Halloween + Giants Parade = more orange than I have ever seen in my life

A quick post today because we are attempting to take Leo to the Giants World Series parade (Daddy's idea, for the record!) then trick-or-treating at 5. I realize this is probably the last Halloween that's more for us than for him (he still has no idea what's going on and isn't allowed to eat the candy, anyway — BUT WE ARE!). I've heard from parents with older kids that Halloween stretches out for the entire month of October once the kiddies are bigger, which is either cute or truly horror-inducing.

Ethan informed me last night that I definitely need a costume, which I'm usually into but let's face it, costumes (along with Pilates and movies-in-actual-theaters) are the first things to go when you have a baby at home. Ethan has a thing for repeating the same costumes year after year — he's gone as a construction worker like five or thirteen times (a few years back he added a Hazmat jacket to mix things up. In case anyone was paying attention). This year he said he would go as Crazy Tea-bag man which is apparently some old-school Adam Sandler sketch that did not even sound remotely funny to me last night at 11pm (sorry, babe).

Tired as I was, I experienced a burst of late-night energy when I had the brilliant* idea to go as Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games, since my hair is really long right now (not on purpose but because I have failed week after week to make an appointment for a haircut), and I became dorkily excited about putting it in a side braid and throwing on my black combat boots. As I started googling "Katniss Halloween costume," I discovered that it is not only not a genius idea at all, it is literally the "it" Halloween costume this year, meaning there are thousands (maybe millions) of people braiding their hair at this very moment and proving to the world that I am not creative or original in the slightest.**

I hope everyone's having great Halloweens (and East Coasters, staying warm, safe, and dry).

xo,
Rebecca

*not at all.
**I still plan to go as Katniss.

What's in a Name?

That's a picture of my baby (obvi, because it would be kinda weird if it was somebody else's). My curious, spitting-image-of-Dad, indefatigable baby. Leo, please don't hate me when you're twenty for posting this picture.

Up until now, I've only posted side or back-view pics of him because, like many other bloggers out there, I'm not sure how comfortable I feel plastering his face all over a blog he hasn't authorized or talked to his lawyer about. But I've decided to break my rule today because I think it's nice for readers to have faces to go with names, and I wanted those of you who don't know me to feel like maybe you will now, at least a little more. (Also, I think by the time Leo is twenty, privacy will have gone the way of Blockbuster, Netscape, and slap bracelets, so he probably won't give a shit).

So — that's Leo. And this is Mommyproof. Why the name, you ask? When this idea first started marinating in my sleep-deprived brain, it occurred to me that all of us new parents and parents-to-be focus so much on preparing our houses and lives for the baby. We babyproof our homes (and lives) – but it might benefit all of us to mommy (and daddy) proof them, too. How can we carve out schedules and metaphorical "safe spaces" where we can be parents but not lose our identities in the process? How can we shift everything while not shifting so much that we can't find ourselves in the chaos? (Tip: Don't think about it too hard or your brain might hurt).

Welcome to Mommyproof. Thanks for reading. Please know that Leo looks especially happy in this photo but as soon as he was done mugging for the camera he yelled for a stick of cheese and it was loud.

PHOTO CAPTION: I HEART DAD, and my shirt says it so it must be true.

Great Expectations

I had an abnormally social Friday last week that included a lunch with girlfriends (and babies!) and a dinner with girlfriends (no babies!).  Typically, my most profound weekday conversations are with baristas and under-2-year-olds, so this was a real treat. It dawned on me as I sat with my friends and their tots (and then later sat with my friends as we talked about our tots) that two/three years ago, we were mostly totless. Our lives were markedly different than they are now, after the Big Shift.

At the lunch, I was telling my friends about how, having left my full-time job, I am now balancing momhood with writing/freelancing/blogging/content creating, and it's hard, but I am determined to be the master of my own destiny and really take charge of my career so that I'm working towards the type of writing projects that really float my goat. As I was rambling on about all of this, my one-year-old was climbing out of his high chair and onto the table of the fish restaurant, and I was struggling to hold him down but mostly failing as he inched his way towards the center of the table (he's strong, guys. Like, maybe stronger than me. I'm honestly not sure who would win if we arm wrestled). Anyway, my friends all cracked up. "You're not the master of your own destiny," they laughed. "He is." I didn't see the humor of the situation until later, glass of wine in hand.

That night, at the aforementioned dinner, I asked my other set of girlfriends how they're handling the Big Shift. I said I felt like my husband and I have shifted about 80 percent of our lives to accommodate being parents, but we still seem to be clinging to that other 20 percent, which is the part of us that still wants to be in shape-have date nights-travel (within reason)-and-do-other-stuff-that-is-hard-to-do-with-a-baby. My friends offered the sage advice that it's all about your expectations. Sure, you can still watch the world series, but you might be doing it while playing in the recycle bin with your kid (try it. It's fun). Sure, you can still go running, but you might be pushing a jogging stroller. Sure, you can have a date night, but you're gonna pay big bucks for a babysitter and spend double what you used to (but then again, maybe you only go out half as much, so it evens out?)

How have your expectations shifted since you became a parent?

PHOTO CAPTION: Get out of my face, I'm drinking a milktail.

Friday Round-Up, or "What I Learned"

I learned so much from my readers (ie, you) this week. I learned that if you want to compost your biodegradable diapers, you can hire a service like EarthBaby. I learned that some coffee shops are kid-friendly, and parents do hang out there in the wee morning hours (I'll be trying Progressive Grounds this weekend and will give a full report next week).

What else did I learn? That there are some days when your baby just will not sit in his/her car seat, and you will (silently) curse the world, drop whatever you were planning on doing, and just give up and go inside. (If this happens again, I am planning on employing my patented-not-really "cheese strategy," which involves carrying cheese with me at all times to give to my baby as a peace offering. Will let you know how it goes).

Finally, I learned that my good friend has started an excellent blog you should all check out. Dr. Angel's online column is written by a new mom-slash-bonafide-pediatrician (Dr. Angel, duh), and it's brill! (I'm working on my British).

Have a great weekend!

xo,
Rebecca

PHOTO CAPTION: The jogging slog (otherwise known as "slogging") continues. I miss yoga. I am hoping to make it to my favorite hot yoga class soon, but 90 minutes (plus travel time) is hard to spare these days...

Dinner: An (Un)-Love Story

A few weeks ago, I had a total cooking crisis. This was not surprising, given that a) I tolerate cooking but don't love it b) I tolerate grocery shopping but love that even less c) I did love the idea of healthy, homecooked meals but wanted to plan menus, shop, and chop vegetables with a one-year-old in tow about as much as I wanted to watch any more presidential debates (all chores. All necessary but extremely un-fun).

I decided to email a few mom friends for some cooking tips and didn't expect to strike culinary gold... but I did. These supermoms had all kinds of tips and tricks for me, including some very tech-savvy solutions for 2012 parents (like Dinner: A Love Story, a delicious read with just as delicious recipes, and Cooksmarts, a weekly meal planning "newsletter"). They also told me about how they tackle the prep that's required with a homecooked meal. Some are slow cooker fanatics. Others enlist their husbands to watch the kiddos while they cook (while still another friend told me that her husband does all the cooking for the family. Hello, can I move in with you?) Another friend of mine explained that she's trained her small children to play quietly by themselves between 5 and 6pm—an excellent idea I hope to one day emulate. If I can. Without losing my mind. Or Leo losing his. Almost everyone agreed that the key to their cooking success lies in once-weekly grocery shopping to stock up on all the ingredients for that week's dinners.

I've done better than expected so far, in my little cooking experiment. I've even learned how to make stir fry (and then I've made it again... and again... and again). I totally ruined the quinoa, but who needs carbs, anyway?

What are your cooking secrets, and can I have them?! (I'll show you mine if you show me yours).

What's your morning routine?

My morning routine goes something like this: 1) wake up to the sounds of Leo asking politely (read: yelling) for me to come get him 2) roll over, mutter "I'll go get him" to my husband, and secretly hope Little Bear just suddenly decides to get some extra shut-eye (that's happened, like, never) 3) throw on contacts and brush teeth, then head into Baby's room, where my crappy mood almost always vanishes as soon as I see his near-toothless grin.**

On weekdays, this is what follows: 4) get Leo changed and dressed 5) throw on clothes (no shower, sadly) 6) plop him in chair with bottle and Cheerios 7) gather my stuff 8) attempt to get out the door to take him to his nanny share by 8am (he goes from 8-1).

Saturdays and Sundays are another story. Wee One has a knack for waking up even earlier on the weekends, and he's so rowdy that usually my instinct is to take him out (if Ethan's*** going to stay in bed, he might as well actually get some sleep and make it count)—but where? The only places that seem to be open at 7am are coffee shops. And, as I've quickly realized, coffee shops are for adult people who drink coffee. Not babies, who can only be entertained with a coffee collar or straw for so long until their little brains explode. Playgrounds are decidedly empty this early in the morning, and thus creepy, which I don't get, because WHY DOESN'T EVERYONE ELSE NEED TO GO OUTSIDE WITH THEIR BABIES? Are their babies sitting quietly at home, politely eating pancakes while mine tries to stage Word War Seven with his toys? (I acknowledge that I probably have an urban problem on my hands. Had we a huge backyard with some kind of jungly-gym, perhaps I could set him loose there. Note to self: get jungly-gym, even if it does take up entire backyard).

Seriously, though—I don't understand why there isn't a magical place in this city where all the parents of babies convene at 7am where they can drink coffee, set their kids loose on a bunch of toys, get their bearings and maybe even chill for five seconds in the presence of other tired parentals.

One final question for you: Why did the gods of Whole Foods decide that it shouldn't open until 8am? That can only be described as like, a crime against parents.

What is your morning routine?

**Sometimes Ethan mercifully takes over this step.
***Sometimes, mercifully, I get to enjoy this step.

PHOTO CAPTION: I am so sensitive to caffeine that I can't even drink the real stuff—this is decaf. Somehow that makes me feel like a fraud. Real moms drink coffee.

A Letter to Future Me

Dear Me 20 Years from Now:

I want you to remember that they were the hardest thing you have ever done. I want you to remember that you loved them the hardest you have ever loved anything, from day one. Except when they were screaming so loudly at 3am that they were out of breath, and smashing your head between the mattress and the pillow did not even come close to mitigating the pounding in your head or the muffled sounds of your spouse wondering aloud, "Why, God, why?"

I want you to know that you were completely overwhelmed by them all the time. Especially when they refused to sit in their car seats, would not (I repeat, not) eat the legumes/carrots/good-food-group-foods you so lovingly pureed for them in a special apparatus made just for pureeing teeny tiny baby foods. Especially when they had back poop. Especially when they cried and cried for Daddy, even when he wasn't the one who woke up so many times to feed them in the middle of the night that you seriously considered ways to contract avian flu just so that someone might have mercy and say, "Rest. I'll take care of you."

I hope that you finally got that rest. I hope that you have time for daily Pilates-Bikram Yoga-jogging (insert image of preternaturally serene woman in a downward dog pose here). I hope you finally finished reading one of those books by one of those Jonathans in Brooklyn. I hope you finally watched Downton Abbey. I hope you finally went somewhere (anywhere!) and turned your phone off. I hope your kids call you as much as you want them to (but not too much) and that you (sometimes) screen their calls because you're "busy." (I hope you are busy solving world peace-writing the next Pulitzer-winning novel-drinking Pinot-reenacting Fifty Shades of Grey). I hope your kiddos are now your best friends and give you those grandkids you so want (but don't beg, it's not flattering on anyone).

I hope you remember those years in technicolor detail. I hope you still think of their tiny feet and hands and smile. I hope that when you see a young, frazzled mom in the supermarket carting around three kids, you enjoy a nostalgic moment and then quickly flee the scene to get a manicure.

Love,
You

Boys Vs. Girls

I'm the mom of a baby boy. Wild as a bear cub, feisty as a ferret, he's frustrated when we entreat him to "play quietly," and downright mad when asked to stay put in his high chair/car seat/your lap without adequate entertainment. (His favorite toy of late? This rocktivity guitar, possibly THE BEST TOY EVER KNOWN TO MANKIND. Second favorite? A piece of paper. Go figure).

Cherubic face and heartstoppingly cute laugh aside, my baby is a wild man. He will fight, squirm, wriggle, twist and kick those chubby little legs like crazy if I even look like I might be considering restraining him. Diaper changes are legendary. Yet, I see other babies out there — calm babies — who appear to sit happily chewing a shoe for an hour, never moving more than an inch or so. Those parents look slightly more rested. Those parents look (slightly) more at peace.* And so, I ask the more experienced parents out there: is this a boy thing? Or just a baby thing?

*Peace isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Honestly

I've been wanting to do some more extensive research on The Honest Company for a while now — ever since Ethan signed us up for their sample pack of diapers, wipes, and baby products when wee one was about 5 months old. At the time, we had switched Leo's diapers from Pampers to Seventh Generation in an attempt to be more eco. We'd been skeptical about how the Seventh Gen would hold up* for some of the more "armageddon" of poops, but they did great, and we've been fairly happy with them since — though I'll admit we now use Huggies Overnights for the long haul 12-hour stretches while the Bear is sleeping. The Seventh Generation Overnights just didn't cut it, and bathing Leo, doing an extra load of laundry every morning, and cursing the day we were all born on a daily basis was not turning out to be an enjoyable routine.

Still, I've been contemplating cheating on our Seventh Gen-ers with The Honest Company's adorable, celebrity-approved diapers stamped individually with love by Jessica Alba (okay, that last part's an exaggeration). But I've wondered, are they really more eco, more earth-friendly, and more health-friendly for your baby than the other "green" brands? Some internet searching today has led me to conclude... that I am even more confused than I was before. From what I can glean:

a) There's great debate over all of this. There are no black-and-white answers. You'll read one thing one place and one thing someplace else. This article was particularly well-written, but it left me with more questions than answers.

b) The "most" eco way to diaper is to use cloth, but even that's up for debate, since it requires a whole lot of washing (read: wasted water). Right now, for our family, cloth feels like a full-time job, and gdiapers, the hybrid between cloth and disposable, require you to flush — which can cause toilet clogs — or compost to really get the full effect. (And even then, you can only compost wet diapers, not poop-laden ones. Maybe one day, when we've got a legit compost heap set up in our garden, we could try these).

c) If you do opt for disposable, you want chlorine-free, chemical-free, and a company dedicated to making their diaper-producing processes as earth-friendly as possible. The Honest Company's diapers claim to be biodegradable, but from what I read on the nets, it sounds like biodegradable doesn't mean squat if the diapers are dumped in a landfill (because landfills don't offer the right environment for things to degrade). So, unless you're composting the diapers, you're doing as much harm as you would with a regular old, run-of-the-mill Huggie.

d) You have to be a scientist to make much sense of any of this. English majors like me are just shit out of luck.

My final question about Alba's nappies: what's the price like? I'm not one for complicated spreadsheets or even, ahem, calculators, but from a quick glance, it looks like their "bundle" of diapers and wipes might be slightly more expensive than our current Amazon Subscribe & Save sitch, but not by a lot. So maybe we'll try them for a month. Would be worth it just for the cute designs.

Anyone know more about the great diaper debate? Please chime in!

*Don't try Whole Foods diapers or their generic versions unless you want to cry. It's like using a soggy napkin with holes in it as a diaper.

My Life is One Big Goal

A quick post for a busy day. Here's the deal: my life feels like one giant goal right now, or at least a lot of really tiny ones that all add up to one bjorkudden one (you're right, bjorkudden is actually a piece of Ikea furniture, not an adjective that means "big." But it's fun to use in a sentence, no?)

Goal One: run (let's be real—jog) off that poochy stomach. After losing the baby weight, eating healthfully, and doing a moderate amount of elliptical, I'm convinced it's going to take some real effort (and pounding the pavement) to really ditch the pooch. But it's also going to take a while to see results, especially at the rate I'm going. Let's just say, baby steps. Literally.

Goal Two: Write. My time is more precious and limited than ever, so I've gotta do this in fits and spurts. It's not a question of "if"—it's too important to me—but the questions of "how" and "when" loom every single day.

Goal Three: Get all that housework-slash-cooking-slash-childcare-slash-broken faucet stuff taken care of. The daily slog. We've all got it. It never ends. Let's not dwell on this one lest we get too depressed.

Goal Four: be a (good/engaged/animated/thoughtful) parent. This is the only goal that actually doesn't feel like one I'd rather fast forward a year to see the result. I wish time would stand still. Baby's already a year old, and that seems like too much. Stay little. Stay cute! (Just stop eating the furniture. That would be okay).

PHOTO CAPTION: Let them eat (smash) cake.

Question for you—HOW do you get it all done? I'd love to know.

How to Be Good

We spend months preparing for the arrival of our little ones. For labor. For whether we will (or won't) "get the epidural." We prepare Baby's room. We wash all the teeny-ridiculously-cute clothes. Our friends throw us baby showers where we realize we don't know what a Nose Frida or a velcro swaddle is.

Then Baby arrives, and we spend sleep-deprived days (and nights) worrying about whether we're breastfeeding enough. About whether we've chosen the right car seat, stroller, and developmental toys to make sure our baby doesn't get behind on crawling, walking, talking and applying to college. We compare nap schedules, feeding schedules, weaning schedules and pumping schedules. We compare attachment parenting, helicopter parenting, tiger parenting, French parenting. We wage mommy wars, nanny wars, and body wars.

But all the theories, philosophies, and accoutrement aside—what does it mean to really be a "good" parent? Moms in 2012 seem to judge each other—and themselves—on whether or not they baked the most cupcakes at the bake sale, whether they balanced the most amount of commitments, whether they wrote a book and chaperoned the field trip and started a company and went on an extended tour of Italy and prepared back-to-back gourmet meals. I'm constantly wondering if I'm a good mom, even though I'm pretty sure that's a really unfair thing to ask of myself. Isn't "good enough" the motto of most moms everywhere, at least the ones who've spent any considerable amount of time wiping chocolate off the walls or apologizing to the patrons of a restaurant where their baby has just screamed bloody murder for an entire meal?

And what about that other meaning of the word "good"? What about that chubby-cheeked, blue-eyed child sitting across from me scarfing Cheerios and kicking his little feet up against the kitchen island? I spend a lot of time stopping myself from telling my baby that he's a good boy.  I often pick a seemingly random but positive adjective like "thoughtful" or "patient," or even "thorough." But now that he's actually starting to understand—now that he's veering into toddler territory and is no longer my sweet little blob—how can I make sure that he's a good person? One who is nice to old ladies and hardworking and thoughtful, who gets good grades and doesn't copy essays off of Wikipedia? Who doesn't get a face tattoo or wind up in jail? Who sees past people's differences and finds the quiet strength to stand up for what's right? I can do what I can to make sure that if my kid falls off his bike, he's wearing a helmet, or if he hurts someone's feelings, he apologizes. But is that enough? How do I instill in him—really instill—a sense of right and wrong? How do I make him even better—kinder, more thoughtful—than I am myself?

If I could tell myself-one-year-ago one thing, it would not be which stroller was actually best (City Mini? Bugaboo?)—it would be to stop sweating about whether I pumped enough milk or when to start solids (four months? Six?!) It would be to start worrying about how to be a "good" parent. Whatever that means.

PHOTO CAPTION: Baby's first hair cut. He was extremely patient until the end, when he totally lost it and full-out wailed.

How to throw a party for a one-year-old (who won't know the difference)

How to throw a first birthday party in the park in seven painless steps:

1) Rent a table.
2) Set it up in the park.
3) Buy a ton of water and beer (more than you need, which you'll end up regretting, but at least you'll have beer later when people come over and want beer).
4) Get some cupcakes and a cake for the kiddo to smash (DISCLAIMER: do not attempt to make on your own unless you feel like punching a cat).
5) Visit Michaels. Construct a birthday hat out of thin foam board and yarn for a pom-pom while watching The New Normal on your laptop. Declare the pom-pom uneven (because you were watching TV while making it, obvi) but good enough.
6) Invite your friends for free via Paperless Post.
7) Drink a beer—you're done!