A New Mother’s Dictionary

I recently had a conversation with a friend of mine who had many questions about the changes a woman’s body undergo surrounding pregnancy.  As she grew up with out a mother and had no close female relatives, she only knew what had been presented in books.  I will go on record as saying that the current books available about preganacy are very informative and should be considered a great resource material.  However, that said, they are no substitute for a nitty gritty, reality discussion with an honest girlfriend.  Being that I am nothing with out being honest ( I am willing to tell you that your butt looks big or that your shoes are ugly in effort to help) I have developed a quick vocabulary list of conditions and terms that may be experienced in the antepartum period. 

Acne:  Even if you never suffered from this affliction before, the next nine months may introduce you to it.  I am convinced that the term “glowing” is just a nice way to say oily.  In my case the phrase “you’re glowing” surely meant, “you are sweaty and oily, lean forward I would like to see my reflection, I’m trying a new lipstick.”

Anger:  You know what it is, expect it.  You are likely to feel very a lot of emotions during this time and anger will likely be a common one.  If you don’t have it now, wait until your little bundle turns two.  I recommend gritting ones teeth as an intervention for this.  It is also a good idea to let your spouse know that while he shouldn’t take it personally, you may start to hate him.

Bacne:  This is the term for acne located on the back.  Bacne can be very upsetting because it is hard to reach and therefore hard to eradicate.  While pregnant with my oldest child I had severe bacne.  One particular pimple became so large and so painful,  I had to seek help from my husband who recoiled upon first sight of the thing, complaining that the pimple had it’s own heartbeat.  As an act of love and mercy, he bravely lanced it and squeezed out the demons, allowing me to once again lay on my back.

Bored:  Expect to feel this way when going to a party while in the family way.  Your friends are sadly not as interesting when you are sober.

Cankles:  A condition associated with the swelling of the legs by which the ankle and the calf morph into one entity.   For example, “I can’t wear those shoes, the strap won’t fit over my cankle.”

Dingleberries:  There is a good chance that with your expanding waistline, your personal grooming after number two will be slightly compromised.  Please take drastic measures to avoid this.  I recommend trying to wipe from different angles.  Do not be afraid to try using the new moist toilet wipes.  They are God’s personal gift to those who poo.  Short of putting the Charmin in the freezer, there is no greater bathroom refreshment.

Exhaustion:  This is natural.  Do not feel that there is something wrong with you.  It is okay to go to sleep right after “Jeopardy.”

Embarrassment:  Get used to this.  Babies may cry at inopportune times, but nothing compares to what a toddler will do to destroy you.  The kicker is that later your child will complain that it is you who is the embarrassment.

Family Fun:  You will put a ridiculous amount of pressure on your self to have this, however, it is a myth.  Family fun happens, it is not created.  This is a topic that will be explained in detail at a later date.

Frig:  You will now have to develop new swear  words to avoid saying the real articles.  You will spend your life censuring yourself and after your youngster’s first day at school he will come home with a new vocabulary that will make sailors blush.

Gas:  You know what it is.  Expect it.  Do not be embarrassed, farts equal funny.  Once your pregnancy gas goes away, your baby will come out sounding like an M-16.

Hair:  There is a chance that you will become the bearded lady for a few months, but this is temporary, do not be afraid to wax. 

Heartburn:  More than likely, everything will give you heartburn.  There is an old wives tale that says if you have heartburn it means that your baby will have a lot of hair.  I have had two children and according to the tale I thought they might have been monkeys, but they were born human and while they both had a full head of hair, they were hardly the wookies that I was expecting.

Incompetent:  As a new parent, you will have an overwhelming feeling of incompetence.  This is normal, try not to freak out about it.

Jelly:  The new consistency of your lower abdomen.  Once you have a baby, you will be faced with a bag of doughy flab where your belly button used to be. 

Kids:  The obnoxious end to the whole pregnancy.  Those wonderful babies will turn into kids.  Be prepared.

Love:  You will learn the meaning of love the moment you give birth.  This love will be tested beyond your wildest dreams.

Muffin top:  See Jelly.  They flab that sits just above your pubic area.  Also called a FUPA (fat upper pubic area).

Nipples:  When breastfeeding they will become their own entity.  I am relatively certain that while breast feeding my youngest an image of them was captured from a satellite. 

Nuts:  Part of the important phrase, “You kids are driving me NUTS!!”  Learn it, you will say it often.

Obsolete:  Once your maternity leave is over, you may fear that you will be obsolete.  This is not true.  Six weeks is not as long as you think.  Your coworkers have just gotten used to you being gone. 

OB/GYN Path:  The rut you leave in the road from your frequent trips to the doctor. For example, “Is it Monday again, time to get back on the OB/GYN path.

Overextended Bladder:  You will exceed the limits of your bladder while preparing for ultrasound.  For example, “Please don’t drive over the rail road tracks, I have overextended my bladder.”

Poopy Diapers:  Brown is the new black.  Between infancy and potty training you will change roughly one billion dirty diapers.

Pump:  The bane of the breastfeeding mothers existence.  You will probably have to use a breast pump at some time.  This is both the best and worst thing you will experience.  As the suction begins, you must hold your breath and swear as it is the only way to keep from crying.  For a five second period of time you may feel that your soul is being sucked out of you via the nipple.  I often felt that putting my nipple in the pencil sharpener would hurt less.  Once this initial pain period passes you will feel a rush of exquisite relief. 

Quiz:  Once that wonderful baby turns into a toddler, life becomes a quiz of why, why, why?  You won’t know all the answers and you won’t care.  You will most likely just want a drink.

Rank:  As mother, you outrank all other family members.  Sometimes you may have to pull rank, for example, “As his mother, I don’t think he should eat M&M’s for breakfast.”

Roids:  I’m not talking about bulking up with steroids, I’m talking about hemorrhoids.  Know that it can happen to you, don’t live in denial there is help available.

Sex life:  It will take some time before you become reacquainted with this concept.  During pregnancy and for sometime after birth this will be a myth, a legend, as rare as the white buffalo.   With any luck it will rise from the ashes, if not, have no fear, Vodka and fancy underwear have fixed more difficult problems.

Toddler:  Perhaps the most frightening creature on the planet.  The toddler possesses no decorum, logic or natural fear.  Do not let your guard down when handling these creatures.

Ugly:  You will probably feel really ugly while you are pregnant.  Regardless of what you look like, the process of  childbirth will destroy your self image.  Try not to get too bent out of shape, it can always get worse.

Vanity:  Vanity needs to be put on hold for a few months surrounding child birth.  See ugly.

Whining:  The native dialect of children.

Xanax:  Prescription drug previously known as “mother’s little helper.”  Mick Jagger knew of what he spoke.

Youth:  Truth be told you will lose your youth to your children.  My oldest child is 4 and I feel I have aged decades in those 4 years.

Zoo:  Children will make you feel like you live in a zoo.

Read Me

One of the best baby gifts I received was a basket of kids books put together by my co-workers. They each chose several of their personal childhood favorites–well, almost all of them did. It was pretty obvious that one of the gift-givers wasn’t a reader, or couldn’t recall what she’d actually liked as a kid. She fell pray to some clever marketing and gave me an adorable  boxed collection of classic fairy tales, delivered in wee board book format. The result: what looks cute on the outside makes no sense whatsoever on the inside. The stories are truncated to the extent that the classic tales are almost unrecognizable. I must say that almost every other book in the basket was a winner, however, including One fish, two fish; Fox in Socks,  Goodnight Moon, Goodnight Gorilla, and many other wonderful books. In the years since, we’ve been given many books by well-meaning souls and I’m here to say that one should NEVER give a book a small child without having read it themselves. No, not once. Read it at least four times in a row. Better still, to have read it several times a day for weeks on end because that is what the receipient’s parents will have to do as long as the book is in their possession. I add this last bit because I have actually thrown away two of my daughter’s books. While the mini fractured-fairy tales will likely be donated to a local book drive, there have been a couple of titles inflicted upon us that I think will do more harm than good. While I curse my (otherwise marvelous) mother in law for the stunning, yet almost unreadable, pop-up books she’s given us, my own mother gave us one charming little tale about a greedy hippo (or was it an elephant?) that I read twice before deciding that it wasn’t working for me as a cautionary tale about selfish behavior. Rather, it struck me as a bulimia primer. Seriously, this book was all about not eating too much, because you will get fat and then others will make fun of you. Now I’m all about keeping kids a healthy weight, but this book took it to a dark place best left out off the toddler reading list (she can wait until the ‘tween and teen fashion magazine phase for these inevitable lessons, thanks).

So now that I’ve come out as some sort of preschool lit fascist, let me tell you about the book that is headed for a landfill today: I Have to Go! This book was given to me by a well-meaning co-worker that adores the author, who appears to have published a great many titles, even winning some critical acclaim. But take it from me, this book is all about refusing to go to the bathroom at an appropriate time. Nope, at no point does the lad in the text learn that going to the bathroom when one is available preferential to causing massive delays or, say, peeing the bed. In fact, grandpa is there at the end of the book to reinforce the inevitability of potty issues. Uh, perhaps the author is a hyper-realist who knows that every kid on earth will, in fact, torture their parents by withholding pee until completely clad in snow gear or until miles from the nearest rest stop, but come on… Do I really need to read this lesson over and over until it is drilled into the head of my toddler in much the same way as are all the words to My Darling Clementine? Okay, I don’t want my toddler to date a guy who can’t rescue her from drowning, but at least Clementine actually makes it clear that if the narrator had learned to swim, he’d still have the love of his life.

You can lead a toddler to water…

Two words can bring my household to a standstill.  Uttering the dreaded phrase can bring about a palpable anxiety in all of us.  Sippy Cup.  Simply typing it just made my heart skip a beat.  Most parents can expect to go through a transition from sippy cup to regular drinking glass.  I went through a 48 hour white knuckle, old west style stand off.  A true battle of the wills, master to master. 

I am stubborn, that is no secret to anyone who knows me.  My three year old, gives me a run for my money, after all, he learned from the master.  Since the child was in-uetero he has grit his teeth and stomped his foot at my decisions.  If I ate garlic, he kicked me in the ribs, if I lay down to sleep, he would punch me in the bladder causing me to get up.  Fast forward three years, the battle ground is all around us, and the front lines are the topics of my choice. 

Toddlers are known to be contrary, it is necessary for them to grow a sense of independence.  My child takes it to the next level.  Contrary is simple, argumentative is a sport.  Like any sport endurance is key.  My young grasshopper is growing stronger and his endurance can be measured not by minutes or hours, but by days.  It is important when raising toddlers to stand your ground and not give in to their terrorist demands.  No, you can’t have cereal for dinner.   No, you can’t put your brother in the freezer, these are common battles.  Nothing had prepared me for “Sippy Cup Battle Royale.”

“Sippy Cup Battle Royale” began on a Monday morning when, as my husband and I decided, we took away the sippy cup.  A tantrum ensued.  My child went through the house like a tiny little tornado of terror.  You see, the sippy cup had become a security blanket of sorts, a tiny little piece of comfort in a sea of uncertainty (also known as a stable structured family in suburbia).  My little angel became a crying, screaming, snivelling demon.  He threw things and demanded the return of his beloved sippy cup.  I refused.  The drama continued.  I gave him a new cup in his favorite color filled with his favorite beverage.  It was poured out on the floor infront of me.  I did not retreat, I cleaned the mess and punished the bad behavior. 

Again, the cup was offered and my son took a drink and spit it out.  Enraged, I did my best to grit my teeth and pretend to be a good parent.  The day continued.  At 3:00 p.m. my son had refused to drink anything if it was not in the preffered cup.  I refused to break.  I stood my ground.  I upped the ante, by taking my child to the park where I knew he would play hard and become thirsty.   When he asked for a drink, I again presented to new cup.  Again, it was refused.  ”I’m really thirsty!” my son cried.  “So drink this!!” I answered.  No was the response again and again.  “Fine, be thirsty” I decided.  This went on the rest of the day.  Neither of our stances changed and neither of or facades crumbled.  The stand off was on and my opponent was showing no signs of conceding. 

My husband came home from work and pushed the new cup, still, no budging.  By bed time, my child had still not taken so much as a sip.  My exterior remained cool, but inside I was starting to worry, the child had not peed all day.  Would he dehydrate himself just to spite me?  The answer, 48 hours later was not clear cut.   He stood his ground as long as he could, but eventually his thirst won.  Two days into the stand-off my toddler conceded and took his first drink in a real cup.  “This is good,” he said as he polished off his second cup. 

 Meanwhile, I had ground me teeth down to nubbins and I had worn a path into the carpet from pacing.  My victory was not as sweet as I had hoped, but I had stood my ground and hopefully had proved the point that he won’t get everything he wants.  This battle was just one of many in the course of parenthood, two weeks later, I feel I can finally exhale, but if you bring up the topic, I may just punch you in the throat.

Hard Habit to Break

I have spent my life saving new items for “good.”   An insanely stupid habit that involves never, never using a new product, wearing a new garment, or sitting on the new furniture.  I then ration these new items out for use on special occasions, also known as “good.”  A new item could never be used on say a plain old Thursday afternoon, it must be saved so that its maiden use could be savored at a dinner party, on a date, for an interview, etc… 

I don’t know where I picked up this crazy habit or even why, its not as if people at a dinner party know that I am wearing a brand new pair of pantyhose that have been sitting in the closet, sealed in thier egg for 18 months and not a pair that were worn washed and hanging on my shower curtain rod.  What difference would it make to anyone?  I hardly think people would be impressed to know that I was wearing “new” jeans to go to thier cookout (granted they were purchased 7 months ago and have been waiting for just such an occasion).  I fully understand the stupidity of my “saving for good” policy. 

My husband above all others is appalled at this habit, it infuriates him that I have a closet full of clothing with the tags still hanging from the sleeves, and shoes in thier original boxes,  just waiting for an occasion worthy of thier newness.  You see, he will never understand because he is decidedly not a “saver.”  Things are used as they are needed regardless of the situation.  I have even witnessed him (gasp) buy something and wear it the same day with out even the slightest fanfare.  I have tried to convert him, but he, like the rest of the sane world, finds the saving policy insipid.  In fact, he has tried to set me straight on this, but even though I know better, I can not seem to change, though my policy fails me again and again.  By the time “good” comes around, styles change, sizes change and my own tastes change.  Never has the policy seemed quite as absurd as it did this morning as I went through my spring wardrobe and discovered a beautifully embroidered maternity tank top with the tags still intact.  I have not been in need of a maternity top in roughly two years, unless you count the bloating I had last month,  yet there it was hanging in the closest, having never seen the light of day.  “What a waste,” I muttered as I put it in a box destined for the Salvation Army.   Which is ironic, because I originally saved it so that I wouldn’t waste it’s beauty on the everyday mundane.  But, maybe, if we all used, or did something we loved for no ”good” reason, the everyday wouldn’t be so mundane. 

Death By Doritos?

The title of this post is based one a quip made by one of my coworkers, who sent me a link to an article in the New York Times bearing the headline “Death by Veganism.” He knows that my daughter is being raised vegetarian, per the wishes of my vegetarian husband. As the Times restricts archival access to registered users, I will share the compelling lead here:

WHEN Crown Shakur died of starvation, he was 6 weeks old and weighed 3.5 pounds. His vegan parents, who fed him mainly soy milk and apple juice, were convicted in Atlanta recently of murder, involuntary manslaughter and cruelty.

My first thought was, “How stupid are these people?” My second was, “Why in the hell weren’t they breastfeeding?” The author of the Times article goes on to make the assertion that a vegan mother’s milk would not provide all of the essential nutrients for an infant, but while a child lacking sufficient Omega 3’s might, say, not have the shiniest hair in daycare (okay, DHA does more than that, but let’s not over-reach, either; besides, flax is a good vegi option), no way will any breastfed child starve to death either. Children are breastfed in impoverished circumstances the world over and survive.

Breastfeeding aside, let’s return to the issue of ignorance. Any mother should make nutrition a priority before and after childbirth. However, my own very-intelligent OB GYN is raising two children who are overweight and under-nourished. She lives on protein bars and giant iced coffees so they don’t exactly have a role model for optimal eating. When I was pregnant, I told her that it was tough to give up fish (mercury), blue-veined cheese (lysteria), and that I felt guilty I could only reduce my three cup a day coffee habit to one. She was stunned that I had done this much research into what I should or shouldn’t eat while pregnant, but I can’t imagine a subject that merits as much effort.

Except, perhaps, feeding my growing girl. I suppose it is because she is vegetarian that I “bother” to know how much protein a child should ingest. I see the sources of protein parent’s find it acceptable to feed finicky toddlers and I’m proud that my daughter eats tofu and that we food combine and supplement as needed. She also eats a colorful assortment of vegetables, which is a relatively easy way to ensure a spectrum of vitamins.

So what does a tragedy like the one in the Times article come down to? Certainly not veganism. It is ignorance, plain and simple. When my coworker asked what I thought of the article, I said it begged the question how many children in the U.S. (the numbers worldwide would be too daunting) in omnivorous families die of malnutrition each year. To which he replied, yes, Death By Doritos.

Legoland

My husband has been a tad Lego crazed since boyhood. He has now infected our daughter. It all started with the Holiday Lego Train, and has since spread to every corner of our home, from auto racing in the living room to more traditional structure building in the office. He and his mother have been digging up all of my husbands childhood toys, and from the look of some of them, they were literally buried in the yard. Now I’m sure every mom out there has had to clean kid crud off of toys and has cursed the nook-and-cranny loving idiots who design them for maximum crud collection. Okay, I’m off that rant now. Anyhow, to save me from hours of soaking and scrubbing, my husband looked online and found out it is safe to run Legos through the dishwasher. So I dug out the lingire bag (ya! it has a use!) and loaded up the pieces for a china cycle. Unfortunately, it wasn’t terribly effective so husband heads back online to clarify. Oh! Silly us! One needs a special Bosch Lego-certified dishwasher. Who knew? I admit it, I do love the silverware tray… maybe the lego infection has gotten me too. If I had the Bosh, at least our Legos might not infect others.

Keep on Truckin’

“Mommy drives slow. Daddy drives fast.” So sayeth the three year old, in that unequivocal tone only a child can muster. And, comparatively speaking, she is entirely accurate. I drive maybe 5-10 mph over the limit and he drives, oh 5-10 mph over mine. Daddy is a fun driver, as it turns out. “He goes bumpy bumpy bumpy” “like a roller coaster” over the back roads around our house. Oh but wait, there’s more. Daddy also is the proud owner of a truck that all the little boys (okay, and most of the men) in the neighborhood dig. No, it isn’t fast. It isn’t Monster-ized (though it is arguably monstrous). It is a 1976 Dodge Powerwagon, painted green camo, with decorative rust and fetching holes and dents rounding out the look. But in case you don’t know about Powerwagons, they live up to the name; they can literally drive over stone walls and withstand fairly formidable collisions. Oh sure, you say, how do you know? Oh, I know. I know because one of the most exciting activities for guests to our home is going for a truck ride. Yes, toddlers and parents alike are treated to rides up our cliff-like property, over any obstacle–it may require veering considerably to encounter one–and sometimes right into trees. While I feel certain there are so very many parents out there shaking their heads and saying “I’d never…”, there’s also the guy in my office who has two sons with massive matchbox collections. When asked what their favorite vehicle is, they invariably reply “a camo pickup truck”, even a year later. So who am I to argue? Dad does drive faster, and funner.

Humans Being

Bathtub chat with my three year old last night: “Mommy, I’m a kid.” mmhmm.
“Mommy, you and daddy are people.” mmmhm (absent-mindedly flips magazine page).
“But I’m not. I’m a kid.” hmm? (looks up, interested now)
Well, honey, actually, you are a people (okay, person) too. “No, I’m not” (affronted) I’m a kid.”
Well, honey, babies, kids, teenagers (humor me for the sake of this discussion), and adults are all people. “We’re all people?” (look of awe and, yes, a hint of mortification)Yes, my dear girl, people are people.
(In retrospect, I’m not sure I really added much in this exchange.)

Strangeness on a Train

As mentioned, I traveled into the city for a conference this week. On the way home, I got stuck on a train as the result of a bizarre storm in which high winds and lightening were taking down trees and tossing them across the train tracks. (Why don’t more people carry chainsaws?) I spent five hours making a 1h 15m train trip on two train rides broken up by an hour sojourn on a school bus.  As if the trip itself weren’t dreadful enough, some passengers became irate over a missed stop and others even more so about the delay caused by the passengers hitting the emergency stop to try to get the conductor to back up the train to the missed station. One actually threatened to strike the conductor. Oh yes, this trip was a laugh riot. Once I got to my train station, I got my first taste of the storm that caused all of this trouble… (it stayed just ahead of us the whole time)… as I trudged miles through the parking lot to get to my car. When I got there, soaked, my car was in about six inches of standing water. Ya, that was nice in sandals. Needless to say, when I finally got home, I was stressed beyond recognition. My husband and daughter greeted me at the door. I sat down to remove my sloshy shoes and my girl walked up to me and touched my cheek in the most gentle, loving way. “Mommy, were you stuck on a train?” Yes, honey. “Mommy, you are alright now.” Yes. Yes I am.

Over the Falls in a Barrel

My children are insane thrill seekers.  I know I have alluded to this in the past, but today’s events seal the deal.  Picture it:  an average afternoon in suburbia, mom ironing the laundry and the kids playing together in the clothes basket.  Is there a more idyllic scene of the American family? 

 Follow this with a soundtrack of thumps, thuds and a crash so loud it shook the house.  I immediately sprinted out of the bedroom and down the hall to see what all the commotion was.  The scene I came upon was a gruesome one, and one that as a parent with a two story house, I had always dreaded.  Both of my children lay in a heap at the bottom of the steps.  I ran down the stairs panicked and quickly assesed the children for injuries.  You could imagine my surprise when the kids started to giggle.  “What is so funny?  You could’ve broken your necks!,” I yelled.  I actually saw red when they told my that they were riding down the stairs in the clothes basket.  My mind quickly went back to my own childhood when my brother and I used to play a game called “stair luge” which was strikingly similar to this and actually elicited the same response from my own mother.  So, I guess the insane thrill seekers didn’t fall that far from the insane thrill seeking tree, after all, I do have two toddlers and if that isn’t death defying, nothing is.