I love you Baby Einstein
Before embarking on the motherhood journey, I of course held an abundance of pre-conceived ideas about what I would and would not do with my child.
I was NOT going to give her a pacifier. The voice of my father ringing strong in my ear, telling me that pacifiers were evil concoctions that parents only gave kids to make them shut up was long lasting. After three months and a few hellacious car rides of sticking my pinky finger in the child's mouth, we finally caved to the sucky. Now D's pacifier is her one and only esteemed first love, but she needed that thing more than I needed to cling to my superior philosophy regarding pacifiers.
I was NOT going to let her sleep in the bed with us. My memory is fading, but I can still recall the sheer exhaustion of those first few weeks (ahem.... months). We quickly discovered that D would sleep the longest and the most sound cuddled right in the middle of us. Sure, I did my research about the possible negative effects of co-sleeping but honestly I was willing to do ANYTHING to get that kid to sleep. We did attempt to have D sleep in her own crib on countless occasions, always failure being the result. While I thought it would be only temporary, she slept in the bed with us for 6 months plus. She's now in her own crib and sleeping beautifully.
I was NOT going to placate my child with cartoons and videos. Little did I know that my child would be the ultimate go-getter and insistent upon me as her playmate 24/7. If D plays by herself for more than 5 minutes I'm amazed. Lord knows I try to make her more independent, but right now it's Mommy fever. The other day I put on a Baby Einstein video and enjoyed a 30 minute reprieve from holding, talking to, feeding, or otherwise entertaining D. I decided that a little cartoon or video isn't going to diminish her experience as a toddler.
I think that I've discovered that motherhood and parenthood in general, is a world of relinquishing your pre-conceived ideas about parenting. A while back I was staying with some friends who are currently childless but hoping to have some in the near future. I was having a terrible time getting D to sleep in her pack'n'play and continued to go into the bedroom every 10-15 minutes. My best friend's husband admonished me after a few trips saying, "oh, you're a chickenshit. You need to let her cry it out." To this I patiently and somewhat condescendingly said, "Well, you shouldn't judge it until you've done it." I continue to be amazed by what I do or don't do when it comes to figuring out how to be a good mommy
and a sane person!
The Little Dipper
Once I offered D an afternoon snack of graham crackers and milk, she has embraced the art of dipping wholeheartedly. She'll dip anything she can into whatever is available. Why not? It's fun and changes the texture of her food. While her favorite is graham crackers and milk, she's also a fan of dipping crackers into hummus, and meat into ketchup.
Although we eat quite healthy, on occasion we dine on pizza. I don't know when I started to do this but I've developed the habit of dipping my pizza in ranch (yes, I know it's disgusting). D has always ignored this little nuance about mommy but now that she is the dipping queen, she decided that she also wanted to dip her pizza in the ranch. Suddenly I am faced with a dilemma. Do I share my ranch dip with my little daughter or give up my small vice to save her tiny soul and empty calorie intake?
after all, what is parenting if not sacrifice? How much or how little do we essentially give up and change in parenthood before we no longer resemble our former selves? I find myself questioning everyday how I can reconcile changing my whole life, my schedule, my priorities, my career, my friend circle, my sex life, etc. while still retaining a smigden of my identity. Sure, it's only ranch, but it's a small little pleasure I like to indulge in.
I think to my own parent's vices, vodka and cocaine among others, and wonder how they couldn't change for my well-being. Statistically I should be some druggie-prostitute hanging out in a back alley somewhere, but here I am worrying about what influence my ranch habit might have on my daughter. Luckily, instead of choosing the same path as my parents, I quickly realized the negative effects of that lifestyle and took the opposite path. But I would like to be the kind of parent that D respects, looks up to, and wants to emulate.
In the long run, I realize that giving up my ranch, while a trivial thing, is important. I can't say that she'll never learn to dip peanut butter in chocolate and smother it with M&M's. But at least she won't learn it from me.
Dreams
I was reading in a magazine the other day called Body+Soul about how vital it is to have dreams. Dreams in the sense of aspirations, goals, as well as both attainable and unattainable desires. It occured to me that once you have a baby, your dreams get put unquestionably on the back burner. Once you acheive the milestone dream of having a child, all other dreams not directly linked to this one seem as far away as Venus. Raising a child seems so all-consuming that your own personal goals that don't involve baby are mute.
This has been part of the disheartening realization of becoming a mother for me. Will I ever get to own a little cottage on the French Rivera? Will I make it to Bora Bora? Do I still have the courage to go bungee-jumping? Will I ever get published? I know,
I know that the world is brimming with accomplished, intelligent, free-spirited mommies. So why do I feel like this is it? Why do I feel so overwhelmed by my responsiblity to this tiny being that I will never again dare to live my dreams?
Cliche and understatement that it is, a baby changes everything. I knew this. I think it's quite pathetic if people don't change for their children. You must grow and learn to be a good parent and that requires change. But is it wrong if I don't want it to change my whole being? That I don't want my entire title to be, Vanessa: Mother. I'd like it to read, Vanessa: Fabulous Mother, World Traveler, French Enthusiast, Writer, Risk-Taker, Dancer Extrodinaire, Volleyball Player and Coach, Music Lover, Avid Reader, and Loyal Friend.
My husband keeps telling me that it's the hardest when they are young. That things will get better. That I have time to do all of the things that I want to do. I can't help wondering though if there will always be an exuse. I don't want to be suddenly forty, look back, and wish I had followed my dreams a little bit more.
Talking to other moms I know doesn't always help relieve my angst. Some of the moms I know seem so content to simply fulfill their important role as mothers. I admire their peace of mind. Maybe they've figured something out that is still elusive to me.
Maybe I'm over-analyzing this too much and too soon. D is only 16 months old. I suppose I'm still quite immersed in the culture shock of motherhood. Instead of dwelling on all of the things that I can't do, I should try to focus on one thing at a time that I can do.
Patience
I've always considered myself to be a patient person. This is one of the reasons I enjoy teaching kids and coaching volleyball. Lately I've been wondering where that patient person has dissapeared to. It seems like little things are setting me off without warning and I am totally overreacting.
Today is a great example. I stupidly take D to a scrapbook store to pick up a few things for making cards. The whole place is covered in buttons, ribbons, paper, stamps, anything small and inviting to a toddler. Why in the world did I expect to be able to shop there? I try to hold D in place but she kept wiggling her way out of my arms. I spend the whole time saying, "No, please don't touch that. Put that back. Come with me please." Then we go to the paper room and she goes beserk pulling paper out of it's neatly filed stacks. I lose it and scream at her saying, "Stop it!" Nice parenting skills Vanessa. Take a toddler into a store filled with fun stuff to play with and then yell at her when she acts like the 16 month old that she is. It's like taking me to Willy Wonka's edible garden without letting me cover myself in gooy chocolate marshmellow (yes, I have a problem with sugar).
After I realize what a complete ass I'm making of myself I hurry to pay for my stuff and leave. As I walk out, there is a young baby screaming at the top of his lungs in a carseat accompanied by what looks to be maybe a 4 or 5 year old. They are alone in the car. I now recognize that I've been hearing that child cry for 10 minutes while I was finishing shopping. I see the dad come out of a bakery next door. I really want to tell him what an asshole he is for leaving that baby in the car alone. It does aggrevate me of course but I think maybe it's the guilt I feel for losing my patience with Daisha. I also feel bad for the poor baby who had to wait in the car screaming while his stupid parents went inside to get a muffin. Instead I say, "That baby has been crying for awhile," with a very strong hint of disgust in my voice and walk away.
I vow next time NOT to take her into any stores that resemble the temptations of a candyland. I also vow to try to figure out where my patient self went and utilze it with D more often as we move into the terrible 2's soon. I'm sure I'll need it.
Where are you Sandman?
I can only imagine that with the passing of time all of my mistakes will be overwhelmingly apparent. Since I'm still currently a new mommy, I feel as if I'm still making quite a few missteps. One particularly difficult arena for us has been sleeping. In retrospect, I'd like to think that if I had known D wasn't going to sleep through the night until she was almost one, I would have taken more drastic measures when she was five months old. I can't believe I actually survivied almost a year of not sleeping.
Although her sleeping is a thousand times better, we still can't get her to fall asleep easily at night. Most of her young life, D has only allowed mommy to put her to bed and even then it takes quite a bit of coaxing. (I wonder why my damn back hurts so bad all of the time and then I remember that I am still standing and rocking a 24 lb baby)! She did let my husband put her to bed for about 2 months and I thought we had been saved. Now she's back to screaming like someone's stabbing her feet with push pins if anyone else tries to put her to bed.
She just sees my husband walk into the room as I'm putting on her PJ's and she starts crying. Ugh.
So now I am stuck asking myself if I should A) Force her to go to bed with daddy helping even if it takes an hour of wailing, B) Do it myself saving us all a lot of grief and stress, or C) Leave her on a doorstep with a note on it reading, "Do not return to sender." Ha, ha... I'm inclined to just put her to bed by myself hoping that this is a temporary stage and she'll once again grow out of it, but I'm incredibly afraid this is going to go on for months. Too bad I don't have a magic time machine. ( A girl can dream).
Maybe I can try to be comforted by my husband's thought that there is no way the next one could ever be this bad of a sleeper. I know he's probably just trying to butter me up to the idea of another baby and more sleepless nights but ignorance can be bliss I suppose.
