motherhood

All posts tagged motherhood

Being Needed

Published December 22, 2017 by sarcasmica

My big kid is 11. Admittedly, he could be considered a momma’s boy. I’m ok with that. The oldest is the guinea pig, and they teach us the most about parenting…usually the parts you don’t like very much. The oldest has the biggest expectations in front of them, and also the most frustration and somehow at the same time satisfaction. Hey, i’ve managed to keep this kid on the planet thus far -and God willing for at least 98 more years, give or take.

My oldest child is my biggest teacher. Just when I think my head will explode from one more Minecraft story, lo and behold, it still sits atop my head. Just when I think I have no idea what the hell I am doing as a parent, I hear my son encourage his little sister do something only he could convince her she could do.

He’s growing up quickly, just like the brochure promises, and I find he needs me less and less. These are good milestones for sure, and I find relief in knowing he is independent.

Today, however, he needed some TLC and it was nice to comfort him.

The day started off nice enough. We all went to see the new Jumanji movie. It was pretty funny and everyone laughed throughout the film. Once we got back home, my son asked me to look at his foot. He had been complaining off and on the last week about his feet being cold and sometimes tingly.

I look today and he has one dark swollen toe, one toe turning blue, and blotches of red on other spots, but just one foot.

My husband has his podiatrist on speed dial since his own surgery last year, so we called and they were able to see him.

Turns out my kid has something called Raynaud’s Syndrome. The circulation in his feet is being restricted by his own body. His arteries and capillaries restrict the flow to the extremities- in his case, the toes, and it can become very serious.

Holy shit! What?

Turns out, according to two reliable medical websites, this can sometimes be a side effect of some adhd medications.

Sonofabitch

So we’ve spent the better part of the afternoon and evening warming feet by way of warm bath, fireplace roasting, heating pad toasting, and wool sock doubling up. When it came time for bed he complained of intense itching and couldn’t settle down to get to sleep. This is an already sensory heightened kid, and apparently the symptoms of Raynaud’s are exacerbated by stress.

So around and around we go

I rubbed his back for a bit to help distract from his mutinied feet. After the final goodnight he said,

“Mom?”

“Yea buddy?”

“I’m glad you’re my mom.”

Ugh. Straight through the heart.

“I’m glad I get to be your mom, honey.”

And there it is. The rare golden Mom moment. I may have nearly caused my son to lose a toe by dragging him all over town in 37 degree weather over the span of two days. I may not have given much thought to a week’s worth of complaining about tingly feet and frozen toes, but here we are. He is still happy to be my kid, and I am more than happy to oblige.

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Not On My Watch

Published July 2, 2013 by sarcasmica

My daughter had her first big stumble. She’s almost 3, so i’ve been lucky. I also feel fortunate that it wasn’t necessarily on *my* watch. As a mom you are always on watch, but she was left in the capable hands of my husband while i walked a mere twenty yards away. This was too far in her mind and despite the husband’s , “No, come back here.”s, she is a girl with her own mind. A toddler who doesn’t listen ?!!

*gasp*

She was so determined to find me that her flip flops and a mere steep concrete sidewalk were not going to stand in her way.

Well, they did get right in her way. In the way of her face hitting the asphalt. She came up with a scraped eye, two scraped knees, smaller scrapes on one elbow and her shoulder. Tough cookie that she is, she kept wiping the tears – the salty tears – down her road rash eye and all she cried about were her cut knees. That’s what hurt. 😦  My little Helga. My husband felt terrible and I had an interesting dialogue running through my own head.

On one hand, i felt bad for the guy. No one wants to see their kid hurt and feel responsible. She has run from me plenty of times. Once straight into a men’s bathroom. http://wp.me/p2FYLm-7A  But thankfully none ended in mahem. So when he was berating himself, I was sympathetic out loud. Out loud. But in my head i was kind of on board with what he was saying. Hey, my baby got hurt and as a momma bear, that doesn’t just roll off my back, or her eye. I was kind of the same mind that maybe just saying to a 2 year old, “hey, come back here” might not be sufficient intervention. Maybe you have to physically intervene.

But that’s me admitting that i have an inner dialogue while my husband is speaking to me. Something other than a bobble-head ‘uh huh, honey’.

She’s fine, though. The weird thing to me was he wanted to show her her face. Things were going along just fine, the magical ice pack that never really touched her skin in any of the scraped areas for longer than a nanosecond seemed to do it’s job. She was moving on. He comes in and asks me, “Have you shown her in the mirror?”

um, no. no i haven’t . You know what else i haven’t done? Opened up the curtains and plastered my face against the window just to see if a strange scary man was staring back at me. I also haven’t walked up to a crocodile and put my head in it’s mouth just because the guy tells me it’s trained.

Why show a 2 year old a big round scratchable, pokeable silver-dollar sized scrape right next to her eyeball ?!

Men are weird.

On a completely separate note, it’s official that my neighbors have unfriended me so to speak. I had a moment a couple weekends back when there was a big shindig going on for the husband’s birthday bash. There were lots of people over and I just thought, “Oh well. Don’t know them that well anyway. No offense taken.”

So today i was out back with my kids. They were playing in our splashy splash pool making lots of noise. No misunderstanding we were outside trying to avoid having our skin melt off our faces being in the un air conditioned house during this North West heat wave. As we were playing, i hear the neighbors and a few other neighbors in the back yard behind us. They were having a grand time in their above ground pool, music playing, and a jovial jolly old time.

I told myself during the past few shindigs they had it was no biggie, we haven’t run into them a whole lot due to school schedules, but the summer has begun, school is out, the other neighbors have been over, and not a peep has been uttered over the back fence to me. It’s just odd. It’s odd that i care, first of all. It’s odd that i had the reaction of, “Oh yea?? Watch me move away and then you’ll be sorry!”

which they wont. obviously.

And then i had a very distinct high school feeling of being left out. And i mulled over in my head over and over every time i raised my voice to my kids and it possibly carried over the yard and into their hearing space. Maybe i offended them…. but it’s hard to tell with all the yelling and screaming they do with their own kids. Did i walk in front of a window immodestly? Was it all my bootylicious rump shakin’ ? I burned those thongs months ago, so it couldn’t be that! I make sure my mom picks up the dog poop out of the yard… maybe they are against elderly indentured servitude?

Why am I trying to figure it out? I should just let it go. They don’t owe me anything just because their yard is directly below mine… and they used to invite us over… before the mom stopped saying hello and waving to me and pick up and drop off.. and the one time she nearly dove behind an aisle to avoid me at Target.

I have no idea. So i’m trying to leave it at that. Their loss. It’s been a while since i have had my feelings hurt by someone other than my own kids – but at least i know where that has come from.

It’s sort of refreshing to know that i still do have feelings!

Adulthood

Published May 1, 2013 by sarcasmica

As an adult, i’m forever in awe how i got here. What makes me an adult? The fact that i can go to jail for breaking the law? The fact that i am forced to pay for the electricity and toilet paper in my house?

At any rate, i certainly don’t always feel like a grown up. Nothing has illustrated this more for me than having children. And I’m not talking the carefree “yes, i feel like a kid myself experiencing everything from my children’s eyes” B.S. I mean I’m always put in situations where I’m reminded i need to take some illusive ‘higher road’ and prove to others that I am a grown up.

Like when my son wants to argue with me about when bedtime is. Or when he corrects my speech. The kid who can’t say most of his ‘r’s is correcting me about the English language. For instance I’ll say, “get your coat.”  he says, “you mean JACKET, mom?” “no, i mean what i said. C-O-A-T coat.”

I didn’t say i always took the higher road, but  i see it hovering right above my head… because I’m mostly beneath it.

So i take my kids to the park today. It’s early release – every. single. Wednesday. is early release – and i need to kill time get to spend extra time with my beloved 1st grader. The sun is shining, it’s above 50 degrees, why not go to the park?

2 minutes after getting settled, i get a phone call from my son’s best friend. He, his sister, and father are going to come join us at the park. … normally i would welcome company but not today. Not this company. I take a deep breath and put on my grown up adult face and pretend.

Things are going fine until another friend from their class shows up. This kid is always disheveled, and constantly looking in need of a bath. .. with a Brillo pad. The three run around for a bit with a fourth unknown boy. About 5 minutes later, pig pen comes over complaining that my kid doesn’t want to play with him.

….

and this is where my parent’s parenting takes over… you know , back when parents used to have some room to parent.

My initial reaction that i have learned to squelch is “… and?”

and instead chose, “Aww, i’m sorry. Why is that?”

“I don’t know. He just keeps running away from me.”

. … the kids were playing tag

“… and one time on the playground at school, he called me a fool.”

hmmm, dont’ take the bait, Sarcasmica, don’t do it!

“well that wasn’t nice, was it?”

“no.”

“and i suppose you’ve always only been nice to him, right?”

“yea”

“So when you got here and i saw you holding him down with your body and pinning his arms down on the bench, that was nice?”

“well no but .. this other time he..”

“it seems everyone takes turns not being nice. it’s ok not to play with him if you feel like he’s not nice to you.”

So what does the kid do? Run right back to my kid and his friend. They avoid him. I turn to pay attention to my daughter who is burying my feet in the sand at this point.

A few minutes later the friend comes running and crying to his dad that the other two boys squished and grabbed him and hurt him. My son, seeing how upset his friend is, marches over to pig pen’s mom and tells her what her kid did and that he wasn’t very happy about it.

It’s at that point i was very proud of my kid and the rocks that took. He’s 6, y’all ! (ok, 1 month shy of 7, but still, a parent ?!) When he came back I told him it was very nice of him to stick up for his friend and he still needed to be kind to the offending boys.. or just avoid them.

At this point the kid’s mom has me in her sights and she starts migrating toward the sand box.

grrrrreat.

ten more minutes go by and i see her son run up to her and start gesturing towards the playground and i hear broken sentences involving ‘bit me’ and my kid and his friend’s name.

My son and friend run up to him, try and talk to him, the mom cuts them off and says something to them before waving them off.

It all seemed to be resolved. I didn’t get involved. I know i have a hard time holding my comments in when someone brings up my kid’s manners.

But she is staring daggers at me. She didn’t come over to me, mind you, but she was staring the hell out of my sweet innocent face.

I was busy getting buried.

Now I had interjected and called my son over to correct some other behavior issues that were going on, but all in all, he was being a great kid.

I find out later that the outsider complained that some other boys were bugging him and he told his mom it was my kid. She told him, “Stop being bullies and stay away from my son.”

 

… . .. so at this point, we are in the car driving away when i hear of this. i’m none too happy about it. People throw around the word “bully ” willy nilly these days. If a kid is choosing to stay away from another kid because that kid will either whine/complain/tattle/not play nice, it’s called self preservation . Since when did children all have to get along all of the time and be everyone’s friend ?!! No. A bully is some asshole who hurts another kid repeatedly because (s)he can. Someone harassing another kid for the sport of it. NOT someone who executes good judgement and stays away from a kid because he has a choice to do so.

I wanted to go back and hold that lady down on the bench, then invite her to lunch and get offended and sad when she declined and then call her a bully  because she hurt my feelings.

Perhaps parenting should bring out the grown up in me, but more and more i find it makes me want to just stick out my tongue and flip people off.

 

 

SKype…

Published February 21, 2013 by sarcasmica

I love you BUT

These are totally first world problems, i know. But still.

So my husband gets to is forced to travel for work pretty often. It really isn’t too big of a deal, but it’s for 2 weeks at a time usually… and when you factor in the zombie period when he’s first back, he’s really not back for a good 2.5 weeks. I’m so thankful for Skype because it does help, and my iPhone is amazing. I can Skype anywhere. Yesterday i was on the way to Costco with my kids and was able to just hand the phone back to my son and they chatted for about a minute and a half. So my kids don’t necessarily feel like he’s “GONE” when he’s gone.

However. Here’s where i’m done with it. Because AT&T kind of sucks monkey balls, we can’t text when he’s gone. He goes to Europe and there’s roaming and all the BS that’s involved there. So i can text him, but he can only email me. My email timer is every 15 minutes because it’s bad enough i get pinged when junk mail comes in, i don’t need to know every bill pay confirmation and male enhancement advert that comes down the pike … so to speak. 🙂

So we can’t really plan out which days/times we can Skype because he’s “working” all hours, then you factor in the time difference and we have to plan around his meal times, etc etc etc etc.

The first week it’s no big deal and totally worth it. We’re still jazzed to see each other, we miss each other and hope things are going well.

By late first weekend he’s gone, i stop caring if my hair is out of place when we Skype. I hardly ever have make up on, and use my glasses to hide my eye bags.

I usually have a sweatshirt on, and in the case today, still have my pajamas on at 12:30.

The last statement isn’t completely unusual for a day here, but when he’s in town working 10 mins away, he doesn’t KNOW my daughter and i are still in PJs at lunch time. If he sees it on Skype, he can just imagine i’m having a rough morning following an even rougher night and i’m entitled to some laziness.

This was only half the case today, but shhhh, don’t tell him.

So while i do love Skype and how easy it seems to make the travelling. By week 2, i’m done and i’m just ready for him to come home. The idle chit chat doesn’t get brought up. It seems if we’re making time to sit in front of a low light web cam, i’m not going to bring up that our son forgot that he brought lunch yesterday and bought it instead. Meanwhile a perfectly good lunch is sitting in his backpack feeling like it got a stay from death row. However, there’s nothing really of note for me to bring up that makes much difference in his day. My Moms Club functions hardly register on the big importants for him.. he’ll listen, but it’s like me listening to his work chatter. I just want to hear he misses me. So he’s really damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t by this point. If we don’t bring up what the other wants to hear, it’s just work to talk about other stuff.

He talks about work more the second week.

You can’t exactly roll your eyes undetected on Skype.

I have to look interested where, if it were a phone call or email, i could put it down and walk away til it got interesting.

And i have to contribute and ask questions to keep the conversation going.

On the upside, a head nod is completely admissible. Doesn’t work as well over the phone.

By week 2 the kids could care less that daddy is on the computer. They just want to play with the mouse and the keyboard and the tons of shit i have surrounding the desk. Everything else is more interesting and we pretend that doesn’t hurt his feelings.

Which brings me back to having to look acceptable for a phone conversation that happens to be hosted by a web cam. When i’m on the phone, i don’t have to look at myself and see what i look like talking.

I don’t like looking at myself that much! It’s distracting. I start thinking, “Damn! When did that pop up?!”  and  “Has that been there all day?” or, “I should call a dermatologist about that.”  and the favorite. “Oh weight watchers, how far i have fallen!”

Where he looks great regardless! F-ing men. They can age gracefully while we take on all the other shit .. as per usual.

I figured out the other night why this is. A breakthrough!

Moms/Women take on all the stress and worry of life. Who’s the kid playing with at school/ What bad words will he say to the teacher/ when is the next pediatrician appointment/ has the diaper rash gone away yet / which store is having the sale on oranges this week/ who’s low on stock for lunches/ are we out of diapers/ which autopay needs to be postponed ’til the next check/ how long has it been since the sheets were washed/ what will i wear in replacement of clean underwear (this one, to be fair, must register with my husband since i’m so awful at laundry)

This is what we have running on a constant ticker tape in our heads all day. Compare this to:

I wonder what’s for dinner/should i put gas in the car, or has the light been on for only the drive TO work/i wonder if i have to take the trash out tonight/when in the hell am i gonna get laid/what happened to all my socks and underwear?!

Which will show more wear and tear on a face over the course of, oh i dunno, say 10 years? !

MINE! That’s what.

Tell Me, Baby!

Published December 5, 2012 by sarcasmica

So yesterday I began the … interesting.. journey of THERAPY. This will be the second time i’ve done it. The first time started as marriage counseling and I took a couple of opportunities to go by myself. It’s interesting.It’s a little uncomfortable for me because i don’t like being the center of attention. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE talking about things going on in my life, but I enjoy it more as a give and take, multiple conversation type scenario. When i’m sitting on a couch with a kleenex box nearby, and there’s a person sitting across from me in a chair focused solely on me and what i’m saying for an entire hour, it’s a little uncomfortable and alien.

I took full advantage, though!

After about fifteen minutes the poor woman’s eyes bugged out a little and just how much is going on in my life.

I’d be lying if i said that didn’t make me feel a bit validated.

After an hour of me talking and her saying things like, “Wait a minute… so you have that going on as well?!” and “So you’re saying you’ve managed all of this until now?” and “My goodness, there certainly is a lot happening.” I felt it was completely the right call to start this. I’m a little frustrated that i have to wait an entire week before i can go back and keep talking!

I’m sure my very good friend is relieved that i have another outlet for my ‘concerns’ (aka bitching) as well as my dear sis-in-law. Those two have completely helped me keep my sanity until now, and I’m so very appreciative for the ear/shoulder-lending.

But now it’s up to me to pay a professional to help me move along my merry way. She put it nicely that while that probably did help me, it didn’t exactly allow me to figure out tools and get to the root of what my goal(s) is. And she was right.

I left her office and felt lighter. I felt I had made some room for happiness and stuff other than just my own hamster wheel of nagging thoughts and problems. Living like that is exhausting.

I feel like my brain is an attic. My attic is full of boxes of issues and problems and minutiae of everyday tasks and necessities. Grocery shopping, bill paying, what homework is due, when was the last time i vacuumed, do we need more diapers. Also, it’s events and what that entails. Putting the kids to bed at night takes up 1/4 of my space because i need a lot of room to breathe deeply and manage the moods of my son. Making dinner, cleaning up during the day.

Because my husband is away and will have been away for three weeks, my attic is full. When I can make some space and clear out some frustration and empty out some issues, everything else can flex a little and move around easier.

It’s kind of a strange way to look at it, but that’s all i’ve got. Me and my attic of dusty cardboard and thoughts.

Hopefully this is the start of productive thought and management, and not a path to bigger problems and issues at home …. if so, i should check her refund policy

Girl Power

Published November 13, 2012 by sarcasmica

I had a great morning with my daughter today. Every morning is good, we wake up, we play, we take my son to school, come back home and play more. Today, however, we had a playdate at a whole new adventure for her. It was a ‘bounce house’. It was at a kiddie sports play area, but they had a bouncy area. This was the first time she had to navigate such a place without her big brother to pave the way. I’d like to say she ran in and was fearless, however, she’s smarter than that. 🙂  She was more interested in kicking the soccer ball around with me. So we did this for a good half hour. She braved the smallest kiddie bouncy that had tiny slides. It was great training for her. She got herself up to the top, then slid down and was soooo proud of herself and excited! I thought we finally had lift off.

Then she walked into the towering seaweed.

The inflated seaweed tower.

The inflated seaweed tower that rebounded off her little body and whacked her right back.

Game over.

After that , she was finished. No amount of coaxing, coaching, or cheering was going to get her back into that godforsaken contraption with the man-eating seaweed.

My poor little darling.

So we did another 20 minutes with the soccer balls.

After watching a few kids go up and down the BIG slide, and in and out of the jumping contraptions, i figured i had to suck it up and do it with her.

On a side note, i am not the smallest waifiest of moms. One challenge i’ve made for myself by being this stature is that navigating play areas is always a bit sticky. I think for being 5’11 and 2*(&lbs I carry myself fairly well. But i’m never sure of the rules at these places. I don’t know the weight limit on the inflatables. Sure, they are generator powered to ensure a constant inflation, but what if Rhino mom climbs to the top of the slide? ! Will it hold?! What are these poor children and parents thinking as i am climbing above them?

Come to think of it, the slide ‘stairs’ were vacant behind us… hmmm.. can’t say i blame ’em!

Anyhoo, so I took off the shoes and began my climb to the top. My daughter wanted nothing to do with it. I did it solo to show her there were no teeth hiding to chomp bodies at the top of the stairs. I called out to her, then slid down.

My daughter is a sucker for a good slide, so i had a feeling it would just take one demonstration. Thank goodness. I looked pretty silly doing this solo !

So after watching my survival to the bottom, she suddenly got a rush of courage. She jumped up and attempted, weakly, to approach the stairs with me. I ended up having to lift her up to each rung. Once at the top, she had begun to whimper and whine a bit, but then we sat at the precipice of funland. She zipped her lip and squealed with delight the whole way down.

I felt triumphant! I introduced her to a whole new world of fun!

“One more time, please, mommy!”

shit.

So up we climbed , each time she was more and more brave until finally after the third climb she did it all by herself. 🙂  She managed to talk me into a total of five trips up that stairway and down the slide.

Covered in grime and sock sweat, to preserve my own heartbeat, i had to find another outlet for her new adventurous side.

Into the bouncy castle we went.

Yes, we. I waited until it was empty to go in. She wouldn’t go in unless i was already in so as i was waiting for her to climb in and through the kiddie door net, a bigger girl followed her in. After my brave girl got her footing, i stood up and gently fake-bounced so she could get the hang of it. Pretty soon we were both squealing with delight as i bounced higher, causing her to rocket more vertical each time. Then I threw all caution to the wind and landed on my rear end. She thought that was hilarious and demanded ‘again’ about three more times.

2 hours later, sweaty and proud of ourselves, we put our shoes back on and walked out to the van with heads held high and grins slapped on our faces.

What a fantastic mommy moment for me! I love that kid so much, and it was really amazing to enjoy such a cool ‘first’ being able to focus singly on her, and not just let my son help her through another experience because it’s easier.

Monsters

Published October 17, 2012 by sarcasmica

I have stopped myself from writing on this subject over and over again.. I TRY to respect the feelings of certain people in my family, but you know what? Quite frankly, i humiliate and spurn my own offspring as frequently as I want, so i don’t know why I feel i can’t to everyone else in the fam…. perhaps because if they so wished, they could actually READ what i have written.

No matter. It is part of my life and i’m tired of holding back.

I am a stepmonster. I have a step daughter who lives here with us, and has for the past couple of months.

This makes for a very ….. *interesting* dynamic in our house. Our life was complicated before. This doesn’t change that, but it shifts how everyday life goes along on the day-to-days.

I had a stepmonster myself, but i never lived with her and my dad. I couldn’t imagine imagined living with them from time to time. When I was mad at my mom, or having some sort of overly hormonal perceived crisis at home. But there was no room at my dad and stepmom’s because they always seemed to be preparing for Hoarders. The show wasn’t around back then, but you wouldn’t know it based on their house.

The dynamic between me and my stepmother was cordial. I respected her. I was brought up the right way to respect people older, bigger, and meaner than myself. I was also, i suppose, thankful and appreciative she kept my dad around. She didn’t have to. He contributed little to the home. When he went on medical disability, he planted his ass on the sofa and grew roots.

But she and I got along fine. I wouldn’t divulge any deep dark secrets to her, and it was always pretty clear to me her own children and their families took precedence over myself and my brothers. … which was actually my dad’s doing in that he never tried to change that.

That was their deal. But she was always affectionate towards me, and when introducing me to people, always said i was the ‘bonus’ when she married my dad. I was the ‘chosen daughter’ because it was a choice to have me in her life. She was very careful not to use the word ‘step’. I’m not sure why, actually. It’s making me feel kind of guilty to introduce my own stepdaughter as such. It’s not a dirty word. It is what it is.

So now we get to wade through the waters of equal distribution among three children. Two young’uns, and a teenager. My husband has always cherished his ‘me time’. It’s usually debatable what qualifies for said time. He likes to nitpick it down to the minute and has certain requirements for what qualifies absolutely for ‘me time’. My qualification is usually am i in the car? is anyone with me? do i get to HEAR the music that is playing? done.

So i’m put in a tricky spot. I feel like i’m the referee around here with time spent, who is spending with whom, and what is happening during that time. Is it even? Is it fair?

I should admit here and now i’m a Libra. This is not an excuse, but it just is. I tend to see things on the scale at all times. Everything has a scale, and if that thing isn’t swinging towards middle ground, heads are gonna roll, and i’m gonna turn into SuperBitch. It’s just my makeup.

I have learned to swallow some rage and frustration… lots of frustration. This is not healthy for me, but what is one to do? Seek counseling. This is next on my to do list, after everyone else’s appointments are met.

How do you support the raising of a child who is in your home. Who is influencing your own small children – good and bad – but who ultimately is not your own? This child was raised by her parents. You were not in on the decisions made, but now suddenly you are. The way you have chosen to parent your own children is very different from your husband’s child. How do you make that work? Is it just accepted from the beginning everyone is not going to be happy with this arrangement all the time, but so what? Is there something MORE you need to be doing?

Someone told me once being a step parent is one of the more thankless jobs. i’m inclined to agree. It’s sort of the epitome of ‘you’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t’.

But in the meantime, she’s our responsibility.

When I met my husband and learned he had children, i didn’t think it was a big deal. In my mind, at the time, it wasn’t. Being from a similar situation, i thought i was pretty well prepared for it.

*Family Feud Buzzer*

Wrong.

I have tons and lots and heaps of advice and feelings about this topic, but somehow it seems unfair to write it all out… but if i don’t, it is stuck in me. Like a clotted artery.

I suppose one of the things that surprised me was when I was pregnant with my first child. My husband was running his own company at the time and had little time to be home.

It kept running over and over in my mind, “He’s done this before. This isn’t as special because it’s not his first child like it is mine.”

If the depth of that thought isn’t clear, please refer back to my Libra handicap with scales and even-stevens. It wasn’t even.

My husband was a champ when my son was born. At that moment when the first solo diaper had to be changed, and there were no nurses around, my husband’s experience came in very handy. I was so thankful for it. I had no idea what to do with an umbilical cord that looked like a melted Snickers bar, and a baby weenie that was just snipped. Forget about the poop or pee, the first and foremost heebie jeebies were a result of the first two things. Alien.

My husband came to the rescue for the first couple of diapers until i realized nothing was going to explode or pop off.

Then we got to introduce the girls to the baby. That was a whole new experience as well. I could see my husband felt fulfilled.

For me things just got a little more complicated with each milestone.

Now I have my own daughter, and my husband has his oldest daughter here with us. And to add to the web of extremes, my mom is living with us as well.

So there are a lot of emotions and frustrations and fun times and challenging times to boot. It makes for a bigger life, certainly, but still … what am i supposed to do with the frustrations that cannot be brought to anyone under the same roof?

Through Open Lens

Home of Lukas Kondraciuk Photography

The Minivan Princess

for mommies who like to read and share funny sh*t

bmaryglaser

i forgot the rules

jenny's lark

the beauty of an ordinary life

nappies + milk

moms spilling the beans

The Adventures of Fanny P.

...because life is just one big adventure...

The Cheergerm & the Silly Yak

The life and times of a cheergerm

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