The maid of honor, who planned the event, wanted all of us to go out afterwards.

The problem was, well, for a mama, going out to dinner is "going out." I tried to explain to my friend that there was no way I was going to go to a club or bar after dinner. "I'm a mom," I told her, "Unless they're selling Girl Scout cookies, I have no reason to be there." Stay out late partying while someone else watches my infant daughter at home? It was all a bit too Britney Spears-ish for me. Plus, Tim was going to be with the groomsman that same night. Add to the fact that Rain isn't always an easy baby to deal with and would have to go to a babysitter, it was obvious we shouldn't leave her for more than 4 hours.

By the night of the event, I had decided that no amount of cajoling or even nagging would get me to stay out late. I asked my mom to watch Rain, and I said I would be back by 10:00. At 5:30, I dropped Rain off, confident that I had more than enough time to arrive at dinner on schedule. So, I call the maid of honor (my other good friend) to see if I can possibly follow her downtown to ensure I wouldn't get lost (again, in an effort to be prompt).

Now, I should say up front that my friend, who has a list of great qualities (a steadfast loyalty, being one),unfortunately, is not big on punctuality. So I wasn't too surprised to hear, "Yeah, I'm about to go pick up Friend 1 then Friend 2. We're going to stop for drinks at Friend 3's house, and then will pick up Friend 4, so I need to get dressed."

Wha?? Again, it's now about 5:40. Even with a time machine, doing all that and getting downtown (a good 30 minutes away, at minimum) by 7:00 would be impossible. One of the girls meeting us downtown was a mom, too, and I pictured her waiting at the restaurant alone, while her babysitter's clock ticked away. I called the bride-to-be to see if I could help pick people up in the hope of speeding things along.

Plans get rearranged, and by the time things are said and done, we are at the restaurant at 8:30. At this point, I'm doing the calculating-time-backwards thing: "OK, if I have to pick up Rain at 10:00, I need 30 minutes or so to get home if there's no traffic, plus the time it takes to get back to the parking garage ... "

I didn't realize that the second part of the evening involved moving the cars to a second location (I was under the impression the viewing tower was in walking distance of the restaurant). We drove in a part of town I'm not familiar with (nobody else in the car was exactly sure, either), so inevitably, we got lost. By the time we got back on track, saw the tower, returned to the original parking garage, etc., I was way late picking up Rain. Like 1:00 a.m. late.

My mom was nice about it, but I could tell we inconvenienced her (she was asleep when we knocked on the door). By the time I got Rain home and pumped milk, it was 3:00 a.m. I had to be up the next morning at 8:00.

Was I glad I got to see my good friends? Yes. Was it nice to spend time with other adults sans baby? Yes. Was it obvious that my priorities and lifestyle run a different course from all the single gals in the group? You bet. There were two other moms in the group, and they were trying to get home as fast as I was. I think we all had a good time and enjoyed being out, but we also know that every hour we're gone, others are taking on that responsibility. We have to respect their time, too.

What's funny is the whole night I never thought, "I have to go pick up my kid (*grumble*) and go home!" (*bitter wail*) It was as simple as, "Rain is waiting for us, so let's go." Remembering how often Tim & I use to come home whenever we felt like it, just as the single girls that night planned on doing, made it clear: my life pre-Rain and the life I have now have a great divide between.