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How does she do it?

I recently read a great article by Phyllis Richman called Answering Harvard’s question about my personal life, 52 years later.  In the article Richman writes a response to a letter she received 52 years ago regarding her application to graduate school at Harvard.  The letter came from then Assistant Professor William A. Doebele, Jr. and in it he asked her how she would combine caring for her husband and family with pursuing her graduate studies.  Naturally, Richman was offended by this question and in her response she said so many things that hit the nail on the head; I felt like I was reading my own story.  Despite the question she went on to create a successful career as a writer while carrying out her “responsibilities” to her family.  However, even though this guy had no business asking her “that” question it’s actually a good question because I ask myself the same question every day. 

I ask myself how I’m going to balance family and career; and some sort of intellectual interest beyond the Mickey Mouse Club House.  Sometimes just getting from sunup to sundown with my sanity still somewhat intact is a major miracle.  So while grading papers and writing and diapering and cleaning boogie noses I ask myself a million times, “How am I gonna do this?”  I work, I take care of children all day and sometimes kiss my husband at night and I usually manage to get it all done.  And it is really freaking hard.  My husband gets to go to work every day and he doesn’t have a toddler screaming at him or a baby tugging at his ankle while he’s trying to meet a deadline.  So, “How are you going to balance a career and family?” is a really good question because I’m still answering that one myself. 

When women were pushing for the Equal Rights Ammendment (ERA) I’m not so sure that question was answered.  My mother told me growing up that I could have it all; in fact she encouraged me to “have it all”.  I went to college, I became learned, I got a husband, and I had children.  I’m doing it all, but why is it so freaking hard?  I admire women that are able to dedicate themselves to only their children or only their career because it’s difficult to choose between one or the other. 

I’m so inspired by Phyllis Richman because she carved out a career while raising a family; and a quite successful one at that.  And that fellow from Harvard had no right to ask her how she would pull it all off.  How a woman will do it all is a personal question.  Yes, we should be able to have a career, personal interests, marriage and family but that is up to us.  How, we will do it is another question that I don’t think any woman can answer until maybe the question becomes past tense; how did she do it? 

Here is the link to the article by Phyllis Richman:  

http://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/answering-harvards-question-about-my-personal-life-52-years-later/2013/06/06/89c97e2e-c259-11e2-914f-a7aba60512a7_story.html

Once upon a time there were a pair of boobs...not sexy ones but lactating ones.

I think a lot about breastfeeding these days since I spend about 50% of my day nursing my 12 month old son.  The kid is addicted to breast milk and resembles a little fire breathing dragon if he does not receive it on demand.  It’s really a miracle that he and I made it this long breastfeeding.  My older daughter and I did not fare nearly as well. 

I didn’t know when I first became a mom that breastfeeding would be so much work.  I thought my baby would just slip out of the birth canal and she would magically drink milk flowing from my breasts.  I thought I would use that breast pump thingy and it would fill up with milk.  This turned out to be the farthest from the truth for me.

Imagine my surprise when a couple of days after my first baby was born my nipples were cracked and bleeding.  My daughter wasn’t latching properly and when she did she’d only stay on a few minutes.  She had to stay in the hospital a couple of weeks after her birth due to a minor infection and my husband had to leave the country on business the day after she was born.  So imagine the stress for a new mom trying to do what she’s been told is best for her baby and it’s not going as planned.  On top of all of this the lactation consultant (or lactation Nazi as I like to call her) was breathing down my neck every five minutes telling me to, “Try this, try that.  Maybe the football hold, maybe upside down.” 

I wanted to quit so many times.  My boobs hurt; my kid was screaming her head off even after attempting to nurse her for an hour.  And I did quit when she turned three months old.  I just couldn’t do it anymore; physically, emotionally or mentally.  When I pumped I produced enough milk to feed a grasshopper and my daughter just really liked her bottle and I had to return to work; so everyone was happier this way. 

My experience with my son has been a completely different one however.  I went into my pregnancy and his birth with zero expectations.  I decided to give breastfeeding a try but not stress about it if it didn’t work.  When the nurse handed him to me after I woke up from my C-section he went straight for the breast and it was like he knew exactly what to do.  Despite my success the same lactation Nazi was all over my case about how to breastfeed my kid.  I decided this time that I was this kid’s mother and I would do what felt best and most natural.  So when the nurses kept pushing me to pump every two hours and I started bleeding into the collection bottles I said this crap is for the birds.  I’m not pumping.  I’m not sitting here listening to that waaaaaa noise all day.  I’m going to keep trying to nurse this kid and see what happens.  I’m going to do it my way.  And what do you know, he started gaining weight.  12 months later he is a happy healthy kid.  He’s never even really been sick.  And we are still nursing.  I figured out that I just don’t pump well.  Just because I pump very little doesn’t mean the baby only getting a small amount of milk.  There were several times along the way that I wanted to quit because it hurt too badly, or it was inconvenient to be his pacifier, etc. but we are still nursing.  It’s been a great experience and I highly recommend it if you can hang in there because it is just lovely to sit down and snuggle up with your kiddo while he eats.  If you can’t though don’t beat yourself up.  In the middle ages they had wet nurses and nowadays we have formula.  

 Nursing is different for every mom and every child is different too.  I have two children that have been polar opposites in the realm of breastfeeding.  Sometimes you just need to give the kid a bottle.  Sometimes they nurse like ducks to water.  Just do your best and see what happens, because you can never go wrong doing your best. 

*I have zero, and I mean zero medical expertise so always consult your pediatrician when it comes to feeding your child.  

The three phases of childhood illness (I have zero medical expertise just mompertise).

My little girl is sick today.  It’s been coming on for a few days so the worst part is over.  When she is getting sick she exhibits what we call at our house “pterodactyl like activity”.  Much of her communication during this incubation period sounds like this:  “eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek” which is what I imagine a pterodactyl sounds like.  She expresses the onset of her discomfort like one of those prehistoric creatures and takes it out on the person closest to her which is usually me.  She screams (like a pterodactyl), she hits (mostly her little brother), and doesn’t sleep well which means she usually ends up in our bed curled up on top of my feet like a little puppy.  The puppy thing sounds sweet but trust me it’s not; puppy gets angry if you try to move her to increase your own comfort.   

After the initial “pterodactyl phase” begins the icky fluids phase, better known as the “exorcist phase” which consists of snot, vomit, snot and more vomit.  Have I grossed you out yet?  Last night she barfed all over the couch which wasn’t so bad because we have a leather couch which I bought specifically because of our gross (oops I meant messy) kids.  When mystery fluids or God forbid vomit land on it you can just wipe them right off.  However, one thing I didn’t bargain on was the cracks between the cushions.  When she barfed last night she somehow managed to puke directly into the crack between two cushions.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to get puke out of the crack between couch cushions?  That was fun, and I swear it still smells. 

Today is phase three, my favorite phase of illness.  Today is the sit on the couch and watch cartoons all day because she feels too yucky to move phase.   I secretly relish this phase because she doesn’t destroy anything on this day, doesn’t talk back, doesn’t pick on her brother; the evil button is turned off and she just lies around and wants to cuddle with mama.  I love this part even if she does wipe her snot all over me while we snuggle.  She becomes my baby girl again that just wants her mama and not my constantly challenging toddler.  

Why I don’t co-sleep.

There are the co-sleeping parents and the non-co-sleepers; and then there is everyone else in between.  I think I grudgingly fall into the abyss of in between co-sleeping.  Most nights I end up “co-sleeping” against my will.  My daughter sneaks into my bedroom in the middle of the night and wriggles in between my husband and I.  When we wake up in the morning she is there.  There is also the case of my son who sometimes wakes in the night because he is teething and will not go back to sleep unless he can snuggle up on my chest.  I know there are many parents who are extremely happy co-sleeping with their little ones, but I am not one of them.  I want my bed all to myself at night, my husband is lucky he even gets a spot next to me.  I want to snuggle up under the blankets in a ball and I don’t want to be disturbed until morning.  This is a pipe dream when you are a parent though because your kids are always waking you up in the middle of the night for something or they make a little noise that sets off your mama alarm. 

I love my kids with all of my heart, they are everything to me, and I love to snuggle with them.  However, I hate sleeping with them.  When they invade my bed I always end up with a foot kicking me in the face all night or my daughter trying to recreate her exit from the womb by sleeping between my legs.  My son is almost 1 and still has a head that is bigger than his body so I always get head butted all night by him.  I love it when I wake up in the morning with a fat lip unsure of where I got it.  Oh and the best is when you wake up with wet blankets because your kid peed on you in the middle of the night.

Knowing all of this I still allow them into my bed or sometimes I’m just too tired to kick them out.  I know that one day I will have my bed back, free from sneaky little invaders.  Everyone in my house will sleep in their own bed peacefully including me.  I tell myself this every night.  For now I deal with the wet sheets, busted lips and dirty feet in my face because I love these little toots and ok I’ll admit it sometimes I do sleep a little bit better knowing that my kids are safe right beside me but that usually all ends when I open my eyes in the morning and a two year old is screaming, “WAKE UP!” in my face.  Sleep will never be the same again; I must accept this and move on.  

It's not my problem.

It’s not my problem. 

It seems like lately everywhere I go I keep hearing people say, “That’s not my problem.”  Or they just don’t say anything at all when a problem presents itself and avoid helping by omission.  This especially seems true the more children I have.  I don’t remember people being particularly unhelpful when I was childless or even when I had just one child.  However, now that I have two children I feel like the world just might be ignoring me when I am struggling to get out of a taxi with a baby in my arms, a two year old dashing out into the street, and a bulging diaper bag. 

This unhelpfulness was especially pronounced on a recent trip to Europe.  Now, I know many people would say I am an idiot for trying to take two tiny children to Europe; I’ll give them that.  Despite my lack of forethought and my stupidity I have to ask, how can you stand by and watch a woman dragging her toddler through the Paris airport (while trying to carry a baby, carryon bag, oh and don’t forget the toddler’s princess backpack that she insisted on bringing) and do nothing?  Or mockingly smile at said mother?  I asked several people for help in this airport and people would very curtly say, “No.”  There was no elaboration; no “I’m sorry.”  They just said no or said nothing at all. 

On the same trip I also met a man who flat out told us, “This is not my job to help you.” (Insert French accent)  He told my family and I this when we arrived at our hotel at midnight with two children and our monstrosity of a double stroller and the elevator was broken.  He was the night clerk and to his credit did offer to help us carry it up the stairs but made it very clear that this was neither his job nor his problem.  He also said he had three children from three different mamas and worked 7 days a week so I do understand the man has a lot on his plate. 

France is not the only place where people are unhelpful.  People are equally unhelpful in the United States as well.  I’m not sure that this is a matter of geography so much as a lack of manners and caring.  Some people are very helpful.  The French redeemed themselves in many ways on this trip.  Just the other day while getting into a taxi in Bogota with my toddler in my arms my ankle rolled and I fell flat on my face in the middle of the street.  Three men saw me and rushed to my side.  They picked up my bag and helped me get up and into the cab, and they didn’t steal anything (this is always a plus in a big city).  So there are helpful people everywhere, and there are assholes everywhere too. 

I think a person’s degree of helpfulness just depends on which season of life they are passing through.  When I was a young person I probably wasn’t as helpful to others because I didn’t require as much help myself; I thought everyone could do things as easily as I could.  Now that I am a mother with two children who try my patience by the minute, I need more help so I think that I am probably a more helpful person to others these days. 

If you are one of the two people who might read this (because who wants to read an article about being helpful) I beg of you, I implore you, when you see a mother who is in over her head and has multiple children and baggage (literal and figurative) hanging from her body and looks like she might just chuck it all and head for the Bahamas please ask what you can do to help.  Even if she declines your help she will appreciate the thought and the fact that the world is not ignoring her.  

Celebrating Mom

Celebrating Mom

When I think of celebrating an important person in my life my thoughts immediately go to my mom.  She died a few years ago, I was 30 years old.  You would think at 30 years of age I would be okay to go off into the world knowing that my mom was not close by but I wasn’t.  I still wanted my mom just as much as I had wanted her when I was a child.  For all of her faults and everything we went through together she was still the best mom anyone could ask for. 

When I was a kid, all of the other moms on my block paled in comparison to my mom and I think they knew it.  My mom always had a smile on her face, she never spoke ill of anyone, and she was extremely helpful to anyone in need or not.  I had her high on a pedestal and for good reason.  She was the beacon of patience and compassion, something I am often not with my own children.  She did things just to create special memories for me.  She made sure that I had interesting learning experiences as part of everyday life.  She fueled my curiosity. 

One day after cutting a cantaloupe, I asked my mom if we could grow one in our flower bed.  Without hesitation she said yes and we went outside to plant the seeds.  I checked that flowerbed every day for a month and saw no results.  I was so disappointed that my melon was not growing.  I think my four year old little heart was breaking every day that I saw no progress.  I abandoned the project, but one day about a week later I looked out the window and noticed that there was a great big cantaloupe in our flower bed.  I jumped down from the window and ran through the house looking for my mom to tell her.  “Mom, it grew!” I screamed.  When I found her she had a big grin on her face.  She was so genuinely happy that I was happy.  It took me about 20 years to figure out that the cantaloupe had not grown at all but my mother had gone down to Kroger’s  and purchased it, brought it home and placed it in our flower bed.  When I had that moment where I realized what mom had done I was happier than the day I thought it had grown from nature.  I guess I was so happy because I knew that only someone who truly loved me could do something so special.  I will forever cherish that store bought cantaloupe perfectly placed in our flower bed in my mind and in my heart. 

Everyone deserves to have someone like this in their life; someone that is always on their side and truly believes that they are the very best.  My mom was my biggest fan and I can still feel her encouraging me from heaven.  I hope I can be half the mom that she was and that my children and I create sweet memories like this one.