Patience Is A Virtue

I'd like to start off by saying that today I'm writing my 100th blog post! Yay! It's hard to believe that I've been writing on this blog for almost a whole year. I recall beginning last June, unemployed, depressed, and with little outlet for my complex feelings about motherhood and my life. I began blogging and it opened up a new world for me. There are times when things get hectic and I briefly ponder how long I will be able to keep up with it, but then something happens that inspires me and I run to my computer to write. It's also inspired me to write for other sites, like Random Blogette and Curvy Girl. This has not only brought new traffic to my blog but also has led to me finding some awesome writers that I'll be privileged to meet in person in a couple weeks at the Ohio Michigan Blogger Meet Up.

Onward with my topic today, which is patience. We've had a lot of wonderful things happen to us recently that have required quite a bit of waiting and praying. The first has been my husband's new job at a local police department. Jon has gone through years of military experience, schooling, and interviews to be able to begin his career in law enforcement. He has had many times where he has questioned whether it is worth it. He's made it to several second interviews only to be turned down. Jon turned his application into the particular department that has hired him two days after I had Amelia. That means he has waited 1.5 years for an answer from them. Through all that disappointment and hard work he has forged ahead and it has paid off. I am so proud of him.

Our family at Jon's swearing in ceremony

The other event that has required much patience is Amelia's sleeping arrangements. I have mentioned before that Amelia has never really been a 'good sleeper'. She seems to need less sleep than many other toddlers her age and sleeping through the night has taken a good deal of time. Frankly, I'm a little hesitant to discuss this here because I feel like I could be jinxing ourselves!

We have co-slept much of the time over the past year and a half with Jon sleeping on the couch (spare me your 'destroying your marriage' speech... it hasn't) due to Amelia's need for comfort nursing during the first year and snuggles since she has been weaned. Although it has been recommended to me upon several occasions that she needs to cry it out, due to my own personal feelings and beliefs, we have not gone down that road. That has required a lot standing my ground when speaking to others, many intense parenting discussions with Jon, and a lot of prayer and patience on my part. In the end, I've felt that Amelia has required a lot of response at night and that she would sleep on her own when she was ready.

Another piece of the sleep puzzle has been that our bedroom is downstairs while Amelia's room is upstairs. Therefore, when she wakes at night, we have to go through our dining room and living room, up the stairs, down the hall, and then into her room. NOT FUN. To salvage as much sleep as possible, it has simply been better for her to be in our bedroom. Recently, Jon suggested that we bring her crib downstairs and place it by our bed as he saw the signs that she could be ready for it (i.e., sleeping without being held and not waking much during the night). I felt that was a reasonable compromise and so, a week ago today we put her crib in our room.

Amelia has been up and down with how long she will sleep in her crib, but I would say that overall, this is a great arrangement for us and she is getting used to it rather quickly. Over the past week she has slept there for all her naps, and has slept at night anywhere from three to seven hours at night before she wakes up whining or crying. At that point, I scoop her up and we both sleep soundly until 7 a.m.

Last night was a particularly monumental occasion in terms of her sleep. We ate dinner somewhat late and were cleaning up the table and kitchen. Amelia looked at a couple books, then crawled under the dining room table and said "Night, night" while laying down. Jon and I looked at each other with disbelief. Jon shrugged and said "Worth a shot!", scooped her up, laid her down in her crib, sang a little song to her, and said "Goodnight!" while shutting the bedroom door. We could hear her babbling away in her crib, and I said "How long do you think she'll stay in there before she starts crying?" Jon responded "Five minutes." We continued picking up from our meal with our ears alert.

Alas, Amelia fell asleep on her own with no tears. Even more impressive? She lasted the whole night in her crib! I woke up at 5:30 a.m., made coffee and started up my computer and she woke up at 6 a.m. ready to start the day. Jon and I made a big deal out of it and I gave her lots of cuddles while she drank her morning milk.

I have to admit that patience is not always my strength. While I think I handle most of Amelia's bad days fairly well and have survived the past year and a half with very little sleep or broken sleep many nights, I can't say that it's always been a piece of cake. I do have to say though that being patient has definitely paid off. Going through this has taught me yet another life lesson on the value of being patient and sticking with what you believe in regardless of what would be easier or what others say to try to convince you otherwise.

Young At Heart

Amelia is a Sesame Street addict. We have 22 episodes saved on our DVR and she's seen them all multiple times. Although only 17 months old, she can sit through an entire one hour episode without moving. I can generally judge what kind of day we're having by how many I let her watch by dinnertime. When she was sick recently, I believe we hit a record number of four episodes in one day. I have them all memorized. I know all the songs. And actually?

I love it.

When I envisioned being a mom, all of this 'childish' stuff was exactly what I was looking forward to. Watching cartoons together. Coloring. Playing tea party. I enjoy all of it. When I can take her to her first Disney movie at the theater, I'm pretty sure I will be giddy.

There are rare occasions where I realize that she isn't even paying attention to her cartoons, and I can watch real grown-up TV where they talk about current events and so forth. It takes me about five minutes to turn it back to PBS Kids.

Not because she's whining over it. More because I want to know which cartoons are playing at the moment.

What can I say?

I guess I'm just young at heart.

Here are a few of our (my?) favorite Sesame Street clips:

Who doesn't love Adam Sandler?

NANANANANAAAAAA!!!! Cracks me up every time!

Set your piggies free... we should all remember to get outside and let the grass tickle our toes :)

Yuck Part II

Friday I shared that I had the flu. It was no fun, and caused me to miss tailgating at the UT vs. BG game, and many bottles of Octoberfest. On the plus side, it was super windy Saturday and so being sick was a good reason to stay in where it was warm, and my body probably can't handle a whole lot more regular beer this Fall drinking season. I need to start training for Christmas cookie eating season.

I was still feeling a bit queasy Sunday as I headed over to my parents for weekly family time. I was a little irritated that my weekend had gone by with me feeling like hell, as this flu also brought on killer headaches. I tried to focus on being thankful that I had not thrown up and that Amelia hadn't gotten my illness. Then I started pondering what my reaction would be when Amelia does get the flu at some point. I'm one of those people that will gag and be on the brink of vomiting myself when someone does so in front of me. I had been reassured by other mommies that when it's your kid, it's different. Much like being adrenaline charged at a horrible accident scene, you just kind of let your mommy instinct take over and become a puke-cleaning-up machine.

As if to answer my question, Amelia was throwing up by 6:30 p.m. At first, it wasn't so bad. I felt bad for her, I cleaned her up with my mom's help and changed her clothes. There, all better. I recalled how many mommies noted that their kids could hold down breastmilk even when they could hold nothing else down, and since Amelia will not take a pacifier, stuffed toy, blankie, nothing-but-mommy-when-I'm-mad-sad-scared-nervous-just-mommy-all-the-time-dammit, I figured she would feel better if she nursed.

She did. For about twenty minutes. Until it all came back up and then some.

I know, this is my most disgusting post yet.

And yet, while briefly grossed out, I mostly was struck with deep pain and sadness for my poor baby girl. At this point she was crying and sweating, scared and confused at was happening to her little body. And when I say little, I mean it. Amelia has consistently been in the twentieth percentile for her length. Her weight is always good and she consistently grows, she has adorably chubby cheeks, and she is generally healthy. But she's definitely a petite girl and just hours before we had a store clerk ask if she was six months old. She's almost twelve months. To see our little peanut be so sick, again and again-- I counted almost a dozen times that evening-- was more than I could take. By about the eighth or ninth time she got sick, I started crying. My dad hugged me, my mom cleaned her up, we got her comfortable again. About this time it was 9:00 p.m. and my mom announced that she needed to go to bed soon because she would have to get up for work in the morning.

You what now? Work? You aren't calling off to help me with Amelia?

I got that same overwhelming sense of who-in-the-hell-decided-I-can-keep-a-baby-alive that many parents get when they first bring their newborn home from a hospital. I panicked and grilled my mom for details about when I should consider taking Amelia to the E.R., signs of dehydration, what degree temperature is too high, when I should offer her fluids and tylenol. And, when my dad squeezed me as I cried, I wanted to look at them and say-- I can't do this. I'm the kid, you have to take care of me, take care of us. I don't want to do this adult thing anymore, I'm scared, what if I mess up and she gets hurt or worse?

Maybe I sound dramatic, a 30 year old talking about feelings of wanting to revert back to childhood when her own child is ill. All I know is that those feelings were so intense at that moment that recalling them now is bringing me to tears.

I did know that I couldn't ask my parents to call off work, so I had to take a deep breath and be strong for Amelia. And in the back of my freaked out mind, I knew that if she was super ill in the middle of the night, I could call them and still lean on them, ask them to come to my house and help me as I crumbled into a pile of emotion over my sick baby. I headed home, called Jon and asked him to pick up some pedialyte, wine, and candy pumpkins, scooped Amelia up as she started getting sick the second we pulled into the garage, and made up a little sick station in front of the TV, complete with blankets, pillows, and garbage can. We stayed up till 11:30 watching Despicable Me, waking once to be rocked again and take a sip of pedialyte that thankfully stayed down and then up for the day at her usual 6:30 a.m. Amazingly, as if nothing ever happened the night before:

I could not be more thankful that she recovered so quickly, and keep reminding myself of that today as she has a whiney ass challenging day. This is probably because she is still a little queasy and also, what better thing to happen the day after you have the flu than to oh, boy, get some more teeth in?

Poor Peanut.

Poor Mommy.

Where in the hell are those damn candy pumpkins?

Innocence Lost

We are definitely a book worm kind of family. Our coffee table is covered with books-- cookbooks, novels, how-to books, poetry, and now, children's books. I was thrilled when we were getting Amelia's nursery ready to take my childhood books out of storage and place them on her shelves. I added to her collection whenever I saw books on sale and envisioned many hours of reading time together.

Reading time is starting to be particularly enjoyable because Amelia is really beginning to understand that a book is more than a teething toy. She leans forward with interest when we read and helps us turn the pages. She particularly enjoys hearing a story after she wakes up from a nap so she can be cuddled.

It was with this in mind that I grabbed a couple of Golden Books off her shelves earlier this week after she woke from her nap. Randomly I grabbed two of the silver spined books with a smile, looking forward to holding Amelia close and rediscovering the stories of my youth. One of these books was The Lively Little Rabbit:

Looks sweet and whimsical, does it not?

I sat Amelia on my lap, held her close, announced the title of the book, and cracked it open with a smile. The only book I really remember the storyline of is The Poky Little Puppy, since I made my mom read it to me repeatedly. We began our story, Amelia looking intently at each page. Blah, blah, blah, there was a lively little rabbit, blah, blah, blah, happiness, blah, blah... wait, what's this?

A mean old weasel that EATS LITTLE RABBITS FOR BREAKFAST. WTF?!? I paused and looked at Amelia, debating whether to read on. Well, I mean, she's only ten months old, and it's a children's book, surely it will not get worse.

It did get worse. Much worse.

So, on we read, the bunnies devise a plan to stop the mean old weasel, working with some wise owl (which, um hello Mr. Author, owls freaking eat bunnies too, I looked it up) to fashion a dragon costume and scare off the weasel. OK, well, things are looking up for the bunnies. Surely they will scare the hell out of him so he doesn't eat the precious little bunnies.

Nope. There was a fatality. In the freaking Golden Book about sweet little bunnies.

And not just some foolish wandering bunny to teach any kind of lesson about following rules or anything like that. No, the weasel EATS THE GREAT GRANDMOTHER BUNNY. They even specify that it was great grandma on dad's side of the family. As evidenced here:

I was stunned. I don't remember death in this books when I was little. Perhaps my parents skipped over these parts, or maybe it just really isn't the big deal I'm making out of it. We finished the story and I put it off to the side to show Amelia's daddy when he got home from work.

As I shared the story from memory with him, Jon was also rather shocked. To show him that I really wasn't making it up, I showed him the book. After looking at the worst pages, he flipped it over to the back cover to see if the description involves the harsh reality of life and death in the animal world.

No description. Just this general happy talk about how lovely and innocent Golden Books are:

Really, Golden Books?!? Your books entertain, inform, stretch the boundaries of the imagination??? I suppose discussing how death occurs in nature is informational, but I was hoping to hold off on that part of Amelia's education at least till she's, oh, I don't know, walking or potty trained. Here, sweet little baby, let's read about animals eating each other, isn't that nice?

And here I should probably point out that I'm not a naive person. My family eats meat, my dad used to hunt. I've seen a dead deer in the back of his truck, and though seeing it made me cringe, I ate that venison (don't give me that poor Bambi crap, where do you thing your hamburgers come from? They didn't magically grow in the refrigerator case at the grocery store). I have no issue with Amelia knowing how nature really works and so forth. I just didn't anticipate that occurring at ten months of age or from one of my sweet childhood books.

I guess this does teach me an important parenting lesson though-- always preview your children's books, movies, etc. before just forging ahead and letting them read/view it. You really can't judge a book by it's cover!

Like Clockwork

Things in the Bryant household continue to be a pain in the ass hectic in the baby department. Amelia's second bottom tooth has popped through, her thrush has cleared up, and she is good to go in the pooping department. Despite this, her already not so good sleep habits continue to be not so great. Prior to going on vacation she was sleeping 3-5 hours in her crib at night then sleeping with me for the rest of the night. Now? Fourty five minutes before she cries for the first time. This weekend she also insisted upon waking at 5:00 and 5:30. When she made it this morning till 6:00, I was pretty darned happy. If I had the choice, though, I would take the waking early over the being up for an hour at 3:00 a.m., which has occurred about three times in the last couple weeks. Talk about a rough night.

Before vacation, she was taking 1-2 hour naps in the afternoon. Now, thirty minutes, although when they are shorter, she does take about three or four naps. The trouble with shorter naps is that she  is a little grumpy butt when she wakes. When you add that to a mommy that has not had good sleep and a little girl that has become so tied to her mama that she screams whenever she can't see her, it can be an equation for disaster.

I've generally avoided discussing Amelia's sleep history, how we handle her sleep patterns, or the reasons for my decision to co-sleep part time. This is mostly because I don't care to hear other people's advice or their admonishments about how I am further screwing her up by letting her sleep with me. But I'm not going to lie, I definitely have my moments where I doubt our decision to let her nurse to sleep and co-sleep. That is, until she starts screaming at midnight and practically turns purple by the time we get upstairs. Then, I remember that we have to do what's best for Amelia, and I'm pretty sure that letting her cut off her own oxygen supply is not super healthy.

I do have the dream that someday, like maybe when she's 12, she will actually go to sleep on her own or someone else will be able to put her to bed other than me. With that in mind, I decided to put her on a bedtime routine. At 10 months old.

That's right, I'm the irresponsible mommy that has been letting her little girl go to bed whenever she wants. During the first few months with a newborn, life is all about survival. I had sworn that by three months, she would be on a schedule. For various reasons, it didn't happen. Surely, though, by summer she would be on a good, solid nighttime routine.

Nope.

I've been so thrilled this summer that she has been fairly easy going-- at least until recently-- that I started doing all the things with her that I couldn't do or didn't have time for when she was fussy and I was working. Bonfires with friends, baseball games, vacations-- all things that would mess with a schedule if one was in place. And, due to her melt downs when she is separated from me, along with her refusal to sleep for anyone else, a babysitter is not a very good option. Of course, she would survive without me in the evening, but that person would probably never be willing to watch her again and I would worry about her the whole time we were gone. So, she's been on lots of adventures this summer.

Now that school is in, people are busy and things are settling down, so here we are in a nice evening routine. I like it to a certain degree. Giving her a bath every evening, as opposed to me giving her random baths whenever I could remember and notice grime around her neck, is a nice way to end the evening together because she enjoys it. She is also going to bed every night by 9:00, which is better than 10:00 or 11:00. The downside is, it's not helping her sleep more soundly, and for her, early to bed means early to rise. People who recommend earlier bedtimes for baby sleep to improve need to spend a week with the my little contradiction to every sleep theory that ever existed.

And so, the sleep battle continues, but at least I know when each battle is going to occur.

Naughty Little Monkey Update

After my rant earlier this week, I'm sure some of you wonder how much sanity I have left. That's pretty much up for debate on any given day. However, the short answer is, yes, things have improved. The day that I wrote that long complaint about her behavior, she was pretty even keeled all day, and then a nice surprise-- my parents came to babysit for a little bit. I'm guessing that my dad was a little concerned about me doing something drastic after reading my post that day. I think this makes a good, practical point about parenting-- it's always best to ask for help when you need it and to be honest about your feelings. If I had written some BS about how great mommyhood is, would anyone have offered help? No. Oh, and it helps to have awesome parents too ;) [wink, wink, Mom & Dad].

I'm also getting a few new products to help keep Amelia amused. I had originally bought Amelia a Chicco Activity Baby Walker. My friend's son loves his and it was half off at Meijer, so I thought surely this would help. She likes playing with the front of it, but refuses to push it. She gets angry and reaches backwards in a desperate attempt to find my hands so she can walk while using me for balance. So, that was pretty much an epic fail, although my cat likes the side levers. Yep, pretty much a seventeen dollar cat toy.

I had thought about buying a Juppy Baby Walker or some Baby Walking Wings, but was a bit concerned that she would hate them and then I'd have to mess around with returning whatever I bought. However, I posted something on Facebook about wanting recommendations, and a mommy offered to let me borrow some walking wings. I'm picking them up on Sunday and hope they help! Then I decided it was time that we got a wagon for Amelia. I wanted to ask for one for Christmas, but frankly, I'm desperate for additional things to do with her that will keep her fairly immobile. My mom found a Step 2 Wagon at Once Upon a Child-- has cup holders and everything. Amelia will be cruising down our driveway before we know it.

Last night was really nice because she went to bed by 9:30 p.m. (early for her, considering that she is often up till 10 or 11-- no criticism, please) and then she slept in her crib till 3:00 a.m. This is the longest she's done this since we came home from vacation. However, I must have bumped the volume on the monitor and she had been crying a while before I heard her-- she was completely freaking out (um, hence the reason we don't let her cry it out), screaming and acting like someone was hurting her. She calmed down quickly when I picked her up, but by now she was wide awake and stayed that way until 4:15 a.m. UGH. Perhaps I should mention here that I'm running a 5 mile race today. Yep. And, we have plans in the afternoon, so me napping while she does will probably not work out. Sigh.

Thankfully, we are coming up on a weekend, which means I will get some additional help from her daddy. And it's awfully hard to be upset in the morning when you wake up next to this little ham. I call this the Crazy Hair Series:

Mommy vs. Mommy

I've shared before that motherhood is definitely more difficult than I anticipated. While I knew that I would be fighting battles with my daughter at some point, I had no idea that they would start from the beginning. Hours of colicky crying, trying to get her to sleep at night, breastfeeding for hours on end, endless colds during the winter, thrush three times-- there have been many struggles already. These struggles had led me to reading many parenting theories and advice, mostly online. I've read countless articles, blog posts, and forums about the latest research, ideas, and opinions on anything from sleep to eating to schedules. This is what I've learned about parenting so far:

The biggest battle mommies face is each other.

Now, I'm sure to some degree that this battle is a little more bold and colorful online because much like cyberbullying, these ladies can hide behind the anonymity that the internet provides. I guess this makes them mommy cyberbullies. However, even in person, moms are not bashful about letting you know how you should be parenting your child, as if there is some kind of manual that you've missed out on along the way.

It's taken me many months to learn that Amelia is not like any other child because no two children are the same. That sounds pretty basic and maybe silly, but when so many people are handing out advice, you start to wonder if you are doing something wrong. Together we are figuring out what works best. Even though I thought she would be a crib sleeping baby on a rigid schedule, we pretty much fly by the seat of our pants and co-sleep part time. It works for us. I would not point my finger at someone else and say "You should NEVER let your baby cry it out! I do such-and-such with Amelia and look how perfect she is!" She's not perfect and neither am I.

Apparently, perfect parents do exist though, and they are sharing their advice all over the internet world. As evidenced in this mommy's post about her struggles with sleep training.

For those of you who don't have time to read the article, basically she is trying cry it out (CIO) with her baby. If you really want to experience some strong parenting opinions, search for CIO or co-sleeping on the internet. Or, read the comments in the above article. I particularly am fascinated with these:

"You are horrible. I am sad for your children. Lazy parents are the worst."

"...Even so I just wanted to let you that even on social networks and everywhere you are being portrayed as an evil mother that lets her child cry for hours on end. I’d be concerned about someone possibly calling child protective services…"

"I have been a big fan of yours for a long time. Not anymore :~( Leaving babies to cry it out, all alone, at such a young age is unnatural and awful. I don’t want to be a flamer but it breaks my heart. I’ve done a considerable amount of research into this as I am currently writing a book about peaceful sleep. The thought of all those babies out there crying themselves to sleep because some self proclaimed guru presumes to tell mothers to act in a way that goes violently against their instincts makes me so angry. Sleep training is bad."

"I do feel the need to tell all of you attachment parents that you folks are crazy! You are breeding kids with no ability to be independent and this is a detrement to their social health! By the way, there comes a time when sleeping with your kids is no longer appropriate, and maybe someone should call social services on you."

I assume these moms are rich, as they have determined the best way to parent and must be writing books and making millions.

Also, please note how one mom says children's services should be contacted for using CIO (which is completely different from leaving your child in the crib night and day-- just thought I should point that out before someone suggests that I'm saying neglect is OK) and another says that children's services should be called for sleeping with your kids. Calling the mom 'lazy' really got me too-- there is nothing more excruciating for me than to hear Amelia scream and cry, and it is obvious to me that the author of this post feels the same.

I left a couple of comments for this mommy myself, the first being supportive and the second being sarcastic (what else would you expect from me?) towards the mommies that suggested protective services be contacted dependent on which sleep theory you follow. It was difficult for me not to defend my choice to co-sleep, but much like engaging in a battle with your children, a battle with other mommies is a waste of energy.

My point to my long rant is this: Mommyhood is hard. We all have different tactics as we raise our children. Hug the moms you know, provide encouragement and support, and remember that we are all doing the best we can to bring up healthy, happy kids-- even if it's not the way you would do it.

Milestones... the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Amelia is reaching many milestones recently. It’s truly astounding, and one of my favorite parts of parenting. I think it’s amazing to watch her figure out new things and become ever more independent. When I compare her at almost eight months to the newborn days-- Wow. I mean, when they are just born, they can’t do a thing. Hell, if you let go of their little heads, there’s trouble. Compare that to now, when Amelia’s favorite thing is for us to throw her up in the air or let her fall backward in bed. It seems like such a big difference.

So, let’s see. What are some of my favorite things she’s doing right now… Well, sitting up seems like a big one. Jon thinks it’s hilarious to see her sitting on the couch as I’m on the internet or watching TV, her with her rattle. Good stuff. She can stand, but not by herself. Babbling is pretty funny, although I‘m slightly annoyed at her constant DA DA DA DA!!!! all day long when in fact it is MA MA MA MA who is taking care of her all day. I am working on waving with her which thoroughly amuses me. I wave. She stares at my hands. I wave some more. She wiggles her fingers and stares at them with a determined look on her face.

As she gets closer and closer to nine months of age, she is working on crawling. I don’t know how to feel about her impending mobility. This may be my first baby, but I’m no fool. I know that mobility equates to her getting into everything, which will be challenging as it is. Add to that my daughter’s determination (as in getting completely and utterly pissed when she is not allowed to get what she wants), and I am pretty certain that I have many battles in my future. People are constantly warning me about her teenage years, but little do they know that I already have one. She’s just stuck in a baby’s body.

So obviously, I’m pretty on the fence about her crawling. The real milestone that I didn’t know she would already hit is WHINING. Umm, hello, why didn’t anyone warn me that she’d be able to do that at six months of age?!? I thought that was something she wouldn’t be able to achieve until she was talking. At first, I thought it was kind of cute, and definitely more desirable than crying. Now that she’s been working on it for six or seven weeks, she is really getting it down. She starts with a few little whimpers, then increase to actual whining, then LOUD whining which graduates into a curled lip and tears. If she’s tired, she skips the first two steps and goes right into the loud whining. Not endearing at all.

The whining is probably the worst unexpected milestone. Other things that she does that I envision developing into acts of defiance include: looking past me when I‘m talking, shaking her head no, undoing her diaper (well, she can undo half of it, which is bad enough), and smacking things. At some point I’m sure she will figure out that the way to drive Mommy craziest is to combine all of those things into one string of frustrating actions.

She is eating solids, which was only really fun for the first week. Then it just became extra work. No teeth yet, and I’m not sad about it. I love the look of disappointment that crosses people’s faces when they ask if she has any and I say no. Um, I’m nursing here, people, use your imagination about why I’m not looking forward to her little gnashers.

Don’t worry, though… Mommy can roll with the punches.  I’m thinking ahead and have strategies up my sleeve. We are slowly working on baby proofing the house, converting the pack and play to the baby container it was meant to be rather than a changing table, and I’m looking into one of those baby jails large circular baby gates. The whining is pretty easily fixed by increased volume of television or music, sweeping the house, or throwing her in the stroller for a walk. She may be smart, but Mommy plans on being one step ahead.

Mama Bear

I recall taking a trip once with my family down to the Smokey Mountains. We parked the car at one of the scenic areas to look around. Shortly after getting out of the car, we spotted a couple bear cubs. How cute! That was when my dad demanded that we rush back to the car and get out of there. Why? I wondered. Dad explained to me that while the baby bears were very cute, where there are baby bears, there is likely to be mama bear and that she was NOT going to be happy when she saw the mass of people quickly gathering around her babies. As he explained, a mom’s job is to defend her babies, and we would not stand a chance against a huge black bear.

I’ve really been understanding how that mommy bear might have felt lately. I’ve probably mentioned before that my daughter has the tendency to be rather difficult. I know this and will admit it. However, there is something about someone else pointing it out that is hard for me to accept. I immediately want to defend her or make excuses for her. Although, maybe the reason that I become defensive is that I then frantically think there is something different I should be doing in raising her. Probably the only thing worse than feeling like other people think that your child is a pain in the butt is feeling like a bad parent.

So this, like many other parenting situations, I now fully understand. You know those parents that defend their kids when they are being absolutely out of control? While I don’t want to become one of those parents, I do understand. You love your kids through and through, even if they are awkward, rough, lazy, etc. I don’t want to become a parent who sticks up for my child even when she is wrong. I will do her no favors by not correcting her when she’s wrong or letting her get away with everything. However, I do understand how, as a parent, you believe your children are perfect. Nothing puts a bigger grin on my face than when people compliment her big blue eyes, her look of contentment when we dine together, or her cheerful smile. Equally, nothing pisses me off more when someone points out her flaws (as if I don’t know about them already… HELLO, people, I live with the girl 24 hours a day.)

Perhaps this post will encourage people to more creatively label children’s more negative aspects. Like when we were at the hospital after Amelia’s delivery and the nurse said “You’re baby is beautiful!“ I laughed and said that she probably says that to every new mom. I mean, what kind of witchy nurse is going to say, “Boy, your baby hit every branch on her fall from the ugly tree.” She told me, “Well, when they are less than cute, I tell the mom that he or she is very healthy looking. I don’t lie about cute babies!” This kind of line of thought has led to me calling Amelia ‘spunky‘ and ‘determined’, and I plan on extending this same type of courtesy to other moms as well.

Some Clarification

If you’ve read my posts thus far, you are starting to pick up a theme-- sarcasm. Hopefully you find this amusing. On my part, I will say that it’s genetic. Anyone who knows my family will tell you that it comes with the territory. I try to keep it humorous, and in person I try to wait to unleash it until I know you well enough that I know you can take it. Further, I generally separate sarcasm from just plain mean. Teasing someone lovingly is much different than an unkind dig. I’m not perfect, and on a bad day I make mistakes and hurt feelings like anyone else might. One of the better parts of my personality is that I will apologize if I make that mistake.

Anyways, I felt the need to explain the above because I realize I may make parenting sound like hell on earth. For those of you that just read that sentence and have children, you are nodding and saying but it IS hell on earth sometimes! Right. Sometimes. There are definitely times where you want to leave your kids in the monkey exhibit at the zoo and hope things turn out OK. Good luck, kid! Hope you like bananas and swinging from ropes.

I write about this side of parenting because in the first couple months of being a parent, I NEEDED someone to tell me that being a mom sucks at times. These are the comments you hear, at the hospital and for the first couple months of living with a newborn: “Oh, aren’t they sweet? Babies are so precious.” “What a blessing.” I think that in particular, coping with Amelia’s colic was particularly difficult. Every baby is different, and colic makes life extra trying in the beginning. So when people made the above comments, I would fight to not express to them how much I was hating being a mom. After all, I wanted this for so long, how could I now talk about how difficult it was, how I even sometimes had moments of regret?

I  hope that some tired mom will read this and know that someone out there understands what she is going through. I want her to know that it is completely normal and OK to want to put your child at the end of the driveway with a “for free” sign around the baby’s neck (I said want to, not to actually do it). Being a mom is exhausting, frustrating, dirty, disgusting, and sleepless. As my cousin Kendra once told me “You know, they torture people with sleep deprivation. What you really have there is a terrorist.” It’s what I think of every time my darling little angel (ahem, pain in the butt daughter) won’t nap or sleep without mommy. It makes me laugh so I don’t actually go ahead and make the aforementioned sign and plop her at the end of our driveway.

Another note: this blog isn’t meant to deter childless couples from having kids, and perhaps that’s why I really felt the need to write this. Coping with mommy hood requires venting and complaining. My time with other moms is vital to me continuing to be a good parent. Sometimes, my mom friends are unavailable so I have to complain to a childless friend before I rip every last strand of hair out of my head. This is generally a mistake, as I then have to see their wide-eyed no way in hell am I having kids after hearing THAT story! look. Not helpful.

But after seeing that look, I feel a little guilty because I know that the story I should have told is the one about how Amelia shakes her head ‘no’ about everything and laughs. How she squeals in delight when our dog approaches her. Her look of fascination when she stares at her hands. Her saying “YA, DA DA!!!!” when she awakes with a smile every morning. THOSE are just a few of the reasons I wanted to be a mom. Those moments are priceless and keep me going. They force me to let go of my selfish wants and make me work on being a better person so I can be a positive role model for her to look up to. So, if you choose not to have kids because of one of my vent sessions, that’s fine. At least when you made your decision, you know you’ve heard the true version of parenting and not some sickening sweet unrealistic version. And besides, as with anything else in life, the most difficult victories are the ones that make life worth living. Indeed, that’s the path I chose, the one that is both difficult and has beautiful treasures along the way, waiting to be discovered.

The Real Way to Bake a Carrot Cake

Yesterday, I made a carrot cake in order to celebrate my husband and dad's birthdays today. I wrote an instructional hub about it here: http://hubpages.com/hub/How-to-Bake-a-Carrot-Cake. Nice, eh? Pictures and everything! Nice orderly kitchen. Concise straight to the point directions. Should help many inexperienced bakers make a delicious carrot cake with cream cheese frosting.

It is not, however, how I made my carrot cake. I have a baby, remember? And although I have a husband that can sometimes help entertain her while I cook, bake, clean, shower, etc.,  he was busy yesterday afternoon mowing our yard. Unless we strap her down to the mower-- which sounds like a rather inviting idea some days-- he cannot help me with her while dealing with landscaping. So, I was on my own.

Now, there was a (brief) time when Amelia enjoyed helping me in the kitchen. I would strap her into her chair, and she would bat at the toys dangling above her or slobber all over the toys that I put in her lap. She would be happy for about an hour. Those days are pretty much over, at least for right now. This is because my darling daughter is working on becoming mobile. She is constantly kicking, slamming, waving, pinching, and pulling on whatever she can get her little limbs on. Therefore, being strapped down is not an option that she cares for. Even when I take the risk of not strapping her into her chair and keeping an extra good eye on her so she can wiggle a bit more in the chair, she is only happy for a few additional minutes.

Add to that an extra dose of whininess that has been going on for the past few days (a cold? teething? belly troubles? Who knows) and baking the birthday cake was a bit of a stressful event. Generally, I love to cook and bake. Yesterday, I couldn't wait for the whole event to be over.

Here is how you REALLY bake a carrot cake when simultaneously caring for a baby:

Gather ingredients. Start peeling carrots. Baby begins some minor whining. Stop peeling carrots so you can put her bib on and give her a chunk of banana in her mesh teether. This will keep her occupied for about two minutes. Turn off oven which is almost preheated because you now have to stop the whole production and feed her. And, if it takes an extra long time to feed her, your house will be ridiculously hot by the time you're done if you leave it on.

Ten minutes later, turn oven back on, put baby back in her chair, and resume peeling/grating carrots. She begins throwing a great big fit as evidenced here:

And here:

Note the blurriness of her arm. This is evidence of her flailing around in all her fury.

**As a side note, yes, I am a mean mommy who takes pictures of her child having temper tantrums. All these sticky sweet pictures of babies sleeping and smiling is not the true story of being a parent. I'm keeping it real here, people.**

Now I have to stick her someplace new. Let's see, she likes her exersaucer, I'll put her there. Insert baby, put several toys on the tray, give her a big smile and make fake happy noises. Return to kitchen. Stir sugar and eggs together and note that whining has resumed. Ignore. Add half of flour. Realize that whining is verging on tears. Go back into living room and frantically search for cartoons on TV. Why are there no cartoons on Saturday afternoon on any of the six PBS channels?!? And how have we lived here for almost four years without cable???? Take a deep breath and pop her Baby Einstein DVD in (thank you, Grandma and Grandpa Baltzell, what a great Christmas gift).

Let's see. Still need to finish cake batter. Mix in oil, rest of flour. Stir in carrots and coconut. Wait... I hear whining/crying again... AGAIN?! She doesn't want to watch Baby Einstein? Maybe she is tired of standing. Go into living room, lift her out of exersaucer, sit her on the floor and put boppy pillow around her to ensure safety, surround with toys. Watch eyes glaze over. Ah, good. Return to kitchen, spray pan, put batter in, pop in oven.

I think you get the drift. This whining/crying also occurred at the precise moment that I needed to remove the hot cake pan from the oven, mix up the frosting, and again in the evening when it was time to apply the frosting. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure I frosted the cake while holding her on my hip.

And yet, look how beautifully the cake turned out:

All I have to say is this: my family better eat every last crumb of this cake and compliment me after each bite.

Definition of an Amateur

There are some things that just pop in your head and you go with it. The title of this blog is one of those. While I lived under the illusion when I was pregnant that becoming a mommy would not consume me, let's be honest. I was hopeful. Naive. Clearly not understanding as to what the demands of being a mommy would be like, and how it would take over my entire brain.

So, now that I am trying my hand at writing, frequently all I can think of for topics is mommyhood. How to get more sleep as a mommy, keeping the house clean while entertaining my daughter, her development, parenting styles, how not to go crazy while being a mommy, etc. Rarely during the day do I think about politics, romance, travel (except in envy of those that actually still get to travel), making and reaching personal goals, fashion, or other such frivolous things. I do not have cognitive space for those things. Half the time I can't even find my cell phone or remember if I paid this month's bills.

I digress. When the title of this blog popped into my head, I decided to look up the definition of an amateur. According to Merriam Webster (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/amateur), the third definition of an amateur is "one lacking in the experience and competence of an art or science". Being a mommy is definitely an art rather than a science, and I generally lack experience rather than competence at this art. In any case, the definition confirms that this title was the one that I was going for.

That being said, I do have a few ideas for other posts that may steer away from mommyhood, so I'm hoping that I'm not scaring off all those lucky folks that don't have children. I may gather enough creativity on occasion to talk about my other passions. Cooking. Health. Nutrition. Counseling. Current events. Pets. Arts and crafts. Only time will tell.