My baby girl is officially TWO YEARS OLD. Hold on to your Pampers, folks...we're entering the world of Toddler, and it's all about potty training, big girl beds, cleaning up your own mess, and....getting Mommy's happy back.
Sometime in my pregnancy, I lost my sense of self. I almost erased everything about ME, and became cuddler, organizer, chef, maid, mind-easer, assurer, and Nurturer Supreme...to my baby girl. I obliterated ME and built myself and my entire life around the little dumpling I created (with help from Tyler, of course) and everything she needs, wants, thinks, feels, senses, explores, etc (the verbs never stop in Madison's world, believe me!). I have entirely forgotten how to smile on my own behalf, laugh, experience joy, and generally ENJOY myself (with or without her!). I know after two years, I'm a good mommy...but I am pretty much not feeling all other titles I hold in life!
So, as we've hit our two years, and I've assessed that we're raising a hilarious, talented, brilliant, intuitive, well-balanced little person...it's time to make the same out of the mommy!
Somehow, just at this mark in our life, my new boss has seen something in me, and I've gotten a raise without applying for position. I'm now the Assistant Manager at my job...and oddly enough, my work life is now an entirely different, less stressful, fun adventure. Well deserved! All my physical and health problems are beginning to dwindle. My new focus will be on eating and being more healthy...insert healthier meals and a little gym time here! Time to get my body back after five years of putting it through complete and utter hell at my job. Eating regularly and a little exercise is sure to increase my good mood! And I'm actually excited about work AND working on myself, too!
I'm beginning to feel a little like the "old me." The funny girl with a silly side who really took a positive take on life. I can't wait to accomplish getting the happy back in my life; taking care of myself in ways I've neglected and generally being a more satisfied person. A better wife. A better, happier version of efficient mommy. A great manager, family member, and FRIEND. Learn what makes me RELAX again! The possibilites stretch in front of me, and now I am excited for every day in a way I haven't been in such a long time. Sometimes you don't realize that excelling in certain portions of your life (work, motherhood) drains the life out of you in other areas (daughter, wife, friend), just because the demands of one aspect of existence are so great you simply don't have the ENERGY to be awesome at others. You let things slide where you can. You MAKE yourself do certain things that you enjoyed at one point (cooking).
Introducing....KERRI! Again! New/old/improved! If there's nothing else I've learned in these past years, I have definitely understood the fact that BALANCE is EVERYTHING. Crucial to happiness, for sure. So, here's to my new journey! Let's get it!
Friday, February 4, 2011
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Ambition: Perfection....Where Did I Go???
Something happened to me when I got pregnant. I literally lost my mind.
Not in that horrific, straight-jacket way. Lost my mind as in...where did the last 24 hours go? Where are the keys to the car? When is the doctor's appointment, again??? Oh, where is her sock at? I had a list...now where did I put it???
I have always been an ambitious woman. I do everything I come into with the utmost of energy and intent on a job well done. I make lists, I double-check, I put it in my Blackberry, I jot it on the calendar, I put up 12 Post-It notes in various locations...and then I triple check. I am a creature of habit, borderlining on OCD in my quest of perfection.
And then I had my daughter.
She is almost two years old now, incredibly bright, active, and joyous. My lists and Post-It notes are still here, but there's only so much a woman can accomplish in 24 hours! I have a billion tasks a day, between my baby, my husband, work, home, grocery-shopping, medical needs...and the list GROWS each day! I always prided myself on getting the perfect gifts for holidays, always remembering important dates, being presentable (and hopefully somewhat attractive), and always being prepared. And then mommy's little tornado came along!
Maddie is all about "helping" her mommy. Doing laundry? She's "fixin' clothes" (Maddie-speak) by taking what I've folded and putting it in a new location. Making dinner? She thoughtfully brings me toys and books so I won't be bored in the kitchen...and places them haphazardly so I'm almost always tripping over a Dora the Explorer book or a Barbie. Unloading the dishwasher? She's right there, playing in the water that hasn't evaporated yet, pulling out spoons and dropping them on the floor. Mommy's little helper, I do believe, is helping me right into a mental ward with all the extra work! :) However, it is touching that she doesn't want me to have to do these things alone. I don't ever discourage her, just try to show her how to REALLY help me by doing whatever I'm in the middle of properly!
Until our daughter came along, I was one hundred percent independent. I cleaned our home. I put the dishes away. I folded the clothes and hung them up according to season and type. I always figured, hey, I'm the one who's so particular, I can do it best by myself.
Then Madison was born, and suddenly, I was a hot mess of mommy who burst into tears if I couldn't get everything done on my day's to-do list. My husband, Tyler, thankfully, has stepped in on every single occasion of melt-down and color-coded bottles (I'm serious), or wiped down the counters just so, or taken over my obsessive organization of the kitchen cabinets. I married a man who has accepted every freaky flaw of mine (and our baby's!), and he's done it with a smile on his face.
At first, I had the worst time accepting the "help." He didn't wash the counters down with the lemon kitchen spray in circular motions at the end of the night; he would run the sponge over the counters. He would sometimes put caps on the bottles that weren't color-coded to the nipples. He would fold the clothes all "funny" (or like a normal person) and just put them wherever they would fit in our chest of drawers. And don't get me started on the organization of Maddie's diaper bag! Oh, how it drove me crazy. He would step in while I was in the middle of unloading the dishwasher, and it would infuriate me! I had already started the project; just let me alone to finish because he wouldn't know the difference between coffee spoons and regular ones!
Then I realized I had a great big dysfunctional problem. My husband was trying to help me!!!! I was strung out from trying to be too much at work, super-mom at home, and the most organized woman on the planet! He knew I was exhausted, and severely unhappy. And I was taking out my "quest for perfection", and all it's failures, on HIM. The one person who was trying so hard to be my TEAMMATE. And you know what got left out on my list of stuff to be amazing at? WIFE.
Sheesh! Not only did I feel stupid, but I also felt horrible for being a failure to my husband! And he didn't even point it out, or complain about it. Wow, I had really messed things up. And seeking perfection? Perfect employee, perfect mother, perfect friend, perfect daughter, perfect sister, perfect aunt, perfect granddaughter, perfect WIFE....I was stinking up the place with my failure. I realized I was not doing a single soul any good by trying to over-achieve. I also had to start TAKING CARE OF MYSELF! I didn't sleep NEAR enough, I ate poorly, I never got away and just had "me time." I was a big, fat, horrendous zero!
So, I've spent the last year of my life trying not to overdo it. Trying to focus on one task/person at a time, and being what I can afford to be at that moment. I'm not a superhero; no one but ME expects me to be perfect. I have a toddler; no one expects me to get amazingly flawless expensive gifts. Nobody is asking me to have a completely clean and organized house. It's ME. I'm trying to make it up to my husband for letting myself get so far out of hand. I forgot all about myself trying to be everything to everybody. And my amazing husband (who has gone out of his way to change diapers just how I ask, and fold shirts this particular way, and set up my coffee in the mornings just how I like, and is still putting away the dishes exactly how I need them put up) is still here, still supporting me, even after I made such a big fat mistake. No matter what. Just like our baby girl.
New parents--TAKE IT EASY!!! You have a whole extra person to worry about! No one expects you to cook Thanksgiving dinner, or your car to be spotless, or your living room to be perfect! YOU make the rules, because it's YOU that has to live with them! You deserve to have an afternoon away from it all, and to remember that you're not just "mommy" or "wife" or "sister" or "employee." Remember, YOU are important, too! Part of the family depends on you, and you're best at mommy/wife when you're rested and happy. :) I didn't, and it's taken me almost a year to get my groove back!
Not in that horrific, straight-jacket way. Lost my mind as in...where did the last 24 hours go? Where are the keys to the car? When is the doctor's appointment, again??? Oh, where is her sock at? I had a list...now where did I put it???
I have always been an ambitious woman. I do everything I come into with the utmost of energy and intent on a job well done. I make lists, I double-check, I put it in my Blackberry, I jot it on the calendar, I put up 12 Post-It notes in various locations...and then I triple check. I am a creature of habit, borderlining on OCD in my quest of perfection.
And then I had my daughter.
She is almost two years old now, incredibly bright, active, and joyous. My lists and Post-It notes are still here, but there's only so much a woman can accomplish in 24 hours! I have a billion tasks a day, between my baby, my husband, work, home, grocery-shopping, medical needs...and the list GROWS each day! I always prided myself on getting the perfect gifts for holidays, always remembering important dates, being presentable (and hopefully somewhat attractive), and always being prepared. And then mommy's little tornado came along!
Maddie is all about "helping" her mommy. Doing laundry? She's "fixin' clothes" (Maddie-speak) by taking what I've folded and putting it in a new location. Making dinner? She thoughtfully brings me toys and books so I won't be bored in the kitchen...and places them haphazardly so I'm almost always tripping over a Dora the Explorer book or a Barbie. Unloading the dishwasher? She's right there, playing in the water that hasn't evaporated yet, pulling out spoons and dropping them on the floor. Mommy's little helper, I do believe, is helping me right into a mental ward with all the extra work! :) However, it is touching that she doesn't want me to have to do these things alone. I don't ever discourage her, just try to show her how to REALLY help me by doing whatever I'm in the middle of properly!
Until our daughter came along, I was one hundred percent independent. I cleaned our home. I put the dishes away. I folded the clothes and hung them up according to season and type. I always figured, hey, I'm the one who's so particular, I can do it best by myself.
Then Madison was born, and suddenly, I was a hot mess of mommy who burst into tears if I couldn't get everything done on my day's to-do list. My husband, Tyler, thankfully, has stepped in on every single occasion of melt-down and color-coded bottles (I'm serious), or wiped down the counters just so, or taken over my obsessive organization of the kitchen cabinets. I married a man who has accepted every freaky flaw of mine (and our baby's!), and he's done it with a smile on his face.
At first, I had the worst time accepting the "help." He didn't wash the counters down with the lemon kitchen spray in circular motions at the end of the night; he would run the sponge over the counters. He would sometimes put caps on the bottles that weren't color-coded to the nipples. He would fold the clothes all "funny" (or like a normal person) and just put them wherever they would fit in our chest of drawers. And don't get me started on the organization of Maddie's diaper bag! Oh, how it drove me crazy. He would step in while I was in the middle of unloading the dishwasher, and it would infuriate me! I had already started the project; just let me alone to finish because he wouldn't know the difference between coffee spoons and regular ones!
Then I realized I had a great big dysfunctional problem. My husband was trying to help me!!!! I was strung out from trying to be too much at work, super-mom at home, and the most organized woman on the planet! He knew I was exhausted, and severely unhappy. And I was taking out my "quest for perfection", and all it's failures, on HIM. The one person who was trying so hard to be my TEAMMATE. And you know what got left out on my list of stuff to be amazing at? WIFE.
Sheesh! Not only did I feel stupid, but I also felt horrible for being a failure to my husband! And he didn't even point it out, or complain about it. Wow, I had really messed things up. And seeking perfection? Perfect employee, perfect mother, perfect friend, perfect daughter, perfect sister, perfect aunt, perfect granddaughter, perfect WIFE....I was stinking up the place with my failure. I realized I was not doing a single soul any good by trying to over-achieve. I also had to start TAKING CARE OF MYSELF! I didn't sleep NEAR enough, I ate poorly, I never got away and just had "me time." I was a big, fat, horrendous zero!
So, I've spent the last year of my life trying not to overdo it. Trying to focus on one task/person at a time, and being what I can afford to be at that moment. I'm not a superhero; no one but ME expects me to be perfect. I have a toddler; no one expects me to get amazingly flawless expensive gifts. Nobody is asking me to have a completely clean and organized house. It's ME. I'm trying to make it up to my husband for letting myself get so far out of hand. I forgot all about myself trying to be everything to everybody. And my amazing husband (who has gone out of his way to change diapers just how I ask, and fold shirts this particular way, and set up my coffee in the mornings just how I like, and is still putting away the dishes exactly how I need them put up) is still here, still supporting me, even after I made such a big fat mistake. No matter what. Just like our baby girl.
New parents--TAKE IT EASY!!! You have a whole extra person to worry about! No one expects you to cook Thanksgiving dinner, or your car to be spotless, or your living room to be perfect! YOU make the rules, because it's YOU that has to live with them! You deserve to have an afternoon away from it all, and to remember that you're not just "mommy" or "wife" or "sister" or "employee." Remember, YOU are important, too! Part of the family depends on you, and you're best at mommy/wife when you're rested and happy. :) I didn't, and it's taken me almost a year to get my groove back!
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Mommy Guilt
I'm not sure what it's like for other mommies. Am I really so different from anyone else? I've heard my girlfriends comment on how hard it is to leave their children at daycare when they're leaving for work...but how far does "mommy guilt" go? Maybe I'm abnormal (not in a good way), but it feels like every single day, I'm guilting over my daughter.
At first, when Madison was born, she was "sick." I trusted my doctors to give me sound advice and alert me the instant something was wrong...and I feel like one of the women delivering my baby did not stress to me how dire her situation was at birth. When I was in labor, somehow or other, her sac tore. During labor and delivery, my daughter inhaled and digested meconium, a tar-like waste substance. The doctor told me her sac had torn, but she made it sound like it was no big thing. We went about delivery in a normal fashion. She did not impress upon me that my baby was in any danger. Because she didn't make a big deal about it, I relaxed. She told me it was a common occurrance. So when Maddie was born at 8:oo am on the dot (natural birth with a delightful epidural that made the whole procedure as "enjoyable" as possible), and they placed her in my arms and she was a beautiful wrinkly little raisin with Tyler's nose, I was crying and joyful and ecstatic as any mommy would be. I felt accomplished. She was so tiny! But she was the most gorgeous thing I'd ever marveled over. And when they wisked her away and said they'd bring her right back, I was elated and overjoyed. I did it! I made a baby! I didn't hurt anyone in the delivery room! I was actually really nice to everyone!
And then...hours went by. My elation began to evaporate. I began asking family where the baby was. Tyler left and went out of the room, and he came back with tears in his eyes. He told me, in front of our family, that Madison Carollynn McIntyre was in NICU. And that she had lung problems (from inhaling tar!) and that we wouldn't be able to see her for a while. I immediately dissolved into hysterical tears. She'd only been out of my body for a few hours, and look where she was! I felt like a failure as her mother.
Sparing the horrible agonizing details, it was three days before ANYONE could hold my daughter again. It was three days before she had anything but sugar water. It was almost a full week before she was allowed to spend the night with me. Guilt consumed every fiber of my being. From the second my epidural wore off, I spent every spare second hovered over her little plastic incubator. Every four hours, after she could eat, I would get up to give her her bottles. I could have had the nurses do it, but I was horribly afraid she would think I'd left her. I wanted desperately for her to know that I would NEVER LEAVE. I wore myself down into a puddle of hot mommy mess. It was two months before I went to the grocery store. It was three before I went back to work. I hated myself for what happened to her. I know (mostly) that it was nothing I did, but it seems the guilt of her birth will never leave me. Every time she's sick, or she sobs, or I head off to work (even though she is kept by her grandfather who provides the best care ever), or something happens to take the smile off her face....I have a flare up of that insanely hellish guilt that she left my belly and entered the world in that condition. I will never forget seeing her hooked up to all those tubes, and her clawing her face to get the tape off her cheeks, or her hungry wail in NICU as they flooded her with sugar water. My baby girl is a FIGHTER. I don't worry about her making it...my Maddie can do anything! But if I continue to feel this ridiculous guilt every time she catches cold or I go have a half-day without her...will I make it? How do I make it go away? I think I'm a decent mother. I play in the floor, read endless stories, satiate sobs when no one else can, know all her shows, cuddle her just the way she likes...why can't I drive away the guilt? I hope I am just an abnormal case and that all mommies don't feel this way. I do the best I can do every day, sometimes even when I'm running on empty and am at the bottom of the barrel...I make it work for HER. Why isn't that enough?
Mommy guilt. ~sigh~
At first, when Madison was born, she was "sick." I trusted my doctors to give me sound advice and alert me the instant something was wrong...and I feel like one of the women delivering my baby did not stress to me how dire her situation was at birth. When I was in labor, somehow or other, her sac tore. During labor and delivery, my daughter inhaled and digested meconium, a tar-like waste substance. The doctor told me her sac had torn, but she made it sound like it was no big thing. We went about delivery in a normal fashion. She did not impress upon me that my baby was in any danger. Because she didn't make a big deal about it, I relaxed. She told me it was a common occurrance. So when Maddie was born at 8:oo am on the dot (natural birth with a delightful epidural that made the whole procedure as "enjoyable" as possible), and they placed her in my arms and she was a beautiful wrinkly little raisin with Tyler's nose, I was crying and joyful and ecstatic as any mommy would be. I felt accomplished. She was so tiny! But she was the most gorgeous thing I'd ever marveled over. And when they wisked her away and said they'd bring her right back, I was elated and overjoyed. I did it! I made a baby! I didn't hurt anyone in the delivery room! I was actually really nice to everyone!
And then...hours went by. My elation began to evaporate. I began asking family where the baby was. Tyler left and went out of the room, and he came back with tears in his eyes. He told me, in front of our family, that Madison Carollynn McIntyre was in NICU. And that she had lung problems (from inhaling tar!) and that we wouldn't be able to see her for a while. I immediately dissolved into hysterical tears. She'd only been out of my body for a few hours, and look where she was! I felt like a failure as her mother.
Sparing the horrible agonizing details, it was three days before ANYONE could hold my daughter again. It was three days before she had anything but sugar water. It was almost a full week before she was allowed to spend the night with me. Guilt consumed every fiber of my being. From the second my epidural wore off, I spent every spare second hovered over her little plastic incubator. Every four hours, after she could eat, I would get up to give her her bottles. I could have had the nurses do it, but I was horribly afraid she would think I'd left her. I wanted desperately for her to know that I would NEVER LEAVE. I wore myself down into a puddle of hot mommy mess. It was two months before I went to the grocery store. It was three before I went back to work. I hated myself for what happened to her. I know (mostly) that it was nothing I did, but it seems the guilt of her birth will never leave me. Every time she's sick, or she sobs, or I head off to work (even though she is kept by her grandfather who provides the best care ever), or something happens to take the smile off her face....I have a flare up of that insanely hellish guilt that she left my belly and entered the world in that condition. I will never forget seeing her hooked up to all those tubes, and her clawing her face to get the tape off her cheeks, or her hungry wail in NICU as they flooded her with sugar water. My baby girl is a FIGHTER. I don't worry about her making it...my Maddie can do anything! But if I continue to feel this ridiculous guilt every time she catches cold or I go have a half-day without her...will I make it? How do I make it go away? I think I'm a decent mother. I play in the floor, read endless stories, satiate sobs when no one else can, know all her shows, cuddle her just the way she likes...why can't I drive away the guilt? I hope I am just an abnormal case and that all mommies don't feel this way. I do the best I can do every day, sometimes even when I'm running on empty and am at the bottom of the barrel...I make it work for HER. Why isn't that enough?
Mommy guilt. ~sigh~
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Mommy Rivalry...?
Before I gave birth, I had a slew of friends. And amongst females, friendly competition is not unusual.
I've been best friends with Breanna since we were 12 years old (we're 28 now...ugh). Although the "competition" between us has never been what I would call by any stretch of imagination "fierce," every now and then Envy would rear her ugly head (at least in my case--I can't speak for Breanna). As of now, a little tiny part of me envies her freedom, for lack of a better word. She can soak in the bathtub for three hours if her heart desires. She can jump in her car and ride to the mall. She can meet up with her friends on a whim at ten o'clock on a weeknight if she feels so inclined. She has an incredibly exciting and fulfilling career ahead of her as a pharmacist. The world is her oyster. I can only sit in the bathtub for a little bit...if I'm not in bed by 11pm, I'm definitely going to be running late in the morning for work (and my Madison waits for no one, I assure you). If I "jump in the car and ride to the mall," I'm dragging a diaper bag, a massive purse, a sippy cup, a few Yo! Gabba Gabba figurines, and a toddler. Once I get all of that into the car...well, it kind of obliterates the "whim" factor. And by the time Maddie and I get INTO the mall, I am quite limited to the time she allots me to shop for me. If I go out and meet up for drinks on a weeknight, let's just say I won't make it out of the bed for baby or job. But I digress. You catch my drift.
Since I had Maddie, though, I've taken up a couple of "mommy" friends. There's a couple of ladies that are mind-blowing to me. I'm friends with these women mostly out of coincidence; they have kids, and so do I, and it's just easier to talk baby constipation with someone who cleans up poop day in and day out than it is with your sexy single girlfriends. Talking baby constipation with women that don't have babies tend to make me feel...om....frumpy. Not fun. And it's hard to shift topic from that awesome deal your thin, stretch-mark-less friend got on her skinny jeans to how your baby peed on you. ANYWAY!
So there's this "mommy friend" of mine. I'll call her...Betina. She is the type of woman who is always perfectly pressed, fluffed, and folded. Although she is in "respectable" mom clothes (man, I am getting quite stereotypical here; but seriously, it's not okay to be at the park with your one-year-old in a bikini top and short-shorts, with your thong hanging out), Betina always wears statement shirts, skinny jeans, and heels. If you've seen old Betina at the park, I bet she made you feel like a bag lady. Her hair is always done, make-up always on, manicure and pedicured head-to-toe. I get exhausted from laying eyes on Betina. I always want to ask her what time she had to get up to look like that, or how much her glam squad costs. For the first three months after Madison was born, I LIVED in sweats and oversized t-shirts. It was a serious accomplishment if I put on make-up (and with those under-eye circles, I did need the make-up). Long story short, Betina looks like she's going to model for Elle magazine. But that's not the half of Betina that most unsettles me about our friendship.
Betina is always competing with me! She's always talking about how her baby (a year younger than mine) only eats organic food, and how her child will never EVER have soda. I remember high-fiving my husband when my daughter ate her first chicken nugget (she's always been an alarmingly picky eater). Betina's always rambling on about how for the first year, she made her baby's food herself. She has a son that is two years older than her daughter, and the two of them just get on fabulously (if you ignore the three-year-old trying to choke the life out of his sister). Betina goes to night school after her boyfriend gets home from work. Betina has a part-time job as a legal secretary. Betina makes her daughter's baby wipes in her spare time. Betina is a Green Mom. When Betina really gets going, I feel like I'm Jan from the Brady Bunch, and I just want to scream, "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!"
And it's wonderful that she's amazing and perfect at being a girlfriend, a mother, a legal secretary, a humanitarian, and just generally saving the world one green baby wipe at a time. I'm astounded that she CAN do it all. But does Betina have to make me feel inferior because of it? Because she used to be EXCELLENT at making me feel worthless on the mommy front. I didn't even know that Mommy Rivalry existed until Betina came along! She's always telling me what I'm doing wrong with Madison. It drives me bananas. I've even gone so far as to pretty much avoid her at all costs because of her need to feel superior.
Why would you want to be that one to a fellow mother? Every mommy and every child is different, and each of their relationships is different. I always think it's so amazing if one mom tells me she potty-trained this way, and another jumps in and says she did it another way (and they both worked). Mommies have to be superiorly creative to keep ahead of their children (as do Daddies), and if one mommy is handing out advice, I'm all up for listening to it. Every little thing helps, even if you don't get to use it! But, to make another mother feel bad? I degrade myself enough, I definitely don't need Betina jumping in pointing out every little thing I've done wrong!!! It would be one thing if she was trying to HELP me...but smirking at me and telling me that MILK IS ROTTING MY DAUGHTER'S TEETH is a bit much (Maddie's teeth are so far so good; her daughter has been to the dentist twice now (at a year old), and has had three teeth pulled).
My solace, you ask? The way my daughter looks at me, like I'm the only person in the world that knows all her answers, like she can't live without me, like no one can make her laugh like silly mommy. Betina's kids, when they're not trying to take each other out of the game (and I must say, her daughter has caught on awful quick to that little game), don't smile that much or act silly often. They're very serious children. That's just not how I want my daughter to grow up. I want her to have fun, and play in the dirt--not sit on a bench and stare longingly at other children. If she's laughing, no matter how dirty her clothes are, or how frumpy I look, or how stupid I end up seeming to anyone watching us...that's the ONLY thing that matters to me. If Maddie's happy, Mommy's happy. End of story. :)
I've been best friends with Breanna since we were 12 years old (we're 28 now...ugh). Although the "competition" between us has never been what I would call by any stretch of imagination "fierce," every now and then Envy would rear her ugly head (at least in my case--I can't speak for Breanna). As of now, a little tiny part of me envies her freedom, for lack of a better word. She can soak in the bathtub for three hours if her heart desires. She can jump in her car and ride to the mall. She can meet up with her friends on a whim at ten o'clock on a weeknight if she feels so inclined. She has an incredibly exciting and fulfilling career ahead of her as a pharmacist. The world is her oyster. I can only sit in the bathtub for a little bit...if I'm not in bed by 11pm, I'm definitely going to be running late in the morning for work (and my Madison waits for no one, I assure you). If I "jump in the car and ride to the mall," I'm dragging a diaper bag, a massive purse, a sippy cup, a few Yo! Gabba Gabba figurines, and a toddler. Once I get all of that into the car...well, it kind of obliterates the "whim" factor. And by the time Maddie and I get INTO the mall, I am quite limited to the time she allots me to shop for me. If I go out and meet up for drinks on a weeknight, let's just say I won't make it out of the bed for baby or job. But I digress. You catch my drift.
Since I had Maddie, though, I've taken up a couple of "mommy" friends. There's a couple of ladies that are mind-blowing to me. I'm friends with these women mostly out of coincidence; they have kids, and so do I, and it's just easier to talk baby constipation with someone who cleans up poop day in and day out than it is with your sexy single girlfriends. Talking baby constipation with women that don't have babies tend to make me feel...om....frumpy. Not fun. And it's hard to shift topic from that awesome deal your thin, stretch-mark-less friend got on her skinny jeans to how your baby peed on you. ANYWAY!
So there's this "mommy friend" of mine. I'll call her...Betina. She is the type of woman who is always perfectly pressed, fluffed, and folded. Although she is in "respectable" mom clothes (man, I am getting quite stereotypical here; but seriously, it's not okay to be at the park with your one-year-old in a bikini top and short-shorts, with your thong hanging out), Betina always wears statement shirts, skinny jeans, and heels. If you've seen old Betina at the park, I bet she made you feel like a bag lady. Her hair is always done, make-up always on, manicure and pedicured head-to-toe. I get exhausted from laying eyes on Betina. I always want to ask her what time she had to get up to look like that, or how much her glam squad costs. For the first three months after Madison was born, I LIVED in sweats and oversized t-shirts. It was a serious accomplishment if I put on make-up (and with those under-eye circles, I did need the make-up). Long story short, Betina looks like she's going to model for Elle magazine. But that's not the half of Betina that most unsettles me about our friendship.
Betina is always competing with me! She's always talking about how her baby (a year younger than mine) only eats organic food, and how her child will never EVER have soda. I remember high-fiving my husband when my daughter ate her first chicken nugget (she's always been an alarmingly picky eater). Betina's always rambling on about how for the first year, she made her baby's food herself. She has a son that is two years older than her daughter, and the two of them just get on fabulously (if you ignore the three-year-old trying to choke the life out of his sister). Betina goes to night school after her boyfriend gets home from work. Betina has a part-time job as a legal secretary. Betina makes her daughter's baby wipes in her spare time. Betina is a Green Mom. When Betina really gets going, I feel like I'm Jan from the Brady Bunch, and I just want to scream, "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!"
And it's wonderful that she's amazing and perfect at being a girlfriend, a mother, a legal secretary, a humanitarian, and just generally saving the world one green baby wipe at a time. I'm astounded that she CAN do it all. But does Betina have to make me feel inferior because of it? Because she used to be EXCELLENT at making me feel worthless on the mommy front. I didn't even know that Mommy Rivalry existed until Betina came along! She's always telling me what I'm doing wrong with Madison. It drives me bananas. I've even gone so far as to pretty much avoid her at all costs because of her need to feel superior.
Why would you want to be that one to a fellow mother? Every mommy and every child is different, and each of their relationships is different. I always think it's so amazing if one mom tells me she potty-trained this way, and another jumps in and says she did it another way (and they both worked). Mommies have to be superiorly creative to keep ahead of their children (as do Daddies), and if one mommy is handing out advice, I'm all up for listening to it. Every little thing helps, even if you don't get to use it! But, to make another mother feel bad? I degrade myself enough, I definitely don't need Betina jumping in pointing out every little thing I've done wrong!!! It would be one thing if she was trying to HELP me...but smirking at me and telling me that MILK IS ROTTING MY DAUGHTER'S TEETH is a bit much (Maddie's teeth are so far so good; her daughter has been to the dentist twice now (at a year old), and has had three teeth pulled).
My solace, you ask? The way my daughter looks at me, like I'm the only person in the world that knows all her answers, like she can't live without me, like no one can make her laugh like silly mommy. Betina's kids, when they're not trying to take each other out of the game (and I must say, her daughter has caught on awful quick to that little game), don't smile that much or act silly often. They're very serious children. That's just not how I want my daughter to grow up. I want her to have fun, and play in the dirt--not sit on a bench and stare longingly at other children. If she's laughing, no matter how dirty her clothes are, or how frumpy I look, or how stupid I end up seeming to anyone watching us...that's the ONLY thing that matters to me. If Maddie's happy, Mommy's happy. End of story. :)
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Enough is ENOUGH....isn't it?
I am, and have consistently been, put up against my job in regards to my family. It seems that although the two should have a symbiotic relationship, they can't seem to get along. I feel as if I am a timeshare, and both family and the job have signed up for the same week of vacation. My job provides for family (duh)...my family is the reason for my job. So for the past three years (if you include my pregnancy), it's been the ultimate UFC battle royale...FAMILY vs. JOB. And if I am totally honest with myself, as the mom and employee of both fighters, I get lost in the frenzy.
It's a juggling act, and just when I think I've found out the way to keep all the balls in motion...I'll drop one. So it's no surprise that when I become sick (despite the insane amount of extra Vitamin C I take daily to ensure that I'll be healthy forever), it seems like everyone in the world is disappointed in me. How dare I become sick??? Instead of being able to just crawl under the blankets of my bed and not come out again until I'm healthy, I have to work regardless of the strength of my illness. My career just can't seem to function without me. If I do take a day off to heal up, I am constantly receiving phone calls from my job about what needs to be done! That's not even considered rest. And, my little girl is only 20 months old...she doesn't seem to grasp the fact that Mommy doesn't feel up to "goin' to a park" today, due to the hacking and wheezing uncontrollably all over everything.
It's almost as though I only exist to DO for other people. That makes me on the one hand feel important; on the other, it makes me want to sob hysterically for the world to please just stop and give me an honest-to-goodness day off! Alas, this mommy must keep going...although...
There have been a few occassions recently where I just had to shut down the Superwoman Factory. I took a day off from work and shut off my phone. If they can't figure it out (like I always must do), then it will just have to wait until I feel up to handling whatever the particular career challenge is. It's not life and death...it's buying CARS. I've had to shut myself into my bedroom and let my husband deal with my daughter. What good am I doing her if I'm extremely ill and not even focussed on her needs?
And you know what? The world didn't end. I actually felt better. I got some rest, and probably mended up a lot faster than I would have if I kept trudging through the work day and mommy duties. The morale of the story is: sometimes, enough IS enough. Sometimes you just have to say "no" to everyone but yourself, so that sometime soon, you can be everything to everyone. :)
It's a juggling act, and just when I think I've found out the way to keep all the balls in motion...I'll drop one. So it's no surprise that when I become sick (despite the insane amount of extra Vitamin C I take daily to ensure that I'll be healthy forever), it seems like everyone in the world is disappointed in me. How dare I become sick??? Instead of being able to just crawl under the blankets of my bed and not come out again until I'm healthy, I have to work regardless of the strength of my illness. My career just can't seem to function without me. If I do take a day off to heal up, I am constantly receiving phone calls from my job about what needs to be done! That's not even considered rest. And, my little girl is only 20 months old...she doesn't seem to grasp the fact that Mommy doesn't feel up to "goin' to a park" today, due to the hacking and wheezing uncontrollably all over everything.
It's almost as though I only exist to DO for other people. That makes me on the one hand feel important; on the other, it makes me want to sob hysterically for the world to please just stop and give me an honest-to-goodness day off! Alas, this mommy must keep going...although...
There have been a few occassions recently where I just had to shut down the Superwoman Factory. I took a day off from work and shut off my phone. If they can't figure it out (like I always must do), then it will just have to wait until I feel up to handling whatever the particular career challenge is. It's not life and death...it's buying CARS. I've had to shut myself into my bedroom and let my husband deal with my daughter. What good am I doing her if I'm extremely ill and not even focussed on her needs?
And you know what? The world didn't end. I actually felt better. I got some rest, and probably mended up a lot faster than I would have if I kept trudging through the work day and mommy duties. The morale of the story is: sometimes, enough IS enough. Sometimes you just have to say "no" to everyone but yourself, so that sometime soon, you can be everything to everyone. :)
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