Every Parent Is an IslandPosted by admin on December 26th, 2009

Sometimes, parenting just sucks up every ounce of kindness, patience, and love I have. It’s like I start each day with a cup full of these qualities, and by the end of the day, they’re gone and I can’t imagine where I’ll get more for tomorrow.

The thing that’s most frustrating is that it seems as though no one around me understands why I get so frustrated. While some of them are parents too, they are past the point of having to devote 50% or more of their energy and thoughts to someone else. Parenting is a lonely business more often than not. Even when I am surrounded by people, I always have one eye on what I’m doing and one eye on my son. I am, of course, the only one who’s completely distracted 24/7. When I need to use the bathroom, he follows me or cries for me from the other room. If I walk outside to check the mail or take the dog out, I have to hurry because who knows what he’s doing inside?

I can’t wait for the day when I can take a leisurely shower — and remember to shave both legs — without calling to my child every few minutes just to be sure he’s alive and well.

Yes, this is likely every mom’s life. But this is my experience, and my experience is often frustrating. It’s just plain difficult, and it’s nothing to sneer at. The reproducers of this world can pretend to have it all together, but little ones (especially little ones who are about to turn 2) get the best of any caregiver by the end of a long day, sometimes even just a long hour. When you’re doing it alone, the good and the bad is multiplied. It’s hard to keep them balanced and avoid consistently swinging from one extreme to another.

We had a wonderful Christmas, but as most parents know, holidays are no-napping, sugar-eating, staying-up-late, screaming-for-toys days. There is no lounging on the couch in a turkey-induced stupor for those of us named Mom.

It is ironic that the past few weeks (my blog-neglecting weeks) have been so difficult, yet so fun. My little boy has a mind of his own now, and is learning to put his opinions into words. I get countless hugs and kisses every day, and am pleasantly surprised by his independence and caring gestures.

There are nights, though, like tonight, when I grit my teeth as I hold my crying child and think “if only he were a crying newborn again.” I miss the baby phase so much. But there are things about being around an insanely tall, intriguingly bilingual 23-month-old that cannot be matched by the company of a helpless baby.

I suppose finding the humor and joy in every moment becomes more difficult when you’re experiencing the low points by yourself. The important thing is that I am sticking it out, waking up every day intending to stretch out my allocation of kindness, patience, and love for as long as I can. Being a mom is the only job in which you lose your mind over and over, but continue to come back for more. It has to be that way, and I’m very glad it is.

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Mommy BodyPosted by admin on December 1st, 2009

I do not remember a period of time in elementary, middle, or high school when I didn’t worry about what I was wearing or how my hair looked. I was the tallest of all my friends, and often the widest. I wanted to wear the tiny clothes from Limited Too and 5-7-9, but my hips never wanted anything to do with juniors’ clothes. Worst of all, I started breaking out at age 10 and haven’t stopped.

Everyone has their body woes, and there’s no doubt that we exaggerate our own flaws. Still, the formative influence of the preteen years on girls’ lifelong body delusions is profound.

Size is relative, and competition is fierce. Depending upon who we are around, we might feel thin or fat, tall or short, trendy or outdated. This is particularly damaging when we reach the stages of pregnancy and nursing.

Pregnancy is the only legitimate excuse a woman ever has to eat what she wants and gain weight on purpose. It is equally liberating and terrifying. After years of trying to have control over your size and shape, you have to relax into whatever mold the baby and your body decide to put you in. Postpartum, you still have much of the weight/skin, yet feel that you have none of the excuses. We all hear about the Heidi Klums of the world losing all their baby weight in a month, and suddenly feel pressured to be runway-ready with a newborn in our arms. In reality, it is incredibly unhealthy to rapidly lose weight while breastfeeding, and even if you are not. There is a reason for those fat stores, and getting rid of them intentionally means depriving your exhausted self of what little energy nature gives you to get through new motherhood.

The younger you are, the quicker you bounce back, but your body is still permanently changed from the pregnancy and birthing experience. It seems to me that it’s even more difficult to face the physical alterations of motherhood when you’re a young mom, because the world doesn’t yet expect you to be going through them. If I were in my 30s or 40s, complaining about stretch marks and shopping for “mom jeans” would be acceptable. At 23, I still want to look my age (i.e. shop at American Eagle), but according to the modern timeline of life experiences, I’m a good decade ahead. A young mom can’t say a thing about the way a baby has changed her body without an older mom looking down her nose and shooting her a “just-you-wait” scowl.

In some ways, I appreciate my body more now because I can look into the eyes of the little person it created. But it’s difficult to ignore the temptation to compare myself to women my age who haven’t had their breasts stretched and butts widened. At the same time that I miss the feeling of a creature fluttering in my belly, I am critical of my new hint of a muffin top and smaller bra size.

Just like many other things in life, the mommy body is a paradox. Skinny-girl worship in the media hits us with the same force as messages about loving The Shape of a Mother. It is impossible to maintain the pre-baby figure, even with the help of cocoa butter and surgical intervention.

All I know is: I can’t wait until my friends have an opportunity to grow in all the right places. Then, while I may not always love my body, I’ll at least be able to talk about it in an appreciative way, rather than an “ohmygod, i am so fat this week” way. Body talk changes when baby talk begins. Let’s start talking.

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