So, I bought this new little gadget to help me stay active after the baby comes, called a fitbit. One of the nutty little things it does is besides tracking steps and calories burned is to track my sleep.
That would be awesome, if it wasn't so darn depressing.
It tells you how long you slept and how many times you awakened during the night (like if you were tossing and turning and fidgeting, even if you don't remember it).
I've only had it two nights. The first night, it said I woke up 20 times. The second, it said 14.
The joys of late pregnancy!!!
I can hardly wait to see what it says when there's a newborn sleeping three feet from my bed. I'm betting it will be so sad it's funny. As a side note, whoever came up with the phrase "sleeping like a baby" should be publicly flogged. No one makes more noise, or wakes up more than a baby! Not even me when I'm super pregnant and apparently waking up 20 times a night.
Perhaps because I'm getting so little of the quality kind these days, I've become a little obsessed with sleep. I've been reading about helping babies sleep and sleep cycles (REM sleep vs. NREM sleep, etc.) All this research and in some cases, just fantasizing about sleeping, has led me to write my own sleep cycle.
This is my 9-month along sample pregnancy sleep cycle...keep in mind, this only includes the awakenings I'm aware of, so add in 10 or so more at random, just for funsies.
10:00pm: Set up insane pillow fort to attempt comfort (Mine requires five different pillows: Two under my head to prevent heartburn/nausea, one under my belly for support, one behind my back to stop pain, and a body pillow called a snoogle that is like a 8 foot snake to cover all areas not covered by the other four, including also going under my head so I have a three pillow tower).
10:05pm: Realize I have to pee/forgot to take my vitamin/didn't set my alarm. Try in vain to use the Force to summon spouse from downstairs for non-peeing tasks, give up and get out of bed.
10:10pm: Rebuild pillow fort
10:30pm: Fall asleep the first time
11:00pm: wake up with nausea or heartburn, despite three pillow tower. Debate whether getting up and rebuilding fort is worse than continued heartburn. Make decision and either lay awake wanting to puke, or get up, take a Tums and rebuild the fort. Lie awake waiting for meds to kick in.
12:00pm: Wake up with contractions and back pain. Debate flipping over, which is a five minute process. Spouse senses internal debate and flips over twice in a minute. Show off.
1:30am: Realize I have rolled about 15 degrees too far onto my arm (and tummy) and said arm is now dead asleep, attempt to correct the situation results in about 10-15 minutes of painful arm tingling and awake time. Wait until arm stops tingling to realize I have to pee. Upon return, rebuild pillow fort.
1:45am: Mom getting up to pee makes fetus wake up and want to party! Try to fall asleep during crazy fetus party. Luckily, bladder kicking is relatively ineffective since trip to bathroom.
3:45am: Awake from crazy horrifying nightmare. Realize odds of baby being born with multiple heads/in a stadium full of onlookers, or killer hunting down family/house exploding/etc. are probably very much in favor of not happening, but just in case get up and check on other two children. Return to bed and repeat fetus party and rebuilding of pillow fort.
4:45am: Pee break! Repeat fetus party, but tired of rebuilding the fort, opt out of belly pillow.
6:15am: Spouse is up to get ready for work. I realize the vital importance of belly pillow when I wake up with belly pain and contractions and frantically search the floor to get it back. Say goodbye to hubby, and finally, fall asleep like a bump on a log.
7:30am: Hear unmistakable sounds indicating other children are awake and the night is over. Good morning, Sunshine!
Repeat nightly, and resist the urge to punch anyone who says "You look tired!" daily. I'm almost at the finish line! Soon enough, it will be someone else's pee and poop breaks I get to deal with all night long.
Hmmm, when I put it like that, it seems strange to be this excited for it. Then again, nobody ever said parenting wasn't full of weird contradictions. I'm gonna go take a nap.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Friday, March 22, 2013
On the other hand
Daniel has caught himself a nasty cough and cold. In an effort to keep the germs confined so I don't catch it and cough out this baby prematurely, and to keep his coughing from waking me up during the precious few hours of sleep between pee breaks, he's been sleeping in Sam's room, and Sam's been sleeping either on an air mattress in the baby's room or in my bed. Whichever place strikes her fancy the night before. I'm not normally this loosey-goosey with sleeping arrangements, but I figure we kicked her off her turf and she was really nice about it, so in exchange, I'll give up a little control (if it kills me, which it might).
That how we got to last night, with Sam sleeping in my bed. Until about 4:30am, that is, when her eyes popped open and suddenly she was all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I was unfortunately already awake with my mind racing about random stuff--as my mind tends to do. From 4:30 to 5:45, she giggled, and wiggled, randomly patted my back, turned her dream light on and off so my room was alternatively filled with stars and dark, and tried unsuccessfully to fall asleep. Just before six, Daniel had to wake up to get ready for work, so things got really bad. She heard him come in and announced "Don't get scared mom, it's just daddy, getting in the shower before work."
"I know. I know. First of all, I've been wide awake this whole time, and second of all, this is what happens every morning. I know the drill." Of course, by this point I had to pee again, so Sam wanted to know why dad could be up, and I could be up (apparently however much I wished I wasn't didn't matter to her), and she couldn't be up! Then I heard rustling and talking over the baby monitor, even though it was still dark outside. Apparently this was going to be a party for the whole fam-damily. Peyton is usually pretty good about playing in his room until a reasonable hour, so I turned down the monitor and Daniel headed out the door telling Sam that if she couldn't go back to sleep so Mommy could get a little rest, she could go back to Presley's room and lay there until it was time to get up. Even though I'd told her the same thing 15 minutes before, threats from Mom means zippo next to threats from Dad, so she clammed right up and fell back asleep around 6:30. Peyton quieted back down too, meaning he had either gone back to sleep or found something other than his pesky toy hammer to occupy his time (the hammer being an early hour favorite!), so I could finally fall asleep again too.
But this was a school day, so the peace was not to be for long. When 8:00 rolled around, and the alarms went off, there were two very exhausted ladies who wanted none of it. I told Sam she had to get up for school, and the kid who was so gung ho about her alert state of mind at 5:00am was mean as a snake. "I don't want to get up! I don't care if I miss show and tell! Why can't I sleep longer?" You get the idea. At one point, when I tried to do her hair she cried because there was a cotton ball on the floor in front of my sink, and she didn't want to step on it because SHE WAS AFRAID OF IT. I kid you not. She cried and told me she was afraid of a cotton ball. That pretty much sums up our morning. We were running late because everything was a huge battle, and she was moving so slow because she was exhausted and the emotion roller coaster was on full speed.
She yelled at me because I had bought some of those moist wipes for the bathroom to help keep the kids a little cleaner, and she informed me that the wipes "make me poop more often and then I have to use the wipes more and I DON'T like them!" So of course, she couldn't brush her teeth in time because she had to take time to poop, which was my fault anyway, because I brought in the poop-inducing wipes. Again, I am not making this up. Maybe those things should come with a warning "Note: the mere presence of these wipes in your bathroom will alter the digestion of certain sensitive family members." I should sue.
That's how it went. We all have days like this from time to time, it happens, its hardly the end of the world. It's frustrating, but what are you going to do? For me, I just feel bad dropping Ms. Crabbypants off at school to be someone else's problem when she's like this (I also simultaneously feel incredibly grateful for the break, but who can blame me?), so I always apologize in advance if she's cranky. Last time she had a day like this and I warned Miss Carly ahead of time, when I went to pick her up, Miss Carly (who is a super sweet and wonderful teacher) informed me that even when I say Sam is having a bad day, she never misbehaves at school, so not to worry about it. She has never had a bad day at school. She has never been in trouble or had to sit in the cool down spot, or anything like that.
My mom reactions went something like this, usually in this order:
On the one hand: I'm glad she behaves at school. Really, I am. I don't want a bratty kid who can't control her emotions in public. I'm proud of her and proud to be raising a kid others can stand to be around.
On the other hand: What the heck, Sam? You can pull it out for your classmates and teacher, but you can't shake off the stink attitude for your mom and people who love you and have to spend all day with you? Can't you cut me a break!?
On the other hand: I get it. When I'm in a bad mood, do the young women I volunteer with deal with the fallout? Do my friends? Do the clerks at Wal-mart? No. My husband and kids do. If I'm spending all my energy trying not to lose it, I'm gonna exert that energy in public and when I come home and I feel safe around the people who love me anyway, that's when the guards come down and crap hits the fan. If I'm gonna sulk, no one is usually privy to it but them. I'm not going to tell some stranger he bagged my groceries wrong, no matter how flat the bread ends up, but you're darn right I'll point it out if Daniel if I find plastic dishes in the bottom half of the dishwasher, chances are I'll do it in terms far worse than the crime, to make up for my frustration about the bread. It's not fair, but in some ways, we all do it.
So, when I go to pick up Sam today, and Miss Carly tells me she was good (like she does every day), and then Sam gets in the car and pitches a fit about something insane, or cries at the drop of a hat, I'll try to remember my first reaction. I'll be glad she was able to hold it in for a little while, because I know how hard it is. I'll be her soft place to land when she needs to erupt a little bit, because I do love her no matter what, and I can be there through thick and thin like her classmates won't. I'll remember that she is sleep-deprived today, just like me, and we're bound to bug each other a little bit.
Sam is just a person with a lot going on. Just like me. Just like everybody else.
That how we got to last night, with Sam sleeping in my bed. Until about 4:30am, that is, when her eyes popped open and suddenly she was all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I was unfortunately already awake with my mind racing about random stuff--as my mind tends to do. From 4:30 to 5:45, she giggled, and wiggled, randomly patted my back, turned her dream light on and off so my room was alternatively filled with stars and dark, and tried unsuccessfully to fall asleep. Just before six, Daniel had to wake up to get ready for work, so things got really bad. She heard him come in and announced "Don't get scared mom, it's just daddy, getting in the shower before work."
"I know. I know. First of all, I've been wide awake this whole time, and second of all, this is what happens every morning. I know the drill." Of course, by this point I had to pee again, so Sam wanted to know why dad could be up, and I could be up (apparently however much I wished I wasn't didn't matter to her), and she couldn't be up! Then I heard rustling and talking over the baby monitor, even though it was still dark outside. Apparently this was going to be a party for the whole fam-damily. Peyton is usually pretty good about playing in his room until a reasonable hour, so I turned down the monitor and Daniel headed out the door telling Sam that if she couldn't go back to sleep so Mommy could get a little rest, she could go back to Presley's room and lay there until it was time to get up. Even though I'd told her the same thing 15 minutes before, threats from Mom means zippo next to threats from Dad, so she clammed right up and fell back asleep around 6:30. Peyton quieted back down too, meaning he had either gone back to sleep or found something other than his pesky toy hammer to occupy his time (the hammer being an early hour favorite!), so I could finally fall asleep again too.
But this was a school day, so the peace was not to be for long. When 8:00 rolled around, and the alarms went off, there were two very exhausted ladies who wanted none of it. I told Sam she had to get up for school, and the kid who was so gung ho about her alert state of mind at 5:00am was mean as a snake. "I don't want to get up! I don't care if I miss show and tell! Why can't I sleep longer?" You get the idea. At one point, when I tried to do her hair she cried because there was a cotton ball on the floor in front of my sink, and she didn't want to step on it because SHE WAS AFRAID OF IT. I kid you not. She cried and told me she was afraid of a cotton ball. That pretty much sums up our morning. We were running late because everything was a huge battle, and she was moving so slow because she was exhausted and the emotion roller coaster was on full speed.
She yelled at me because I had bought some of those moist wipes for the bathroom to help keep the kids a little cleaner, and she informed me that the wipes "make me poop more often and then I have to use the wipes more and I DON'T like them!" So of course, she couldn't brush her teeth in time because she had to take time to poop, which was my fault anyway, because I brought in the poop-inducing wipes. Again, I am not making this up. Maybe those things should come with a warning "Note: the mere presence of these wipes in your bathroom will alter the digestion of certain sensitive family members." I should sue.
That's how it went. We all have days like this from time to time, it happens, its hardly the end of the world. It's frustrating, but what are you going to do? For me, I just feel bad dropping Ms. Crabbypants off at school to be someone else's problem when she's like this (I also simultaneously feel incredibly grateful for the break, but who can blame me?), so I always apologize in advance if she's cranky. Last time she had a day like this and I warned Miss Carly ahead of time, when I went to pick her up, Miss Carly (who is a super sweet and wonderful teacher) informed me that even when I say Sam is having a bad day, she never misbehaves at school, so not to worry about it. She has never had a bad day at school. She has never been in trouble or had to sit in the cool down spot, or anything like that.
My mom reactions went something like this, usually in this order:
On the one hand: I'm glad she behaves at school. Really, I am. I don't want a bratty kid who can't control her emotions in public. I'm proud of her and proud to be raising a kid others can stand to be around.
On the other hand: What the heck, Sam? You can pull it out for your classmates and teacher, but you can't shake off the stink attitude for your mom and people who love you and have to spend all day with you? Can't you cut me a break!?
On the other hand: I get it. When I'm in a bad mood, do the young women I volunteer with deal with the fallout? Do my friends? Do the clerks at Wal-mart? No. My husband and kids do. If I'm spending all my energy trying not to lose it, I'm gonna exert that energy in public and when I come home and I feel safe around the people who love me anyway, that's when the guards come down and crap hits the fan. If I'm gonna sulk, no one is usually privy to it but them. I'm not going to tell some stranger he bagged my groceries wrong, no matter how flat the bread ends up, but you're darn right I'll point it out if Daniel if I find plastic dishes in the bottom half of the dishwasher, chances are I'll do it in terms far worse than the crime, to make up for my frustration about the bread. It's not fair, but in some ways, we all do it.
So, when I go to pick up Sam today, and Miss Carly tells me she was good (like she does every day), and then Sam gets in the car and pitches a fit about something insane, or cries at the drop of a hat, I'll try to remember my first reaction. I'll be glad she was able to hold it in for a little while, because I know how hard it is. I'll be her soft place to land when she needs to erupt a little bit, because I do love her no matter what, and I can be there through thick and thin like her classmates won't. I'll remember that she is sleep-deprived today, just like me, and we're bound to bug each other a little bit.
Sam is just a person with a lot going on. Just like me. Just like everybody else.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
The Trials of Two
Just now, I heard Peyton burst into tears in the hallway by Sam's door. He was yelling "I locked OUT! I locked out!!!" through his tears.
Well, I'm hardly surprised by that turn of events. Sam was in there cleaning her room, and even at four (almost five!) she certainly understands the purgatory that is trying to clean with a two-year-old around. He seems to intuitively know how to most efficiently destroy your efforts, even though he doesn't mean to.
I went over and picked him up, gave him a hug, and said "I see, you are locked out, aren't you?"
Just then, Sam's muffled voice yelled through the door "I told him he could come visit for a minute, but I was cleaning, and after he stayed a while, he was messing up stuff and wouldn't leave when his visit was over...so I had to do it!"
She thought she was in trouble, but I totally understand. We've talked to Sam before about how her room is her space and it's nice to play with her brother in there sometimes, but we understand that sometimes she also needs and wants her own space and that's okay. She also needs to respect Peyton's room as his own space. The problem is Peyton's room is upstairs and hers is right by the family room so no one seems to want to wander off to Siberia (if there's such a thing in a not-so-large-house) to play in his room. Besides, her room has all the good (read: easily choked on) toys he finds so irresistible.
I'm just feeling a little bad for my buddy-boo. It can't be easy to be barely two. You want to be in on everything. You think you are big enough to do everything, you talk a lot more than you could before, but you aren't big enough for most things and you can't communicate everything you'd like to--thus the tantrums. Plus, all the stuff you find to be the most fun, like throwing things, breaking things, shredding paper, is labeled "dangerous and destructive" by other people who clearly don't understand how satisfying loud crashes actually are!
Don't get me wrong, I know first-hand what a pill two-year-olds can be when you've got stuff to do. Yesterday I tried to iron with Peyton insisting on being underfoot and if that isn't a special form of psychological torture, I don't know what is!
But just for today, I guess, I'm feeling especially empathetic to my little guy who doesn't quite understand how little he is. Even though as I type this, he's sitting next to me picking all the sequins off Sam's homemade tambourine, and I know when Sam does finally emerge from her room, it will get ugly in here. Can't blame the kid for wanting to explore and dismantle his world, can you? If it were my tambourine, I'd probably feel differently, so at least I'm feeling empathy for Sam too.
Well, I'm hardly surprised by that turn of events. Sam was in there cleaning her room, and even at four (almost five!) she certainly understands the purgatory that is trying to clean with a two-year-old around. He seems to intuitively know how to most efficiently destroy your efforts, even though he doesn't mean to.
I went over and picked him up, gave him a hug, and said "I see, you are locked out, aren't you?"
Just then, Sam's muffled voice yelled through the door "I told him he could come visit for a minute, but I was cleaning, and after he stayed a while, he was messing up stuff and wouldn't leave when his visit was over...so I had to do it!"
She thought she was in trouble, but I totally understand. We've talked to Sam before about how her room is her space and it's nice to play with her brother in there sometimes, but we understand that sometimes she also needs and wants her own space and that's okay. She also needs to respect Peyton's room as his own space. The problem is Peyton's room is upstairs and hers is right by the family room so no one seems to want to wander off to Siberia (if there's such a thing in a not-so-large-house) to play in his room. Besides, her room has all the good (read: easily choked on) toys he finds so irresistible.
I'm just feeling a little bad for my buddy-boo. It can't be easy to be barely two. You want to be in on everything. You think you are big enough to do everything, you talk a lot more than you could before, but you aren't big enough for most things and you can't communicate everything you'd like to--thus the tantrums. Plus, all the stuff you find to be the most fun, like throwing things, breaking things, shredding paper, is labeled "dangerous and destructive" by other people who clearly don't understand how satisfying loud crashes actually are!
Don't get me wrong, I know first-hand what a pill two-year-olds can be when you've got stuff to do. Yesterday I tried to iron with Peyton insisting on being underfoot and if that isn't a special form of psychological torture, I don't know what is!
But just for today, I guess, I'm feeling especially empathetic to my little guy who doesn't quite understand how little he is. Even though as I type this, he's sitting next to me picking all the sequins off Sam's homemade tambourine, and I know when Sam does finally emerge from her room, it will get ugly in here. Can't blame the kid for wanting to explore and dismantle his world, can you? If it were my tambourine, I'd probably feel differently, so at least I'm feeling empathy for Sam too.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
They've got my number
So, I've kind of been cracking up at the ads Facebook has been pretending are "suggested posts" on my newsfeed. Why, yes, who better to make a post about a particular beer than a pregnant Mormon? I should tell all my friends to buy this product I don't use! Thanks, Facebook, you're the best at giving me "ideas" on what to post.
I find fewer things more entertaining than when marketing departments seem to really miss the boat on something. I always picture a room full of guys like Don Draper sitting around trying to "get into the heads" of people they clearly have nothing in common with and zero idea about to get them to buy the product at hand, even though I'm pretty sure ad agencies probably aren't as much like Mad Men and my brain likes to pretend.
Today I found my favorite example of this ever.
On facebook, it "suggested" I share a post about tampons. Then it had a picture of a woman with a blissful look on her face that said "When you aren't worried about leaks, you can get back to doing more of the things you love." And, what, may you ask, does this woman love enough to get all blissful at the thought of doing more? Good question! This slender blonde woman was gracefully stepping of a bus, and behind her she was holding the hand of a child that appeared to be screaming. Perhaps they meant the little girl to look like she's laughing, but she was so far behind her mom, and the look on her red face suggested she was being dragged from the bus mid-tantrum rather than happily giggling behind her leak-free mother.
Wow. These tampon people really got into the core of my mommyhood with that one. I can't think of anything I would love to do more of than ride public transportation with a tantruming child (Although, even riding a bus with a happy small child is pretty close to Nirvana, so only someone truly greedy needs the extra level of joy a public tantrum provides). Pure bliss! The only thing that could possibly turn this positive into a negative, would be a leaky tampon. It's like they are all mothers themselves! Perhaps, their next ad will feature a starry-eyed woman cleaning poop off of some white furniture, and then these wizards will have really nailed exactly why I love and choose this line of work as my life's effort.
I laughed really hard at that picture.
On a serious note, could these advertisers legitimately not come up with a heartwarming and moment of motherhood to showcase? Could they really not think of what a woman could possibly get out of this experience that would positive enough to want more of? Do they think so little of motherhood that screaming on a bus is just as good as anything thing else moms and kids do together? Assume we're all masochists anyway, whose lives are just moments ranging from heinously awful to slightly less horrendous? I've got to say, if that's really so, that makes me really sad. Yes, in motherhood there's poop (so much poop), and tantrums, and stressful situations, but that's not what we love and clamor for more of. There are so many rewarding moments in between. Dear ad people, if you really want to so see why I choose to be a mom, come follow us around for a few days. I'll show you the ropes and show you the actual "good stuff." Although I promise none of those experiences will involve me taking my two year old on a bus, specifically because I'm not a masochist.
I find fewer things more entertaining than when marketing departments seem to really miss the boat on something. I always picture a room full of guys like Don Draper sitting around trying to "get into the heads" of people they clearly have nothing in common with and zero idea about to get them to buy the product at hand, even though I'm pretty sure ad agencies probably aren't as much like Mad Men and my brain likes to pretend.
Today I found my favorite example of this ever.
On facebook, it "suggested" I share a post about tampons. Then it had a picture of a woman with a blissful look on her face that said "When you aren't worried about leaks, you can get back to doing more of the things you love." And, what, may you ask, does this woman love enough to get all blissful at the thought of doing more? Good question! This slender blonde woman was gracefully stepping of a bus, and behind her she was holding the hand of a child that appeared to be screaming. Perhaps they meant the little girl to look like she's laughing, but she was so far behind her mom, and the look on her red face suggested she was being dragged from the bus mid-tantrum rather than happily giggling behind her leak-free mother.
Wow. These tampon people really got into the core of my mommyhood with that one. I can't think of anything I would love to do more of than ride public transportation with a tantruming child (Although, even riding a bus with a happy small child is pretty close to Nirvana, so only someone truly greedy needs the extra level of joy a public tantrum provides). Pure bliss! The only thing that could possibly turn this positive into a negative, would be a leaky tampon. It's like they are all mothers themselves! Perhaps, their next ad will feature a starry-eyed woman cleaning poop off of some white furniture, and then these wizards will have really nailed exactly why I love and choose this line of work as my life's effort.
I laughed really hard at that picture.
On a serious note, could these advertisers legitimately not come up with a heartwarming and moment of motherhood to showcase? Could they really not think of what a woman could possibly get out of this experience that would positive enough to want more of? Do they think so little of motherhood that screaming on a bus is just as good as anything thing else moms and kids do together? Assume we're all masochists anyway, whose lives are just moments ranging from heinously awful to slightly less horrendous? I've got to say, if that's really so, that makes me really sad. Yes, in motherhood there's poop (so much poop), and tantrums, and stressful situations, but that's not what we love and clamor for more of. There are so many rewarding moments in between. Dear ad people, if you really want to so see why I choose to be a mom, come follow us around for a few days. I'll show you the ropes and show you the actual "good stuff." Although I promise none of those experiences will involve me taking my two year old on a bus, specifically because I'm not a masochist.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Paging Dr. Mom
Since I just posted about how different my kids are from each other. I figured I'd cite an example I'd noticed lately, and that is in how my son and daughter approach medical care, particularly in regards to injuries.
If Sam gets hurt, she has always needed a bunch of extra cuddles, some serious love from Mom through her tears, and band aids. So many band aids. Character band aids. Regular band aids. Big and small band aids. Dr. Suess could have written a book "Oh, the Band Aids You'll Need!" The amount of bandaids has nothing to do with bleeding, or the extent of the injury so much as the personal emotion behind the injury. The more personally upset by it, the more band aids required. Even if she finds an old injury that she has no memory of getting, if she's upset she overlooked it--she's going to want a band aid to rectify her negligence, I call these "guilt-induced band aids." She also needs to be reassured that she is not going to die, won't get blood on anything, and that she will heal eventually. She needs regular inspections of her injuries (real or imagined) throughout the healing process. If she has a fall that doesn't result in injury, but she's afraid it could have under other circumstances, she will need a hug to get over her "near miss." She has been like this ever since she was a toddler learning how to walk. Whether that comes from being a girl, a parent of a paranoid first-time parent, just her own ingrained personality, or more likely some combo of the above, is a matter that could be debated all day.
Then there's Peyton. If Peyton falls down, he gets up and continues doing precisely what resulted in injury in the first place. If he falls down really hard, he might rub whatever hurts and say "ow" before continuing to do the same thing that got him hurt in the first place. If he drops something on a body part, he says "whoops." If he gets really hurt to the point that it actually slows him down, he will come over and wordlessly shove the sore body part up to my lips. Apparently this means "I need mom to kiss this better." If I don't get the memo, he will point to it, say "owie!" and shove the hurt in my face again. Once he gets the kiss, he happily runs away. Sometimes, we find very minor cuts or hangnails, etc, that have drawn blood, but it's long since dried and neither he nor I know from whence it came. On occasion, he manages to get hurt to the point that he does draw a decent amount of blood and he does need some mommy loves. This happened yesterday, he fell down and cut his eyebrow on the edge of the coffee table. Not deep enough for stitches, but faces bleed a lot, and it clearly hurt (this particular injury would have laid Sam out for a minimum of three hours). He came over for a hug, I held him and kissed him, and got a tissue to mop of the blood to make sure it stayed out of his eyes and off my shirt. By the time I got the tissue, he was over his need for love and wanted to go play. He really hates when I wipe his nose or his face. Trying to dab the active bleeding resulted in him kicking, crying, and screaming to "Get down!" Not out of pain or fear, mind you, entirely out of desire to go back to what he was playing with and get out of my arms and away from a tissue. He managed to squiggle away and I had to chase him down with the tissue three more times until the blood had clotted enough that I was no longer afraid he'd get it on my couch, which by then he was rolling on and jumping off as if nothing had happened. All told, he easily cried 10 times as long about me trying to stop the bleeding and holding him longer than his preference as he did about the actual injury. The only times he mentioned the injury after was if he would rub his eye and say "ow. whoops." having realized it was still sore to the touch.
So, yes, my kids are very different from each other, and Dr. Mom has to be very aware of that in my approach to treatment. The real question is: "Is there a middle ground between the hypochondriac Band Aid queen of the universe, and Mr. Courageous to the point of bleeding on the furniture?" Because I'd really like to find it!
If Sam gets hurt, she has always needed a bunch of extra cuddles, some serious love from Mom through her tears, and band aids. So many band aids. Character band aids. Regular band aids. Big and small band aids. Dr. Suess could have written a book "Oh, the Band Aids You'll Need!" The amount of bandaids has nothing to do with bleeding, or the extent of the injury so much as the personal emotion behind the injury. The more personally upset by it, the more band aids required. Even if she finds an old injury that she has no memory of getting, if she's upset she overlooked it--she's going to want a band aid to rectify her negligence, I call these "guilt-induced band aids." She also needs to be reassured that she is not going to die, won't get blood on anything, and that she will heal eventually. She needs regular inspections of her injuries (real or imagined) throughout the healing process. If she has a fall that doesn't result in injury, but she's afraid it could have under other circumstances, she will need a hug to get over her "near miss." She has been like this ever since she was a toddler learning how to walk. Whether that comes from being a girl, a parent of a paranoid first-time parent, just her own ingrained personality, or more likely some combo of the above, is a matter that could be debated all day.
Then there's Peyton. If Peyton falls down, he gets up and continues doing precisely what resulted in injury in the first place. If he falls down really hard, he might rub whatever hurts and say "ow" before continuing to do the same thing that got him hurt in the first place. If he drops something on a body part, he says "whoops." If he gets really hurt to the point that it actually slows him down, he will come over and wordlessly shove the sore body part up to my lips. Apparently this means "I need mom to kiss this better." If I don't get the memo, he will point to it, say "owie!" and shove the hurt in my face again. Once he gets the kiss, he happily runs away. Sometimes, we find very minor cuts or hangnails, etc, that have drawn blood, but it's long since dried and neither he nor I know from whence it came. On occasion, he manages to get hurt to the point that he does draw a decent amount of blood and he does need some mommy loves. This happened yesterday, he fell down and cut his eyebrow on the edge of the coffee table. Not deep enough for stitches, but faces bleed a lot, and it clearly hurt (this particular injury would have laid Sam out for a minimum of three hours). He came over for a hug, I held him and kissed him, and got a tissue to mop of the blood to make sure it stayed out of his eyes and off my shirt. By the time I got the tissue, he was over his need for love and wanted to go play. He really hates when I wipe his nose or his face. Trying to dab the active bleeding resulted in him kicking, crying, and screaming to "Get down!" Not out of pain or fear, mind you, entirely out of desire to go back to what he was playing with and get out of my arms and away from a tissue. He managed to squiggle away and I had to chase him down with the tissue three more times until the blood had clotted enough that I was no longer afraid he'd get it on my couch, which by then he was rolling on and jumping off as if nothing had happened. All told, he easily cried 10 times as long about me trying to stop the bleeding and holding him longer than his preference as he did about the actual injury. The only times he mentioned the injury after was if he would rub his eye and say "ow. whoops." having realized it was still sore to the touch.
So, yes, my kids are very different from each other, and Dr. Mom has to be very aware of that in my approach to treatment. The real question is: "Is there a middle ground between the hypochondriac Band Aid queen of the universe, and Mr. Courageous to the point of bleeding on the furniture?" Because I'd really like to find it!
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
I Am Not the Same
It's interesting to me what jumps out at you at particular times in your life. Lately, as I've been reading anything about parenting, I've noticed a lot of comments along the lines of "kids are just different from each other. I've been the same with both (or all three, or whatever) of my kids, but they handled things (potty training, sleep, school, etc) differently, and different approaches work with different children."
Now, I am not about to dispute that kids show up with their own personalities. My kids were radically different from the first hour of their lives (beginning with Peyton sleeping through his entire first day of life including his shots and medical procedures, while Sam opened her eyes, lifted her head, and from that moment forward, declared sleeping optional), and that has carried through their personalities to this day. A huge amount of what works or doesn't work for kids depends on the actual kid involved and their reaction to it.
What I find unlikely is the assertion that "I was the same for all my kids." I flat out do not believe that's possible. You may very well have used the same basic method for all your children, you may have used sleep training with all your kids, started potty training at the same time, what have you, but I simply do not believe the nuances of how we implement these procedures does not change from child to child. Pretty much whenever a significant person comes into your life, they leave you changed in ways large or small. When you a personally responsible for all of that persons wants and needs, and your decisions center around their well-being, you can not remain unchanged by the experience. People change over time. People are changed by environment. People are changed by available resources. It is strange to assume that having encountered at least two of those factors from child to child (other people and time, assuming we aren't discussing multiple births), and usually all four (people, time, environment, and resources), you remain utterly unchanged.
What I find even stranger about this assertion is that there seems to be a certain pride taken in that fact by the people who state it. Why? What is right or wrong about admitting that the passage of time, acquisition of knowledge, variance of experience, alteration of resources, and even a natural response to the way we react to different personalities has changed who you are and how you approach life, and consequently, each child in your home? It's a natural process to change, and everyone goes through it, why bother taking pride in a perceived, or at least proclaimed, lack of change in yourself?
I, for one, readily admit that parenthood has changed me. The fundamentals may not of have changed, I didn't change religions or core beliefs or my career in the time between Sam and Peyton, Peyton and present, but I am different. I learned how to preform the basics of parenting like diapers and feedings, with ease and confidence. Learning I could love another person completely and unconditionally, even when that person is very capable of being frustrating beyond reason, had softened a lot of my hard edges before Peyton even came along to continue the process. Other edges have become razor sharp, like the mama grizzly protective instinct in me.
I don't care what other people think if I know I'm doing what's right for my family and child--but that came after learning not everyone will like or agree with your parenting decisions through first-time mom bumps and bruises.
Since Sam was born, we went from a two income household with disposable income (ah, I remember that!), to a one income house that has seen ups and downs in this economy and had some very stressful times. After Peyton was born, we relocated, and that was hard for me emotionally, and was a major change in our environment.
I've made mistakes I didn't want to repeat, so I potentially went too far the other way. I've reacted to and in many ways balanced out the changes in my spouse brought on by these same factors that altered me.
In recent years, I've developed frequent and severe migraines, that I wish didn't have an effect on our day to day life, but they do, and have had a major impact throughout this pregnancy. Physical changes definitely have an impact.
I have made new friends, had old ones move or even pass away, and dealing with those losses definitely colors the lens through which I see and interact with my kids.
From a practical standpoint, Peyton's schedule has had to revolve around Sam's schedule in ways Sam's schedule never had to revolve around anyone but herself! She never had her naptime interrupted by a preschool pick up, but with Peyton, well he got used to sleeping in the car early in the game. He had to. Our world was more complicated and busy for him than it was for Sam. Even if I still wanted to hold him through all his naps and be his constant and only playmate (which I no longer think is a great idea anyway), I simply could not have done so. External factors had sprung up to make such a thing impossible.
I feel things more deeply. I am hurt on a personal level with a perspective I didn't know I had been lacking, when I see other children suffering. I'm more physically tired, but spiritually, I feel I've grown stronger. I have had experiences that have driven me to my knees in prayer and brought my relationship to God closer, and that effects every aspect of my life, but especially my relationship with my family. I know I'm different in other ways I don't even realize, and possibly never will. I don't have time for the kind of self-awareness that would require, I've got nearly three kids!
I've changed. In many many ways for the better, in some ways for the worse. Looking at these potentially thousands of changes in my life over the past few years, of varying sizes and degrees, even if I do the same process and same day to day things, can I say I did them exactly the same? Have I had the same attitude, confidence, or skill? Can I even say the same woman will be raising Sam and Peyton's baby sister as the one who raised Sam and Peyton...in many ways yes, but in some ways, perhaps not. All I really know is, just as my children are not the same person in a far more obvious way, I am not the same person with each of them. In my mind, not only is that okay, but it encapsulates the entire reason we are here on earth--to learn, to grow, and to change. I really do believe, that for whatever reason, Samantha needed to be raised as an infant by the mom I was in 2008, but Peyton's babyhood needed the mom I was in 2011, and Presley will need the mom I will be in 2013...and if I'm not the mom they need, again I will change to become so. I've become tremendously sure that staying exactly the same is the only option we don't possess.
Parenthood is one of the most transformative experiences this life has to offer. Embrace the changes.
Now, I am not about to dispute that kids show up with their own personalities. My kids were radically different from the first hour of their lives (beginning with Peyton sleeping through his entire first day of life including his shots and medical procedures, while Sam opened her eyes, lifted her head, and from that moment forward, declared sleeping optional), and that has carried through their personalities to this day. A huge amount of what works or doesn't work for kids depends on the actual kid involved and their reaction to it.
What I find unlikely is the assertion that "I was the same for all my kids." I flat out do not believe that's possible. You may very well have used the same basic method for all your children, you may have used sleep training with all your kids, started potty training at the same time, what have you, but I simply do not believe the nuances of how we implement these procedures does not change from child to child. Pretty much whenever a significant person comes into your life, they leave you changed in ways large or small. When you a personally responsible for all of that persons wants and needs, and your decisions center around their well-being, you can not remain unchanged by the experience. People change over time. People are changed by environment. People are changed by available resources. It is strange to assume that having encountered at least two of those factors from child to child (other people and time, assuming we aren't discussing multiple births), and usually all four (people, time, environment, and resources), you remain utterly unchanged.
What I find even stranger about this assertion is that there seems to be a certain pride taken in that fact by the people who state it. Why? What is right or wrong about admitting that the passage of time, acquisition of knowledge, variance of experience, alteration of resources, and even a natural response to the way we react to different personalities has changed who you are and how you approach life, and consequently, each child in your home? It's a natural process to change, and everyone goes through it, why bother taking pride in a perceived, or at least proclaimed, lack of change in yourself?
I, for one, readily admit that parenthood has changed me. The fundamentals may not of have changed, I didn't change religions or core beliefs or my career in the time between Sam and Peyton, Peyton and present, but I am different. I learned how to preform the basics of parenting like diapers and feedings, with ease and confidence. Learning I could love another person completely and unconditionally, even when that person is very capable of being frustrating beyond reason, had softened a lot of my hard edges before Peyton even came along to continue the process. Other edges have become razor sharp, like the mama grizzly protective instinct in me.
I don't care what other people think if I know I'm doing what's right for my family and child--but that came after learning not everyone will like or agree with your parenting decisions through first-time mom bumps and bruises.
Since Sam was born, we went from a two income household with disposable income (ah, I remember that!), to a one income house that has seen ups and downs in this economy and had some very stressful times. After Peyton was born, we relocated, and that was hard for me emotionally, and was a major change in our environment.
I've made mistakes I didn't want to repeat, so I potentially went too far the other way. I've reacted to and in many ways balanced out the changes in my spouse brought on by these same factors that altered me.
In recent years, I've developed frequent and severe migraines, that I wish didn't have an effect on our day to day life, but they do, and have had a major impact throughout this pregnancy. Physical changes definitely have an impact.
I have made new friends, had old ones move or even pass away, and dealing with those losses definitely colors the lens through which I see and interact with my kids.
From a practical standpoint, Peyton's schedule has had to revolve around Sam's schedule in ways Sam's schedule never had to revolve around anyone but herself! She never had her naptime interrupted by a preschool pick up, but with Peyton, well he got used to sleeping in the car early in the game. He had to. Our world was more complicated and busy for him than it was for Sam. Even if I still wanted to hold him through all his naps and be his constant and only playmate (which I no longer think is a great idea anyway), I simply could not have done so. External factors had sprung up to make such a thing impossible.
I feel things more deeply. I am hurt on a personal level with a perspective I didn't know I had been lacking, when I see other children suffering. I'm more physically tired, but spiritually, I feel I've grown stronger. I have had experiences that have driven me to my knees in prayer and brought my relationship to God closer, and that effects every aspect of my life, but especially my relationship with my family. I know I'm different in other ways I don't even realize, and possibly never will. I don't have time for the kind of self-awareness that would require, I've got nearly three kids!
I've changed. In many many ways for the better, in some ways for the worse. Looking at these potentially thousands of changes in my life over the past few years, of varying sizes and degrees, even if I do the same process and same day to day things, can I say I did them exactly the same? Have I had the same attitude, confidence, or skill? Can I even say the same woman will be raising Sam and Peyton's baby sister as the one who raised Sam and Peyton...in many ways yes, but in some ways, perhaps not. All I really know is, just as my children are not the same person in a far more obvious way, I am not the same person with each of them. In my mind, not only is that okay, but it encapsulates the entire reason we are here on earth--to learn, to grow, and to change. I really do believe, that for whatever reason, Samantha needed to be raised as an infant by the mom I was in 2008, but Peyton's babyhood needed the mom I was in 2011, and Presley will need the mom I will be in 2013...and if I'm not the mom they need, again I will change to become so. I've become tremendously sure that staying exactly the same is the only option we don't possess.
Parenthood is one of the most transformative experiences this life has to offer. Embrace the changes.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Silence is trouble, but so is noise
Today, I locked my bedroom door with Peyton in there with me so I could get ready for the day without him wandering through the house. This way, even if I was using the blow dryer or something and couldn't hear him, I knew he was close.
After a few minutes of quiet, I said "Hey buddy, how you doing?"
Radio silence.
I know from mommy experience that when you know the kids are near, but they aren't making any noise, something not good is happening.
Sure enough, I came around the corner and found him in the corner of my bedroom, knuckle deep into my cherry Chapstick. Apparently, it is delicious.
After I took away the tube, and since I was done with the blow dryer, I decided to open the door. This way, maybe he would have access to more toys and actually play with something he was allowed to have instead of finding things of mine! (This was a stupid theory, I really don't know why it seemed like it would work at the time).
A few minutes later, I hear "Thump!" and a loud crinkling sound at the bottom of the stairs. And then again, "Thump! Crackle! Thump! Crackle!" it was getting closer, which means something was coming up the stairs. Something loud and covered in cellophane. I walked out just in time for Peyton to slam his hand down on the very top stair (Thump!), and in his other hand, he flopped down a package of oreos, partially squishing the plastic tray in the process (Crackle!). When he saw my feet and looked up to see my face, he said "Hi mom. Have one? Have one please?"
Apparently, he'd used his two minutes of freedom to get downstairs, open the pantry, find the cookies, climb on a chair to get them, and bring them back up to me to ask for them. On the plus side, he brought them to me instead of just opening them and eating them (Thankfully, there were only three left in there, so it's not like he would have eaten himself sick, but on the other hand, who the heck leaves three measly oreos behind?). Clearly, however, nothing in our home is safe from this guy, and his toddler-y desire to get everything he sees or wants is now combining with the expanded physical skills and abilities of an older child. It's the perfect storm of Peyton! Heaven help us all!
I also learned that silent Peyton is bad, and mystery noise Peyton is also bad. Basically, I assume a disaster is about to go down unless I can physically observe otherwise. Age two is going to be an adventure!
After a few minutes of quiet, I said "Hey buddy, how you doing?"
Radio silence.
I know from mommy experience that when you know the kids are near, but they aren't making any noise, something not good is happening.
Sure enough, I came around the corner and found him in the corner of my bedroom, knuckle deep into my cherry Chapstick. Apparently, it is delicious.
After I took away the tube, and since I was done with the blow dryer, I decided to open the door. This way, maybe he would have access to more toys and actually play with something he was allowed to have instead of finding things of mine! (This was a stupid theory, I really don't know why it seemed like it would work at the time).
A few minutes later, I hear "Thump!" and a loud crinkling sound at the bottom of the stairs. And then again, "Thump! Crackle! Thump! Crackle!" it was getting closer, which means something was coming up the stairs. Something loud and covered in cellophane. I walked out just in time for Peyton to slam his hand down on the very top stair (Thump!), and in his other hand, he flopped down a package of oreos, partially squishing the plastic tray in the process (Crackle!). When he saw my feet and looked up to see my face, he said "Hi mom. Have one? Have one please?"
Apparently, he'd used his two minutes of freedom to get downstairs, open the pantry, find the cookies, climb on a chair to get them, and bring them back up to me to ask for them. On the plus side, he brought them to me instead of just opening them and eating them (Thankfully, there were only three left in there, so it's not like he would have eaten himself sick, but on the other hand, who the heck leaves three measly oreos behind?). Clearly, however, nothing in our home is safe from this guy, and his toddler-y desire to get everything he sees or wants is now combining with the expanded physical skills and abilities of an older child. It's the perfect storm of Peyton! Heaven help us all!
I also learned that silent Peyton is bad, and mystery noise Peyton is also bad. Basically, I assume a disaster is about to go down unless I can physically observe otherwise. Age two is going to be an adventure!
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