The Honest-to-God Truth About Having Kids (That Nobody Else Will Tell You)

I've been thinking a lot lately about whether or not it's good (or bad, or in-between) for parents to be completely honest with parents-to-be or those-considering-the-parental-lifestyle. I've been thinking about this partly because I try to be super duper honest on this here blog, and also because I, myself, feel slightly shocked by some of the stuff I've experienced since getting pregnant with Wee One, and I wonder if it would have been better for me to know.

I also wonder if it's possible that being kept slightly in the dark isn't such a bad thing. I'm pretty sure I've scared a few readers, which was not my intention (I promise!) and I KNOW FOR A FACT that I scared my friend "Friend" the other day after our hot yoga class when I showed her my stomach and she couldn't stop her eyes from TOTALLY WIDENING UNNATURALLY as she said, "Whoa. It really got... stretched!" This was after I was thinking it was really improving. Ah, the irony.

Anyway -- I'm pretty sure that "everything in moderation," which is basically my motto for chocolate, life, and Muppets videos that I show my toddler, works here, too. It's good for moms-to-be to know that labor is hard (obvi). It's good for them to have an inkling that breastfeeding might be a challenge. It's good for them to know that work-life balance isn't easy. Is it good for them to know that breastfeeding can sometimes be so painful in the beginning that you are thisclose to feeding your child ANYTHING ELSE even coconut milk? Um... maybe not. Because all of the things that were SO FREAKING HARD BUT I WOULD STILL DO AGAIN? I got through them. I made it out the other side and I would turn around and do them for a second time with child #2. So it's not like knowing anything would have stopped me the first time or stop me now.

There's just one exception, and that's pumping. I HATE PUMPING MORE THAN I HATE CAMPING. OR INTOLERANT PEOPLE. Trying to jump back into a totally full-time job while pumping away in a window-less room three times a freaking day for nearly 45 minutes each time, round-trip, while I just got more and more behind on work and my boobs got more and more ANGRY AT ME and I knew that if I were just breastfeeding I would actually get more than a friggin' trickle of milk was genuinely terrible and made me cry daily. It seems especially cruel to me that just after you leave your wee babe for the first time, you are thrust back into a stressful work environment where you THEN must sit by yourself THINKING ABOUT YOUR BABY SO THAT YOU GENERATE MORE MILK (this is a real thing I swear!) and then sobbing the shit all over your laptop when you get about a shot glass' worth. I would avoid pumping at an office again, if I could. I know I sound dramatic. But I think some of those pumping sessions were some of my darkest moments ever! Do I need therapy for this?!)

Oh geez. Now you're just dreading pumping. Which is why being honest might prepare you — but will it help you? I think it's time to end this post. Proposal: tomorrow I will be annoyingly honest about how AMAZEBALLS parenting is (because it really, truly is).

xox,

Rebecca

PS: About this blog post title. I lied -- lots of people will tell you lots of stuff about parenting, so much so that you'll be all TMI! TMI! I don't know; it just sounded catchy.

Is Your Pre-Baby Self Gone Forever? (Please Advise).

This post by Renegade Mothering that I discovered over the weekend is a brutally honest (and brutally beautiful) essay on becoming a mother, and how it's exactly like becoming a homeowner or a pet owner or a doctor or a writer. Except not at all. Because those roles don't bring a permanence and a responsibility and a kind of fear that can cripple you and awe you at the same time (if you really, really love your iguana, then maybe you fall into that category, too. Iguanas are awesome, yo).

Most of the commenters on the post were so grateful that somebody addressed the hardships and the shock and the "loss" that comes with having a baby. And I thought the essay was superb and poignant, and, yes, I completely related. No amount of stroller shopping can prepare you for the change — one that seemingly happens overnight, forget those long nine months — that slaps you in the face (and elsewhere, too!) after your wee babe enters the world. It's huge. It's scary as shit. And it's forever.

The author focuses a lot on those first few months after the baby arrives, which are admittedly really, really hard. For me, though, that time after Leo arrived, when I was sleep-deprived and up half the night breastfeeding and happy just to make it to the shower, things were so SIMPLE — so basic — and life was so streamlined that I was able to make it through without feeling as much of a sense of sadness or devastation as I thought I would. My expectations for my life while I had an infant baby were so low, that the only things on my agenda each day were "feed baby. Feed self. Shower. Get baby to sleep. Get self to sleep. Take one 45-minute walk with baby in the stroller, up and down the San Francisco hills, to try to burn off some of the baby weight. Watch a whole lot of bad TV." That was pretty much it. It felt like a time suspended OUT of time, and I enjoyed a lot of it for exactly what it was: survival, and snuggling with my little one.

Life SINCE then has been much harder. The older your child gets, the more you hunger for some of the independence and time and freedom you once had. For me, I've felt the loss of my "self" a lot more ever since my little one turned one. Because I expect I can be my old self AND my new self. Because I'm not really a "new" mom anymore, so can't keep saying that I am. Because reality has really, really set in, and I know that if I want to write or work out or further my career, I have to figure out how to do that while also playing Peek-a-boo.

Reading Renegade Mothering's post also made me realize something else, and (drumroll) it's this: I don't mourn the loss of my pre-pregnancy body because I'm superficial or shallow. I don't mourn it because I think I won't love myself or others won't love me if I have more imperfections than I had pre-baby. I mourn it because it's a fuckin' SYMBOL of the woman I used to be. The woman I was for 33 years before my little one arrived. Moms take a lot of beatings when they have kids. It feels like a (small) injustice that our bodies go all haywire, as well. And so, when I absentmindedly squeeze that tummy pooch in hopes I can massage it away, maybe that's just my little way of acknowledging, and learning to accept, that life has changed. For the better? Absolutely. That doesn't mean it's not a total, mindblowing culture shock.

xo,

Rebecca

It's Official

Ethan and I both went to bed at 10:15 last night. And I didn't even have to forcibly tuck him under the covers and shut the lights off or handcuff him to the bed or drug him.* We were both, well, tired. And so I think it's official: we are capable of organically going to bed earlier. And I say "organic" because I mean that it just happens (not every night, but some nights) without either of us even talking about it like it's some big thing. Not a big thing? I think that means it just is.**

I'm really looking forward to the weekend because we have a bunch of one-year-old birthday parties, which you can never get enough of, and we have Leo's "gym" class, which he can never get enough of.

Happy weekends, everyone!

xox,

Rebecca

*Why would I have handcuffs or drugs? I don't have handcuffs or drugs.

**Two years ago? We would have patted ourselves on our backs for "going to bed so freaking early"! Now? It's just survival.

The Mommy Wars, Continued

Guess what. Apparently, we're in a civil war. We (and by "we," I mean moms) are still freaking fighting about whether or not it's better to stay home with our kids or better to go to work. Seriously? We're still fighting about this? In 2013? After we've pretty much PROVEN SCIENTIFICALLY that moms who want to work should work, moms who want to stay home should stay home, moms who want to work part-time should work part-time and dads should consider these options just as actively as moms? We're still battling this one out, even though other moms are exactly the people we should be ganging up WITH to fight EVERYBODY ELSE for guaranteed maternity leaves and better, more affordable childcare for moms across the country? Even though other moms can and should understand how hard it is to attempt to "have it all" and are therefore the single best resource we can all tap into to continue to break through that glass ceiling and help moms enjoy the freshman years of parenting rather than spending them writhing around in a hole of guilt, self-doubt, and "what ifs"? 

One popular mom blogger wrote about the issue here, and in case you don't have time to flip to her page and read her entire essay, I'll give you the most relevant part:

"If every woman made the same decision, how would my children learn that sometimes motherhood looks like going to work to put food on the table or stay sane or share your gifts or because you want to work and you’ve earned that right. And that other times motherhood looks like staying home for all of the exact same reasons."

The blogger basically concludes that moms lash out at each other's choices because they're-we're inherently a little bit conflicted (or perhaps even resentful) about their-our own. Nobody except maybe Halle Berry* or (insert other random celebrity here) can be a stay-at-home-mom who also has the ideal career, supports her whole family, is fulfilled by her work and fulfilled by parenting and who never misses a school bake sale. It's not realistic — and so we get defensive. We judge. We worry about what we're missing or not giving our kids or not giving ourselves. Guess what: that woman "on the other side," who has the high-powered job or gets to chaperone every school field trip? She feels the exact same way you do.

*I have no idea how Halle Berry manages her work-life balance. She hasn't gone into too much detail with me when we've had lunch.

xox,

Rebecca

I'm Not F'in Sorry And You Shouldn't Be, Either

I thought my New Year's Resolution of not saying "sorry" for a year was going to be excruciatingly hard. Harder than if I were to abstain from TV for a year (I mean, I'm not a television junkie but come on. That would be torture) or go forgo my other favorite activity, showering. (Please don't make me go camping. Please). Amazetown-ly, it hasn't even been one-ninth as hard as I thought.

It's been a month so far, and yes, I've said "sorry" a smattering of times, but that's nothing compared to how much I used to sprinkle sorry's throughout my day. Here's where I slipped up. (There are so few of them, I can count them on one hand. Huzzah!) 

1) The post office. I told Leo he had to hold my hand "the way that little boy over there is holding his mommy's hand." Little Boy Over There looked up at me with an indignant scowl and said, "This isn't my mommy!" Penitent, I quickly spat back, "Oh! I'm sorry!" (Does apologizing to a five-year-old even count? I'm going to go with no.) 

2) The front door. Our nanny, who had come over to babysit Leo for the evening, had been standing outside for several minutes in the cold because I hadn't heard the doorbell ring. I barely even hesitated on this one. "Sorry!" (If you're a parent, and you have a babysitter or nanny you rely on, you'll do or say anything to make them happy. ANY-THING).

3) On the phone with Air New Zealand. Let's just cut to the chase: I couldn't understand a word the (extremely nice and patient) customer service rep was saying. I think I said, "I'm sorry?" about a hundred times. (Bridging the telephone-accent gap? I think "sorry" is appropriate here).

4) I dreamed that I actually did something really bad (it's foggy in my mind now, which is just code for "I can't tell you what the dream was about because then you will start analyzing what it means and I don't want you to do that.") I remember, in the dream, being very worried and concerned about how I was going to apologize for what I'd done without saying "sorry." Needless to say, I woke up and was pretty happy that I hadn't actually done anything I needed to apologize for. (Conclusion: infractions committed in dreams do not require me to break my resolution. Whew.)

That's it! I've started saying "excuse me" EXCLUSIVELY for bump-in situations. I NEVER say "sorry" to Ethan anymore (and it feels greeeat!). I was late to visit my friend the other night because my cab stood me up, but instead of texting, "I'm so sorry!", I just explained what was happening and employed a frowny-face. (Emoticons: the new "sorry" stand-in? Perhaps).

I haven't put my finger on exactly why I've been more successful with this experiment than I initially expected, but I think motherhood has a lot to do with it. As moms, we're so busy and so focused on changing a diaper while writing an essay or running a board meeting — we just don't have bandwidth to be sorry anymore. And that's a gooood thing. (Here's a great essay on the topic that I totally related to. I am no longer sorry, Jezebel! No longer!)

xox,

Rebecca

PHOTO CAPTION: Not my Vespa. I would never ride a Vespa because I'm majorly afraid of head injury. I love that color, though. I could live in that color.

The Secret Life of the American Toddler

Is it just me, or does everyone have that one, wiser parent friend from whom you get all of your recommendations (on products, on sleep training, on how to stay calm in the face of a spiking fever or an exploding diaper)? I have such a friend, and she is fabulous, and I pretty much copy most of her purchases and techniques because she knows everything. Thanks, Victoria, and thanks for the tip on the learning tower (pictured above) — Leo used to spend a lot of time with his arms in the air, following me around the kitchen, wanting to come "up." Now he can stand next to me while I cook, and if I'm lucky, he'll happily play with a salt shaker for a good 13.7 minutes (caveat: move away the knives, and supervise the kiddo... it's definitely possible to fall from this contraption).

On an unrelated note: this blog is about parenting, and not specifically my kid (and it's definitely not a journal — thank God! Who would want to read that? "Dear Diary, today I tried to distract my child with a poor rendition of Elton John's "Rocket Man" while I shoveled yogurt in his mouth. Then we went to the playground. The end.") But I thought it might be nice to every so often make a note of what my little one is up to, so maybe (maybe!) one day I can look back and actually remember what his hobbies were (you know — like scavenging for milk and organizing the recycle bin).

Here's what Leo's up to this month:

1) Using his toothbrush to brush the teeth of his rocking horse (naturally).
2) Lining up his shoes and sticking his feet in the general direction of them in hopes they will magically appear on his feet (good technique).
3) Pulling me towards him as he sits in the grocery cart, opening his mouth wide, saying "ah", and then "kissing me" on the cheek, openmouthed (sometimes, he burps in between the "ah" and the "kiss." Those besos are extra special).

What are your kids into these days (and what hilarious things are they saying)?! Tell me so I can cute over them.

xo,

Rebecca

PS: The title of this blog post has about zero to do with this post. You try coming up with witty AND relevant titles every day. It's hard, dude. It's hard.

The Momshell, Revisited

This photo of this reality star that I know nothing about because I make a point of categorically boycotting celebrities who do not actually act, sing, dance, or at least host something has been annoying me all weekend.

I get it: we read gossip mags for the escapism. For the few glorious moments of "what would life be like if...". For the fashion and the trends and for the downright fun of thinking about something other than diapers, spreadsheets, and what we're going to make for dinner tonight. I fully buy into the gossip mag phenomenon and think that with the right attitude (or glass of Pinot), flipping through one of these babies can be a really enjoyable activity.

Except when I see pictures like the above. And that's where I draw the line. Where I get all uppity and "no you didn't" because honestly? THIS PICTURE IS JUST GOING TO MAKE LIKE TEN MILLION MOMS FEEL BAD. MAYBE MORE. I can deal with how gorgeous Jessica Alba is at the Oscars or how hot Gwyneth Paltrow looks in a bikini. I think moms should get glammed up and flaunt their fabulousness as much as their non-mom counterparts! But this "let me push my five-week old baby in the stroller while I show off my perfect calves (made perfect-er by the height of my heels), my non-existent post-baby pooch and my TEENY TINY LEATHER SKIRT (who wears that even if they DON'T have a newborn, I ask you?)" is just a virtual slap in the face to all the new moms out there glued to their couches breastfeeding a five-week old with dreams of making it to the shower... one day.

Let's get realistic about this photo. Here are a couple of facts: 1) There is no way (and I mean No. Freaking. Way) this person walked more than two feet in those shoes. Like, I can guarantee you that she walked across that parking lot — maybe not even ACROSS, possibly just one or two parking spots-worth — and then sat down. Like on a bench. Or at the table at a lovely outdoor bistro. Where somebody else held her baby the whole time. Or took said baby home! 2). There is no way (and I mean No. Freaking. Way) she drove in those shoes, either. Definitely not with a baby screaming in the back, and on no sleep. Her driver drove her, obvi! 3) She's wearing two pairs of Spanx. I promise. 4) She's either smiling like that because she's thinking "Wow, this whole baby thing isn't so bad when you've got ten nannies!" OR it's a smile of desperation because she's plotting her escape. From the world. (That open-mouthed smile does look a little deranged... no?) 4) There's a good chance there's no actual baby in that stroller. 5) That ugly (I mean... expensive) shirt is actually a newfangled nursing bra. And the leather skirt is great for wicking off spit-up (it's actually pleather, so you just use a baby wipe).

I'm not saying you have to wear mom jeans now (God forbid). These two lovely ladies (here and here) are my mommy fashion idols (the kids are pretty cute, too).

xox,

Rebecca

PHOTO CAPTION: I think I've worn heels twice since having a kid. My go-to mom shoes are some variation of these boots. Pros: they go with everything. Cons: they jingle when I walk.