We recently took the girls to Punta Cana for a week's vacation at an all-inclusive resort. All in all, it was a lovely trip: the weather was fabulous, the resort was kid-friendly, there were no major disasters. It was, however, a learning experience for us, as it was the first time we'd taken a trip as a family of four. I'd like to share some key lessons with you today.
1. You can never have enough snacks - I know, I know—I've said it before. But this is in a different context. Remember: we were staying at an all-inclusive resort, with an open buffet and a wide range of food choices. Yet inevitably, my kids would eat three bites of their meal and say they were full. Then, as soon as we left the restaurant and got to the pool or the beach, they'd ask for a snack. And a drink. We thought we'd packed a ton of extra food just in case, but we came home with nothing. In a similar vein...
2. You can never have too many diapers and wipes - So we're in the Dominican Republic, and the food is different, and the water is different...and while nobody got sick per se, we definitely went through more than the usual amounts of diapers for the toddler. As for wipes, they're the MacGyver of baby products: there's nothing they can't do.
3. You will miss having a buffer - My kids can be needy in general, but man, when it was just my husband and I trying to meet all of those needs, it was surprisingly hard. "I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, I have to go to the bathroom, you need to change my bum, where's my bear? watch what I can do!...." Some days, they just went on and on and on. My husband and I felt we didn't have a vacation as a couple, even though we were pretty much always together. Luckily, we met another family with two girls, and the kids were able to (sort of) amuse each other so the adults could have some grown-up time. But there's no question, it would have been a very different trip if it had just been my husband and I.
4. Sometimes, there's just nothing you can do - Our return flight home didn't depart until 9:45 p.m.—way past everyone's bedtime—and involved the usual long period of sitting on the plane, waiting for takeoff. Not exactly a recipe for success. My two-year-old didn't understand why she wasn't allowed to take off her seat belt and wander around. Plus, the stewardess asked us to turn off the iPad and the entertainment system wasn't on yet, so we didn't have a lot of tools at our disposal. Believe me, I tried: stickers, stories, cuddles, lollipops...the toddler just wasn't buying any of it. We became those parents you never want to be: the ones whose kid is screaming and annoying everyone in an enclosed space. It wasn't great, but we got through it. Which brings me to the most important point...
5. Even though it's difficult at times, you'll want to do it again - As with anything in life, our trip had high points and low points. And the kids are still so young, they probably won't remember any of it. But we will. We'll remember how the two-year-old, watching the Michael Jackson impersonator moonwalk on stage, looked up with delight and exclaimed, "He go backwards and backwards and backwards!" How our increasingly coltish four-year-old went on every slide in the water park a hundred times and tried to make friends with every little kid she saw. How much fun the two-year-old had making—and smashing—sand castles, and how she started asking for "pina coyadas" every time we went to the bar. How the four-year-old giggled uncontrollably while petting a stingray and tried to learn Latin dancing.
When you have kids, you have a choice: you can make them your lives, or you can bring them into yours. We chose the second option. My husband and I loved to travel before we had kids, so why should we have to give it up now?
So we won't. We'll go on another trip, and maybe it will be just the two of us, but more likely, it will be the whole family. All four of us—and a massive bag of granola bars.
Wednesday, 11 March 2015
Sunday, 1 February 2015
3 Suggestions (Not Advice) for New Moms
That first period of having a newborn—and feeling like you have no idea what you're doing—can be very stressful. And you're going to get a lot of advice from "veteran" moms, most of it unsolicited.
At the risk of sticking my nose where it doesn't belong, I'd like to offer three suggestions for managing that early phase of motherhood. Call them recommendations, if you like. But they're definitely not advice (see Suggestion #3).
Suggestion #1: Don't be afraid to ask for help
This seems like a no-brainer, but many new moms—including me—find themselves subject to a ridiculous notion that they have to somehow prove they're worthy of motherhood. That asking for help is admitting they can't handle things on their own. This can lead to martyr syndrome, where parents (let's be honest: usually women) wind up doing everything themselves because they've said "no" to others too many times.
Everybody needs help sometimes. And it's better to accept genuine offers of help than to refuse and feel secretly resentful that you have to do it all yourself.
Suggestion #2: Be specific about what help you really want
In my experience, people really do want to help. But you need to tell them exactly what you want them to do.
When I had my first baby, people would ask me, "Do you need anything? How can I help? Can I come for a visit?" And I would say, "Sure! Come whenever you want!" But what I really meant was, "I want the company, but I'm terrified you'll show up when I have my boobs out and the baby's crying and there's milk spurting everywhere and I haven't showered in 48 hours."
What I should have said is, "Sure, why don't you come by around 2 p.m. for a quick visit?" Or, "To be honest, I'm exhausted this week. If you're willing to hold the baby for half an hour, I'd love the chance to take a nap. Is that okay?" One of the best things a friend did for me when I had baby No. 1 was to come over, bring all of the necessary ingredients and make lunch for both of us. It was perfect: I enjoyed some grown-up company, I didn't have to attempt the then-arduous task of leaving the house with an infant and I got a real meal instead of whatever I could cram into my mouth between feedings.
Suggestion #3: Listen to everyone's advice but make up your own mind
When you have a baby, you'll find everyone has an opinion about what you should be doing and how you should raise your child. Unasked-for opinions will be gently or adamantly offered on topics ranging from what you should feed your baby, to whether your baby is dressed appropriately, to what kind of childcare arrangement you should have.
For the most part, it's well intentioned, and "veteran" moms may have insights you'll find valuable. The key is to hear what they have to say but make your own decisions. This is sometimes hard to do, especially when those offering the advice are family members or close friends who believe they know best. But the reality is, you're the parent. It's your decision (or you and your partner's).
So those are my suggestions: whether or not you take them, I won't be offended. And if you want me to hold the baby for a while, just let me know.
At the risk of sticking my nose where it doesn't belong, I'd like to offer three suggestions for managing that early phase of motherhood. Call them recommendations, if you like. But they're definitely not advice (see Suggestion #3).
Suggestion #1: Don't be afraid to ask for help
This seems like a no-brainer, but many new moms—including me—find themselves subject to a ridiculous notion that they have to somehow prove they're worthy of motherhood. That asking for help is admitting they can't handle things on their own. This can lead to martyr syndrome, where parents (let's be honest: usually women) wind up doing everything themselves because they've said "no" to others too many times.
Everybody needs help sometimes. And it's better to accept genuine offers of help than to refuse and feel secretly resentful that you have to do it all yourself.
Suggestion #2: Be specific about what help you really want
In my experience, people really do want to help. But you need to tell them exactly what you want them to do.
When I had my first baby, people would ask me, "Do you need anything? How can I help? Can I come for a visit?" And I would say, "Sure! Come whenever you want!" But what I really meant was, "I want the company, but I'm terrified you'll show up when I have my boobs out and the baby's crying and there's milk spurting everywhere and I haven't showered in 48 hours."
What I should have said is, "Sure, why don't you come by around 2 p.m. for a quick visit?" Or, "To be honest, I'm exhausted this week. If you're willing to hold the baby for half an hour, I'd love the chance to take a nap. Is that okay?" One of the best things a friend did for me when I had baby No. 1 was to come over, bring all of the necessary ingredients and make lunch for both of us. It was perfect: I enjoyed some grown-up company, I didn't have to attempt the then-arduous task of leaving the house with an infant and I got a real meal instead of whatever I could cram into my mouth between feedings.
Suggestion #3: Listen to everyone's advice but make up your own mind
When you have a baby, you'll find everyone has an opinion about what you should be doing and how you should raise your child. Unasked-for opinions will be gently or adamantly offered on topics ranging from what you should feed your baby, to whether your baby is dressed appropriately, to what kind of childcare arrangement you should have.
For the most part, it's well intentioned, and "veteran" moms may have insights you'll find valuable. The key is to hear what they have to say but make your own decisions. This is sometimes hard to do, especially when those offering the advice are family members or close friends who believe they know best. But the reality is, you're the parent. It's your decision (or you and your partner's).
So those are my suggestions: whether or not you take them, I won't be offended. And if you want me to hold the baby for a while, just let me know.
Saturday, 24 January 2015
Tea for Two
I remember when my older child was maybe nine or ten months old. My husband was watching her, and I was drinking wine with my girlfriends (because I could drink wine again! Exciting!). Feeling heady with the wine and with a blissful rush of love for my expanded family, I was waxing sentimental about how great it was to have a baby that age.
"Do you think you'll have another?" one of my girlfriends asked.
"Oh yes!" I said with absolute confidence. By this point, I was past the early "what-the-hell-am-I-doing?" feeling and, at times, terror that I was screwing everything up. Past the 2 a.m. feedings and long sleepless nights. Past the struggling to breastfeed and the guilt at eventually giving it up. We had a routine that worked, she was sleeping and eating well, she was meeting all of the first year milestones. Okay, maybe I hadn't figured out all of the nuances of parenting yet, but I was getting there, I thought. I had a handle on it.
And then, when she was just over two years old, we had baby No. 2. And everything changed.
You know intuitively that having more than one child must be more challenging than having one. After all, there are only so many hours in a day, and as a parent, you only have so much energy. But what you don't realize is, when your kids are little, it's not just harder, it's exponentially harder.
For me, at least, the transition from one child to two was a real shock. Balancing the needs and demands of a toddler with the competing demands of a breastfeeding newborn was tough, and I felt someone was always losing out. As the second baby got older, their interactions were mostly competing for attention (usually mine) and fighting over toys.
That still happens, of course. But now my girls are two and four, and I can see the dynamic shifting again.
As I write this blog post, they're sitting on the couch side by side watching Treehouse. And this morning, when I went to take them downstairs for breakfast, they were both sitting on the floor in my older daughter's room, looking at books together.
It's possible now for my husband and I to have 15 minutes after dinner to just relax as they play together in the family room, before someone inevitably steals someone else's toy and causes a meltdown. They're still pretty constant—Can I have some milk? Where's my puppy? She's not sharing!—but we can leave them to their own devices for a while without always having to entertain them.
When we decided to have two kids, two years apart, we hoped they'd become close. We hoped they'd be good friends. Realistically, who knows what kind of relationship they'll develop? But from a parent's perspective, there are so many lovely things about having two.
Watching them clown around, the older one pretending to fall over and making the other one giggle. Listening to them sing songs together in the backseat of the car on road trips. Seeing my older daughter, who is learning to read, try to read a story to her baby sister.
Like all siblings, they fight and compete, and it's still hard to balance their needs. I know sometimes my older child loses out because her younger sister, at two, is still pretty dependent.
But I can see glimmers of a future where they're more self-sufficient—and, I hope, more reliant on each other. And I can't imagine a world, or my family, without them both.
"Do you think you'll have another?" one of my girlfriends asked.
"Oh yes!" I said with absolute confidence. By this point, I was past the early "what-the-hell-am-I-doing?" feeling and, at times, terror that I was screwing everything up. Past the 2 a.m. feedings and long sleepless nights. Past the struggling to breastfeed and the guilt at eventually giving it up. We had a routine that worked, she was sleeping and eating well, she was meeting all of the first year milestones. Okay, maybe I hadn't figured out all of the nuances of parenting yet, but I was getting there, I thought. I had a handle on it.
And then, when she was just over two years old, we had baby No. 2. And everything changed.
You know intuitively that having more than one child must be more challenging than having one. After all, there are only so many hours in a day, and as a parent, you only have so much energy. But what you don't realize is, when your kids are little, it's not just harder, it's exponentially harder.
For me, at least, the transition from one child to two was a real shock. Balancing the needs and demands of a toddler with the competing demands of a breastfeeding newborn was tough, and I felt someone was always losing out. As the second baby got older, their interactions were mostly competing for attention (usually mine) and fighting over toys.
That still happens, of course. But now my girls are two and four, and I can see the dynamic shifting again.
As I write this blog post, they're sitting on the couch side by side watching Treehouse. And this morning, when I went to take them downstairs for breakfast, they were both sitting on the floor in my older daughter's room, looking at books together.
It's possible now for my husband and I to have 15 minutes after dinner to just relax as they play together in the family room, before someone inevitably steals someone else's toy and causes a meltdown. They're still pretty constant—Can I have some milk? Where's my puppy? She's not sharing!—but we can leave them to their own devices for a while without always having to entertain them.
When we decided to have two kids, two years apart, we hoped they'd become close. We hoped they'd be good friends. Realistically, who knows what kind of relationship they'll develop? But from a parent's perspective, there are so many lovely things about having two.
Watching them clown around, the older one pretending to fall over and making the other one giggle. Listening to them sing songs together in the backseat of the car on road trips. Seeing my older daughter, who is learning to read, try to read a story to her baby sister.
Like all siblings, they fight and compete, and it's still hard to balance their needs. I know sometimes my older child loses out because her younger sister, at two, is still pretty dependent.
But I can see glimmers of a future where they're more self-sufficient—and, I hope, more reliant on each other. And I can't imagine a world, or my family, without them both.
Wednesday, 14 January 2015
#parentingfail
You know how it goes. Some days, you're at the top of your parenting game. You're patient; you're calm. You come up with fun and interesting activities for your children. You laugh with them; you tickle them. You think, Gosh, how did I get so lucky to have such wonderful kids?
And then there are the other days. Maybe you have a headache, or a muscle is twinging in your back, or you feel a cold coming on. Maybe your boss breathing down your neck and you have more work than you can handle. Maybe you're rushing back and forth, work-home-work-home, feeling like you're spread too thin and not doing any of it justice. Maybe you're tired or bored of the monotony that parenting small children can bring. Maybe it's all of those things.
Then there's that one extra thing: the proverbial last straw. The toddler tantrum, the defiant preschooler. The cup of milk spilled too many times. The freakout over some minor thing that, as an adult, you know doesn't really matter. The "no" or "I want" or "I don't like" expressed once too often. And you're done.
You can't summon that calm demeanour. You aren't feeling patient or sympathetic. You're not in the mood for coddling or negotiating. You're just pissed off.
And the worst part is, you can't take back those moments when you yelled instead of reasoned, reacted with frustration instead of understanding. They sit on your shoulder every single day, whispering into your ear, You're doing it wrong. You can do better. You should do better.
Some days, you're the parent you want to be. But most days, you're just a parent.
I can only hope that when my kids are all grown up, they'll remember the good days more than the bad ones.
And then there are the other days. Maybe you have a headache, or a muscle is twinging in your back, or you feel a cold coming on. Maybe your boss breathing down your neck and you have more work than you can handle. Maybe you're rushing back and forth, work-home-work-home, feeling like you're spread too thin and not doing any of it justice. Maybe you're tired or bored of the monotony that parenting small children can bring. Maybe it's all of those things.
Then there's that one extra thing: the proverbial last straw. The toddler tantrum, the defiant preschooler. The cup of milk spilled too many times. The freakout over some minor thing that, as an adult, you know doesn't really matter. The "no" or "I want" or "I don't like" expressed once too often. And you're done.
You can't summon that calm demeanour. You aren't feeling patient or sympathetic. You're not in the mood for coddling or negotiating. You're just pissed off.
And the worst part is, you can't take back those moments when you yelled instead of reasoned, reacted with frustration instead of understanding. They sit on your shoulder every single day, whispering into your ear, You're doing it wrong. You can do better. You should do better.
Some days, you're the parent you want to be. But most days, you're just a parent.
I can only hope that when my kids are all grown up, they'll remember the good days more than the bad ones.
Sunday, 4 January 2015
Attached at the Hip
With our first child, my husband and I were very focused on making sure she met all of the developmental milestones and progressed at the right pace. We pushed her (and still do) to learn things on her own and showered her with praise when she did. We encouraged her to be sociable and friendly with others. In a word, we taught her to be independent.
With our second...well, not so much. Of course, we would have worried if she'd missed an important milestone or seemed to fall behind, but it wasn't an issue. And of course, we praised her for learning new things.
But on the independence front, I don't think we've done as well. I used to call her my little spider monkey because of the way she'd hang onto my neck and refuse to let go. She'll beg to be picked up and carried rather than walk herself. And tonight, she's only just fallen asleep after, oh, about an hour of crying for mommy and daddy when we tried to get her to go to sleep on her own.
I see it mostly as my fault. She was my last baby, so I have held her tighter and closer to me, not wanting to move beyond that precious time. As a baby, I nursed her and cuddled her. She's so darn cute, we find we both want to coddle her. (The reason she won't go to sleep on her own, incidentally, is that we've gotten into the bad habit of lying down with her in her bed until she falls asleep. Bedtime has become an extended and time-consuming process.) But in the grand scheme of things, are we really doing her—or ourselves—any favours?
It is so hard to let go of your children. It feels like letting go of a part of yourself. Naturally, you want them to grow up, but a part of you wants to keep them two (or three, or four, or eight or whatever) always.
But they can't stay babies forever—nor should they. They need to grow and move on, and so do we.
So it's tough love time now, but I'm sure that in the long run, she'll know how much she's loved. After all is said and done, we tell her—and show her—every single day.
With our second...well, not so much. Of course, we would have worried if she'd missed an important milestone or seemed to fall behind, but it wasn't an issue. And of course, we praised her for learning new things.
But on the independence front, I don't think we've done as well. I used to call her my little spider monkey because of the way she'd hang onto my neck and refuse to let go. She'll beg to be picked up and carried rather than walk herself. And tonight, she's only just fallen asleep after, oh, about an hour of crying for mommy and daddy when we tried to get her to go to sleep on her own.
I see it mostly as my fault. She was my last baby, so I have held her tighter and closer to me, not wanting to move beyond that precious time. As a baby, I nursed her and cuddled her. She's so darn cute, we find we both want to coddle her. (The reason she won't go to sleep on her own, incidentally, is that we've gotten into the bad habit of lying down with her in her bed until she falls asleep. Bedtime has become an extended and time-consuming process.) But in the grand scheme of things, are we really doing her—or ourselves—any favours?
It is so hard to let go of your children. It feels like letting go of a part of yourself. Naturally, you want them to grow up, but a part of you wants to keep them two (or three, or four, or eight or whatever) always.
But they can't stay babies forever—nor should they. They need to grow and move on, and so do we.
So it's tough love time now, but I'm sure that in the long run, she'll know how much she's loved. After all is said and done, we tell her—and show her—every single day.
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