Dear Mom,
I can't believe it's been more than a year since you passed away. But then, sometimes I still can't believe you're not here anymore. You've been on my mind recently, so I wanted to let you know about some of the things you're missing out on.
I wish you
could see how the girls have grown—one of whom you were never even able to meet. It's such a shame you never got that chance...you would have adored her. She is so
easily loveable, with her chubby little thighs and her bright, two-tooth smile. At almost a year old, she's talking away in a language that only she can understand, pointing at objects, standing and cruising. She's so close to
walking, but she hasn't yet found the courage to let go. Even so, she's constantly getting into mischief and is so curious about the world around her. Although I'm ready to go back to work, that separation is going to be hard...she's a real mama's girl.
And
C is three now, if you can believe it. Smart as a whip, independent and full of energy, she's definitely your grandchild. She can be willful and hard to manage sometimes, but she's also hilarious. The other day, she said to me, "Mommy, I love your eyeballs." You would have been so entertained by her creativity and imagination, the songs and stories she comes up with. Next year,
she'll be going to school. I look at photos of her as a newborn and I barely
recognize her, she's changed so much.
I have to be honest: I'm still mad that things didn't turn out as I had planned. Moving to Oakville was supposed to mean that we would go over to your place for Sunday dinners. You and Dad were supposed to lounge around our pool with us this summer and take the girls to the park. You were supposed to call me about the bargains you'd found at Winners and give me parenting advice that I would roll my eyes at but secretly appreciate.
Instead, there's an absence in our lives: an empty place at the table for Christmas dinner; a picture in C's photo album that she doesn't remember; a card I had no one to send to on Mother's Day. Although we work around it, I suspect that absence will always be there.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I'm thinking of you. Sometimes I wonder what you would think of the life and family I've been building. It's not perfect—I'm not perfect—but I hope you'd be proud of it, and of me.
And I wish you were here.
Tuesday, 25 June 2013
Thursday, 20 June 2013
Four Things I Would Do Differently If I Had Another Baby
At this point, the concept of having another baby is pretty much unfathomable to me, so I'm passing on these ideas in the hope that someone else will benefit from them.
1. I wouldn't obsess over breastfeeding. This is a tricky one for me. In a previous post, Why I'm Still Nursing, I described my struggles with trying to get my firstborn to nurse, even though nobody was happy about it. With my second, I swore I wouldn't get hung up on breastfeeding...then proceeded to do just that when she arrived. Fortunately, it worked out—but if it hadn't, it would have been a huge blow to my self-confidence. Even though she was exclusively breastfed, I worried constantly that she wasn't getting enough or that I wasn't "doing it right."
I realize now that all of that guilt and anxiety was self-imposed. With another baby, I would really try to be relaxed about feedings. If nursing worked out, great! If not, pass the formula! And even if it did, I would probably do some bottle feeding to cut down on the exhaustion that comes with being the only food source. That was a rude awakening (literally) for me the second time around.
2. I would sleep when the baby sleeps. For real. I did a better job of this with my second baby—we took lots of lovely naps together. But for those of us who are A-type personalities, it's difficult to let go of the idea that when the baby is sleeping, we need to be doing something. I should clean up the kitchen! Check my email! Do my banking! During those early sleep-deprived months, I should have just slept when the baby slept. All of the time.
3. I would be less afraid of making changes. One of my shortcomings as a parent is that when something works, I don't want to mess with it. For example: with my second, I kept her swaddled for sleep well past the point when it was useful, simply because she was a good sleeper and I was afraid to ruin it. But when I eventually bit the bullet and unswaddled her, it was no big deal. In fact, I secretly suspect she was thinking, Finally! Thank god she's letting me out of that straitjacket! Other mothers I've talked to say the same thing: they get themselves all worked up about a change in habits or routine, but ultimately, it's harder for them than for their babies. Babies are adaptable; mommies are less so.
4. I would be more confident in my mothering abilities—and I'd cut myself some slack. Here's the thing about parenting: there's no manual, no training. You can talk to people and watch videos and read books, but the truth is, nothing can prepare you for what it's going to be like. You're learning on the job, continually making decisions that directly affect the health and well-being of your child. The weight of that responsibility can seem scary...but I've come to realize that few decisions are irrevocable. Don't want to nurse in the middle of the night? Give the kid a bottle! Got your toddler into a bedtime routine that's not working for you? Change it! Aside from the obvious (e.g., don't let your toddler play with electrical sockets), most of those decisions won't matter long-term, anyway. Besides, I remember my mom telling me that she had Poison Control on speed-dial when I was a toddler—and she was a wonderful mother. So how can I possibly expect that I'll do everything perfectly?
That last one is important, because I'm still learning every day. Sometimes I'll get it right; sometimes, I'll wish I'd done something different.
But when it comes to my beautiful, smart, amazing children, I wouldn't change a thing.
1. I wouldn't obsess over breastfeeding. This is a tricky one for me. In a previous post, Why I'm Still Nursing, I described my struggles with trying to get my firstborn to nurse, even though nobody was happy about it. With my second, I swore I wouldn't get hung up on breastfeeding...then proceeded to do just that when she arrived. Fortunately, it worked out—but if it hadn't, it would have been a huge blow to my self-confidence. Even though she was exclusively breastfed, I worried constantly that she wasn't getting enough or that I wasn't "doing it right."
I realize now that all of that guilt and anxiety was self-imposed. With another baby, I would really try to be relaxed about feedings. If nursing worked out, great! If not, pass the formula! And even if it did, I would probably do some bottle feeding to cut down on the exhaustion that comes with being the only food source. That was a rude awakening (literally) for me the second time around.
2. I would sleep when the baby sleeps. For real. I did a better job of this with my second baby—we took lots of lovely naps together. But for those of us who are A-type personalities, it's difficult to let go of the idea that when the baby is sleeping, we need to be doing something. I should clean up the kitchen! Check my email! Do my banking! During those early sleep-deprived months, I should have just slept when the baby slept. All of the time.
3. I would be less afraid of making changes. One of my shortcomings as a parent is that when something works, I don't want to mess with it. For example: with my second, I kept her swaddled for sleep well past the point when it was useful, simply because she was a good sleeper and I was afraid to ruin it. But when I eventually bit the bullet and unswaddled her, it was no big deal. In fact, I secretly suspect she was thinking, Finally! Thank god she's letting me out of that straitjacket! Other mothers I've talked to say the same thing: they get themselves all worked up about a change in habits or routine, but ultimately, it's harder for them than for their babies. Babies are adaptable; mommies are less so.
4. I would be more confident in my mothering abilities—and I'd cut myself some slack. Here's the thing about parenting: there's no manual, no training. You can talk to people and watch videos and read books, but the truth is, nothing can prepare you for what it's going to be like. You're learning on the job, continually making decisions that directly affect the health and well-being of your child. The weight of that responsibility can seem scary...but I've come to realize that few decisions are irrevocable. Don't want to nurse in the middle of the night? Give the kid a bottle! Got your toddler into a bedtime routine that's not working for you? Change it! Aside from the obvious (e.g., don't let your toddler play with electrical sockets), most of those decisions won't matter long-term, anyway. Besides, I remember my mom telling me that she had Poison Control on speed-dial when I was a toddler—and she was a wonderful mother. So how can I possibly expect that I'll do everything perfectly?
That last one is important, because I'm still learning every day. Sometimes I'll get it right; sometimes, I'll wish I'd done something different.
But when it comes to my beautiful, smart, amazing children, I wouldn't change a thing.
Tuesday, 18 June 2013
Why Do I Yell?
It's not something I'm proud of, but I don't seem to have the right amount of patience to deal with a three-year-old and an eleven-month-old. I can push down my frustration at the continual stream of "No"s and "I don't want to"s and "I don't like that"s from my three-year-old for only so long and then, that's it...
I yell.
It's usually something along the lines of, "Don't you DARE throw another fit!" or "That's enough!" or "Stop it right now!" Nothing truly awful and no threats that I won't follow through on, but still, I yell.
And then I feel bad about it.
Because I love her.
Because she's three, and testing limits is something that a three-year-old is supposed to do.
Because I'm basically doing the very thing that I'm frustrated with her for doing.
Because often, it's not the issue itself that makes me snap; it's the accumulated complaining and negotiating that wears me down.
Because I still remember being yelled at by my parents and how it made me feel.
Because I want to be the zen parent who remains calm in any situation...but I'm not.
Because I'm afraid that one day, I'll look back on these years and think, "She's all grown-up now, and I didn't truly appreciate what a lovely little girl she was then."
And she is lovely. She's lovely when she's singing made-up songs in the backseat of the car and when she's making her baby sister smile. She's lovely when she listens so intently as I read her stories and when she dances in the middle of the department store. She's lovely when she tells me every detail of what happened at daycare that day and when she gets really excited about a trip to our favourite frozen yogurt place or a kid's ride at the mall. She's lovely when she weaves such imaginative stories when she plays and when she clowns around to make me laugh, laughing right along with me.
But when she's obstinate and argumentative and screaming and crying, she's not so lovely.
So I yell.
I just hope that when she remembers her childhood, she won't focus on the times when I yelled. I hope she'll think about the times we played together and sang songs together and read stories together, and all of the fun things we did together. That's what I want to think about, too.
Because I'm tired of yelling.
I yell.
It's usually something along the lines of, "Don't you DARE throw another fit!" or "That's enough!" or "Stop it right now!" Nothing truly awful and no threats that I won't follow through on, but still, I yell.
And then I feel bad about it.
Because I love her.
Because she's three, and testing limits is something that a three-year-old is supposed to do.
Because I'm basically doing the very thing that I'm frustrated with her for doing.
Because often, it's not the issue itself that makes me snap; it's the accumulated complaining and negotiating that wears me down.
Because I still remember being yelled at by my parents and how it made me feel.
Because I want to be the zen parent who remains calm in any situation...but I'm not.
Because I'm afraid that one day, I'll look back on these years and think, "She's all grown-up now, and I didn't truly appreciate what a lovely little girl she was then."
And she is lovely. She's lovely when she's singing made-up songs in the backseat of the car and when she's making her baby sister smile. She's lovely when she listens so intently as I read her stories and when she dances in the middle of the department store. She's lovely when she tells me every detail of what happened at daycare that day and when she gets really excited about a trip to our favourite frozen yogurt place or a kid's ride at the mall. She's lovely when she weaves such imaginative stories when she plays and when she clowns around to make me laugh, laughing right along with me.
But when she's obstinate and argumentative and screaming and crying, she's not so lovely.
So I yell.
I just hope that when she remembers her childhood, she won't focus on the times when I yelled. I hope she'll think about the times we played together and sang songs together and read stories together, and all of the fun things we did together. That's what I want to think about, too.
Because I'm tired of yelling.
Saturday, 15 June 2013
Planes, Trains and Strollers
"SIT DOWN!!!" I hiss at the squirming baby in my lap. We only have about 45 minutes left in our four-and-a-half hour flight, but this baby is done. Bored of the plane, tired of sitting and generally overwrought, the kid will not stop moving for even a millisecond. My arms are tired from trying to restrain her from climbing over the seat in front of me. For a 20-pound baby, she's surprisingly strong.
We're on our way home from Vancouver. My husband had to go to a conference there, and I thought it would be a nice change of pace for the kids and I to join him. For four days, while my husband attended the conference, I pushed my girls around in their stroller and explored the city.
Travelling with young children isn't easy. One of them, if not both, was often hungry or tired or bored—I had to bring along an arsenal of toys and diapers and snacks for even short excursions. Coordinating naps was a challenge: the baby still naps in the morning and in the afternoon, while the preschooler naps midday. We definitely missed out on the night life, because we had to get the kids to sleep at a reasonable hour so they wouldn't be monsters the next day. And the time change really messed them up: that first day, they woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 3:30 a.m. and could not be persuaded to go back to sleep, despite the fact that it was still pitch-black outside.
But you know what? We had fun. I took the girls to Granville Island Market, and I let the preschooler go on every ride and play every game in the Kids Market. We went to the aquarium, and I saw the excitement on both of their faces as they put their little hands up against the tank to watch the huge brightly coloured fish swimming by. We shopped on Robson Street, and we strolled around Gastown and Yaletown. In the evenings, when my husband could join us, we ate meals on patios and drank local wine and enjoyed the vibrant atmosphere.
My husband and I travelled a lot before our children were born, and we're not willing to give that up because it's more work now. Sure, the preschooler was whiny and obstinate at times; yes, the baby had a couple of meltdowns. But it's good for them to experience different people and places. And we're willing to pay the price of a few tantrums in order to keep doing something we love.
We're not going to stop travelling just because we have kids. Although maybe next time, we'll opt for somewhere in the same time zone.
We're on our way home from Vancouver. My husband had to go to a conference there, and I thought it would be a nice change of pace for the kids and I to join him. For four days, while my husband attended the conference, I pushed my girls around in their stroller and explored the city.
Travelling with young children isn't easy. One of them, if not both, was often hungry or tired or bored—I had to bring along an arsenal of toys and diapers and snacks for even short excursions. Coordinating naps was a challenge: the baby still naps in the morning and in the afternoon, while the preschooler naps midday. We definitely missed out on the night life, because we had to get the kids to sleep at a reasonable hour so they wouldn't be monsters the next day. And the time change really messed them up: that first day, they woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 3:30 a.m. and could not be persuaded to go back to sleep, despite the fact that it was still pitch-black outside.
But you know what? We had fun. I took the girls to Granville Island Market, and I let the preschooler go on every ride and play every game in the Kids Market. We went to the aquarium, and I saw the excitement on both of their faces as they put their little hands up against the tank to watch the huge brightly coloured fish swimming by. We shopped on Robson Street, and we strolled around Gastown and Yaletown. In the evenings, when my husband could join us, we ate meals on patios and drank local wine and enjoyed the vibrant atmosphere.
My husband and I travelled a lot before our children were born, and we're not willing to give that up because it's more work now. Sure, the preschooler was whiny and obstinate at times; yes, the baby had a couple of meltdowns. But it's good for them to experience different people and places. And we're willing to pay the price of a few tantrums in order to keep doing something we love.
We're not going to stop travelling just because we have kids. Although maybe next time, we'll opt for somewhere in the same time zone.
Monday, 10 June 2013
So I'm 37
Saturday was my birthday. Despite my desire to be 29 (again), I'm actually 37: firmly on the road towards 40 and leaving my carefree twenties even further behind. Here's what turning 37 means to me:
1. I'm getting older, even if I don't feel it. One rather alarming aspect of having kids is that they force you to confront your own aging. My baby will turn one in about a month's time...so that means I must also be a year older. How did that happen? I've noticed an alarming trend: now, when I pick up a People magazine, I have no idea who most of the celebrities are. And from what I hear, it just gets worse, to the point where you can't follow popular music or keep up with the toys or electronics your kids want. Rather a discouraging prospect for a "29-year-old."
2. I could have more kids, but I most likely won't. Everyone says, "Wait until your littlest one is walking, and you'll want another baby." Possibly...but right now, I just don't see it. Let's face it: I'm no spring chicken anymore. And I'm not sure I want to bring any more babies into a world where Snooki is talking about having another kid. However, there's a bittersweetness in knowing that this is it for us: my family is complete.
3. I'm not going to have any real "me" time or personal space for a long time. Young children are needy—really needy. I can't remember the last time I sat down for dinner and ate a full meal without getting up twenty times to respond to requests for ketchup/milk/utensils or to stop the baby from destroying something. And there's no concept of privacy in our house. I've been told that when your kids get older, it's possible to go away for a weekend or take a trip without them. I eagerly await that day.
4. I'm going to continually struggle to find work/life balance. I am both anticipating and dreading going back to work. On the one hand, I'll get to do many exciting things. Wear pants with zippers! Drink a coffee with no one climbing into my lap! Talk to other grownups! On the other hand, I'll have to leave my little spider monkey to fend for herself in daycare. We're both probably going to cry. And I am not looking forward to juggling the daily routine of mealtimes, sleep times and daycare pickups and drop-offs with two kids. It's not going to be easy. But here's the thing...
5. I'll figure it out. Don't tell anyone, but I've basically been making up this parenting thing as I go along. Maybe the wisdom and experience of my 37 years will help me to get better at it. Or maybe I'll just keep muddling through.
Either way, here's hoping for another 37 years to practice.
1. I'm getting older, even if I don't feel it. One rather alarming aspect of having kids is that they force you to confront your own aging. My baby will turn one in about a month's time...so that means I must also be a year older. How did that happen? I've noticed an alarming trend: now, when I pick up a People magazine, I have no idea who most of the celebrities are. And from what I hear, it just gets worse, to the point where you can't follow popular music or keep up with the toys or electronics your kids want. Rather a discouraging prospect for a "29-year-old."
2. I could have more kids, but I most likely won't. Everyone says, "Wait until your littlest one is walking, and you'll want another baby." Possibly...but right now, I just don't see it. Let's face it: I'm no spring chicken anymore. And I'm not sure I want to bring any more babies into a world where Snooki is talking about having another kid. However, there's a bittersweetness in knowing that this is it for us: my family is complete.
3. I'm not going to have any real "me" time or personal space for a long time. Young children are needy—really needy. I can't remember the last time I sat down for dinner and ate a full meal without getting up twenty times to respond to requests for ketchup/milk/utensils or to stop the baby from destroying something. And there's no concept of privacy in our house. I've been told that when your kids get older, it's possible to go away for a weekend or take a trip without them. I eagerly await that day.
4. I'm going to continually struggle to find work/life balance. I am both anticipating and dreading going back to work. On the one hand, I'll get to do many exciting things. Wear pants with zippers! Drink a coffee with no one climbing into my lap! Talk to other grownups! On the other hand, I'll have to leave my little spider monkey to fend for herself in daycare. We're both probably going to cry. And I am not looking forward to juggling the daily routine of mealtimes, sleep times and daycare pickups and drop-offs with two kids. It's not going to be easy. But here's the thing...
5. I'll figure it out. Don't tell anyone, but I've basically been making up this parenting thing as I go along. Maybe the wisdom and experience of my 37 years will help me to get better at it. Or maybe I'll just keep muddling through.
Either way, here's hoping for another 37 years to practice.
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