Laying around all day is HARD. When you are a mother of two little boys under the age of 4 you never get a moment to just sit and enjoy life passing you by. You begin to crave solitude and the thought of a lazy day can leave you weeping with longing. Your first thought when told that you MUST lie down and let others do what needs to be done is "hallelujah- finally!" But that feeling of relief is quickly gone, only to be replaced with anxiety, guilt, frustration and anger. Anxiety because you start to think about all the things that need to be done, and 'how is it all going to be accomplished while I lay here?' Guilt comes in when you see how things are going to be accomplished- people who love you drop everything and rush in to help. It's incredibly difficult to let go and allow others to wash your floor, cook you food and fold your underwear. Do you know how much I struggle every time I ask someone to get me a drink of water? It's such a simple thing, and my brain tells me that I am perfectly capable of getting my own drink, so what in the world am I doing making someone else get up for me? I've had long talks with myself about my need for independence and also about acceptance. I'm not sure yet if I'm listening or not, but I've learned to relax and prioritize a lot more. I think.
The frustration and anger come into play because I am the mother of two boys under the age of 4 who have realized that mommy can't chase them down and beat them anymore. The first couple weeks I was still able to intimidate them with looks and voice, but recently that has lost it's impact. They now stand just out of my arm's reach, hitting each other over the head with t-ball bats while making eye contact with me, like they are daring me to do something about it. You should have seen Mitch's face the first time I threw the nearest thing (a stuffed bear) at his head. I think I also screamed something inane like "Stop hitting!". Unfortunately that only worked for a few days before they caught on that they could duck and weave their way through mayhem with minimal injuries. It turns out that Mitch is actually a natural runner in the serpentine fashion.
I've had to re-evaluate what's important for long term child development to get into a disciplinary frame of mind. For instance: is it vital to their upbringing that I get up to stop Mitch from taking a swing at his brother's head with a 2 ft rubber shark as Jack continuously rides his bike past the doorway where Mitch is lurking? Since they are both laughing I decide that no, it's not. Now I only move for screams and property damage, and honestly the kids seem to be thriving. Maybe I'll have to employ this reasoning after I'm allowed back into the fray. Actually, it might not even be up to me. We will be outnumbered since there will be three of the little monkey's running around and I might just be tucked into a defensive position until they leave for college.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Dads in the Playplace
Have you ever observed a dad with his children at the McDonald's play-place? The difference from that of a mom taking her kids to play is truly unbelievable. Last week I was lucky enough to watch a couple of dads in action, and the experience was one to enjoy.
We were in Sierra Vista's McDonald's, so the customer base is primarily military and it shows. On this particular day there was at least one father present who had the army mentality, and bless his heart he was being overrun by the enemy. I know he was probably there to give the mom some much needed alone time to 1. relax, 2. run errands or 3. run away to Fiji, but it will probably be awhile before this dad braves the torture of the hamster like tunnels alone again.
This young father had two little girls, both under the age of 3 and both were delicate, tiny and sweet little things. They were so fragile and beautiful that I wanted to cradle them in my arms and kiss their tiny faces. But that was a mom's reaction, not a dad's. Dad's don't coddle, they instruct, motivate and encourage.
After the girls finished their food, the older of them made it up to the top of the play-place only to get trapped in a corner that was too deep for her to crawl out of. The well she fell into was conveniently located next to a Plexiglas window, thus ensuring that everyone seated below got a front and center ticket to watch her tear stained face plead with her daddy for assistance. Her loving but distracted father told her she was fine and to just come down the slide, not knowing that she was trapped. The more he told her she was fine the harder she cried, pressing her tiny distressed face into the window and asking for mommy. I know she was thinking "Mommy would have been up here by now, and I really would be fine. This yahoo is going to get me killed." While dad yelled obscure instructions, another family's little girl went to the aid of the trapped princess but soon realized rescue was beyond her 4 year old capabilities and told the dad flat out that he needed to come up. I had to admire the guy's go get 'em attitude when he realized that there was no getting out of it. He asked one more time "I really need to come up?" and when confronted with two scared little faces nodding down at him, he took one last deep breath of fresh air and ascended into hell. As soon as he disappeared from view, his younger daughter let out a frantic wail and tried to follow. However, she was just over a year old and wasn't capable of negotiating the ladder, so she started up the steps on the opposite end of the gym, yelling for daddy all the while. This poor dad was trying to yell encouragement to the trapped princess in the tower, as well as soothing platitudes to the abandoned sweetheart at the bottom. Neither daughter was swallowing the lines he was feeding them and both grew ever more panicked and vocal.
When the overwhelmed dad lost sight of the smaller girl and couldn't get a reassuring response from her, my husband took pity on him and started yelling out directions that only another dad would understand. "You've got a bogie coming in hot on your six" was answered hollowly with a "Copy that" from somewhere in the labyrinth of the plastic tunnels overhead. Jordan turned to me and said that you know that the outing has reached it's conclusion when you need someone to vector you in on your kids, and sure enough- as soon as the weeping and sweaty little family was all safe on the ground, dad announced that it was time to go find mommy. Both girls seemed relieved with the news, and I imagine the reunion with their mother was all the sweeter for their near death experience at McDonald's. I'm sure dad was probably pretty relieved to have mom around again too.
We were in Sierra Vista's McDonald's, so the customer base is primarily military and it shows. On this particular day there was at least one father present who had the army mentality, and bless his heart he was being overrun by the enemy. I know he was probably there to give the mom some much needed alone time to 1. relax, 2. run errands or 3. run away to Fiji, but it will probably be awhile before this dad braves the torture of the hamster like tunnels alone again.
This young father had two little girls, both under the age of 3 and both were delicate, tiny and sweet little things. They were so fragile and beautiful that I wanted to cradle them in my arms and kiss their tiny faces. But that was a mom's reaction, not a dad's. Dad's don't coddle, they instruct, motivate and encourage.
After the girls finished their food, the older of them made it up to the top of the play-place only to get trapped in a corner that was too deep for her to crawl out of. The well she fell into was conveniently located next to a Plexiglas window, thus ensuring that everyone seated below got a front and center ticket to watch her tear stained face plead with her daddy for assistance. Her loving but distracted father told her she was fine and to just come down the slide, not knowing that she was trapped. The more he told her she was fine the harder she cried, pressing her tiny distressed face into the window and asking for mommy. I know she was thinking "Mommy would have been up here by now, and I really would be fine. This yahoo is going to get me killed." While dad yelled obscure instructions, another family's little girl went to the aid of the trapped princess but soon realized rescue was beyond her 4 year old capabilities and told the dad flat out that he needed to come up. I had to admire the guy's go get 'em attitude when he realized that there was no getting out of it. He asked one more time "I really need to come up?" and when confronted with two scared little faces nodding down at him, he took one last deep breath of fresh air and ascended into hell. As soon as he disappeared from view, his younger daughter let out a frantic wail and tried to follow. However, she was just over a year old and wasn't capable of negotiating the ladder, so she started up the steps on the opposite end of the gym, yelling for daddy all the while. This poor dad was trying to yell encouragement to the trapped princess in the tower, as well as soothing platitudes to the abandoned sweetheart at the bottom. Neither daughter was swallowing the lines he was feeding them and both grew ever more panicked and vocal.
When the overwhelmed dad lost sight of the smaller girl and couldn't get a reassuring response from her, my husband took pity on him and started yelling out directions that only another dad would understand. "You've got a bogie coming in hot on your six" was answered hollowly with a "Copy that" from somewhere in the labyrinth of the plastic tunnels overhead. Jordan turned to me and said that you know that the outing has reached it's conclusion when you need someone to vector you in on your kids, and sure enough- as soon as the weeping and sweaty little family was all safe on the ground, dad announced that it was time to go find mommy. Both girls seemed relieved with the news, and I imagine the reunion with their mother was all the sweeter for their near death experience at McDonald's. I'm sure dad was probably pretty relieved to have mom around again too.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Planetary Vacation
It's official. I've reached the level of pregnancy that makes me think I'm as big as a small planet. It's happened far sooner this time around than with my other pregnancies, and I think the reason for this is because of the early bed rest. All I do all day is lay around and get bigger. Not good for my self esteem, or the furniture. Trying to get into and out of bed becomes a routine that would headline successfully in any circus, and I often hum the classic "circus tune" while gasping and rolling around, struggling with pillows. The truly awful part of the ritual is that as soon as I'm finally comfortable, heaving a huge relieved sigh, I suddenly realize that I need to use the restroom. Now. Or, I need to sit up because of heartburn. And thus, the night progresses.
I am 27 weeks into my pregnancy and cannot see my feet. I am sure they are there because I use them to ferret out small toys and random legos, but I'm not sure anymore what they look like. Sometimes someone will tell me that they are swollen, and I nod like I already had this bit of information, but truthfully I'm just relieved to hear they are still visible and recognizable as feet. If they itch, I am doomed. They might as well be on the moon for all the good it does me trying to scratch. I roll around, rubbing my feet together like some sort of mad cricket, wishing for shorter legs or monkey arms in order to reach the sole of my foot.
Every time there's a knock at the door I think there is a very good chance that it's scientists with truckloads of equipment in order to document the all the seismic activity originating from this location. I'm prepared to show them how difficult it is to get in and out of a bed on risers when you don't know where your feet are, but I just don't know how I'll feel when I'm asked to become someone's thesis. Or maybe NASA will have a request to send me into orbit as a planetary stand-in for Pluto while it goes in for repairs for a faulty axis. I might even be a natural disaster waiting to happen and measures need to be taken to get me off planet before I shift the Earth's gravitational pull beyond what's safe. Here's a friendly warning: If one day soon, you are going about your daily life and the entire world seems to tilt crazily, I don't want you to have to wonder what's going on. Your first thought can now be "She's reached critical mass!" and make life saving decisions accordingly.
I have 9 more weeks at minimum, before Henry arrives (personal goal, anyway) and there's no telling how much bigger I will get. I'm hoping it won't get to the point of calling the National Guard to get me out of the house when it's time to go to the hospital, but I'm not going to be surprised if the doctors ask me if they can document the last few months "for science". Sometimes I worry about trying to get in shape after Henry is here, but then I remember I have Mitch and I realize that if I just shadow him every day, I will be rail thin in weeks. I'm pretty sure he'd be a fat child if he had a different personality, so I think it's a solid work out plan to just mimic his movements until I reach my goal weight again. That's what I'm banking on, anyway. However, I try not to think that far in advance right now, or I'll go nuts. Day by day, pound by pound, is the strategy and it's working so far.
I am 27 weeks into my pregnancy and cannot see my feet. I am sure they are there because I use them to ferret out small toys and random legos, but I'm not sure anymore what they look like. Sometimes someone will tell me that they are swollen, and I nod like I already had this bit of information, but truthfully I'm just relieved to hear they are still visible and recognizable as feet. If they itch, I am doomed. They might as well be on the moon for all the good it does me trying to scratch. I roll around, rubbing my feet together like some sort of mad cricket, wishing for shorter legs or monkey arms in order to reach the sole of my foot.
Every time there's a knock at the door I think there is a very good chance that it's scientists with truckloads of equipment in order to document the all the seismic activity originating from this location. I'm prepared to show them how difficult it is to get in and out of a bed on risers when you don't know where your feet are, but I just don't know how I'll feel when I'm asked to become someone's thesis. Or maybe NASA will have a request to send me into orbit as a planetary stand-in for Pluto while it goes in for repairs for a faulty axis. I might even be a natural disaster waiting to happen and measures need to be taken to get me off planet before I shift the Earth's gravitational pull beyond what's safe. Here's a friendly warning: If one day soon, you are going about your daily life and the entire world seems to tilt crazily, I don't want you to have to wonder what's going on. Your first thought can now be "She's reached critical mass!" and make life saving decisions accordingly.
I have 9 more weeks at minimum, before Henry arrives (personal goal, anyway) and there's no telling how much bigger I will get. I'm hoping it won't get to the point of calling the National Guard to get me out of the house when it's time to go to the hospital, but I'm not going to be surprised if the doctors ask me if they can document the last few months "for science". Sometimes I worry about trying to get in shape after Henry is here, but then I remember I have Mitch and I realize that if I just shadow him every day, I will be rail thin in weeks. I'm pretty sure he'd be a fat child if he had a different personality, so I think it's a solid work out plan to just mimic his movements until I reach my goal weight again. That's what I'm banking on, anyway. However, I try not to think that far in advance right now, or I'll go nuts. Day by day, pound by pound, is the strategy and it's working so far.
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