When Mommy is sick…

I have learned something momentus about family life…

When Baby is sick, Mom stops the world as she knows it, and cares for the baby. Lots of hugs, nursing, snuggles, nursing, naps, and definitely some nursing. I can’t even promise that the nursing does anything, but it makes us feel like we’re doing something to help besides singing the itsy-bitsy spider for the umpteenth time.

When Daddy is sick, he is immediately quarantined. Mommy pushes fluids, soups, and medicine from a distance. She loves Daddy. Just not enough to catch what he’s carrying.

But when Mommy is sick…

Houston, we’re totally screwed.

Baby still needs to eat, and be changed, and eat. Baby doesn’t understand that you’re so weak you may drop him. Baby doesn’t understand that now may not be a good time to use your nipples as a teething ring.

Poor Daddy.

In our case, Daddy actually caught it also. We spent the day tag-teaming who got to sleep, and who had to deal with the also-sick-but-certainly-not-sleeping Baby. My sweet husband moved the changing station to the floor so we wouldn’t have to stand to change a diaper, knowing that if we were vertical for more than 30 seconds, we’d be puking on our son.

I was up every hour; either to throw up myself, to change a seriously hazardous diaper, or to nurse the very cranky Little One. Hubs took the day shift full of ‘lower GI problems’ and it was all we could do to make it across the house.

Fortunately, it was short-lived for me. So, for now, life has gone back to the world as we know it. Hubs went back to work. It’s been snowing like crazy here (for those of you who live in warmer climates, please comment with your home address.) so I’ve been locked inside the house anyway for weeks.

Thank heavens the Facebook Fast is over. It was interesting and partially hilarious to hear the feedback coming from my friends. The Mom friends I have seem to understand. Mom friends with young kids are sympathetic, but we all understand that this is the ship we cast off of daily. Just as other bloggers have pointed out, no one throws us a parade for being a mommy.

What is hilarious, are the sweet friends who either do not have children, or their children are grown. I know. Because five short months ago, I was one of those annoying hipsters… with their spiffy clothes, full-time jobs, spare income, and nights of sleep.

They look at you. In the eyes. And in their most well-meaning tone they say…

Get some rest.

Great.

Am I being condescending? Yes. Yes, I am.

Am I jealous of them? A little. I miss being able to sleep in. I miss being able to take a shower and leave the house without the logistical planning of the conquest of Saigon.

But it’s a small price to pay for being a Mommy.

The bear is waking… see you all soon.

Just wait until…

Oh, just wait until they’re running around…

Just wait until they’re eating solids…

Just wait until they start talking…

Just wait until they start talking back…

Just wait until your next kid, and you have to do this all over again…

Just wait until they get older and don’t need you as much…

Just wait until they can start trying to ‘help’…

Just wait until potty training…

Why don’t we go ahead and say it?

THEN you’ll be REALLY frustrated!

THEN you’ll be REALLY tired!

Then you’ll be REALLY miserable!

New motherhood has definitely set in. I am tired. Tired enough for long enough and I’ve managed to get sick. I’m never sick. Being sick and being in charge of a human being barely larger than a breadbox is an impressive task. But still it’s wonderful.

Why is that so hard for people to understand I’m actually happy? Does it come as a surprise that I still generally love being who I am?

I find it interesting that society as a whole is almost dedicated to coping. Like, we’re all victims of something and the best we can ever do is just cope, and ride out the storm. Waiting until something else just pops up and overwhelms us further, so we can further obtain more sympathy, or to gain a new group of friends to be our listening ears seems to be the norm.

I’m amazed at how many times I hear this, and surely I can’t be the only new mom that hears such things. It constantly feels like what people are really saying is, “I have it worse than YOU. You should be grateful you don’t have my problems.”

Do we really want to switch? Or actually to have someone have your problems?

My house is a constant disaster. This is not normal for me, as I usually at the very least keep laundry going, dishes done, and floors at least reasonably swept. Now, if the diapers are clean (we do cloth diapers) and I can find a clean pair of underwear, it’s a good day. I know this will change when he gets older. It will change tomorrow.

But I’m here today. With a beautiful (albeit cranky) son who just woke up from his nap, and I’ll wait another day.

Holy Spirit Parenting 101

There’s been more controversy over parenting styles in the last year than the Benghazi scandal.

There’s the Attachment Parenting Style, the Hug-A-Tree-Love-A-Bunny Style of Parenting, the Authoritarian/Authoritative Style, Helicopter Parenting (I kid you not – Google it) and the list goes on. But the most controversial of all of them is the Babywise/Ezzo method of doing stuff.

The people that love it claim that it has gotten their kiddos on a schedule. They sleep, eat, and cry less. Also, the children are doing well.

The people that hate it have very, very good reasons to hate it. Some of the kiddos raised in this method have developed RAD (Reactive Attachment Disorder) and have some serious consequences.

I am not doing any of these. But as someone who is a constant researcher, I have become quite eclectic in everything I do: counseling, clothing style, and now, parenting.

Please don’t get me wrong. I KNOW that I know nothing. That’s what makes this so fun. I love asking questions, and hearing the answers. And for now, what works for us is patterns, not styles.

My son just turned one month old on Saturday. His greatest accomplishments so far are that he came out of the womb holding his head up and looking around. He loves his Boppy, and loves being propped up in it so he can watch everything around him. He HATES having a wet diaper; also, changing said diaper. There’s no win there. He also doesn’t sleep for more than 30-45 minutes during the day. So, all of those people that tell you to “sleep when the baby sleeps” need a good, solid, smacking. You can’t sleep for 30 minutes and accomplish anything.

I tell my husband that I can accomplish 3 things per day.

1. Eat
2. Laundry
3. Dishes
4. Floors
5. Fold the above laundry
6. Sleep
7. Shower
8. Pump so my boobies do not explode
9. Cook dinner

I can pick any of these three, but it cannot exceed that number.

And, honestly, I was going literally insane. I was tired to the point of hallucination, and in so much pain that I could barely walk across my house. I kept thinking that I was supposed to be doing something different than what I was doing, and it was driving me crazy.

So, at one of the many 1am, 2am, 2:30am, 3:30am, and 5am moments where I found myself awake, I just started to cry, and whine. And get so angry at my husband for things he hasn’t even done yet… and cry some more… And then it hit me:

Praying, Napping, Listening intently to Jesus

Pray. Not just pray, but PRAY… Seek after His Face and His Heart. Talk to your Dad, and get HIS PARENTING ADVICE.

Maybe, just maybe, the God who gave me this gift would know how to operate it.

So, I started researching again. This time, instead of looking for “What Am I Doing Wrong?” I looked for “What Can I Do Well?” and “What Might Work for Our Family.” Not a guarantee or a hug-the-bunny-it-turns-into-a-unicorn moment. Just a guideline.

It worked.

Why was I surprised?

I was literally surprised when prayer started working. Seriously?

Something crazy started happening: he started sleeping, crying less, and eating with regularity. He was never doing poorly: he’s been gaining almost a pound a week. But I could never keep up with him, and felt like I was being dragged around by him. Now, I know what he needs before he needs it, and I feel like I know what to expect.

So, I will probably start editing the Page Holy Spirit Parenting 101 more often, just as the Lord leads, with lessons that I’ve learned as a brand new mommy. I’m sure it’s stuff that most know already, but it’s new to me. I know that a lot of this is a learning curve, and that there’s no way to research, read books, and study up on this stuff. But I’m slowly learning to ask my Dad what my baby needs. And everyone knows Dads give the best advice anyway.

Something That Fits In a Box

It’s Father’s Day weekend. For some of you who have men who love gadgets, have hobbies like fishing, hunting, or computers, or they just in general have Gifts as one of their main Love Languages… Father’s Day is about getting him something he loves.

I didn’t marry that man. Hubs’ hobbies are also his job: and I don’t understand a bit of it. I don’t see the “obvious difference” between an 1834 Garrison something-or-other and an 1848 shacko (Chacko? Shocko?) cap. I don’t have any idea how many buttons are supposed to be on a Navy peacoat for it to be pre-WWII, late WWII, or modernized Navy which, I think is something after Cold War period.

To be honest. I have no idea what I’m talking about so just ignore that.

Most of the time, I’m a pretty terrible gift-giver. I’m terribly practical. For a bunch of newlyweds that have been married recently, I gave them Wal-Mart gift cards for groceries and gas. Now that I’m trying to put together a registry, I’m not only completely clueless – but cheap enough to actually put on the notes: feel free to buy this crap at a garage sale or Wal-Mart.

But it’s Father’s Day. Not only that, but it’s my husband’s FIRST Father’s Day. It’s the first Father’s Day present I’ve ever purchased. Ever, in my life. I want it to be special.

It’s hard to fit Special in a box.

We spent Father’s Day much like we spend every Sunday. Volunteering for one service, sitting in another, going to his Mom’s house and spending time with them, ate too much, putzed around in “The Big City” of Tulsa, OK. Met with friends who are dealing with the first Father’s Day without their dads; some like us, whom this is the first really Good Father’s Day ever.

That kind of Special doesn’t fit into a box either.

I did end up getting him something pretty cool, and he absolutely loved it. But, honestly, him napping beside me, our son kicking away, and the beautiful sound of thunder mixed with our fur-kid snoring… Perfect.

Enjoy the weekend. Take a nap. Ignore the boxes.