I’ve always enjoyed Dave Barry’s humor. I also think it’s important to take politics with a dash of laughter, and especially to be able to laugh at one’s own politics.
The Democrats seem to be basically nicer people, but they have demonstrated time and again that they have the management skills of celery.
–Dave Barry
The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing at the right place but to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment.
–Dorothy Nevill
I stayed up too late last night, until 11 p.m., and I woke at 5 a.m. I’m paying for it today. I’m heavy-lidded, weary, and feel like spun glass.
Today I don’t want to deal with Claire crying, so I’ll hold her whenever she sleeps, unless she is willing to go into the swing.
Today I don’t care if I should have tried to get her to go back to sleep at 6 a.m. to finish her night sleep rather than keep her awake until 6:45 when it was clear she needed to sleep, so that she needed what will be the first of many naps today.
Today I don’t care if the Las Madres play date from 1-3 p.m. at Central Park happens during Claire’s typical afternoon nap time; if I want to go, I will, because my sanity requires it.
Today I don’t care what dinner will be.
Today if Claire whines because she’s bored with her play gym and wants me, I will let her whine awhile so I can drink my morning coffee, or eat a snack, or check my email. (And guess what? The whining didn’t kill her. She self-amused for about 20 minutes, punctuating it with grunt-whines of frustration, before she really cried. And by then she was tired, so we read a story and I put her in the swing. Just because she makes that noise doesn’t mean I must engage her every single time.)
Today I don’t care if other people think I’ll raise a spoiled brat because I am not teaching her to sleep in her crib.
Today I will remind myself that Claire and I are not adversaries.
Today when I leave the room and Claire cries (I believe separation anxiety is beginning), I won’t rush through the task I’ve left her for to get back more quickly. Yes, I will allow myself to go to the bathroom without trying to force my body to go more quickly. (Sometimes I do bring her in with me.)
Today when I change her diaper, if I don’t feel like smiling and cooing and interacting, I won’t. If I cry instead, that’s okay. (I did cry earlier, and she didn’t seem to notice that I wasn’t doing our usual routine.)
Today I will eat when I’m hungry, and I’ll actually chew the food well before swallowing.
Today I will try to let go of the “supervisor” in my head and when I look into Claire’s eyes, I will settle into them and just be with her.
Today I don’t have to try so damn hard. So I won’t.
I thank dear Karen for taking the time to listen to me and help me give myself permission to play hooky today.
Please stop me from reading news reports like this from Florida:
A medical examiner found dozens of internal and external injuries on Ariana’s body. The infant had five new fractures on her ribs and more than a dozen old fractures. There was a hematoma and a cut on her spleen. Her liver was bruised, as was her jaw.
When questioned by a Polk County sheriff’s detective the day after Ariana died, Gomez-Romero said he was angry when his daughter was born because he wanted a son, reports said.
Gomez-Romero, who lives in Winter Haven, told a detective he called his daughter an “ugly girl, a prostitute and deny [sic] she was his daughter,” a Sheriff’s Office report said.
Gomez-Romero said he picked Ariana up by her hands to carry her. He said he spanked her several times out of anger because she would not stop crying.
When a detective asked Gomez-Romero what a 4-month-old could do to warrant such severe punishment, the report said he stated, “Nothing.”
“Gomez-Romero made it clear that his anger and hostility towards his daughter was due to the fact that she was a girl and he had wanted a son,” the sheriff’s report said.
Sheriff’s detectives also interviewed Ariana’s mother, Juana Rodriguez-Perez, who said Gomez-Romero would carry Ariana by her hands into the bedroom and close the door.
Shortly after, the report said, their daughter would begin to cry.
Rodriguez-Perez told the detective when she threatened to call the police on Ariana’s father, he would threaten to leave with their 2-year-old son.
Polk Dad Charged in Baby’s Death
The baby girl died Christmas Day.
Why do I read these? It doesn’t help the victim. It doesn’t help me. Is it to feed some pathetic “better than thou” insecurity in myself? Is it a voyeuristic impulse to look at a train wreck? I suppose knowing why doesn’t do much — the only way to spare myself is to simply stop reading. The world would be better served if I donated time, money, or effort to a cause that helped abused children.
When Claire was born and had colic and could hardly ever be put down, I feared I would never have a few free moments where my arms and hands belonged to me again. Gradually the screaming subsided, and as her personality emerges and interaction with her is so joyful, I find I want to hold her more, especially when she naps.
The problem is that if she learns to sleep best in my arms, that’s how she will need to sleep. Except occasionally I want not to hold her, if I’m hungry or have a business call to make. This sends a mixed message; inconsistency isn’t helpful with children.
We’ve been encouraging Claire to sleep in her crib at least at night, and it’s working. But the other day I was seized with awareness that she is very likely to be my only child, and she won’t be small for very long, nor will she want to be held forever. It makes me tearful. It’s a small grief, a glimpse into the reality of parenting — my job is to love and protect and empower her to leave me someday.
So I want to hold her. Okay?
Being There: The Benefits of a Stay-At-Home Parent
This short book discusses the issues of attachment disorder and behavioral problems that may arise from inconsistent care-giving provided in day care centers and by nannies at home. Its purpose is to provide a rationale for having one SAHP (stay-at-home parent) care for the child until at least 2-3 years of age, when the child is no longer in the pre-verbal stage. The book does provide supporting information from studies and reports as well as case studies. It also has a section providing financial ideas and solutions to help families make it feasible. It is definitely not a “feel-good” book. The author clearly states she is not against day care, just that most day care has so much staff turnover and that the frequent change of caregivers (even nannies) is damaging to infants. It’s a compelling book. If I needed reinforcement for my decision to stay home, this book is it.
Hot Flashes Warm Bottles: First-Time Mothers Over Forty
This book had once been on my wish list, and I’m so glad I borrowed it from the library instead. The basic thrust of the book is that women over 40 who have children face competing needs: those of their child versus their own “need” to assess their life purpose and explore themselves in solitude. It also focuses on how motherhood makes women feel frumpy and asexual, and how women over 40 become “invisible” in our culture; so it’s supposedly a double-whammy. Oh, and that women over 40 don’t have as much energy to give to their children because their bodies are aging. And that women over 40 have to deal with caring for aging parents as well as children. Well. My view on this is that a woman over 40 doesn’t typically become pregnant by accident for the first time; it’s often a conscious choice and frequently the result of expensive, painful fertility treatment. Women over 40 who never had a child before have had decades to find themselves, and by having a child they enter into a relationship where they understand they are trading solitude and autonomy for the joys and challenges of nurturing a human being. If you want time to still explore yourself in the second half of your life, then remain childless. As for grieving the loss of being the focus of wolf whistles and men’s appraising glances, this is something I don’t relate to, since being a sex object wasn’t important to me before, either. I’m not saying this is a bad book; it simply didn’t tell me anything new or interesting.
Motherhood Without Guilt: Being the Best Mother You Can Be and Feeling Great About It
A book full of questions submitted by mothers. This book might be helpful to women who are much younger and/or less insightful about who they are and what they want in life. Again, not a bad book, but one that covered issues I’ve either resolved or am aware I’ll need to contend with at some point, such as: You don’t have to be a good housekeeper or cook to be a good mom and taking care of yourself can be good for your whole family.
If you need validation or permission for being human and a mother (and who doesn’t now and then?), this book might be useful.
The Mother Dance: How Children Change Your Life
Of all the books, this one contained anecdotes that resonated. I still skimmed most of it, because it again told me nothing new. However, Lerner is a psychologist and pretty transparent when sharing her own experiences; she’s capable of a humility that drew me in. And the following did capture my attention:
Maybe love is the word we should be unraveling. I don’t believe in “unconditional love,” as it is conventionally prescribed for mothers like so much sentimental pap. Only highly evolved Zen Buddhists look at their difficult, out-of-control children and feel nothing but immense respect, openness, curiosity, and interest as to why the Universe has brought these small persons into their lives and what they are here to teach them. To achieve the transcendent state of unconditional love, it is best to have a cat, although even here you may discover your limits.
–Harriet Lerner
I suspect the Zen Buddhist mother I know would say that it is not achieving transcendence but rather the moment-by-moment process that matters, and that even Zen Buddhist mothers can feel frazzled and angry at times. However, I do like how Lerner summed up the question of whether children are worth the effort:
Children are never easy, so don’t bring them into the world or adopt them to bolster your happiness. And don’t have them if your life’s purpose is to dwell in complete stillness, serenity, and simplicity; or if you have a great dread of being interrupted; or if you are on a particular life path that demands your full attention and devotion. Also keep in mind that children are not a “solution.” As Anne Lamott reminds us, there is no problem for which children are the solution.
To opt for kids is to opt for chaos, complexity, turbulence, and truth. Kids will make you love them in a way you never thought possible. They will also confront you with all the painful and unsavory emotions that humans put so much energy into trying to avoid. Children will teach you about yourself and about what it’s like not to be up to the demands of the most important responsibility you’ll ever have. They’ll teach you that you are capable of deep compassion, and also that you are definitely not the nice, calm, competent, clear-thinking, highly evolved person you fancied yourself to be before you became a mother.
Your children will call on you to grow up. You will have the opportunity to achieve a more complex and textured view of your own mother. Your marriage, if it lasts, will be both deepened and strained. And whether you stay married or get divorced, the stakes are so much higher for how you navigate your part in the relationship with your child’s father.
…I also think that kids are the best teachers of life’s most profound spiritual lessons: that pain and suffering are as much a part of life as happiness and joy; that change and impermanence are all we can count on for sure; that we don’t really run the show; and that if we can’t find the maturity to surrender to these difficult truths, we’ll always be unhappy that our lives — and our children’s — aren’t turning out the way we expected or planned.
–Harriet Lerner
Hear, hear, sister!
We have a bank account with the Bank That Owns Everything. An added wrinkle is that this account was opened in Texas. When we moved here, we were told that California is Special, and we’d need to close the Texas account and open a new one in this state if we wanted to use the ATM to make deposits — except that we’d lose the long-time customer privileges that we had with the current account. The only other hitch to keeping the Texas account is that any time we need to make a change with the account, we are transferred a zillion times from representative to representative until we are connected with the appropriate person in Texas.
I called the Bank ahead of time to ask what I needed to do to change my name on the account from Kathryn Petro-Harper to Kathryn P. Harper and was told a visit to a branch bank with an I.D. would be enough. So I went in and said, “I want the account to reflect my name as it is legally on my Social Security card and driver’s license. I want to drop the hyphen and use an initial instead of my full middle name.” I was told I had to come back with a copy of my marriage license. I said the marriage license was irrelevant and actually showed me listed by my maiden name, and iterated that I had several forms of identification that sufficed, and that I’d been told by their staff this would be enough. The Customer Service Drone repeatedly said, “You need to bring the marriage certificate. These aren’t legal documents.”
So I had to turn into the customer I dislike: the one who won’t go away, take a lame excuse for an answer, who requests to speak to a manager because she smells bullshit and doesn’t want to get any on her. I said I had arranged for a babysitter and that I was not leaving until my request was fulfilled. I didn’t get rude, but the situation became a little tense.
I walked out having negotiated the following (through the California Customer Service Person who spoke with a Texas Customer Service Person and wouldn’t let me speak with him directly): they would drop the hyphen but said they had to keep Petro on the account legally, though I could have our checks reprinted using the initial. Never mind the fact that when I was put on the account in 2004, I was unmarried and signed on the account as Kathryn M. Petro using my driver’s license as proof of identification. In 2005, they did need a copy of the marriage license to drop the M. and make it Petro-Harper (as did Social Security and CA DMV but once those records are amended this should be enough). So what changed in two years? (Please don’t attempt to answer that.)
Anyhow, I now need to do this or something like it with all my financial accounts, medical records, library cards, online shopping accounts, the IRS, our will and trust, friends, family, etc. (I’m fortunate that family and friends won’t require identification before accepting this news.) So I called Husband and told him we were never going to divorce, because this is the second time I’ve gone through the process and never will again. He laughed. Oh, foolish me, that I didn’t foresee this change of heart and mind once I became a mother!
So again, to reiterate: I am no longer using Petro-Harper as my surname. Now it is, simply, Harper. A fine name it is!
It’s time. I seek simplicity and unity.
I spent 40+ years with Petro as my surname. I earned two degrees and a professional license with it. So when I got married, I struggled with the question of whether to keep it, hyphenate it, or drop it altogether. I tried hyphenating. What a hassle! Most people ignore the part before the hyphen, or it causes them to stutter. (Grocery clerks are apparently mandated to look at the receipt for your name and then use it when thanking you for shopping there; they mangle it every time.) My doctor’s office doesn’t accommodate hyphens, so all my records were Petroharper, which is just weird. And since I now have a child whose last name is Harper, it’s just an added wrinkle I don’t need. I’m tired of clarifying that my surname is different from my child’s, tired of spelling it, and tired of explaining.
Besides, when I changed my social security record and driver’s license, there was no hyphenation. Petro legally became my middle name. My driver’s license renewal came to Harper, Kathryn. So if they think my surname is Harper, I guess it is.
But seriously, I’m going to start 2008 as Kathryn Petro Harper, and since middle names are not that important in this culture, this means I’ll usually be Kathryn P. Harper on most documents, and Kathryn Harper in general. If this is of interest to you, consider yourself notified.
At least I didn’t attempt to change my surname to an unpronounceable symbol, a la The Artist Formerly Known As Prince (who apparently learned his lesson and returned to being, simply, Prince). I spared myself ridicule. Whew!
Yes, that’s the term. As a non-Christian I am aware that much of the mythology I cherish about Christmas isn’t the religious aspect. My focus is on the light, feasting, generosity, and goodwill. Well, there’s a movement afoot for those of us who celebrate this time of year but without the religion: Krismas!
From the website one of the founders, Jacob Walker, explains:
Krismas is a secular holiday that celebrates the myth of Kris Kringle, commonly known as Santa Claus. It happens on December 25th of each year, and is also closely associated with Krismas Eve which occurs December 24th. Krismas is part of the “12 Days of Secular Celebration.”
Krismas is about celebrating most of the modern mythologies surrounding Christmas, except for the mythology of the birth of Jesus as a savior.
Krismas is about giving gifts, especially those “from the heart”; it is about the magic of childhood; it is about peace on earth; and it is about goodwill towards humankind, and anything else you wish it to mean that does not involve the Jesus as a savior bit.
I loved Christmas growing up. I treasure those memories. I treasure the mythology of Santa Claus, Rudolph, Elves, etc. I treasure the idea of giving gifts, the beauty of Christmas lights and the smell of Christmas trees. This is what Christmas was about to me. These are the secular mythologies and symbols that we have made Christmas about.
Read another page about Krismas.
[I thank Dale for posting about this and wish him a hearty Merry Krismas!]
I felt woozy the past couple of days. Every time I stood up or got up from the floor, the blood would rush from my head, I’d hear ringing in my ears, and the edge of my vision would go white. I also felt hot but not feverish, as though the room was just too warm. I was a little dizzy — not room-spinning dizzy, just off-balance. I thought perhaps that, being sleep deprived, I’d also neglected eating decently. So I ate a hearty meal and took a three hour nap yesterday. (Thanks to my MIL, or that would not have been possible.) I awoke still feeling weird, called my doctor, and they fit me in.
After a brief visit and two blood-pressure readings (one sitting and the other standing), the preliminary diagnosis was simply dehydration. I drink enough water, or so I think, but apparently not. My blood pressure dropped significantly when I moved from sitting to standing. It had been awhile since I saw him, so the doctor also ordered blood tests: anemia, blood sugar, thyroid, vitamin B12, and cholesterol, just to be sure. I went home, drank a quart of water, and I did feel much better.
However, I still feel a little funky. Possibly this is just exhaustion. Husband came home last night commenting that he too felt a little woozy. I ran an errand last night to Baby Depot, where I searched for long-sleeved bodysuits (no legs) in a slightly larger size, as Claire is getting too big for the ones she has and we’re still using the legless outfits because she’s being changed so frequently. I found one package and made my way toward the registers. When I saw the line of customers snaking out the front of the store (probably 75 people in line) and two registers open, I promptly returned the package to its location and left. I thought: what folly to have attempted this! Yet it had seemed so important I get out to find these. I returned home empty-handed and rued having wasted the gas, time, and effort.
Today it is rainy. There are no errands to run. It’s a good stay to stay indoors to read and play and nap. Claire’s bottom is better (not entirely but much), and the tummy problems are slowly clearing up. She’s still not feeling up to a lot of play. We’ve done a lot of cuddling.
How interesting that this is a season of pushing ourselves to make merry, do more more more, decorate, buy gifts we hope will please and impress, when it’s the very time of year our bodies want to rest. Winter is a season of restoration. Yes, we need reminders that the light will return, and it’s enjoyable to see twinkly colored lights everywhere, but a little bit goes a long way. How can you enjoy it if you’re busy fighting for a parking space? Stay home. Nestle in. Put on your jammies and make a cup of cocoa. Maybe bake a batch of cookies (no need to make 15 different kinds; one will do). Let yourself sleep when your body is tired. Eat when you’re hungry. Give yourself over to the real season.
We think the formula change from hypo-allergenic to normal isn’t working. She’s been increasingly fussy the past few days. It could also be that she’s not getting enough day sleep, and Grandma is here, and the world is full of lights, and she’s just growing. But we’re switching back, for the sake of her comfort and my sanity. Husband isn’t convinced, but who’s alone with her (usually) all day long?
Meanwhile, for your paradigm-busting pleasure, and for info junkies, saunter on over to the blog Strange Maps. I’ve not dared do this yet, as I have a child to care for and she’ll starve if I do. š
[Thanks (I think) to Dale for the lead to the link.]
At 12:49 a.m., Claire turned three months old. Back when the colic was its worst and I was shakiest, Karen had suggested I mark my calendar to note when the fourth trimester ends. It gave me something to look forward to — the magical date that readers, friends, and family all promised would change my life. The improvement happened, not necessarily in one day, but I’m not quibbling!
As I write this, my Petite Eclair is napping in her swing, grinning about something she’s dreaming. Milk? Mommy’s singing? Daddy’s silly faces? She is marvelous. Every day I see changes in her size, appearance, movement, and comprehension.
This weekend we hope to make the transition back to normal formula instead of the “liquid gold” that we’ve been using. We’re introducing the new formula in a 1:3 ratio with a progression of 2:2, then 3:1, and by Monday I hope it’s all plain ol’ formula and her tummy is content and pain-free. She still gets her Zantac twice a day, and this has made all the difference. About a month ago she started taking it willingly. She even smiles when we’re done.
Also, since my mother-in-law is here, I’ve been instituting one nap in her crib. She now has a sleep routine well-established at night. Daddy rocks her until she’s drowsy, places her in the crib, and she falls asleep herself. She sleeps in four-hour stretches, though the middle of the night span has increased to five hours. However, with me she still took all her naps in the swing. I needed someone else during the day to provide moral support during the crying. So here is how it has played out this week.
Tuesday: Claire hardly kept her eyes open while having a snack. I gently put her in the crib and her eyes flew open. I said sweet things and told her to have a good nap. I left the room. Wailing and gnashing of gums ensued. After 13 minutes, I went in to console her for five minutes. (This involves singing, rubbing the belly and head, and patting her leg while she remains in the crib.) She cried throughout this. After five minutes I said I loved her and to have a good nap. Woe and wrath continued. After 15 minutes, I went in for another five minutes of comforting, then left again. About five minutes after that, after the cries were interspersed with quiet moments, she fell asleep — for all of 20 minutes. However, that was success! When she woke, I retrieved her, and we went back to playing.
Wednesday: Claire had a little milk and was rocked; she was drowsy but awake when I put her down. After the usual good wishes, I left the room. She was silent for 15 minutes, and then realized, Hey, where’d Mommy go? I’m alone in here! Crying and protesting began. I did one cycle of waiting, then one of consoling, and mid-way in the second cycle of crying she fell asleep for 25 minutes.
Thursday: Claire fell asleep at the bottle. (We go to her room, where it’s quiet, to drink and rock a bit.) I oh-so-carefully laid her in the crib, and she stayed asleep. Her catnap lasted 35 minutes.
Friday: She was again drowsy at the bottle. I laid her down barely awake. She stirred slightly and began to cry. I left the room; the wait time for this day was 15 minutes before checking. About 30 seconds before I was going to go in, she fell quiet. I could hear breathing on the monitor. She was asleep! And she slept for 45 minutes.
We’re learning together.
I’m really glad my MIL is here, because I was tempted each day to scoop Claire out of the crib and just put her in the swing again. But getting her accustomed to a nap in her crib means she can safely sleep while I do tasks in other parts of the house. She needs to learn how to soothe herself as well. Her other two naps — early morning and late morning — still happen in the swing, and they tend to be 2-3 hours long. Eventually we’ll get there. Oh, one other funny note: at night, sometimes after she’s put in her crib, she starts moaning. It’s not protest crying. It’s a little whiny in tone; she does this for a number of minutes (usually while sucking on her fingers) until she falls asleep. I’ve decided it’s her When Harry Met Sally pre-sleep routine.
[Casablanca ends with “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”]
Harry: Mmm, best last line of a movie ever.
Sally: Hmm….
Harry: I’m definitely coming down with something. Probably a twenty-four hour tumor; they’re going around.
Sally: You don’t have a tumor.
Harry: How do you know?
Sally: If you’re so worried go see a doctor.
Harry: No, he’ll just tell me it’s nothing.
Sally: Will you be able to sleep?
Harry: If not I’ll be OK.
Sally: What will you do?
Harry: I’ll stay up moan. May be I should practice now. (moans….)
Sally: Goodnight Harry.
Harry: Goodnight.(Both hang up the phone)
(Sally’s light is out)
(Harry keeps moaning… and eventually lights out)
I’ve been signing the word milk to her whenever she seems to be hungry. I say the word in a questioning voice with my eyebrows raised and make the sign. I do this several times and then get the bottle. I hold the bottle in one hand, make the sign with other, and ask the question: Milk? She watches my hand. She responds to the question by wriggling, kicking, and nearly panting. At some point around 6-9 months (or later, I don’t care) she might start making the sign herself to request milk. I’ll gradually introduce other signs over time.
Have I mentioned how adorable she is? And how beautifully, intricately marvelous? Happy third month, sweet Claire!
For Christmahanakwanzayule, I want:
in other words, not to be bound by my ego anymore. And:
I don’t think Santa can deliver these. They are gifts only I can give myself.
Failing that, I would like a massage and a new digital camera.
Children see, children do…
If you can’t see the video in the post, click here to go to it.
[via Parenting Beyond Belief]