How Mommy Guilt is Taking Years Off My Life

Pregnancy and childbirth has always intrigued me.   It may have started when I had the fortune/misfortune of seeing my (much) younger sister born.  

That's her, by the way.  Hot Stuff McGhee.   One of my favorite hobbies is finding pictures like this of her.  

Anyways, after seeing Hot Stuff born I was pretty hooked.  Not like 16 and Pregnant hooked, but interested none the less.  It really is fascinating if you stop and think about it.   9 months (or as the Rooster says after dealing with a pregnant me a couple times "40 weeks sounds more like 10 months to me!")  and a whole new person is created. 

Well, lo and behold, approximately on day 3 of the Rooster and my honeymoon I became pregnant.   Surprise, surprise!   Beats the other souvenirs we brought back from Mexico with us by far. 

Anyways, finding myself all up and impregnated, I did what I always do when something new happens in my life.  I Googled my fingers to the bone in my relentless pursuit on becoming intimately acquainted with what exactly was going on with that tiny soul growing in my belly and heart.  

In my incessant Googling, I stumbled upon a message board of other Googln' Mommas-to-be who were expecting around the same time as me.   Upon meeting this group of women (many of whom I keep in contact with today... Hey girls!!)  my eyes were opened to something that What to Expect When You Are Expecting doesn't touch.  

It is in a nutshell what is called Mommy Guilt    Apparently, somewhere along all my learnings I missed the fact that when it comes to parenting, more specifically mothering, there are some very strong opinions on what to do and even stronger on what not to do.   And the craziest part of all is that sometimes most of the time you drive yourself insane trying to decide what exactly what your own opinion on child rearing exactly looks like. 

For example:

Natural vs Medicated Birth

Cloth vs 'Posie (Diapering for those who haven't walked this road)

Circumcision vs Non-circumcision (Penises for those who don't have one.   Oh, and I don't.... Goose tells me that every night while naming what everyone she knows has.)

Breast vs Bottle

And those are just a sampling of that a new mother gets to make before she even takes her precious bundle home from the hospital.   I've got to tell you, I wasn't prepared for all this.  I thought I'd make my choices and then leave it at that.   I didn't even really think of them as choices to be honest.   I was just going to do what my family (disposable diapers) or culture (circumcision) or educated choice (breastfeeding) told me to do.    

But it wasn't that simple because when I became with child, every choice I made took on new meaning.  

"What if using disposable diapers leaves him sterile?"

"What if breastfeeding leads him to be a weirdo with an infatuation with breast?"

"What if they cut off more than they are suppose to?"   (I likely just lost any male readers I may have had.)

The what if's went on and on.   And the crazy part is that Mommy Guilt continues to keep me awake a night nearly 5 years in now.  Only now it is a totally different set of questions...  

"What if he isn't really ready for kindergarten?"  

"What if she doesn't learn to potty till she's 15?"   *Disclaimer... I am totally okay with her not pottying yet.  See... Mommy Guilt made me write that.  

And the biggest biggie of all the big "what if's"...

"What if they resent me for having to work?"  

And furthermore, I realize that someday the "what if's" will become even bigger. 

"What if she doesn't realize what a huge jerk he is to her?"

or

"What if he drives too fast and...."  

And so on and so on and so on.  

I've come to the conclusion that the "what if's" of Mommy Guilt are never going to go away.  I take that back.  I am sure one day the "what if's" will be replaced with "I wish I would have...".  

Additionally, I've come to realize that there is a purpose to this Mommy Guilt aside from the bags it has put under my eyes.   The purpose is that the choices I make about them and for them are some of the most important I will ever be allowed to make.   I won't ever get a "re-do" with Bub's or Goose's childhoods.   So, I guess even if they do give me the finger in their Easter picture, they are worth all the self-doubt and questioning I put myself through.  

So, for fellow guilt ridden mothers....   What is you deepest Mommy Guilt, and how do you deal with it? 

Jiggly Bottoms and Other Things from Childhood

The easiest way to explain what I do professionally is to say that I do consultation and training for early childhood teachers.   When I tell people that, they often get this weird look on their face.  I think they get stuck on the word training.  I think they are thinking of personal training.   As in with treadmills and weights and stuff like that?  

No, that's not what I mean.  I mean training as in leading workshops for teacher's continuing education.   Lord knows my jiggly bottom ain't training and consulting on anyone else's jiggly bottom. 

Well, I take that back...  I do talk about this kind of jiggly bottom training.  

                                                    

And no, she did not use the potty.  And yes, she does like to pretend she is talking on the phone while she doesn't use the potty.  

Anyways...  Back to me not being a personal trainer.  Since the type of training that I do do is on early childhood, there is a very common reflective activity that we do that involves asking the class to think back on the type of play they enjoyed most as a child.   Then they are asked to share as they feel lead on what they recalled.  

Often times you can see the happy emotions bubble up in the speaker's face as they explain exactly what type of play they enjoyed.   It almost becomes like when you find an old photo album that you haven't seen in years, however, as soon as you start to see the pictures you are instantly returned to those moments and emotions.  

Having the type of childhood experiences in which you want to return, even if it is just in the form of memories, is exactly what I want to give to my children.  

I want them to 20, 40, 60 years from now to be able to return to playing mountain climber on our back hill. 

Or to playing Pretty, Pretty, Puppy Princess Mommy. 

Or to swinging so high that for just an instant you teeter on joy of the ride and fear that you may actually tip over the swing set this time.  

I want them to remember the walks around our subdivision.  Our trips to the park.   Or that our kitchen was their art gallery that was theirs for the designing.  

What I am saying is that I want them to experience a rich childhood. However, I am finding that if I want that to be the case I have to be very deliberate about it.  

Many of the "I will never..." that I said I wouldn't allow BEFORE having children have crept into our lives.

You know the ones... 

"I will never allow my child to watch tv."

"I will never let my children go to bed without a bedtime story."

"I will never let me children eat french fries." 

And a hundred other things. 

But, the truth is they watch way too much tv. 

Some days go by and I realize I haven't read to them.  

They eat fast food at least weekly.  

Sometimes they put on so much make-up while you're not looking that they look like an extra for Jersey Shores.  

                                                        

Sometimes you send them to their room for sassing you, and they end up falling asleep like a homeless man under the Sunday paper.

Errr... I think I'm getting off track. 

What I am trying to say is that I've learned that in order to be a good mother, you have to let go of being a perfect mother.   I am going to say it again and expect a chorus of "Amens". 

In order to be a good mother, you have to let go of being a perfect mother.   And really maybe having a good mother (and/or father) is truly the key to having the kind of childhood to which you want to go back. 

Actively Loving

If you know me or have read any of my blog, you likely hopefully have gathered that family is very important to me.   I have a really great family and am glad that it extends beyond just the three other people who contribute to the laundry pile.   In addition to those three, the faces of my parents, in-laws, sister, sister-in-law and clan, Mamaw, and even a couple of friends come to my mind when people ask me about my family.  

These are the people who love us in an active way.   Their love for us goes from just being a sentiment, but being an action in the daily way they interact with us.  

They are willing to watch our children in a pinch.  

They remember our birthdays.

They always ask about the babies colds and boo-boos.  

They tolerate our dog and our chickens.

They see our house at its dirtiest, our children at their naughtiest, and us at our ugliest.  

And even with all that, they show-up daily in our lives just in the way we need them.  

Just one of those examples is my dad.  He is one of those people who is able and more importantly willing to fix anything.   This week it was working with the Rooster on creating the drain in our backyard (he didn't even complain about those stinking chickens).  A couple weeks before that he was putting together shelving for us.  Before that it was unclogging our garbage disposal.  

I don't think there is anything he has not been able to fix for us.  He never ask for anything in return.  He always has a good attitude about it. 

We hope he and the rest of our family knows how we appreciate them loving us in these active ways.   It is this active loving combined with our shared history that makes them family.  These are the people who we want our children to equally treasure and who we also want them to emulate.  

I want my babies to learn that actively loving someone, being part of someone's family, comes with responsibility to those people.  

I want them to someday be like my dad who is willing to use his gifts to serve others with an attitude that let them know they can ask again.

I want them to be like my mom who tirelessly puts others before herself and rarely find herself with idle time. 

I want them to be like my mother-in-law that makes the decision every morning to be strong for another day.  

I want them to be like my father-in-law with a strong work ethic and high organizational skills.  But, most of all I hope they get his ability to be on time.  Even if on time is an hour before everyone else thought they were suppose to start.  :-)

Perhaps that it is inevitable that in the act of my children learning to actively love them back they will pick those things up along the way and use them as they widen their family by actively loving others.

He is Ready for a Change

One of the best things about having a 4 year-old is that they totally march to the beat of their own drum.

The best thing about having a 4 year-old little boy?  The tempo of that beat tends to be in the fashion of techno music.

And the best thing about my 4 year-old little boy?   He encourages everyone around him to dance to that beat with him and it is impossible to refuse.  

I have said it before , but I love Bub's personality and hope it never, ever changes.   Today was a reminder that even if his personality doesn't change, he is still growing up a little bit each day.

I have finally figured out to prevent frustration on both our ends I need to give Bub as much time as possible to get dressed.  Unfortunately, the warmness of the bed held me captive an extra 30 minutes this morning.  So, I was running around like the Girls when the neighbors dog pays a visit.

In the mist of the chaos that is my home, Bub came and asked me a question I was not quiet prepared to answer.  

You may be thinking he asked me "the baby" question?  Um... no. 

Or some deep, meaningful question about the depths of my love for him?   Not that either...  

Or even a question about the omniscience of God?   Naw.

Bub:  "Hey mom, I need to ask you something." 

Me:  "Make it fast, Baby.   Momma gotta put on her compression garments clothes."

Bub:  "Well, uh, you see.   I wanted to know if I could wear my underwear the right way now because I'm growing up."  

Me:   Speechless, near tears.  

If you are scratching your head, thinking, "Say what?" I probably should explain.   You see, I have never asked Bub to wear his underwear backwards. 

Heck, I'm just glad on the days he actually remembers to put them on.  

But, shortly after Bub became potty trained he decided that his preferred style was to wear them with the picture in front.  His rational?  If the picture is in the back he can't see it.  

Perfect sense, right?  

Right.  

Next thing I know, he will decide that he is too big to try to bite his own toenails.  

How Are the Children?

I think I have mentioned on here once before how much I love my job?  I am not able to go into detail about what I do, but a bare bones description is that I get to help improve the quality of care for infants and toddlers.  

Pretty awesome job, huh?   I really do love it.  

The only real downside is that semi-frequently I am required (mostly in-state) to go on overnight trips.   And really, aside from being away from my family that isn't so bad either.  I mean, really, where else am I going to go dancing on bars (sober), listen to a gay man critique his "gaydar",  watch 16 and Pregnant while crying my eyes out with other grown women, or hear unending stories about the fuzz...  And I don't mean the police.  

And, also these trips have other upsides.  I get to become more knowledgeable the subject I love best while hanging out with some of my favorite people.   It really isn't so bad.  

Through these many trips, there has been a tradition set forth that at our larger meetings are opened with the question of "How are the children?"  This is then followed by some story or recent study findings regarding the welfare of children in our state or country.  

This "how are the children" opening actually from a really cool tradition from the Masai tribe of Africa.   Apparently they were considered to be some of the most intelligent and fearsome warriors of the region.  Yet, surprisingly when fellow Masai warriors greeted one another they would say "Kasserian Ingera," meaning "How are the children?"  If the community was safe and free of danger than the fellow Masai would answer that the "Children are well." 

The Masai knew that the welfare of their community was dependent upon the well being of their children.   If the children were well, the all was well in their world.  

This is kinda how families are, aren't they?  The well being of a family is dependent upon the well being of their children.

This past week countless friends and family have been asking us in various ways, "Kasserian Ingera?"   I haven't had the time, clarity of thought, or strength to type out all that happened last week (though I will), I am grateful to now say that the children are well. 

The Things We Keep

It is funny what motherhood has done to me.  No, I'm not talking about the dark circles under my eyes no amount of make-up will cover or the toys and sippy cups that come falling out of my minivan every time the door opens.  



  Just wait...



I'm also not talking about my absent mindness or the likelihood that I have somebody's body fluids on me at most times.  

I'm not even talking about the fact that my own mortality or, God forbid, my babies' is ever present in my mind.  

What motherhood has done for me more than anything is made me desperate.   It has made me deeply desperate to remember.  

Of course I am going to remember the big things. 

Their births.  

Their first baths.  

Their earliest smiles.  

The way they looked when they discovered something new. 

Their first day of school. 

Seriously, when did he get big enough to go to school?  

I tell you, it has made me so desperate...

I can still feel that tiny weight and the roundness of his little head.  I can still see the way he stretched his whole body, but still took up less than two feet of space. 

I can still smell the sweetness of her head after a bath and feel the way she would nuzzle her face in my neck for comfort.   

My heart aches to hold those tiny bodies just one more time.   Kiss those perfect little ears, and toes, and fingers, and noses.

To watch their daddy fall in love with them, and in turn fall deeper in love with him.  

One more day spent watching them discover everything around them because everything is brand new. 

I know this is a wish that is shared with every mother, my own included.  I am sure her heart aches, just as mine, to have "just one more day" while fully knowing that it is a fruitless wish. 

And since that wish will never come true, motherhood has made me more than anything desperate to remember the little things that could so easily be lost.   Every day I find myself in silent, redundant prayer of asking God to, "Lord, please let this be one of the things I keep."  

The way Goose shyly smiles when she is nervous and excited at the same time.  

The way Bub sings along with every song that comes on the radio. 

The way I can count on hearing the scraping of a kitchen chair across the floor anytime I am cooking because she wants to help.

The way he always insistent on being Fred and me being Daphne.  

The way she runs to the door announcing "Daddy's home".  

The way he tells me every day that "Even when I'm mad at your, I still lub you."   

The way she tells him "I lub you, brutter."  

The way we have dance parties in my van. 

The way that once again I get to momentarily feel that small weight in my arms as we have a family hug.  

The way they laugh.  

The way they smell.

The way they love each other. 

I desperately want to keep the day to day things that are knitting the fabric of the person of whom they are becoming.  

And I don't know how to do that other than to once again pray that God will let me have those be some of the things I keep.  

My daughter's mother

I need to start off by saying that this is my second go at writing this blog.   I had the majority of it typed out and went to re-read it only to realize that I was not articulating my feelings clearly.  

But, in reflection that makes perfect sense because it is about my little Goose and nothing with her has ever been easy.  

Seriously, this is me just 7 months pregnant with her.  7 months?  As in I had two more months to go after this?   Yeah... 

Then came Goose's birth and it was indicative of what was to in store for me.   After a fast and furious delivery, with the highlight being two failed epidurals, Goose was delivered naturally.  She came out screaming, though I doubt you could have heard it over my own screams.  

Homegirl got her momma's noggin. 

And that is about all that she got from me.  

Well, just about all... 
 

Me as a babe



Goose as a babe

 



Me as a toddler




Goose as a toddler

















Let us pray some of the paternal genes kick in before she turns 13.  


Me as a teen.
















Please stop laughing at me.  

Seriously, stop.  And don't you dare show that to anyone.  

So, Goose got my big ol' noggin along with an uncanny resemblance.
But, that's about where it ends.  

On good days, we are like apples and oranges.  

On bad days, it is more like oil and vinegar.  

Nowadays, most days are good days.   But, for a long time they were not good days.  

My little Goosey Girl was (is? will always be?) what is often termed as being "feisty" or "strong willed."  As an infant, no one else could hold her, change her, bathe her, or for that matter look at her.  And when I tried to do those things, I was often met with screams of discontentment.  Below is a pictorial collection of her first few months of life...

And sleep?  Sleep...  sweet Goose didn't need not stinkn' sleep and she was certain neither did I.   She finally slept her first full night (i.e. about 8 hours straight compared to getting up between 5-7 times in a 10 hour period) when she was 16 months old.  And she was medicated. 

*Disclaimer, the medication was a prescription from her pediatrician.   It was either that for her or Prozac for me.  

Yep, those were our oil and water days.  

Now that I am getting an adequate amount of sleep I sometimes reflect on that time.   It is funny what hindsight affords you.  

One example, when I was laboring with her (Again, all natural baby!  Where's my medal?) maybe I might have screamed some and cussed a little (the Rooster's version may have omitted the words some and a little).  And maybe at one point I think I recall saying something along the lines of "No one told me this was going to hurt!" 

But, now I realize just how special Goose's birth was to me.   Don't get me wrong, Bub's birth was equally "special", however, her birth was different.  It taught me more about myself and was a truly rewarding experience.  As odd as it may seem, having her gave me the assurance that I was capable of anything.

I am happy to report who she is today is one amazing little person and I am so lucky to be her mother.  And that intimate bond we created during her trying infancy, the reassurance I gave her that I was there for her even when the going got tough, has given us a really special relationship.

Or as she would assuredly tell you (you being anyone who she thinks needs to know) in her soft, sweet voice, "I'm Mommy's baby."    

I think her birth experience was to prepare me for what was to come during her infancy.    I am equally as sure that the challenges we have faced in during her infancy to prepare me for the challenges that are to come.

She and I are still very different, but I am grateful for those differences.   I am grateful that she is becoming her own person.  I am grateful for how strong of a person that is.   I am grateful that she has forced me to be a better mother.  Most of all, I am grateful to be MY daughter's mother. 

Run and tell that

 

I think that there are some people who God just gives an extra dose of happiness.   Their cup is always half full.  They can always see the the sunny side of things.  The world and everyone in it is beautiful to them.  

My precious Bub is one of those people.   From the moment he was born, he had a sweetness about him that is so genuine and pure.   His goodness never seems to end.  And as an extension of that, the goodness that he sees in others is endless. That goodness, unduly, often extends to how he views me.  

I am so lucky to be his momma!

I hope, I wish, I pray that he is always that kind of person.   And that, in itself, is enough to make him one of the best people I know.  

But, his awesomeness does not end there.   In addition to being sweet, smart, and very good looking (he's the spitn' image of the Rooster!) he is one of the funniest people I know.  

Bub the Bounty Hunter enjoying a turkey samich.  

For example, a month or so ago we went shopping for a new pair of school shoes.  He was convinced that if we could get him a pair that Velcroed that he would be the fastest kid in his class.

The Rooster and I didn't tell him that it was going to take a lot more than Velcro shoes to make up for the speed genes he received from us.  

Anyhoo, we start trying on the fastest Velcro shoes the store had to offer.  Each were given a test run that commenced in him doing a knee slide while simultaneously saying "Whoa!  These are fast!". 

After the Rooster finished doing that, Bub got a chance to try on shoes in his size.     

Haha just kidding.  The Rooster said, "In your face, slow genes!  Face!" as he did his knee slides.

We could have used the helmet for the knee slides.  

Bub finally found THE shoes.   Bub and the Rooster decided they needed to go get a buggy for THE shoes.  

Off they go looking for a buggy while I try to wrestle several mismatched shoes from Goose.  Sister loves her shoes!

But, here's the kicker.   As Bub was approaching the buggy corral he sings in a loud, high pitched voice that would have made Michael Jackson circa Jackson Five days take notice:

"These shoes are AWE-SOME!  As a POSS-UM!"  

You try it.  

Now try singing it like a 4 year old with his underwear on backwards (because he likes the picture in front.)  

Impressive, huh?   That is what I hope the on-lookers were thinking, too. 

Guess who I think is awesome as an possum?  





So, that became my favorite Bub story for a couple of weeks. 

Until, he gave me this jewel earlier this week...

To fully get the value of this story, you should first watch this video Run and Tell That .

No, really.  If you haven't seen it, you MUST.  

We were at the pharmacy picking up a prescription and the following conversation took place between Bub and the pharmacists. 

Bub:     "I'm going to a haunted house."  

Pharm:  "Haunted houses are all just pretend though." 

Bub:      "Nope, actually my house is haunted.   (pause)  And you can run and tell that; run and tell that; run and tell that, homeboy."  

Pharm:   Open mouth stare.  

Now, I feel defense of my parenting style may be necessary here.  

Yes, my boy did dress up as a convicted felon, but it was only to match his friend who dressed up as a reformed prostitute.   Err...  What I'm trying to say is that don't judge me based on the fact my son may drop lyrics about "snatchn' yo people up" on you.   So, please don't hide your kids.  Or hide your wife.  Or your husband.   Because remember he is a really sweet kid.  

Please, homeboy? 



Pumpkin Patch



Bub and Goose going to the big slide.



Our family made our annual pilgrimage 5 miles up the road to the Corn Maze.  It is hands down one of my favorite activities we do and is gingerly anticipated each year.  

A hayride down an old dusty trail, finding your own perfect pumpkin, a child sized corn maze, and all the other surprises we get to rediscover each year.  

Add on a gorgeous fall day.   Life really cannot get better.  

 

Ready!?!



The only down this year was when we were entering the farm.   Much to our surprise they have changed their pricing structure this year.   Previously they had an ala carte pricing structure where you could choose what items you wanted your family to participate in at the Maze.  Having young children we do not do the large Maze (which, as a pre-children person I loved and look forward to doing again when Goose and Bub get a little older), but this year's pricing structure includes admission to it in our ticket price.  

Basically, our admission price was double what it was last year for the same thing.   

You may be asking, can you really put a price tag on memories?   Well folks, I can tell you if you could it would be $52.90. 



Bub coming out of the GIANT slide. 



After that blip, we were on our way!   First stop on the agenda was going down the giant slide made to look like an old mine shaft.   Goose and Bub bravely began walking to the top of the hill.

Then, Bub being the 4 year-old boy he is went barrelling up the steps leaving Goose to fend for herself at the bottom. 

Goose, for lack of a better word, tends to be a little on the nervous side.  

Meeting a new person?   No, thanks.   I prefer my mom.

Going into a dark room?  No way!  There may be a new person in there!

Being abandoned by my brother to go down a giant slide that I do not know where it will take me?  You can imagine how that one would go.  

So thank goodness  Unfortunately, we do not have a photograph to document what happened next, but let's just say the result went a little something like this... 

1. Goose and I going up the steps with each step closer to the top resulting in a little whimper from her.  
2. Once to the top, Goose screaming at the assistant trying to help us.  
3. After making it clear the assistant should not touch or speak to her, Goose and I going at the speed of light to the bottom of the slide (have I made it clear it was a GIANT slide?) as both of us screaming at the top of our voices.  
4. Once arriving at the bottom of the GIANT slide we both go rolling around in the dust a little bit.
5. After regaining our composure pulling ourselves up off the ground. 
6. Then one of us asking the Rooster if we have dust on our bottom.
7. The other asking to ride the GIANT slide again.  
8. The one with the dusty bottom vetoing riding the slide again.

On second thought, considering the looky-lous who were watching this all play out there may be photographs to document what happened.  

Any-hoo...



Assuring us he can see everything!



We then went and found some old tractor tires to climb on.  Dusty Bottom did not climb, but Bub was very proud to make it to the top.  



Assuring us she doesn't need to see everything.



After some coaxing from the Rooster, Goose made it to the top, too.  



We will being washing this out of her hair for days.



We then went and played in the what I have discovered to be the bane of my mothering. 

Sand.   I hate sand.   But, we had paid for it so sure as the devil we were going to use it!  



Not very confident. 



Then it was time for my very favorite part of the day!   A tractor ride that would take us to find our pumpkins!  

Goose was not very confident in the tractor, wagon, or kind man who were driving us.   Though Daddy made it a little bit better.  



Resting after a full day.



Once arriving at the pumpkin patch Bub quickly found his pumpkin.  He quickly determined it to be the perfect seat after all the exploring we had been doing.  



Too heb-ee.

Goose was a little more selective.   I believe it would be completely accurate to say that she touched every pumpkin in the patch just to report back "Too heb-ee." (Too heavy).  

The perfect one!

By this time I would have been happy to drop another $52.90 just to find her one that was not "too heb-ee" to get home.  

But she finally found the perfect one. 

And life was good (except having to face that scary hayride back to the car).