Way Back When

Motherhood is humbling on so many levels. I remember the old days when I had the luxury of being irritated by the baby crying on the airplane and that crying baby wasn't mine. I had the luxury of being judgemental. How could people not raise their child with enough manners to not throw fits in public? Did they have no control over them? Who was the parent in their relationship, anyway? I was absolutely certain my child would be better behaved, because we would have rules, and since I was the Mom (rulemaker, Queen of the House) and She was the Baby, she would dutifully follow said rules. Now I think, "How CUTE that I had plans like that!"

Food? My child would only eat the most nutritious organic meals. She would eat well, because she wouldn't know anything else. She would eat what I give her, and if she didn't, fine. She wouldn't have to eat. She would learn the rules. She would happily down a plate of broccoli and tofu and wash it down with an 8oz. glass of whole milk and delightedly eat her dessert-a fresh wedge of mango. Again, my naivate was so sweet, so wholesome! Of course she would do that! Why wouldn't she? Afterall, that sounds like a nice meal to me! So, the universe, ever so ironic, sent me Gillian the Impossible Eater. Just to make sure I didn't think about doing all that planning next time; to teach me to be humble and grateful when things actually go well. That is no mistake, people. I really thought I had a lot of things figured out...from my pregnancy to my birth (Ha!), to nursing, to eating, to discipline....I thought I knew what would happen. What I envisioned would happen, naturally. It is really interesting to notice that everything I had firm visions of are the very same things I have had to compromise my approach to as I learn and grow from this experience. The Universe doesn't make these kinds of mistakes. So, I invited these lessons into my life by thinking I could control particular aspects of parenting.

The truth is, there is a whole lot of personality in a child, even a young one. And one thing I have learned is that babies don't do what babies don't want to do. No matter what you do to try to get them to do what you want, they have their own [stubborn] minds. You can't MAKE a baby wear her gloves when you're outside, even if the temperature is 36 degrees. She has to decide it is less comfortable with them off, and it has to be her decision to let you put them back on and keep them on. If a baby doesn't want to sit on your lap at church, she will squirm and wriggle down to the floor. If you try to restrain her (and she really wants down), she will whine and fuss. Eventually, you decide that it is more disruptive to be firm and make her sit in your lap while she shrieks like she is being tortured than let her blissfully roam the back of the church (even if she does stop every now and then to kiss the little prayer card with a picture of Jesus on the front, and waves and blows kisses to everyone that catches her eye; sweet but also a bit heathen-ish (or so says a few baleful parental glares of the "Toddlers Content to Sit on Mama's Lap"; to whom I thumb my nose...). You might even make the best of it and convince yourself that you could use the exercise walking after her and heading her off at every open door, stairwell, or stack of papers (this actually happened today, so this is from experience).

Also, when faced with the prospect of your child rejecting what you are offering her to eat, you don't just think, "fine, starve!" Especially if your child is barely on the growth chart. Nope-you'll let her eat anything with calories. Well, almost anything. I have, on occasion, made Gillian as many as three different meals in one setting hoping she would eat something. Am I creating an expectation that we will cater to her forever? Maybe. But I am doing the best I can right now to feed her. Once I even gave her Raviolis (*gasp*). That was a last resort. The old me would have never even considered a scenario where I would be that desperate. The new me is more pragmatic. **(but note: even I draw the line at too much sugar, though; no fruit juice and very infrequent bites of sweets; maybe she would gain weight if she ate a twinkie for breakfast, a milkshake for snacks, a brownie for lunch, and cake and ice cream for dinner, but she would, most assuredly, end up with weight problems and an unhealthy view of herself and food later in life as a result; besides, we aren't THAT desperate). We just breathe through the disappointment of watching her take a giant spoonful of food and divert it from her mouth (like she suddenly got a better idea) to give a bite to her burpcloth or her shoe. *sigh*

So, the bottom line is that my whole perspective on the behavior of children is completely different now than say, 19 months ago. A tantrum doesn't mean that a child's parents don't love her or don't attempt to discipline her or that she was raised in a barn. It means she is asserting her singlemindedness to some end, and is unwilling to yield to any alternative outcomes aside from the one she has set her mind on. Picky eating doesn't mean that the parents are doing anything wrong. This one has been hard for me. It's almost like group therapy. It's not our fault. There, I said it. Gillian is not a big eater. That is who she is, and it (likely) has nothing to do with me.

There's a reason why all of us with toddlers look at eachother that way. It's almost like we're in the trenches of hell together. But, contrary to common reason, somehow every second in the trenches is completely worth it...especially with all those sweet kisses, the pure joy of their complete mindfulness in the present (which, honestly, is infectious), and the heaven of all that SuperLove (I mean, seriously, who else has ever or will ever love you that completely?). We look through our bleary exhausted eyes at eachother in silent (or not so silent) acknowledgement, find our common footing, and discuss such important topics as pooping in the potty, or discouraging nose picking, or what three things you can actually get your kid to eat this week. It's a deep bond we have.

Super spaz

Today our new nanny, Anna, came over. She is coming over once a week until she starts her normal schedule in a few weeks. She will be bringing her 4 year old daughter, Julie, with her. Apparently Gillian had a really good time. Like, such a good time that she was talking nonstop, excitedly, running up and down the hallway dancing and laughing from the time I got home until she went to bed. She really likes Julie and Anna. And that is a *huge* relief!!!!!

Question: Can a person live on chicken and cheese alone?

Answer: Empirical evidence says YES. Grumble grumble grumble.....

The tide is turning for the *fabulous*

It is SPRING! We have LEAVES! We are on our 5th day of 60+ degree weather, and we couldn't be more thrilled!

Not only that, but we got TWELVE hours of sleep last night! All of us! (the average this week was between 4 and 6, not through any fault of G's). I had a wonderful birthday (thanks Bjorn, for giving us the night out sans bebe)...and, Gillian seems to be feeling better in general, which means she has been lovin her Mama AND her Papa the past couple of days (*insert gigantic sigh of relief*). Also, she has rediscovered her love of swings. Just today (see exhibit A, below).

She could be eating. I mean, it's almost ridiculous how little she is eating. However, one of the top molars is busting through, and hopefully the other won't linger far behind it (there are many many bumps in her gums that might be other teeth on the way through, but I'm hoping 4 molars will open up her dietary world). Other than that rather consistent worry of mine, things are definitely looking up!

Rejected.

Me. That is. No one ever told me that the epitome of feeling completely utterly worthless is your child wanting absolutely nothing to do with you. You know, you, her mother, the person that carried her, gave her life, and nourished her, singlehandedly (for the majority of her young, ungrateful life). Gillian follows Sean around all day, begging to be held and cuddled by him. If I try to take her from him, she arches her back and cries, reaching for Sean. I don't know exactly when this started, but it's probably been brewing for a couple of weeks. I don't know why exactly. Weekends I am the one who mostly cares for her plus one week day, and Sean does two week days, and she is with Silvia and Francie two days. It's not like she spends more time with Sean...one thing I do know about G is that she can change her stubborn mind about anything in a split second without an obvious rhyme or reason.

When Sean's gone, she still calls for him. I gave her a picture of the two of them the other day, and she carries it around all day long, stopping to caress and kiss it, and say, "Hi, Papa!" every so often. I might as well not even exist. Tonight after work, Sean invited me to join them on the floor (because he eventually gets tired of carrying her and just sits down, where she climbs on him, and gives him lots of kisses and hugs), and said "Gilly, give Mama a kiss hello..."; to which she replied a spirited, "No!" and buried her face in his neck. Nice. He said, "well, I'm gonna give Mama a kiss, and you can join in if you want". She very suspiciously watched him give me a kiss, and then grudgingly gave me one of her own (those don't count, you know...the forced ones, but these days I'll take what I can get). And then, get this, THEN she pushed me off his chest where I had laid my head. More than once, as in "I MEAN IT LADY-GET AWAY FROM MY PAPA". Is she jealous of him loving anyone but her?!? Is that possible at this age? Seriously?

She and I still have our Very Special dinner/bath/books/bottle & rocking routine right after I walk in the door from work, but last night she even took the book from me and gave it to Sean and said "No, No, No!" when I tried to read it to her. She would cry when he would get up to leave us alone. So, we haven't had a day that makes me feel all fuzzy about parenthood in a while, and I am the odd man out. If you ever want to know what lonely really feels like, try being the only member of the Outcast Club in your own home. I hope this, along with the molar-cutting that never seems to end and the Eating Nearly NOTHING (Phase 114) will resolve As Soon As Humanly Possible. I want my mama-lovin' snuggle bug back. And I especially want to feel like she is not going to starve to death.

I need a vacation.

The Search

I have yet to express the woes and worry that comprises the search for quality childcare for G. I think this is a major stressor for most parents who have not chosen/are unable to stay at home with their children. For us, I will never be able to do that, as my income is the steady one. This means, no year or two off to be a stay at home mom. This is unfortunate for because, from a hardwiring perspective, it would not work for Sean to be home alone with G any more than the two days a week he already is. I, on the other hand, would love to have the option to stay at home for a year or two. I did get 7 months with G after she was born (if you count the 2 she was in the hospital, it's more like 5 months), but it would be nice to be around more now. All these days are so precious, and I feel like I'm missing them.

I get struck every so often by the fact that Gillian, every day, is less and less my little baby. Every time Sean gets irritated by Gillian's passionate clinging to his legs begging to be picked up (she is showing a strong preference for him right now), I remind him that one of these days, she will not want him to hold her anymore and to relish these days that she does. One day, she will be five and too busy to want to be held, though she'll probably come in for occasional affection. By the time she's twelve, she'll be holed up in her bedroom talking with her friends, likely with very little patience for any of our silly parenting at all. When she's 16, we will probably spend nights sick with worry about where she is and who she's with. And when she's 18, she will leave us and start her own life. I see all of this, laid our before us like an eternity, but the truth is, it will feel like a blink and we will be at her high school graduation. So, we can't get these baby days back, and that is terribly sad to think about. And so, yes, I wish I could be witness to more of these sweet moments that comprise her years of complete, open love and innocence.

So, I have these conflicting emotions about my career, that I love, and being a mother, which makes my career seem like a time sink of something not nearly so priceless. I mean, the work I do is rewarding and interesting, but what work could a person do that is more important than raising another person with their own soul, and heart, and mind? Herein lies that conflict a lot of working moms feel, I think. To compensate for these feelings of inadequacey and guilt, I try to be completely present for Gillian when I am home. No computer, no phone calls, few errands, no television, no time for other people when she is awake. As in, she gets absolute priority for every second I have when I am here to give it to her. We read, we play, we sing, we eat, we breathe together in our far too limited time. And I still feel like I am missing something.

So, having prefaced this with all the conflicts a mother feels about not being home, I hope you can appreciate what a heavy decision it is to choose someone to care for a child-someone that will spend more time raising your child than you during the week. It's not enough to have a warm adult body at home, but you want someone who can stand in for you. That is a very tall order. And finding her is one of the most stressful decisions I have had the displeasure of trying to make. We have had a wonderful caregiver-sharing arrangement since last August (before which Sean and I had provided all G's care) with Francie and her parents and our dear Silvia, who Gillian adores. Francie and Gillian are like sisters at this point, cute as buttons together (I was reminded of this last night watching them jump on the bed together, laughing). Unfortunately, for a few reasons, this arrangement has to end. And even more unfortunately, this means we have to a) find a new Silvia, who is just wonderful with Gillian; and b) find a new family to share her with. We want to share because it is vital to us that Gillian have some socialization, and it's also a much more economical option than having your own nanny.

So, the past few weeks have been a flurry of Craiglist trolling, emailing every ad that even seems remotely workable, disappointing letdowns when the perfect person gets hired two hours before you are supposed to interview her by another family, and the discomfort of interviews and not commiting because it didn't feel quite right. We did finally meet a perfectly lovely woman yesterday, who is a mom herself, and offered her the position on the spot, which she accepted. But, part of me is worried this will fall through too, since I have now been conditioned to have my optimism crushed under the weight of the dog-eat-dog world of finding in-home childcare.

So, let's hope we are done with this search, because I am tired. And it has made me grouchy. And God knows I don't need anything to make me grouchy on top of this weather...which did the trick two months ago.

Seriously

"And the Grinch grabbed the tree, and he started to shove
When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.
He turned around fast, and he saw a small Who!
Little Cindy-Lou Who, who was not more than two."

For Love of Cantaloupes (the lost post from 3/4)

Gillian REALLY adores cantaloupes. I can tell her a hundred times that the cantaloupe is NOT a ball, it's a cantaloupe. She still wants to hug and kiss it and refers to it as "bu-bu-buhhhhh" ("ball"). Yesterday was not the first time she threw a fit because she wanted to hold the bu-bu-buhhhhh in the fruit basket during lunch, but it WAS the first time that she insisted we bring it with us to the living room after lunch. My reasoning is this: if letting her hold, pet, kiss, and hug a cantaloupe will distract her so I can shovel yogurt into her mouth, so be it. That's the thing about parenting. You have to be sensible about which battles are worth fighting. Tooth brushing while she kicks and screams and throws a fit-worth fighting over (since the long term effects of rotten baby teeth would be a Silver Baby Grill; Yes, sadly our days of her happily brushing her own teeth are over). Weird little sloughings from the cantaloupe all over Gillian and the floor?-Not worth fighting over.

Why does she love them? I dunno...maybe it's the cute little green veins on an otherwise beige fruit..or maybe it's the way they are never quite perfectly round. The truth is, I am not sure why she loves anything that she loves (except us of course). She makes the high pitched dolphinesque adoring sound at her poop (this while holding her nose-I admit, we taught her that), Sean's bellybutton lint, the cats, her baby dolls, her boogers, cantaloupes and lots of other inanimate objects.

ETA: Gillian's love of all things round is quite remarkable. At this moment (4/2), the dirty basketball from downstairs that our sweet neighbor boy allowed her to borrow post-basketball is currently sleeping with her in her crib...do I love her snuggling with a filthy kindof flat rubber ball? Not so much. Is it easier to make it disappear when she's in the bathtub later? Quite; we are discerning about our battles around here.

Here are 1) an old video from December of her giving some serious, solemn love to a cantaloupe, and 2) a not so old video (3/3) of her insisting on hanging with the cantaloupe in the living room: