I'm Not The Parent I Thought I'd Be, and I've Grown Comfortable with That

What kind of parent lets their child play with dirty, dangerous keys?

I thought I was finished buying or borrowing books related to early parenthood, but I found a title I couldn't resist... A book called I Was a Really Good Mom Before I Had Kids, by Trisha Ashworth and Amy Nobile. I haven't read it yet, but I feel like I could write this book myself, though perhaps not as well as Ms. Ashworth and Ms. Nobile.

It's funny how your expectations and standards change as you envision yourself before you have the baby, and then as you try to live up to your own expectations after you have one. Frankly, I've gone from standing with mouth agape in horror while watching some families go about their daily lives, thinking, "I would never do that! Who does that?" to thinking, "Yup, that's pretty much how it goes down when it happens to us, only that parent makes it look better than me!" Here is an example.

I was waiting to check out some books at the library a few weeks ago when I paused to watch a mother with her two young children as they checked out their books. The older boy was about three, certainly showing a typical three-year-old energy level. The younger boy was probably about a year old, squirming in a stroller. I marveled at how anyone gets anything done as a parent multi-tasker, while this mother 1) talked to the librarian, 2) handed over books and a library card, 3) responded to her eldest child, 4) redirected her eldest child, 5) handed things to her youngest child, pretty much simultaneously. It really made me wonder if someone like me could handle anything beyond one child.

There was a woman, late sixties or early seventies, standing in front of me, watching the whole scene like I was. She seemed pleasantly absorbed in her thoughts, with a little smile on her face. She turned to me, still smiling, and said, "That woman just handed her car keys to that little boy, and now he is sucking on them. They must be so dirty! Can you believe that?"

I remember when I would have had the same thought. I even started to think it a little myself. Then, the Real Mom in me got defensive.

I'm an agreeable person who generally doesn't like to rock the boat. My normal course of action typically would be to nod and smile, even if I disagreed. But as a parent, I have noticed and grown tired of this sort of judgment. Like when I went to an outdoor concert in blazing heat, and after coating my baby in sunscreen only minutes before, a woman nearby pointed out that my son's legs and feet were in the sun. She looked at me skeptically when I assured her that he had on plenty of sunscreen. She continued to offer her blanket to cover him up. Another example: My friend told me about a time when a woman in front of her at the pharmacy turned to her and scolded her for letting her daughter, whom my friend was watching closely, play with a plastic bag.

So on this day, my response to the woman with the offending remarks about the dirty keys was, "Yeah...but he'll have a really great immune system!" She paused, and said, "Hmmm?" I repeated myself, and she changed the subject, saying, "He sure is cute!" I don't know if she got what I was saying, but mentally I chalked one on the board for parents who are sick of feeling the Eyes of Judgment and Stone Throwers (even if these parents used to judge others at one time, too).

Here are some further examples of Fantasy (pre-baby ideal) vs. Reality (how it's playing out these days.

I Once Thought: "I doubt I'll want to go back to work, but I gotta help pay a mortgage."

Now: "I have got to get out of this house and feel productive in a way that doesn't involve changing a diaper or baby talk. I need the world of work to keep me sane!"

I Once Thought: "I want to breastfeed exclusively until my child's first birthday."

Now: Well, if you read my last blog, you know how that turned out! I have a long way to go in terms of convincing myself to breast feed my next child, despite my fully functional mammaries.

I Once Thought: "Oh my goodness, that is one whiny child! Who reinforced this child's behavior? Make him stop!"

Now: Yeah, that's my child who speaks only in Whine. And I still look forward to the day when he has words, but apparently that day has not arrived.

I Once Thought: "Only the top-rated Consumer Reports Everything for my baby!"

Now: There is no Britax car seat, despite tear-jerking YouTube videos about kids in car accidents who didn't have one. My child's high chair is the cheapest one I could find at Wal-Mart after two others didn't suit him. We have all kinds of tension-mounted gates up. And.... my child is still alive! Though, we aim to get that Britax one of these days when someone gives us $250. If that day ever comes!

I Once Thought: "Who are these people who let their cars become littered with crumbs and smeared food everywhere? Who can live like that?"

Now: When rushing from the sitter's to music class, if I want a happy baby, he has to eat some goldfish in the car. So what? It's a small price to pay, even if I find a leftover goldfish every time I put him in the car seat.

I Once Thought: "Yuck! Who lets their kids pick up food off the ground and eat it?!"

Now: Well, I just read dirt is supposed to be good for kids. And, better he eat it than it get ground into the carpet. Plus, there are starving children in Darfur (and that's not funny).

I Once Thought: "Jeez Louise! Does that kid's nose ever stop running? Disgusting!"

Now: I just sent out a Christmas card photo to the world (or so it felt like, when I paid for postage) that had the glisten of a wet nose/upper lip pictured on my son. But I hope people will overlook that and focus instead on his smile, as I tend to do. However, snot is still yucky and must be wiped at once!

I Once Thought: "For the love of Pete, please take that crying baby out of the store/restaurant/public place now!"

Now: "My baby is not crying, he's just expressing himself in the only way he can at this age - a very loud whine with tears! And I'm going to be crying even louder if I don't go ahead and buy this (blank) or eat this food real quick, and then we'll leave, I promise!"

I Once Thought: "Who in our neighborhood keeps setting off their car alarm? I'm trying to take a nap!"

Now: "Oh, crap, that's our car alarm! Someone get the keys from Rowan; he just hit the panic button again!"

I Once Thought: "What could be better than having a child to raise and adore?"

Now: "Man, remember when I could do whatever the heck I pleased and spend my days in blissful, self-absorbed splendor? Now I can only do that during nap time. Remember spontaneous dates with my husband? Remember sleeping in? I miss my pre-baby days."

I think if we all did what we are supposed to do to be the Ideal Mother or Ideal Parent -- the parent you envision yourself to be before you have a child -- we would have to be fictional characters. Like June Cleaver. Or a Stepford Wife. Or Britney Spears. (Ha ha, Gotcha!) In reality, we would be so miserable being perfect that we might even run out for milk one night and never come home. That kind of pressure is overwhelming, because like perfection, it's just beyond our grasp; unattainable. We are human. All we can do is our best in the given moment. So join me, won't you, in giving myself a break from my neuroses and my guilt and even my judgment of others (though we all do it at times) and just try to enjoy it, for what it is.

Please save this child from his parents, who allow him to play with choking and strangulation hazards!

The Early Days: How Mommy Found Her Groove

These postpartum pictures of me, even if they illustrate the point, are hard to swallow.

Now that you know the Fourth Trimester was not a pretty picture for me, I thought I'd share how I "made it through the wilderness," to quote Madonna. There is no guarantee that what worked for me works for everyone else, but I felt kind of wrong about explaining the symptoms without giving the antidote.









A friend of mine gave me this wonderful little book written in a way that is easy to digest for new moms: short (one-paragraph, one-page) chapters, to-the-point, and humorous. It is called The Fourth Trimester by Amy Einhorn. One can read this while nursing a baby, which was a necessity for me. If you've had a baby since I have, there's a chance you've received this as a gift from me. If you go through amazon.com or any other online bookstore that sells used copies, you can find it for a penny, plus shipping and handling. Best four bucks you'll spend to realize that other people go through this strange postpartum land much like you do, but for whatever reason, they may not be talking about it.









Once I felt reassured that what was going on inside our house was not a scene from the Twilight Zone, I had to get out of the house. About 7 or 8 p.m., when I was exhausted (as usual) and feeling completely stir-crazy, I asked my husband to come with me for a breather while we strolled Baby R around the 'hood. Freedom! Fresh air! Other people walking by! Time for my husband and I to talk without being overheard by our in-laws! Time to vent about about... everything! Lucky for us, we have one of those children that conks out the second the wheels start to roll. And rumor has it that fresh air makes babies sleep better during the night - Bonus! That little fifteen minute walk made me feel so much better. Henry (my husband) and I still take those walks every night. And I continued taking them whenever I could - in between feedings - those early days. They gave us something to do, something to break up the monotony. Plus, my poor ole post-baby body benefited from the exercise, I'm sure.









Probably the best thing I was able to do was to find support in other new mothers. Thank goodness for Jane, my pregnancy-buddy-turned-new-mom-buddy. We called each other frequently to check in and try to muddle through this new existence together. It was reassuring to know that she was up all night at roughly the same time I was up all night. From deciphering breast pump terminology to comparing baby gear, we were somewhat like Thelma and Louise, on the adventure of our lives (though often not exactly what we had expected as far as "adventure" goes). However, in this case, we tried to keep each other from driving off the cliff.









Jane and I both went to a breastfeeding support group (pretty much a "new moms support group"), which is how I came to realize that she and I weren't just going crazy together; other new moms had zombie swirls for eyes, too! What relief it was to know this! And what was better was getting to meet moms who were slightly more experienced to reassure us, both with their words and their beautifully chubby babies, that things do get better. The first time I went to the support group, I was so tired and feeling so incompetent. I barely knew how to change a diaper. I watched all the other mothers looking so confident and doubted that could ever be me. I went to the support group all three days of the week it was offered. Most people went only once or twice a week, but that group was my lifeline. Also, it got me out of the house and gave me purpose. And, in those first few months, it made the intolerably long days at home go by faster. Another mother with a younger baby who went to the support group told me recently that she remembered how confident and competent I seemed when she was a "new arrival" to the group. This is both amusing and reassuring to hear... and I'm sure the cycle continues.









It took me a while to realize that people weren't kidding when they urge you to "sleep when the baby sleeps." Letting go of my need to do everything around the house was not easy for me, but neither was having no "me time," which is what it came down to, if I got stuff done around the house. Those naps in the early days are all too short! So finally around month two, I adopted a new policy. It was called "Mandatory Nap Time - for ME, too." Every afternoon, when Baby R was showing signs of drowsiness or hadn't slept in a couple hours, I took him upstairs with me, threw back all the covers, pushed away all other pillows, and curled up with him on our bed. (Sorry to those of you who adopt a strict "no co-sleeping" policy. You might want to skip this part.) We both surrendered to Dreamland for however long Baby R would sleep. It was wonderful. These are the sweetest memories I have of the first few months. Not breastfeeding, but cuddled up together, Zzz-ing it away. It didn't matter if Matt Damon (or insert celebrity here) himself wanted to have tea at 3 p.m. or the best sale EVER was going on in the afternoon only! I was having a nap, by God, and it was sacred! I scheduled all the rest of my life around it, and I think I added at least a year to my life for it! Not to mention the benefits for the rest of that day itself.





Take a nap? Great idea! (Don't worry -- I rolled him onto his back after making this photo.)



Henry and I had cancelled our cable television service to save money for the baby. It didn't take many days into maternity leave before I realized what an irrational idea this was. Once the Today Show was over, what a wasteland the rest of the day was for someone who doesn't enjoy soap operas. And there was little else I could do while breastfeeding for hours at a time, but sit there and veg out to something on the tube was perfect! So we reinstalled cable TV. This enabled me to structure my day no matter when a feeding occurred:





5:30 a.m. to 7 a.m. - Local news




7 a.m. to 10 a.m. (if necessary) - Today Show




9 a.m. to 10 a.m. - Ellen




10 a.m. to 11 a.m. - TLC's Bringing Home Baby -- which I watched obsessively to see if any of the new moms showed the same signs of depression or baby blues that I was going through




11 a.m. to 12 p.m. - Cable music channel or VH1




12 p.m. to 2 p.m.- news or more music or whatever is on VH1




2 p.m. to 4 p.m. - Nap time, remember?




4 p.m. to 5 p.m. - Oprah!




5:00 - 6:30 p.m. - Local News or Cable Music




6:30 p.m. to 8:00 - nightly news & Hollywood news




8:00 - Prime Time!









You see? Even if we couldn't get out of the house that day, there was something to look forward to or some semblance of a schedule we could follow when I was craving some consistency and familiarity in my postpartum life.









My next tip is... Accept help. If someone or a whole lot of someones want to bring you a meal, let 'em. Better yet, if they offer to clean your house, thank them profusely, and let 'em if they insist. If your well-meaning relatives want to come and help out, and you know they really will, (and you are on good meds anyway and can tolerate about anything) don't say "no." You don't get a medal for doing it all by yourself your whole first year. I had a whole new appreciation for my mom as she cleaned our house from top to bottom and kept checking on me every five seconds to see if I needed anything. I thought it would get old, but it did not. I wasn't quite sure I wanted to live a "maternity leave life" without her there once she had to leave... Figuring out how to get things myself while a baby was latched on to me and managing to do everything one-handed is a daunting challenge.









Set a goal each day, keep it small and simple, and don't beat yourself up if it doesn't happen. Examples: Today I am going to play photo studio and dress up Baby R in hopes of capturing the perfect announcement photo.... Or, today for our "get out of the house" time, we are going to Target so I can pick up a prescription for The Pill so that I don't have to go through this again soon.... Or, today I will (drum roll)... unload the dishwasher! (That dishwasher goal almost never happened.) What's really wild is that, little goals like these still exist and are still more challenging than they were pre-baby, but they sometimes get accomplished!









Okay, the days were still eternally long for me most of the time. I was still cranky, moody and sleep deprived, but over time, especially once Baby R was able to sit up, things got progressively better. It's true what they say... "It gets better." Click your heels and say it repeatedly. It makes a great mantra.

The Early Days: The Fourth Trimester

Within the first 48 hours of being home from the hospital with my newborn, I called my dear friend from my hometown, Beth. I'm pretty sure Beth would like to have kids one day, so what I told her now feels selfish, but I really needed to confide in someone. "It's (sob) so (sob, pause for emphasis)... HAAAAAAAAAAARD...." I went on to attempt to put into words what a smack in the face having a newborn had been so far. I did mention, I'm sure, that he was an exceedingly cute infant, and I did love him, but damn! I was miserable. Why?





I think there are four primary things that make those first days at home exceedingly difficult -- regardless if you have a colicky baby (God bless you, if you do) or an easy baby. Even in the midst of my new mother crisis, I paused every so often to realize with amazement that our boy as a good baby. I can't even fathom how people with colicky babies manage to get through it. I think they should wear a special badge, have premium parking spots, be allowed first in any line, and so forth for having lived through the colic days and made it to the Other Side. Really.





Here are those four things that make the first days (or first three to five months) so difficult, in my opinion:

1. Recovery from childbirth and/or surgery. Maybe you've read The Good Earth or have heard about how women used to give birth while working in the fields and then resume their work right after. These women must be made of something I'm not. I wasn't even allowed to flex my calf muscle to drive a car for a week after surgery, doctor's orders. Seriously, surgery or no, recovery from getting that child outta you, especially after carrying your baby around for nine months, earns some well-deserved exhaustion. Not all of us make good patients or do well in "recovery mode," especially if we like to be up and active and around the house. Of course, going on and coming off of the drugs in the hospital and at home takes its toll. I was starting to see how someone could easily become addicted to pain killers, though I am glad I escaped that fate. Don't think I didn't notice how a little Mother's Helper took the edge off around 4:00 when I was dying for my husband to come home and take over. (And I know not everyone always has the luxury of a husband coming home to take over... I am very humbled by how single or pseudo-single parents do it!)






2. Hormones. So, in addition to physical exhaustion and possible recovery from surgery, "Hello, hormones!" I've already told you about the roller coaster ride on which I found myself. While I expected to be happy, and found glimmers of happiness, I generally spent a lot of time crying. I'd say "scattered showers" was an accurate description. It didn't take much... Granted, a lot of it was due to exhaustion as well as hormones, but my outbursts were so unpredictable and unlike me. At my wedding, when my husband broke down into tears while reading his vows, I got a little misty, but it felt so surreal. Contrast that to my hormonal post-partum self: My uncle, who has no children and had to ask friends what to get someone when they have a baby, sent a large package of diapers as a gift. When my mom (his sister) showed me what he had given us, I wept. "That... is... the... nicest... thing (sniff!)... anyone... has... ever... done!" Sheesh. I was a blubbering mess.



3. Sleep deprivation. I see why sleep deprivation is used as a form of torture. I am so amazed and impressed with what the human body does during pregnancy by producing a child. On the other hand, I am disgusted how this human design treats a hormonal, recovering post-partum woman by giving her an infant that sleeps all day and cries all night. Or sleeps very sporadically -- not enough to cobble into "quality chunks" of sleep for Mom or Dad. After "going to bed," -- a funny concept in those first days when, every time I started to drift off to Slumberland, cries would erupt from my baby -- and spending more of the night awake and nursing my child than asleep, I was a bitter, zombie-like shell of a person. In the morning, up pops my husband, gazing into the co-sleeper beside the bed. "Isn't he just the cutest?" he cooed, all chipper and reasonably well-rested. I glared at him through cracked eyes. "What?!" he asked, defensively. I replied, "Yes. He is cute. But he'd be a lot cuter to me right now if I hadn't been feeding him and trying to put him to bed all night instead of sleeping."





And then there are those miraculous times when I'd get a good chunk, say three or four consecutive hours, of sleep and I'd feel a whole hell of a lot better about life in general. I remember listening to my friend Jane, who had a baby about the same time I did. She was also in a state of misery on her new motherhood experiences after a night or three of terrible sleep. I could see so much of my poor-sleep self in her.... It was hard for either of us to see how we were going to make it through the day, much less all of motherhood, on poor-sleep days. When we got poor sleep, both of us were convinced we needed an anti-depressant. Then, when we got a reasonable amount (relative to parents of newborns), we thought we'd be fine. Suffice it to say, I completely "get" why sleep maintenance medications are frequently prescribed with anti-depressants. I work with children in a mental-health capacity, and I now find myself very interested in the quality of sleep children are getting when they have difficulty with emotions, behavior or learning.






4. Major culture shock to life with a baby (a.k.a. Baby Shock). I was talking with a mother the other day about her life pre-kids. She worked, she had an agenda, she went about her day with purpose, checking things off her to-do list, and that was pleasing to her. She and I both had a lot of adjusting to do once Baby came.





It's too bad you can't gradually live with your baby. Say, start out with an hour, then send him back to a womb-like place for safe keeping, then work up to two hours, then back, and so forth. While certainly I had a purpose with Baby R around, I didn't realize how challenging it would be for me to put aside my own to-do list, filled with all the things I hope to get accomplished with this "maternity leave break." Funny! Used to flitting about the house all day pre-baby, I now had to sit for long stretches (hours at a time) to nurse my son. There was no real agenda anymore; any notion of a plan I had could easily vanish into thin air if there was a diaper emergency or a feeding problem or a baby who either slept or didn't sleep. I never appreciated my mother and mother-in-law more, because when they left, our household pretty much fell apart. I certainly couldn't both a) take naps and b) clean up or get things ready while the baby slept; if the choice had to be made, eventually I realized the Person Who Wanted to Stay Sane should go to bed, already! Thank God for those kind people who come bearing meals, because otherwise it would've been some slapdash bowl of cereal or sandwich for dinner every night for five to six months. I have stacks and stacks of baby and parenting magazines that I meant to read in my "spare time" during maternity leave, still unread.





One of my first nights home, the baby was asleep and I joined my mom, husband and brother-in-law for a meal at the dining room table, where we typically ate. I was so hungry. As soon as I sat down, though, Baby R began crying, and it became clear that it was dinner time for him, too. Being new at breastfeeding, I decided to set up camp at a tray table in the family room and leave my family to dine without fear of being flashed. I assured everyone, tiredly, that it was fine. I got Baby R all set up for him to eat, but try as I might, I couldn't figure out how to lean over my plate and eat while I nursed. (This skill came later.) I sat there, hungry, tired and trying to please at least one of us, while listening to the laughter and conversation from the dining room. Baby R was with me, but I felt so... alone. I missed my old life, the one where I got to sit at the dining room table with my family and actually eat when I was hungry.





For those of you who are experiencing this, it's true that things do get better. I'm not posting this to be a Debbie Downer, but what I really needed when I was going through this was to know that someone else felt this way, too. I needed validation. That's why I am being so frank about my experiences -- so that if you feel or felt this way, you can know that you are not (or were not) alone.

Yes, those are zombie-swirls in my bloodshot eyes.