What do you mean by practice baby?? - suzmon's Blog - SacMomsClub.com

What do you mean by practice baby?? - suzmon's Blog - SacMomsClub.com http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon I'm a first time mother. While I'm aware that what I'm experiencing is in no way unique, I really am very unprepared. I'm a tightly wound, type A personality. I'm usually fine with things not going as expected as long as I understand why. Unfortunately, they seemed to have misplaced the manual when my baby was born and this poor kid has me for a mother. I'm a first time mother. While I'm aware that what I'm experiencing is in no way unique, I really am very unprepared. I'm a tightly wound, type A personality. I'm usually fine with things not going as expected as long as I understand why. Unfortunately, they seemed to have misplaced the manual when my baby was born and this poor kid has me for a mother. en-us Nailed http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9365 http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9365 <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type" /> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId" /> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Generator" /> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Originator" /> <link href="file:///C:DOCUME~1SUZANN~1LOCALS~1Tempmsohtml11clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List" /><style type="text/css">  </style> <p class="MsoNormal">If anyone has any suggestions or experiences they’d like to share, I’d love to hear them:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“It’s time.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“No!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Come back here!<span style="">  </span>It’s got to be done before someone, meaning me, gets hurt.”<span style="">  </span>I hear a muffled, exasperated sigh.<span style="">  </span>“I can see you.<span style="">  </span>Throwing your jacket over your head may work on the baby, but I’m onto that trick.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I pulled the hoodie off and tried to look pathetic.<span style="">  </span>It wasn’t hard.<span style="">  </span>“I don’t have the stomach for it.<span style="">  </span>Besides, you trained for this in the army.<span style="">  </span>You went through jungle school.<span style="">  </span>You know how to use a machete.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My husband put on his patient face.<span style="">  </span>“True, but the army didn’t train me to use baby nail clippers.”<span style="">  </span>He shuddered.<span style="">  </span>“Those things scare me.”<span style="">  </span>Said the man who walked passed anacondas and snakes (Fur-De-Lance) whose venom would kill you within two steps every day when stationed on a South American army base.<span style="">  </span>Changing to his determined face, he said, “I call containment duty.”<span style="">  </span>He was pitting his steady hunky 200 pounds against our daughter’s 16 pounds of squirmy cuteness.<span style="">  </span>Almost a fair contest.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I broke out in a clammy sweat.<span style="">  </span>Fodknockers!<span style="">  </span>He beat me to calling the coveted position of containment duty.<span style="">  </span>He got to hold her while I used the nail clippers.<span style="">  </span>I raised my chin and replied with forced calm.<span style="">  </span>“I’ll get the clippers.”<span style="">  </span>I stalked stiff legged into the bathroom and retrieved the dreaded item.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Fortunately, our daughter hasn’t seen the clippers enough to be traumatized at the mere sight of them.<span style="">  </span>I’ve been lucky so far the entire two times that We’ve screwed up the nerve to cut her tiny baby nails.<span style="">  </span>Making my pleas to God, I took hold of the first tiny, perfect finger.<span style="">  </span>I couldn’t resist one last look into those big, trusting blue eyes that might never look at me the same again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Ready?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“No.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Honey!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well you asked!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">By the eighth finger, I remembered to breath.<span style="">  </span>So far, no blood.<span style="">  </span>Two more to go.<span style="">  </span>I looked at my husband to see how he was holding up.<span style="">  </span>He was breathing fast, shallow breaths.<span style="">  </span>He bit his lip and readjusted his hold.<span style="">  </span>Our daughter chewed on her free fingers, looking with innocent, oblivious fascination at a tumbling dust bunny.<span style="">  </span>As the air conditioner kicked on, I shivered and the clippers quivered in my grasp.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Steady.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I nodded and slowly squeezed the evil appliance.<span style="">  </span>Then her finger moved.<span style="">  </span>Just a fraction.<span style="">  </span>The clipper pinched down and I pulled it back with a gasp, flinging the offending tool of the devil down.<span style="">  </span>Shocked blue eyes swept up to meet mine.<span style="">  </span>I froze as she looked to me as to how she should react.<span style="">  </span>She must have picked up on my guilt because ever so slowly, her lower lip slipped out and her face crumpled into tears.<span style="">  </span>As many a mother has felt before, I am the worst mommy ever.<span style="">  </span>She took a couple of hiccupping sobs and then got over it when another dog hair tumbleweed rolled by.<span style="">  </span>I anxiously checked her finger.<span style="">  </span>No blood, no mark. <span style=""> </span>Somehow, I managed to finish and I have since called “containment duty infinity”.<span style="">  </span>Or I’m just going to let them grow, have her wear mittens and have the Doctor do it.<span style="">  </span>He is a trained professional.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> Guilty Pleasures http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9348 http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9348 <link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:DOCUME~1SUZANN~1LOCALS~1Tempmsohtml1�1clip_filelist.xml" /><style type="text/css"></style> <p class="MsoNormal">Has anyone seen my brain?<span style="">  </span>I seem to have misplaced it and my husband has informed me that it’s time I go back to work to find it.<span style="">  </span>Affronted by his insinuation that I had probably left my brain there (I know it’s not because I couldn’t find it there, either), I haughtily sniffed and told him that Human Resources said I still had time, so nyah.<span style="">  </span>I righteously stuck my tongue out, thus effectively ending the conversation.<span style="">  </span>Whether I return to work for my own good or for his remains to be seen, though I suspect that he wouldn’t be opposed to me going back sooner than later.<span style="">  </span>His motivation for this is that he thinks that I’m going to lose my mind and if I don’t go back soon, I may never get it back.<span style="">  </span>That tells me that I’ve succeeded in my ruse that I had a mind to begin with for the last five years of our marriage.<span style="">  </span>But that’s not the only secret I’ve been hiding.<span style="">  </span>Welcome to my world of guilty pleasures.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My husband had come home from work and I was my relating how cute it was when I back-danced with our daughter to the <em style="">America’s Next Top Model</em> theme song.<span style="">  </span>I held her tiny hands while she lay on her back and moved them around to the beat while bopping and singing along.<span style="">  </span>Okay, singing is a stretch.<span style="">  </span>I was making a noise sounding vaguely like the theme song.<span style="">  </span>Anyway, she thought it was funny.<span style="">  </span>With wide blue eyes, she belly laughed and squealed with delight.<span style="">  </span>Now how cute is that??</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I thought he’d find it as endearing as I did.<span style="">  </span>But no.<span style="">  </span>Didn’t even crack a smile at my solo demonstration.<span style="">  </span>Apparently, he found my grooving to the <em style="">ANTM</em> theme song equally, if not more, disturbing to the fact that I watch the show.<span style="">  </span>Or maybe it was my disjointed bopping and tuneless recreation of the theme song.<span style="">  </span>It only looked crazy because it was out of context, but I got THE LOOK.<span style="">  </span>I get THE LOOK a lot.<span style="">  </span>What can I say?<span style="">  </span>I like the show for its artistic content.<span style="">  </span>I love seeing how the photo shoots are going to turn out.<span style="">  </span>It’s not as bad as <em style="">some</em> people saying that they read <em style="">certain</em> magazines for the articles.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Maybe I’m too open about my guilty pleasures and not so secret, secrets.<span style="">  </span>Of course, our daughter’s three and a half month old sense of humor is going to be on a different level as my husband.<span style="">  </span>Not in the maturity level, but in the content of what is funny.<span style="">  </span>For myself, my dignity is a small thing to sacrifice to the entertainment of our daughter.<span style="">  </span>I never claimed to have a surplus of dignity in the first place. <span style=""> </span>As for my husband, it’s his fault that he hadn’t figure out when we first started dating that I only pretended to have some sense of decorum.<span style="">  </span>My husband calls these my “quirky bits”.<span style="">  </span>Is it wrong that:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="">1.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">      </span></span>I can be bought with quality milk chocolate or a double tall soy mocha?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="">2.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">      </span></span>Like to microwave peanut M&M’s so that they’re all melty with chocolately yumminess inside?<span style="">  </span>(You have to be careful, because if they cook too long, burnt chocolate tastes icky.<span style="">  </span>Zap ten seconds or until you hear the first shell crack, then stir them around and do another ten seconds or so, depending on your microwave.<span style="">  </span>I have this down to a science.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="">3.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">      </span></span>Have the musical taste of a 14 year old boy</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="">4.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">      </span></span>Like to pour Bailey’s Irish Cream over my ice cream?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="">5.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;">      </span></span>Bypass the glass and drink my wine directly out of the bottle?<span style="">  </span>Of course, only after I’ve asked if anyone wants some.<span style="">  </span>But not always.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I think by now you get the idea that I’m full of bad habits.<span style="">  </span>But I’m sure that’s only until I get my brain back.<span style="">  </span>Maybe it went to visit the land of the missing socks.<span style="">  </span>I hope it’s only a visit.</p> Identity Crisis http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9253 http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9253 <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type" /> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId" /> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Generator" /> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Originator" /> <link href="file:///C:DOCUME~1SUZANN~1LOCALS~1Tempmsohtml11clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List" /><o:smarttagtype name="place" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype><style type="text/css">  </style> <p class="MsoNormal">Maybe it’s because I’ve lost most of my IQ since being pregnant, but I’ve had my moments that for the life of me, I can’t remember my name.<span style="">  </span>It really hasn’t mattered except when I need to fill out paper work.<span style="">  </span>I’m the administrator in the family.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Maybe it’s because for the last three months, I’ve been talking about myself in the third person.<span style="">  </span>“Momma’s going to change your diaper.<span style="">  </span>Momma’s gonna give you a bath, Momma’s about to have a nervous break down, etc”.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Maybe it’s because my husband refers to me now as “Your mother”.<span style="">  </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Maybe it’s because everyone else refers to me as “<st1:place>Erin</st1:place>’s Mom”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My husband, what’s his name, says not to fight it.<span style="">  </span>Fighting it just makes it worse.<span style="">  </span>He has promised to put me in a nice home.<span style="">  </span>Like I’ll know the difference.<span style="">  </span>Oh, that’s right.<span style="">  </span>His name is Daddy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There is a precedent for this in my family.<span style="">  </span>My Mother (Her name I remember.<span style="">  </span>It’s Mom.) told me a story about how on the first day of school, the teacher asked for her Mother’s name (I know that name, too.) and my Mother replied, “Momma” (Wrong!<span style="">  </span>It’s Grandma!). </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, I know that my name could either be, Momma, Your Mother or <st1:place>Erin</st1:place>’s Mother.<span style="">  </span>It seems pretty interchangeable, since I’ll answer to any of those.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Telemarketers don’t like it when I answer the phone with a very businesslike, “This is Momma”.<span style="">  </span>The conversation goes something like this:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“This is Momma.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Is the lady of the house home?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Momma’s home.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“May I speak with her?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Momma doesn’t want to talk right now.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I’ll call another time, then.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Momma’s getting caller ID, so good luck.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Anyway, if you see me on the rare occasion that I’m out and about, if I don’t immediately respond to the name that you know me by, try “Yo Momma!”.<span style="">  </span>Just don’t be surprised to see thirty other women respond.</p> Kitchen Dancing http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9240 http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9240 <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type" /> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId" /> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Generator" /> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Originator" /> <link href="file:///C:DOCUME~1SUZANN~1LOCALS~1Tempmsohtml11clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List" /><style type="text/css">  </style> <p class="MsoNormal">Thanks to my daughter, I rediscovered the joy of dancing.<span style="">  </span>I realized that I’d lost touch with how to play.<span style="">  </span>When and why did this happen?<span style="">  </span>It seems sad that I’ve had to look on-line for things to do that might entertain her. <span style=""> </span>It doesn’t seem like that should be hard, but I come up blank.<span style="">  </span>Then I remembered a co-worker saying that the first time she really felt like a mother, and not just a provider, was when she danced with her baby daughter.<span style="">  </span>I thought I’d give it a try.<span style="">  </span>When I suggested it to my daughter, she burbled an enthusiastic “blaaarrbbthpppth” followed by a big, drooly grin.<span style="">  </span>So, when it’s time to wind down for a nap, I click on my Itunes.<span style="">  </span>I lift her up so that she can rest her chin on my shoulder.<span style="">  </span>Snuggled cheek to cheek, we dance.<span style="">  </span>She is fourteen pounds of sweetness and her little sighs as she drowses to sleep are so peaceful.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For me, this is an excellent time to count my blessings.<span style="">  </span>She is so good for me.<span style="">  </span>I get tickled by how she lights up, smiles and giggles at nothing.<span style="">  </span>I can’t figure out what’s so funny about our ceiling, but it doesn’t matter.<span style="">  </span>I could watch her all day and find myself responding to her antics with my own rusty giggles.<span style="">  </span>With her help, I am going to learn how to play again. <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I look forward to seeing the world through my daughter’s eyes.<span style="">  </span>I can’t wait to cast aside my jadedness and show her all of the wonderful things that she has to discover.<span style="">  </span>Only three months old, and she has already helped me discover things as well.<span style="">  </span>Such as what joy there is to be found in something as simple as dancing in the kitchen.<span style="">  </span>Sometimes, I try to imagine how the dance will change as she grows.<span style="">  </span>When she’s too heavy to hold in my arms, she can stand on my feet.<span style="">  </span>But after that, when she can dance on her own, will she still want to dance with me?<span style="">  </span>I hope so.<span style="">  </span>But for now, with Chris Isaak in the background, we snuggle and sway, she with her eyes trustingly closed in slumber and me with a silly sloppy smile on my face.</p> Dog meets baby http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9209 http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9209 <link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:DOCUME~1SUZANN~1LOCALS~1Tempmsohtml1�1clip_filelist.xml" /><style type="text/css"></style> <p class="MsoNormal">Before we brought the baby home from the hospital, we were asked how we would introduce our dog, a female white German shepherd, to the baby.<span style="">  </span>My husband wasn’t worried, but I worried about it from the moment that I knew I was pregnant.<span style="">  </span>Dogs can sense chemical and hormonal changes in people, so she probably that knew that I was pregnant before I did.<span style="">  </span>My concerns stemmed from what happened to a co-worker.<span style="">  </span>When she was about seven months pregnant, her dog became aggressive toward her and they had to find a new home for the dog.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When we got home from the hospital, I made sure that the baby and I were above the dog the first time they met.<span style="">  </span>I was in our bedroom sitting up on the bed.<span style="">  </span>When she came in, I was fine for the first moment.<span style="">  </span>But, the dog got really intense in her interest.<span style="">  </span>The more intense she became in sniffing the baby with all her new smells, the more nervous I got.<span style="">  </span>I made my “stop” noise and told her “out”.<span style="">  </span>She assumed a submissive posture, backed off with her ears down and left the room.<span style="">  </span>So far, so good, but my heart was beating a mile a minute.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My husband has extensive experience raising and training German Shepherds.<span style="">  </span>As the “pack leader” it was important that he establish that the baby is above the dog in the pack hierarchy.<span style="">  </span>This will only work if you have a dog that “knows her place” and is submissive to the pack leader.<span style="">  </span>Period.<span style="">  </span>No questions.<span style="">  </span>Also, vigilance is of the utmost importance.<span style="">  </span>If you know your dog, the signals will be there.<span style="">  </span>When my husband introduced our dog to the baby, he sat up on the couch with the baby and let the dog sniff our daughter’s feet.<span style="">  </span>Our dog stuck out just the tip of her tongue and she very gently licked our daughter’s foot (see picture).<span style="">  </span>She then backed off without being told.<span style="">  </span>Huge relief!<span style="">  </span>Our daughter is three months old now and it is very clear that the dog has adopted our daughter as “her baby”.<span style="">  </span>She is very protective and nurturing of our daughter, which is apparently a trait of shepherds.<span style="">  </span>When the baby cries or makes a noise in the bassinet, the dog is right there nudging with her nose to get to “her baby”.<span style="">  </span>When the baby cries overlong, she gives us a look that says, “If this were my pup, this would be handled already”.<span style="">  </span>If the baby is crying, the dog will come up and lick her feet (the only place she’s allowed).</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Our dog helps me as well.<span style="">  </span>There have been times when I have gotten overtired and overwhelmed.<span style="">  </span>After I put the baby down in a safe place, the dog has come to sit right by me so that I can calm down by stroking her and hugging her.<span style="">  </span>If you’re concerned about how to introduce your dog to the new baby, consult with a professional.<span style="">  </span>Your dog may be a huge asset in keeping your sanity and protecting your baby.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>

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Mama's day out...Give me the keys and get out of my way! http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9162 http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9162 <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type" /> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId" /> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Generator" /> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Originator" /> <link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CSUZANN%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List" /><style type="text/css">  </style> <p>My mother used to stand in the driveway, extra set of car keys in hand, and wait for my father to pull in from work. She would yank open the door, haul him out of the car and careen on two tires around the corner for parts unknown.</p> <div> </div> <p>I might be exaggerating <em>a little</em> about my mother yanking my father out of the car, but not about her standing in the driveway waiting for him to come home so that she could get a break. That part mom says was true. But I couldn’t for the life of me understand why she would need a break from her little angels (Brats. Totally spoiled. My dorm roommate had to show me how to do laundry.). Now I can relate. I really look forward to my days off. </p> <div> </div> <p>I am very grateful that my husband gives me days off. I take shameless advantage of this. Everyone was right. These days off are ESSENTIAL to my well-being as well as my baby’s. When I get my days off, I am out the door and won’t be seen for 8 hours or so. No phone calls to see how the baby is, no dropping by to check on things. I’m totally gone with no guilt whatsoever. I confess that I hardly think about what might be going on at home. This comes from 41 years of practiced self-absorption. This is MY time. When I come back from my day off, I am ready and looking forward to seeing my baby and resuming my mom role. But it is so important to DO SOMETHING ELSE.</p> <div> </div> <p>Part of why I need to be gone is my inability to not interfere. My husband does a wonderful job with our daughter. In fact, I learn a lot from watching him. But I need to let him do things his way or let him figure things out. My control freak nature won’t allow this. I can only stifle myself for so long before I short circuit. This became very apparent when I found myself standing in the kitchen in my underwear (not a pretty sight) because I thought that he needed my input. He didn’t. Therefore, for the sake of our marriage, I can’t be there. </p> <div> </div> <p>I realize how fortunate I am. I love my daughter, but in order to be a good mom, I do need a break. My time home with my daughter has given me a whole new appreciation and respect for my mother and all moms. It makes me want to call my mom and apologize for being such a rotten teenager. But then again, what goes around comes around and you know what they say about pay back. When it happens, I’ll need to call my mom so she’ll know that her saying “I hope you have kids like you” has come true and she has earned the right to say “I told you so!”</p> <div> </div> <div> </div> <div> </div> <div> </div> The Handoff Standoff-The Good, The Bad and the Diapered http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9122 http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9122 <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type" /> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId" /> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Generator" /> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Originator" /> <link href="file:///C:DOCUME~1SUZANN~1LOCALS~1Tempmsohtml11clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List" /><style type="text/css">  </style> <p class="MsoNormal">He stood silhouetted in the doorway.<span style="">  </span>“I need you to take her for a few minutes.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I turned my head so quickly that it sounded like a whip snapping.<span style="">  </span>“Really?”<span style="">  </span>I said, with deceptive calm as I slowly straightened from taking the dishes out of the washer.<span style="">  </span>I let my hands drop casually to my side, fingers flexing.<span style="">  </span>The theme song from <em style="">The Good, The Bad and The Ugly</em> welled in my head.<span style="">  </span>I had known this moment would come.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I narrowed my eyes, assessing, and our steely gazes locked.<span style="">  </span>My husband said that it’d only be for a few minutes, but he lies.<span style="">  </span>I know this because I had done the same thing when I lied for him to take our daughter a mere (had it been two hours already??) moment before so that I could get a few things done.<span style="">  </span>If I took her now, I might never have my hands free again. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He shifted our daughter from one hip to the other.<span style="">  </span>He was getting ready.<span style="">  </span>But I was ready, too.<span style="">  </span>I had trained for this moment for years.<span style="">  </span>At work.<span style="">  </span>You NEVER take a piece of paper that someone is trying to hand you until you know what it is and exactly how much work it will entail.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Our daughter chewed on her fist, adding to the tension.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“I just have one thing that I need to do.”<span style="">  </span>He said with all innocence. <span style=""> </span>He took a step, closing the distance between us and extended his arms.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Another lie.<span style="">  </span>Oh, it may start off as being ‘one thing’.<span style="">  </span>But I know that inevitably there will be ‘just one more thing’.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><br /> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""></span>I call him on it.<span style="">  </span>“I want to finish putting the dishes away.”<span style="">  </span>I whine.<span style="">  </span>“What do you need to do?<span style="">  </span>I’ll do it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I have to go to the bathroom.<span style="">  </span>I told you that more than an hour ago.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Huh.<span style="">  </span>That’s right, he did tell me that.<span style="">  </span>“I only have one more thing that I want to do after this.”<span style="">  </span>I wheedled, as I placed the last dish onto the shelf.<span style="">  </span>“It’ll just take a minute.”<span style="">  </span>I turned and looked frantically about for my ‘one more thing’.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But he was too fast.<span style="">  </span>Our daughter was thrust into my arms.<span style="">  </span>I reeled from the impact.<span style="">  </span>When I recovered, he was gone.<span style="">  </span>And I never saw him again.<span style="">  </span>For three hours.</p> When someone else watches the baby... http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9113 http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9113 <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type" /> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId" /> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Generator" /> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Originator" /> <link href="file:///C:DOCUME~1SUZANN~1LOCALS~1Tempmsohtml11clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List" /><style type="text/css">  </style> <p>I hesitate to post this blog because it reveals what an ingrate I am. My husband gently pointed ouy that I’m waaaay over thinking this, but I can’t help myself.<span style="">  </span>I expect (and probably deserve) to get flogged with a wet noodle for this, but here is my story (confession) for today.</p> <p>My mother-in-law has raised two children of her own as well as many foster babies. She has more varied experience than I’ll ever have. I respect this as well as appreciate her selflessness. My mother-in-law generously offered to take our daughter to her home for the day AND have me over for dinner when I was ready to pick up my daughter. An actual honest-to-God day off! I shamelessly pounced on the opportunity. I want to be clear in that I have no problem with her sitting with our daughter. I couldn’t leave her in better, more caring hands. But in the past, this was done in our home and for only a couple of hours or so. This was the first time that our daughter was going to her house for the day. So there I stood in our driveway with that flippity feeling in my stomach as she drove away with my baby.</p> <p>Here’s my problem (INGRATE ALERT!), dilemma, what have you. I don't look so good here.  I have our daughter on a schedule. I follow the <em>Babywise</em> system of Feeding time/Wake time/Nap Time, with parental assessment for flexibility of said schedule. When our daughter is on this schedule, she does really well, therefore I do really well. The problem happens when communicating my expectations of this schedule to someone else as this becomes subject to interpretation.  What is “heard” is colored by the other party’s experience.   Anyway, I wrote down the schedule along with the amount of formula to be fed at feeding time (just like the zoo only less raw). Since I’m whining, it’s not hard to guess that what I wanted wasn’t what happened. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> I haven’t had to give my daughter snacks between meals since implementing the schedule. My daughter has trained me to respond to her signals. If it’s around the scheduled feeding time, then obviously the fist chewing and lip smacking mean that she’s hungry. But she has no concept of “enough”. She’ll take a ten ounce bottle and drink it all if it’s offered. The result of that is A LOT of vomit. It’s my job to determine “enough” for her. At this time, four ounces is enough for each feeding. During the wake time phase, she’ll smack and suck on her fists, but she’s not hungry. This is where <em>my</em> experience prevails. She sucks her fists because they're (ahem) handy and she smacks when she is copying my mouth movements when I talk to her which I do a lot during wake time.  But of course, she’ll take a bottle any time it’s offered, hungry or not. She’s no dummy. She learned that from me. I didn’t get overweight by turning down a snack opportunity.</p> <p>So, I find it hard to justify my consternation that my instructions (dictate?) weren’t followed. But, if a baby is hungry, you feed it (duh!). My daughter appeared hungry, so Grandma fed her. This is an absolutely reasonable response to how she interpreted the signals. No harm done, but it takes a day to get my daughter back on my revered schedule. I have to remind myself that this is no big deal in the grand scheme of the universe. If it were really that critical or important, then I should have clarified my expectations.  I actually think that my ego is causing the conflict. I battle with my respect for her experiences while wanting to be acknowledged and respected for my own experience, limited as it is. I have a difficult time asserting confidence in my stance. Then, I worry that I’ll never get another day off if I don’t stifle my control freak nature. My husband says that I’m being waaaay to anal about this.<span style="">  </span>And he’s totally right.<span style="">  </span>Yeesh! I get so sick of myself!</p> <p>How do I convey my issue of her feeding my daughter snacks off schedule without coming across as ungrateful or disdainful of her experience?  I don’t.</p> <p>That’s not to say that I won’t try to be more clear the next time (if I’m lucky to get a next time) by better explaining what I have in mind. The snacks weren’t given to defy my parenting method. The snacks were given because signals were given and interpreted. The BIG SIN (extra feeding, big whoop) was done out of good intent.  For all I know, maybe my daughter is going through a growth spurt and actually does need the extra snacks. I wasn’t there (I was running amok at the bookstore on my DAY OFF!), so how do I really know?</p> <p>This is where my inexperience as a first time mother undermines my confidence in what I think I’m trying to accomplish. Fortunately, I’ll see the pediatrician tomorrow. I’ll add to my list the question of the appropriate amount of formula for her height and build. There has to be a chart. There’s always a chart. But even that is subject to interpretive flexibility. So, flexibility and open, clear communication will be my best friend. Motherhood. Honestly one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. There’s so much more to learn than just the care and maintenance of a baby.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> Kuh-Myun-Ih-Kashun (Communication) http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9103 http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9103 <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type" /> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId" /> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Generator" /> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Originator" /> <link href="file:///C:DOCUME~1SUZANN~1LOCALS~1Tempmsohtml11clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List" /><o:smarttagtype name="place" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype name="country-region" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype><style type="text/css">  </style> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m currently off work and staying home on baby bonding LOA.<span style="">  </span>While I’m enjoying this time home with my two month old daughter, I wonder about what will happen when I go back to work.<span style="">  </span>With e-mail, you have time to think about what to say, how to say it and the luxury to review prior to sending it.<span style="">  </span>Success is often contingent upon presentation to the right audience.<span style="">  </span>Kids learn this early.<span style="">  </span>If mom says no, ask dad.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The infamous “they” say to narrate what you’re doing for baby.<span style="">  </span>The other thing that “they” say to do is ask questions, wait, and then reply with the answer.<span style="">  </span>This is supposed to help the baby learn the rhythms of conversation as well as eventually connecting the words with objects, actions or ideas.<span style="">  </span>But, what if I continue these concepts when I go back to work?<span style="">  </span>Such as, “Now, I’m going to nod and make the appropriate facial expressions while pretending to listen to the meeting.<span style="">  </span>But mentally, I’m thinking about the <st1:country-region><st1:place>Togos</st1:place></st1:country-region> sandwich that I already ordered so that I could avoid the lunch rush.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My husband is the primary adult that I talk to.<span style="">  </span>When he comes home from work, I trot after him, desperately trying to use big words to convey how exciting it was that the baby went poopy twice.<span style="">  </span>Without the right words, how can he possibly know what a milestone this is for the change from breast milk (way more poopy diapers) to formula?<span style="">  </span>After 12 or more hours a day, seven days a week of babbling to my baby, it scares me how quickly I have lost my words.<span style="">  </span>They become more elusive every day.<span style="">  </span>I used to use polysyllabic words to communicate complicated concepts.<span style="">  </span>My husband understands all these fancy words, he just doesn’t have time (or interest) to listen to them.<span style="">  </span>I get stubborn about using them since a lot of money was spent on college to learn them.<span style="">  </span>Words like ennui, or epitome.<span style="">  </span>Apparently, these are not pronounced how they’re spelled.<span style="">  </span>When I talk to my daughter, I use (mostly) real words, but the content of our conversation is nonsense.<span style="">  </span>She’s very polite.<span style="">  </span>She listens with earnest intensity and responds with an insightful “blarrgghh” or a pithy “ggghuggh”.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Well, if you work with me, I’m going to apologize now.<span style="">  </span>Just know that I’ll gladly phone in your lunch order to <st1:country-region><st1:place>Togos</st1:place></st1:country-region> when I put in mine.</p> Hormone See-Saw http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9020 http://www.sacmomsclub.com/home/Blog/suzmon/9020 I just spent some time watching my six week old daughter sleep.  This was one of those times that brings tears to the eyes.  I guess it's because I love her so much that it leaks.  I just can't help but sneak in and look at her.  This is one of my favorite times.  I also love when she snuggles under my chin and sleeps.  That has to be one of the best things in the world.  She's starting to coo and, of course, I think she has the sweetest voice.<br /> <br /> Before anyone throws up, I'm trying to jot these things down for when I slide to the other end of my hormonal see-saw.  <br /> <br /> I have my days where the hormone pendulum swings the other way and I go into Bizarro world.  Everything that was cute or doable all of a sudden grates on frayed nerves or is too overwhelming for the fatigue fog that has infused my skull.<br /> <br /> The other day, she vomited all over me, herself, the floor all in one impressive heave.  It was one of those where you stand there wondering, "Where do I start to clean this up?"  Some days, the priority just flows:  Baby first, then me, floor can wait.  Sometimes, the priorities elude me.  My big growth moment was to learn to forgive myself when that happens.  So what if the dog got to cleaning the floor before I did?  So what if I just tracked the milk barf through the house on my way to get the baby bathed and changed into fresh clothes.  So what if my expensive carpet smells like sour milk?  Someday, I'll get it steam cleaned.  These are the stuff that memories are made of.<br /> <br /> I have gotten better about learning how to enjoy my baby.  For the first few weeks, I got so wound up about meeting her basic needs that I didn't stop to just snuggle her for the sake of snuggling her.  I've learned that it's more important to smooch her little cheeks and let whatever fell to the floor stay there, let daddy help and do things his way (I might learn something! Imagine that!).<br /> <br /> Slowly, what everyone has been saying is starting to sink in.  Forgive myself for not being perfect.  Give myself a break and a pat on the back.  Things are going to take time.  My romantic idealizations of how I imagined things should be are only going to break me.  Enjoy my baby in the moment because things change so fast that I'll lose those moments and regret missing them.  She isn't going to remember any of the things that I'm obsessing about.<br /> <br /> Now, I have to go watch her sleep some more.