1+1=2, right? Ha.
Since my last post (years ago), I have learned quite a bit about mathematics. I’m no mathematician, but I believe my findings would confound even Einstein.
First lesson: the addition of a second child does not equal twice the time/effort/frustration/love/(and joy) of two children.
When I discovered that I was pregnant with my second little boy (shortly after our lake vacation – last post), I was overwhelmed but excited and confident. I thought “Hey, I’ve got this whole mothering thing down. I can easily handle another little rug rat.” I believed my “vast” parenting knowledge would translate into a stress-free infancy. I knew each baby was different and an individual. But really, how hard could it be… Well, 1+1=10 times the time/effort/frustration/love/(and, yes, joy) not to mention the chaos. It is this chaos, I believe, that plays a vital role in my next lesson.
Second lesson: Time is not linear.
You know how your parents/grandparents always say “time flies”. Well, I have lost an entire year of my life. For months I believed and even told friends that I’m 30, just to discover last week that I am in fact about to turn 32… Could it be that I’ve been overwhelmed with child-rearing/birthing and the chaos that entails or that I’ve blown off my birthdays as inconsequential (barely celebrating them) or maybe my IQ has dropped so dramatically that I can no longer count above 30? Not sure what the answer is.
All I can say is that time flies and 1+1(does NOT)=2
Merriam-Webster defines vacation as:
- a respite or a time of respite from something
- a: a scheduled period during which activity is suspended b: a period of exemption from work granted to an employee
- a period spent away from home or business in travel or recreation
I recently went on a family vacation to a lovely lake house in New Hampshire. It was perfect. The pefect house; perfect weather; great food; good friends. Perfect. It wasn’t until I arrived home that I realized what was missing: the VACATION.
As a full-time mom, my job is pretty much being a slave to my eight month old little boy. He’s hungry; I feed him. He’s tired; I rock him to sleep. He poops; I wipe his hiney. Over my week long vacation, I prepared 22 baby meals. Since I’m making my own baby food – this requires more than popping open a jar of Gerber. I put the baby down for 15 naps (my husband would have helped but unfortunately his nipples run dry). And changed 35 diapers (I’ll give my husband 15 or so). And this isn’t including the 8 (normally 5) hour drive with an eight month old – not exactly the same as say a 90 minute massage. So, my “vacation” wasn’t really a respite, at all.
Is there really such a thing as a family vacation? Or is it a misnomer? Maybe it should just be called a brief change of location.
**Don’t get me wrong. I had a wonderful time. It’s just amazing how different things are when you have a 20 pound ball of love and energy.
As my 30th birthday looms on the horizon, I’m beginning to feel like I am no longer a child. It’s funny – this feeling is NOT stemming from this birthday milestone, or the fact that I am now a parent, or even that the idea of a good night includes a glass of wine at home and being in bed by 10 PM. This feeling stems from a recent debilitating episode of getting dressed one morning.
As I was pulling on my pants something in my back snapped. “Awch. Oh god, I can’t stand up. Is that the baby waking up?” As I massaged my lower back and hobbled into the baby’s room, I felt like an adult. When I called my husband, 6 hours later in tears because I could no longer stand up and hold the baby, I felt like an adult. Two weeks later as I made my 7th appointment at the chiropractor, I felt like an adult.
I’ve never before had back problems. Sure it was sore towards the end of my pregnancy – but that was to be expected – I had a HUGE belly in front of me. But this time my back was so strained I was forced to crawl on the floor. As an indication of my debilitated state I actually called my mother and begged her to be on the next flight to Connecticut to help me (those of you who know me understand that this is a big deal because I HATE asking for help).
When it all boils down – I realize that I’m not old (but I’m not young anymore either) and that my back problems stemmed from stupidity and not fraility. The day before my incident I carried my 20 pound son in a baby bjorn, a 20 pound bag of cat food, 3 gallons of milk, 5 pounds of chicken, and 5 pounds of walnuts (gotta love Costco) up the stairs from the garage and into my apartment all at the same time.
So, my back went snap; my spirit went crackle; and the bubble of youth went pop.
The hardest part of parenting isn’t…
the sleepless nights (and days)
the soar (I mean sore) nipples
the changing of very dirty diapers
or even the thought of what it will cost to send them to college
It’s cutting their tiny little nails while they try to wiggle away from you.
Tomorrow is the big day. I’m going to feed my little 17 pounder his first tastes of food. I’ve had all these grandious ideas about what his first solid food experience should be. I’m thinking pureed organic sweet potatoes cut with the freshest of mom’s milk or maybe it should be sweet peas or there’s always applesauce. But, after much talk and consideration, I have decided to go down the heavily trodden path of rice cereal. I know it taste like cardboard and could constipate him – but my pediatrician recommended it (as did all family members). In my defense, I did spring the extra dollar for the organic whole grain rice cereal… poor little guy. It will only be for a few days and then we’ll be on to bigger and much better things.
Tomorrow is a momentous day for so many reasons. First, my little boy is growing up. Second and even more emotional, this is the first step towards weaning. Even the mention of the W word makes me choke up. Also, this is HIS first experience with eating, something that is near and dear to me. And finally, it’s going to be so damn cute.
Wish us luck!
Filed under baby, food, mom
Last week was a pivotal week in my household. My baby didn’t crawl, walk, talk, or get his driver’s license. No, he discovered his male anatomy.
It was a normal night. Exactly like every night. Play time until 6:00ish and then bath time until 7:00. (Yes, I milk bath time for all it’s worth. My husband travels all week and I need all the help I can get at night.) So, after our usual rolling around on the rug naked, we moved on to the bath. Everything appeared normal. There was splashing and the initial urination (warm water does it for him every time). And then he suddenly went quiet… I wondered “What’s going on?” And then I saw it. My little innocent baby boy was pinching and pulling on his little frank and beans. Awch! Anyone who has a baby knows they have a heck of a grip. But, he didn’t seem to mind. In fact I think it fascinated him. Since then it has become a nightly ritual.
Is it terrible that I find this absolutely adorable?