Archive for being a momma

Expanding a Tweet #2

“Touring daycares is like touring colleges: they are all the same until one jumps out at you.”
We moved successfully surviving an earthquake as we were driving in Northern Virginia and a hurricaine as soon as we were done unloading the truck.
This week we are visiting 3 daycares because Doodle clearly enjoys it and we clearly can’t just put food and water on the floor and lock him in his room while we work. We last did this when he was only 7 months fermented, touring several traditional daycares and one in-home one. It was a blur of color and children, until we got to the one we ultimately choose. It was so bright. That’s what I remember from the first visit. But I also came away with the feeling that kids were learning and still being kids. The state seems to regulate traditional daycares pretty hardcore (my new state requires a parental note to apply diaper cream and cannot give acetaminophen) so it comes down to philosophies and learning styles and does it mesh with your style as a parent. None of which you can really determine in an hour visit. And we’ve moved to a more conservative region so the 3 visits we have scheduled might not be enough.
Suffice it to say, I am not looking forward to touring colleges…unless I get to go back because college was awesome.
– Daycared

Advertisements

Leave a Comment

Hugs

What does a person like me do when they have an affectionate child? A person like me who is uncomfortable with lots of touching.
Uncomfortable is really the best word. During most hugs, I’m thinking “When will this end? Am I doing it right? Does this person know how uncomfortable I am? Why did we have to hug? Ugh. When will it end?”
So, I don’t really do hugs. Hubby is the only one I’m comfortable with and even that’s not all the time…sometimes I tell him “too much.” When I moved from South Jersey, I announced I was giving “free hugs” to anyone, which floored some of my co-workers.
Doodle was a typical infant and wanted held a lot, which wore on me, like water on rock. But I knew as soon as he was mobile, he’d want to be mobile. And it was only really bad when I was out on maternity leave, aka “no escape.” More than once, as soon as Hubby came home, I’d hand Doodle off to him, me in tears, and escape for a few minutes to shower and cry. (I honestly don’t know how SAHMs or WAHMs do it. I needed to go back to work for everyone’s sake…and not just financial sake.)
Now, we’re entering a phase where he wants to give hugs and gives them all the time and sometimes to strangers. And this time around, he’s aware if I’m uncomfortable and I’m aware that he’s aware.
So I’m trying. And it’s better with Doodle. And I think I’m on track to getting comfortable with him as I am Hubby. But unlike Hubby, Doodle won’t understand why Momma doesn’t hug as much as Daddy (or most people). Hell, I don’t completely understand it myself, nor does Hubby but he’s accepted it and sometimes “requests a hug.”
The other shoe to drop in this mess of uncomfortable hugs is nature vs nurture and passing this onto Doodle. In my family, there are several people with an Austic spectrum disorder. And what if I don’t hug him enough…will it bring out something or at the very least, pass this feeling on? I wouldn’t want him to feel this way, especially since I don’t like it and Hubby’s family are “huggers.” (Yes, seeing my in-laws are a special secret torture for me, because we have to hug upon coming into the house, even if it’s in the world’s tiniest kitchen and all of us are in there, and we have to hug goodbye too…even if we saw each other yesterday and will see each other tomorrow.) Thankfully, because Hubby is a hugger, Doodle has a 50-50 chance.
– Playing the Odds

Update: A few hours later, Doodle had a major freakout of unknown cause and only calmed down in my arms and eventually fell asleep on me. Forty-five minutes later, I gently slid him over to a nearby couch cushion. But in a crisis, I rise for my kid.

Leave a Comment

Two Breaths

Every night.

I go into your room.

I check for two breaths.

Some nights, I sneak.  Some, I barge.  Others, I try to be quiet and fail. (WTF? I thought stepping on Legos wasn’t supposed to happen until much later.)

I put my hand on you.  Usually your back.

And wait for two breaths.

Your warmth reassures me initially.

But I need to feel those two breaths.

Sometimes you’re lightly snoring.  And should pass without touching.

Sometimes you even move and should pass without hearing.

Every time, I must feel two breaths anyway.

When you don’t breath fast enough or deep enough for me to feel them, I poke you until you move.  (It’s mean to wake a sleeping child, to the parents and the child, but I need to.)

You’re breathing!  You’re alive!

Your father thinks I’m crazy and refuses to do it when I’m not home.  Of course, he’s breathing and alive, what else would he be?

I think about my job and want to say that it could be all over so quickly but that’s a too sad of thought to go to bed with.  So I sigh.

And I know I’ll be back again tomorrow night.

– Momma

Leave a Comment