I'm starting to feel like a real mom. Instead of worrying about my every move, I'm focusing on having fun and being present.
Our normal weekend routine was starting to bore both of us -- I knew I was in trouble when my daughter would sign and say "play! play!" and didn't mean hanging out in the living room. Sure, we would regularly go to one of our local parks and occasionally meet up with a friend and her daughter, but even this routine was, well, routine (largely because this friend of mine is in the early stages of pregnancy and thus not feeling up to meeting much of late, so we end up going to the park alone more often than not).
My husband regularly innovates when it comes to outings during the week -- so why shouldn't I?
With this in mind last Saturday, my daughter and I started the day by going to a 3-year-old friend's birthday party at a park we hadn't visited before and laughed ourselves silly poking our heads in and out of an abandoned Little Tykes plastic house (it was our first time visiting this park and it seemed that it is a dumping ground for the Little Tykes line ... including multiple houses, slides, and kitchenettes). While the thought crossed my mind that we should be taking part more directly in the festivities, I decided to let it go and to follow her lead. It felt great.
After her nap that day, we went for ice cream with a friend I spontaneously called to join us.
In doing so, I realized that spontaneity is key -- so often I think we must do certain things at a certain time in a certain sequence. Sure, children need structure and a certain amount of routine, but I think I was taking it too far, heading quickly toward controlling.
I kept up with my new resolve today by deciding to go to a nearby children's museum that my daughter and I had never visited before together. We giggled at the antics of the wild rescue animals, oohed and aahed over the choo choos, hiked around the property, ate some snacks, stuck our fingers in puddles, popped in on a play rehearsal, and then circled back and did it all over again (normally, I would have headed home after the first round, sticking to my rigid schedule).
We were rewarded: not only was it a fulfilling day with each other, but, by sticking around, we met another mom and her daughter ... who was born 6 days before our daughter in the same hospital. Turns out that they were leaving the day we were admitted. And, get this: she's a working mom in academia with a stay-at-home partner!
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Eraser Stew, Food for Thought
For days now I've felt nauseated. It all started when I dreamed that I had made stew out of erasers. Remember Pink Pearl erasers? According to my dream, they are very nutritious.
If I didn't know better, I'd think it was just one of those wickedly weird pregnancy dreams (no, I'm not, although we're trying -- maybe it's due to the herbal concoction my acupuncturist gave me?).
In any event, it's certainly ripe with symbolism ...
Friday, August 17, 2007
My Husband Is a God
I've felt ineffective all week -- both at work and at home. It's likely due to a lack of sleep. As I've alluded to previously, our daughter goes to bed late and wakes up late which means that I often don't finish putting her down until 10 pm or later. This is largely a tremendous advantage because it means that I get to spend several hours with her when I get home from work (rather than only one or two as is the case with many working parents). Once I get her down, though, rather than going to bed myself, I end up staying up much too late so that I can relax for a bit.
The other night, my feelings of ineffectiveness morphed into feelings of hopelessness and confusion about the choices we've made. In particular, I was feeling envious of my husband's nascent social life, which he has in many ways cultivated for my sake so that I have time alone with our daughter more frequently. That said, I know it's also for him -- I do understand how isolating being a stay-at-home parent can be! By working in an office, I have many opportunities to connect with my colleagues over lunch, walks, etc. (and I do consider many of my colleagues to be friends).
I've never been much of a party gal -- my idea of fun with friends is to share a meal together (in or out) or to simply sit and chat over a glass of wine or to go on a walk. But I just can't seem to fit this into my life right now with the exception of a few occasions when we've had friends over as a family (speaking of family, much of our social time is absorbed by family visits -- we have four parental units in our lives given that both my husband's and my parents are divorced). As I've noted before, I resist giving up what feels like already-limited time with my daughter to take time for myself.
These were only some of the thoughts swirling through my head when I went to bed that night ... angry.
My husband quickly tuned into how I was feeling from the other room (I suppose the thwunk of my clothing hitting the floor as I whipped my ever-existent pile off the foot of the bed was a good hint). He came in, gently asked, "Are you OK? You seem mad." He then listened. And didn't get defensive. And acknowledged how frustrated and angry and hopeless I must feel. And just let me cry while I spouted nonsensical statements.
(If there are any guys out there reading this, take note! For that matter, I myself learned from this exchange about how to be a better partner, so this really isn't limited to how husbands should interact with their wives -- it's useful, I think, for all partners to consider, male or female, stay-at-home parent or working parent.)
When I had exhausted my frustration, he then suggested, in line with what aimee/greeblemonkey recently suggested to me, that I should take a night a week to myself. This was still hard to get my head around given the sacrifice of time with my daughter, until he made a more specific suggestion that I go out at her bedtime. What?
Her bedtime has always been sacred for me; since I'm still nursing her to sleep, it's the time that we can spend snuggling without her acting on her toddler needs to wander. And the tipsy way in which she looks up at me while doing so and says "hi" or "sides" (to indicate she's ready to switch sides) or "bottle" (when she's in need of more sustenance) is earth shatteringly adorable.
Yet bedtime has been more of a chore lately; she's had a hard time settling down (it can take anywhere from 1.5-2 hours to settle her down for sleep). So it's conceivable that I could come home, spend a good 2+ hours with her, begin the bedtime process, hand her over to my husband, and still find time for a glass of wine with a friend, alone.*
Even if I did this only every other week, I think I'd find it energizing.
*We're also working on weaning, and the advice I've gotten to date on this is that my husband should be the one to put her down for the time being since she mostly -- though not exclusively -- nurses at bedtime. I'm not yet prepared to go whole hog, but I think I can handle an incremental approach.
The other night, my feelings of ineffectiveness morphed into feelings of hopelessness and confusion about the choices we've made. In particular, I was feeling envious of my husband's nascent social life, which he has in many ways cultivated for my sake so that I have time alone with our daughter more frequently. That said, I know it's also for him -- I do understand how isolating being a stay-at-home parent can be! By working in an office, I have many opportunities to connect with my colleagues over lunch, walks, etc. (and I do consider many of my colleagues to be friends).
I've never been much of a party gal -- my idea of fun with friends is to share a meal together (in or out) or to simply sit and chat over a glass of wine or to go on a walk. But I just can't seem to fit this into my life right now with the exception of a few occasions when we've had friends over as a family (speaking of family, much of our social time is absorbed by family visits -- we have four parental units in our lives given that both my husband's and my parents are divorced). As I've noted before, I resist giving up what feels like already-limited time with my daughter to take time for myself.
These were only some of the thoughts swirling through my head when I went to bed that night ... angry.
My husband quickly tuned into how I was feeling from the other room (I suppose the thwunk of my clothing hitting the floor as I whipped my ever-existent pile off the foot of the bed was a good hint). He came in, gently asked, "Are you OK? You seem mad." He then listened. And didn't get defensive. And acknowledged how frustrated and angry and hopeless I must feel. And just let me cry while I spouted nonsensical statements.
(If there are any guys out there reading this, take note! For that matter, I myself learned from this exchange about how to be a better partner, so this really isn't limited to how husbands should interact with their wives -- it's useful, I think, for all partners to consider, male or female, stay-at-home parent or working parent.)
When I had exhausted my frustration, he then suggested, in line with what aimee/greeblemonkey recently suggested to me, that I should take a night a week to myself. This was still hard to get my head around given the sacrifice of time with my daughter, until he made a more specific suggestion that I go out at her bedtime. What?
Her bedtime has always been sacred for me; since I'm still nursing her to sleep, it's the time that we can spend snuggling without her acting on her toddler needs to wander. And the tipsy way in which she looks up at me while doing so and says "hi" or "sides" (to indicate she's ready to switch sides) or "bottle" (when she's in need of more sustenance) is earth shatteringly adorable.
Yet bedtime has been more of a chore lately; she's had a hard time settling down (it can take anywhere from 1.5-2 hours to settle her down for sleep). So it's conceivable that I could come home, spend a good 2+ hours with her, begin the bedtime process, hand her over to my husband, and still find time for a glass of wine with a friend, alone.*
Even if I did this only every other week, I think I'd find it energizing.
*We're also working on weaning, and the advice I've gotten to date on this is that my husband should be the one to put her down for the time being since she mostly -- though not exclusively -- nurses at bedtime. I'm not yet prepared to go whole hog, but I think I can handle an incremental approach.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Psyching My Psyche
I attended a de-cluttering workshop yesterday. And I learned that I am actually very organized, although one would have a hard time discerning this by looking at my office and my various piles (actually, more like volcanic oozings) around the house (much to my husband's frustration). I understand -- and have even created for myself -- many of the principles that the facilitator described to us.
So, while I am actually very good at creating order when I have the time, I just can't seem to maintain that order. Unfortunately, the workshop spent very little time on the issue of maintenance other than to say that you must spend 15 - 30 minutes each day to keep things under control. Great idea, but how do I force this notion deep into my psyche so that I actually follow through?
I think I found a way, though. As the workshop progressed, I realized that everyone there seemed really neurotic, and, frankly, weird. And there is no way I want to be like them.
How does this relate to parenting? For one, as will undoubtedly become increasingly clear from what I write about myself, I am acutely aware of being careful about what values and behavior I am modeling for our daughter. I think back to my father's study and his office at the university and shudder at the image of towering piles of books everywhere with papers shoved in between the pages, random replicas of ancient found objects, and boxes of lecture notes.
Is this where my own hoarding and piling started? Will I, too, pass this on to my daughter?
My psyche is starting to get the picture ...
So, while I am actually very good at creating order when I have the time, I just can't seem to maintain that order. Unfortunately, the workshop spent very little time on the issue of maintenance other than to say that you must spend 15 - 30 minutes each day to keep things under control. Great idea, but how do I force this notion deep into my psyche so that I actually follow through?
I think I found a way, though. As the workshop progressed, I realized that everyone there seemed really neurotic, and, frankly, weird. And there is no way I want to be like them.
How does this relate to parenting? For one, as will undoubtedly become increasingly clear from what I write about myself, I am acutely aware of being careful about what values and behavior I am modeling for our daughter. I think back to my father's study and his office at the university and shudder at the image of towering piles of books everywhere with papers shoved in between the pages, random replicas of ancient found objects, and boxes of lecture notes.
Is this where my own hoarding and piling started? Will I, too, pass this on to my daughter?
My psyche is starting to get the picture ...
Monday, August 13, 2007
Mama Mo
For much of today I was the preferred parent. Funny timing given my recent post and comment exchange with aimee/greeblemonkey about this very topic.
I stayed home because our daughter has had a fever for the past 30-some hours on and off, leaving her intermittently fussy and needy -- with a particular yearning for "mama mo" (she calls milk "mo" and you can probably figure out what "mama mo" then stands for ... but, in case that's too obtuse, yes, I am still breastfeeding at 18+ months). Given what we thought was her feverish state of mind, though, she had moments in which she really didn't know what she wanted. Consider this exchange when she was screaming herself silly:
Us: Are you hungry? Do you want food?
Her: Yeeaah (with a whiny lilt). No!
Us: Do you want mo?
Her: Yeeaah (same whiny lilt). No!
Us: Do you want mama mo?
Her: Yeeaah (again, the whiny lilt). No!
Us: Do you want to read?
Her: Yeeaah (same whiny lilt once more). No!
Us: Do you want to dance?
Her: Yeeaah (ditto on the whiny lilt). No!
Her: Elmo! Bubbles! Anya (referring to her favorite song of late, "Hey Ya Na," from her Music Together class)
Us: OK, so you want Elmo?
Her: Yeeaah. No!
Us: OK, so you want bubbles?
Her: Yeeaah. No!
Us: OK, so you want Hey Ya Na?
Her: Yeeaah. No!
You get the picture.
As much as it was painful to see her this way, we ended up having to turn away giggling at one point (probably our best defense mechanism in the moment). It turned out, by the way, that it was hunger that muddled her thinking, not the fever.
I felt so needed as she melted into me while we sat on the kitchen floor (the only place she'd tolerate at that point) eating dinner that my husband creatively assembled for us (our daughter insisted that she eat bacon, the last food I'd offer to someone with a fever and a food she's eaten only twice in her life but for which she seems to feel a deep passion -- so much for healthy eating habits!).
The tides do indeed turn. I only hope my husband didn't feel rejected -- seeing it from the other side, it's a lot clearer that it's not personal and it's very circumstantial. How enlightened I feel!
I stayed home because our daughter has had a fever for the past 30-some hours on and off, leaving her intermittently fussy and needy -- with a particular yearning for "mama mo" (she calls milk "mo" and you can probably figure out what "mama mo" then stands for ... but, in case that's too obtuse, yes, I am still breastfeeding at 18+ months). Given what we thought was her feverish state of mind, though, she had moments in which she really didn't know what she wanted. Consider this exchange when she was screaming herself silly:
Us: Are you hungry? Do you want food?
Her: Yeeaah (with a whiny lilt). No!
Us: Do you want mo?
Her: Yeeaah (same whiny lilt). No!
Us: Do you want mama mo?
Her: Yeeaah (again, the whiny lilt). No!
Us: Do you want to read?
Her: Yeeaah (same whiny lilt once more). No!
Us: Do you want to dance?
Her: Yeeaah (ditto on the whiny lilt). No!
Her: Elmo! Bubbles! Anya (referring to her favorite song of late, "Hey Ya Na," from her Music Together class)
Us: OK, so you want Elmo?
Her: Yeeaah. No!
Us: OK, so you want bubbles?
Her: Yeeaah. No!
Us: OK, so you want Hey Ya Na?
Her: Yeeaah. No!
You get the picture.
As much as it was painful to see her this way, we ended up having to turn away giggling at one point (probably our best defense mechanism in the moment). It turned out, by the way, that it was hunger that muddled her thinking, not the fever.
I felt so needed as she melted into me while we sat on the kitchen floor (the only place she'd tolerate at that point) eating dinner that my husband creatively assembled for us (our daughter insisted that she eat bacon, the last food I'd offer to someone with a fever and a food she's eaten only twice in her life but for which she seems to feel a deep passion -- so much for healthy eating habits!).
The tides do indeed turn. I only hope my husband didn't feel rejected -- seeing it from the other side, it's a lot clearer that it's not personal and it's very circumstantial. How enlightened I feel!
Monday, August 6, 2007
I'm Not Guilty
I don't feel guilty. About working.* Nor do I feel guilty about not spending as much time with our daughter as I'd like to. It's not that I feel I should spend more time with her. I know she has the best possible care in the hands of my husband. I simply want to spend more time with her.
At the same time, I'm trying to figure out how I set aside time for myself, by myself, too. But how do I do this and still maximize my time with my daughter? Not to mention maximizing my time with my husband.
Lately my physical state has been nagging at me -- I have yet to resume a decent level of fitness postpartum (can I use that term if she's 18 months old?). While at one time my desire for being fit was fueled by let's say, um, vanity (only partly), now it's fueled by wanting to be healthy for purposes of longevity. In other words, as an older mother, I obsess a little about making sure that I am a part of my daughter's life as long as possible. But, less selfishly, I want my daughter to absorb healthy habits by seeing me as a fit person who exercises regularly and eats well. So how do I find the time for this?
As I write this, I realize that I could start getting up earlier and incorporating a workout into my morning routine since my daughter sleeps late and isn't up when I leave for work (first I'd have to establish a morning routine; it's not my best time of day). And I could make more of an effort to walk during lunch or to take my daughter with me on walks.
It's a start!
*I once read an article assuring working moms that they shouldn't feel guilty about working. While well-intentioned, the article didn't resonate at all for me, and, if anything, left me wondering if I really should be feeling guilty in order to be a "normal" working mom (I realize there probably is no such thing -- we each have our idiosyncrasies, right?).
At the same time, I'm trying to figure out how I set aside time for myself, by myself, too. But how do I do this and still maximize my time with my daughter? Not to mention maximizing my time with my husband.
Lately my physical state has been nagging at me -- I have yet to resume a decent level of fitness postpartum (can I use that term if she's 18 months old?). While at one time my desire for being fit was fueled by let's say, um, vanity (only partly), now it's fueled by wanting to be healthy for purposes of longevity. In other words, as an older mother, I obsess a little about making sure that I am a part of my daughter's life as long as possible. But, less selfishly, I want my daughter to absorb healthy habits by seeing me as a fit person who exercises regularly and eats well. So how do I find the time for this?
As I write this, I realize that I could start getting up earlier and incorporating a workout into my morning routine since my daughter sleeps late and isn't up when I leave for work (first I'd have to establish a morning routine; it's not my best time of day). And I could make more of an effort to walk during lunch or to take my daughter with me on walks.
It's a start!
*I once read an article assuring working moms that they shouldn't feel guilty about working. While well-intentioned, the article didn't resonate at all for me, and, if anything, left me wondering if I really should be feeling guilty in order to be a "normal" working mom (I realize there probably is no such thing -- we each have our idiosyncrasies, right?).
Sunday, August 5, 2007
It's Just Different
I once spent some time in Fiji where I found myself responding, repeatedly, that life in the United States is just different, to the many comments I received about how wonderful it must be to have all the creature comforts we have here, etc., etc. I even found myself sitting upright in bed one night reciting this mantra. One is not better than the other.
I've been reminded of this experience when I hear from working mom friends who have had to put their children in daycare that they are envious of the fact that my husband is a stay-at-home dad. "How much easier that must be ..." they fantasize. It is easier. And it's harder. But I felt like a spoiled brat in feeling this way. Shouldn't I be immensely grateful that my husband not only wants to stay home, but also throws himself into the job of doing so with incredible passion, commitment, and skill? And that we don't have to put our daughter into daycare (which, by the way, is a perfectly reasonable option -- I just know from what others say that this can be difficult)? I am. Profoundly.
But I needed to know that this nagging feeling of envy -- even jealousy and, at times, resentment -- toward my husband was normal. I suspected that I wouldn't feel this way if we had put her in daycare. I thought that this would have leveled the playing field, that he and I would be experiencing parenthood more similarly and I would feel less competitive. I turned to my life-long friend, who happens to have researched this phenomenon, for support. She validated that what I'm feeling is, in fact, normal. And I felt much better. I've even found myself letting go of those jealously competitive feelings.
Here's what's also helped:
(1) I added up the waking hours that my husband and I each spend with our daughter. After factoring in her late bedtime and wake-up time, and the fact that I spend most of each weekend day and evening with her, it turns out that he and I spend the same amount of time playing with and caring for her.
(2) My husband offered to leave more frequently during weekday evenings so that I could gain confidence in my parenting. Although he generally backs off during the evenings so that she and I can have our time together, I still turn to him for guidance or assistance if he's around. I parent much more intuitively and gracefully when completely on my own, and my husband gets a real break for once.
(3) Perhaps most importantly, I found that the more worried I felt about our daughter preferring my husband over me, the more likely she was to do so. So I chilled out. Which gave us the space to connect.
I still struggle from time to time, but it's getting so much better.
I've been reminded of this experience when I hear from working mom friends who have had to put their children in daycare that they are envious of the fact that my husband is a stay-at-home dad. "How much easier that must be ..." they fantasize. It is easier. And it's harder. But I felt like a spoiled brat in feeling this way. Shouldn't I be immensely grateful that my husband not only wants to stay home, but also throws himself into the job of doing so with incredible passion, commitment, and skill? And that we don't have to put our daughter into daycare (which, by the way, is a perfectly reasonable option -- I just know from what others say that this can be difficult)? I am. Profoundly.
But I needed to know that this nagging feeling of envy -- even jealousy and, at times, resentment -- toward my husband was normal. I suspected that I wouldn't feel this way if we had put her in daycare. I thought that this would have leveled the playing field, that he and I would be experiencing parenthood more similarly and I would feel less competitive. I turned to my life-long friend, who happens to have researched this phenomenon, for support. She validated that what I'm feeling is, in fact, normal. And I felt much better. I've even found myself letting go of those jealously competitive feelings.
Here's what's also helped:
(1) I added up the waking hours that my husband and I each spend with our daughter. After factoring in her late bedtime and wake-up time, and the fact that I spend most of each weekend day and evening with her, it turns out that he and I spend the same amount of time playing with and caring for her.
(2) My husband offered to leave more frequently during weekday evenings so that I could gain confidence in my parenting. Although he generally backs off during the evenings so that she and I can have our time together, I still turn to him for guidance or assistance if he's around. I parent much more intuitively and gracefully when completely on my own, and my husband gets a real break for once.
(3) Perhaps most importantly, I found that the more worried I felt about our daughter preferring my husband over me, the more likely she was to do so. So I chilled out. Which gave us the space to connect.
I still struggle from time to time, but it's getting so much better.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Whose Dream Was This?
I played with dolls. Constantly. I set up a changing table (even found a tube of Desitin left over from my infanthood that I used to soothe my own vinyl babies' bottoms), cooked for hours in my pretend kitchen, and made miniature dresses. When I wasn't playing with life-size babies, I was engrossed with my dollhouse. Sure, I went to college thinking I'd have a career (for about, oh, three years) and then I'd get married, have babies, and happily stay at home with them. I never wanted to go to graduate school. I never wanted a heavy-duty career. So how did I end up working full-time as a college dean while my husband is a stay-at-home dad with our 18-month old daughter?
I could answer that. But I won't ...
Amazingly, I am happy about -- even deeply fulfilled by -- the choices I've made, even though they are vastly different from my vision. But some days are a drag.
I've searched for forums in which working moms with stay-at-home dads exchange empathic wisdom about this unusual arrangement but have yet to find anything. Can anyone direct me, please?
I could answer that. But I won't ...
Amazingly, I am happy about -- even deeply fulfilled by -- the choices I've made, even though they are vastly different from my vision. But some days are a drag.
I've searched for forums in which working moms with stay-at-home dads exchange empathic wisdom about this unusual arrangement but have yet to find anything. Can anyone direct me, please?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)