Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Countless Times

One is how many times I would like to have to ask my kids before they listen. Three is the amount of times I ask before I start getting annoyed.

Five is about the number of times I threaten to take something away if they can't get it together. Zero is the amount of times I tend to follow up on those threats.

Daily, I ask if our morning tomorrow can please go better than this one is going. One out of five is the amount of days we get to school without someone crying.

Two are the amount of emails I have received from my husband with a schedule of how we should operate the morning so it goes well. None, are how many days it went according to the plan. Despite our efforts.

Ten is the number of times this school year we have said we should set an alarm. Two is the amount of days that stuck. One of which we ignored.

One is the amount of days this year that I got up before everyone else in the house, exercised, made breakfast and was dressed before the kids. It was the first day of school. It was a great idea. Fifty two days since that I didn't do that.

This morning, I got my kids out without any tears, we weren't rushed, it was a small miracle and I am proud. We got to the back of school where there is a gate that is usually open. It wasn't today,  and we had no time left to go around to another entrance before my daughter would be late for student council. I made the only rational decision I could think of in that moment, and I had her scale the fence. The first try wasn't successful. She was too scared and didn't want to climb back down the far side of the fence. When she came down to me and said she was afraid, I told her that I believed she could do it. I explained that it was okay either way with me, but that she might be late if we go around. Thats when I saw the fire in her eyes, and she attacked that fence. She stuck her Doc Martins in those diamond shaped holes and swung her leg over the top. The only moment of pure panic came when her leggings got stuck on the top of the fence. I climbed up right to her, mother and daughter scaling together, and I ripped her lavender, (already such dirty pants, so now we can throw them away) right off leaving a tiny hole, and encouraged her to keep going. It was then that she said "Mommy, is this illegal?" I assured her that we were fine as long as there isn't any barbed wire on top, we are good to go. She made is down on the other side. Two feet planted on the ground, with her little brother whining behind me that he wants to try, she looks at me blows out a big exhale and we smile. I tell her "you made it, yay, now go" and she runs off into school. I did not set a great example, and I definitely wasn't thinking about safety first, but she learned she could climb a fence. Those are some mad life skills.

Over one hundred times I have said to my kids "Come on, we can't be late for school" Zero is the times we have been late. Not an option.

Infiniti: the amount of time I will say "I love you, have a great day!" No matter how we get off to school.

Countless Times

One is how many times I would like to have to ask my kids before they listen. Three is the amount of times I ask before I start getting annoyed.

Five is about the number of times I threaten to take something away if they can't get it together. Zero is the amount of times I tend to follow up on those threats.

Daily, I ask if our morning tomorrow can please go better than this one is going. One out of five is the amount of days we get to school without someone crying.

Two are the amount of emails I have received from my husband with a schedule of how we should operate the morning so it goes well. None, are how many days it went according to the plan. Despite our efforts.

Ten is the number of times this school year we have said we should set an alarm. Two is the amount of days that stuck. One of which we ignored.

One is the amount of days this year that I got up before everyone else in the house, exercised, made breakfast and was dressed before the kids. It was the first day of school. It was a great idea. Fifty two days since that I didn't do that.

This morning, I got my kids out without any tears, we weren't rushed, it was a small miracle and I am proud. We got to the back of school where there is a gate that is usually open. It wasn't today,  and we had no time left to go around to another entrance before my daughter would be late for student council. I made the only rational decision I could think of in that moment, and I had her scale the fence. The first try wasn't successful. She was too scared and didn't want to climb back down the far side of the fence. When she came down to me and said she was afraid, I told her that I believed she could do it. I explained that it was okay either way with me, but that she might be late if we go around. Thats when I saw the fire in her eyes, and she attacked that fence. She stuck her Doc Martins in those diamond shaped holes and swung her leg over the top. The only moment of pure panic came when her leggings got stuck on the top of the fence. I climbed up right to her, mother and daughter scaling together, and I ripped her lavender, (already such dirty pants, so now we can throw them away) right off leaving a tiny hole, and encouraged her to keep going. It was then that she said "Mommy, is this illegal?" I assured her that we were fine as long as there isn't any barbed wire on top, we are good to go. She made is down on the other side. Two feet planted on the ground, with her little brother whining behind me that he wants to try, she looks at me blows out a big exhale and we smile. I tell her "you made it, yay, now go" and she runs off into school. I did not set a great example, and I definitely wasn't thinking about safety first, but she learned she could climb a fence. Those are some mad life skills.

Over one hundred times I have said to my kids "Come on, we can't be late for school" Zero is the times we have been late. Not an option.

Infiniti: the amount of time I will say "I love you, have a great day!" No matter how we get off to school.

Thursday, November 10, 2016

Feeding Frenzy



When I was in college, my sister was in law school. We lived together in one house: our parents, her husband and her growing belly. I listened in awe with every new idea — birthing classes, natural birth or c-section, breast feeding or formula. While I had no intention of having a baby at that point in my life. I was so intrigued, and feel undoubtedly formed ideas about how I would do it when that time finally came.

Watching my sister made me realize that the path we choose as a new mother is not always the path we follow. My sister wanted a natural birth so badly, and after hours in labor, ended up with a C-section. The birth of your child is step one in learning that so much of birth and life is out of our control. My sister had also planned on breastfeeding, and that didn't exactly go according to plan, either. She gave birth to her son in the middle of a snow storm in NYC, and finding an available lactation consultant proved to be impossible. We made the best of it — when my nephew wasn't on the breast trying to latch he was in the arms of my dad, or mine, getting nourishment from us via a tiny feeding tube. It was a bonding time for all of us that is sealed with a smile in my memory.

Years later, when my husband I decided we wanted a baby, I was reminded again how things don't always go according to plan. Pregnancy did not come easy for me. After months of trying to have a baby, my husband and I ended up in the ER. It was here where I found out I was pregnant, but that due to lack of blood supply to the baby, it would be a wait-and-see situation. The baby was strong and thriving. I was out of the woods and ready to enjoy pregnancy, but then I began vomiting. I was diagnosed with something called Hyperemesis Gravidarum. Hyperemesis affects less than three percent of women, and it's basically a condition defined by non-stop vomiting. It was awful. Right around the fifteenth week, the nausea finally subsided. As I recovered, and my belly began to grow, my husband and I took a birthing class. The woman who taught the class suggested that when we think about how we would like our births to go. She suggested that we make a birth "wish list" as opposed to a "birth plan.” Little did I know then, that this small change in language would be the best parenting advice I could have ever received.

My pregnancy did not go how I wished. My daughter's birth had elements that I wished for. A few years later my miscarriage wasn't something I wished or planned for. When I got pregnant with my son, I got sick again. I planned on that but certainly didn't wish for it. I had hoped that I could breastfeed my children. It was one wish that came true for me. It felt like one of the only things that came easily after such a difficult pregnancy, and for that I was grateful.

 Just like there are many ways for packages to be delivered, there is no one way to have a baby delivered. Snail mail or express. In the end, natural delivery, c-section, drugs or no drugs, at home or in hospital, fertility treatments, egg donors, adoption, the end goal is the same for all new parents.: a healthy child! The same goes for feeding your baby. I have friends who could nurse and didn't want to, and friends who wanted to nurse but couldn't. As new mothers our new responsibility is huge and daunting. We need to make informed educated decisions for what is best for us as individuals. Breast is best for some, but not for all. There are many support groups and lactation consultants for those who need support for nursing, and there are wonderful, healthy alternatives such as those available on the  Honest feeding page for those who choose to use formula. Connecting with your baby is crucial — nursing is a great way to do that, but not the only way.


When I first brought my daughter home from the hospital, I was so overwhelmed with the idea that I had to do everything "right." Like every new mother, I wanted the best for my baby. I went over the top with this idea though and it took me a while to realize that there is no "right" way, or one way for that matter. I remember I was nursing her once, and I got distracted and she came off my breast. Milk sprayed across the room and when I looked down at my baby she had gotten milk sprayed in her eyes. She was fine, but she was covered in drops of milk. I could have laughed, but in that moment, I burst out in tears, as if I had damaged her for life. I was so sensitive and here was this innocent baby looking up at me just wanting to be fed. It was that day that I began to realize I needed to be easier on myself. We were all doing well, healthy, thriving, and if no one is hungry then I shouldn't be crying over spilled milk, even if it is spilled breast milk. I started over that day and began to take heart, that it all works out in the end, but it certainly does not go according to plan.


Friday, November 4, 2016

The Skinny


Hillary Clinton's latest anti Trump add was powerful and got my attention. It's a clear and simple message we have heard before: it simply reminds us to be mindful about how we regard body image around our daughters. It showed young teenagers looking in the mirror and observing themselves while Trump's spewing voice-over spoke nasty body shaming comments about women. I am very careful about how I speak around my daughter, and around women in general. We are fortunate to be living in a time where many people are careful, but still so many are not.

We are surrounded by so many mixed messages out there. Eat healthy, yet treat yourself! Gun violence confronts us on an almost daily basis, yet there are movie billboards glorifying guns in a larger than life way. We wouldn't tell our daughters they will be "a player", but people tell my son he is going to be "a little ladies man". There are words, phrases, insults, and curses that my kid's friends are allowed to say that mine are not. I have to explain and undo a lot expressions that I am not okay with, but are no big deal to others. I can let some things go but there is an innocence and ignorance my children have that I would like to protect a little longer. Obviously, with each passing day I let go of my children a bit more, but for now, I hope I can keep a positive impact on how they view things.

My 8-year-old daughter has a friend who already knows about sex. I am not ready to talk to my child about how a baby is really conceived but I would be devastated if her friend told her before I did. This same friend had my daughter asking me what f-u-c-k spelled. I like her friend and I wouldn't keep them apart for these reasons, this child just has a bit of information that I would rather she kept to herself.  My daughter doesn't yet see how any of these things relate to her, but it is only a matter of time. We recently went to a festival that had a rock climbing wall. It was there that my daughter felt how other people view her body, and that did not get past her. The man who helped her put the harness on, said "come here, skinny" as he tightened the straps he said commented on how she doesn't even have a waist. We try so hard to make sure people don't comment on overweight bodies but forget to be mindful of people who are underweight. Any comment about someone's body can be hurtful.

I have read all the articles out there about making sure we speak up and build up our kids by commenting on how strong our girls are bodies are, instead of talking about size, but then we pass bus bench that says, “Wanna better Butt?" This of course brought in questions about what is wrong with that girl's bottom that she needed a better one? Trump is just one man who speaks ill of women, and with any luck, he will quietly go away soon. If not quietly well at least away. Hopefully with any luck she will also never meet him. Unfortunately, I cannot keep her from meeting men as ugly as he is. However, I can and plan to empower her enough that their words are just that, words, and that her heart is the strongest muscle she has.