32 Candles and Just 1 Wish

Today is my 32nd birthday, and although I don't feel particularly special, so many people are thinking of me and wishing me a happy day that it must be so!  I've had a pretty good day so far; I can't complain.  I was greeted this morning with a candlelit donut by GRandi, Mr. McQ gave me a card and orchestrated another one given to me by Jack, my co-worker surprised me with a special fruit tart mini pastry breakfast, and then at lunch time I got to indulge in an AMAZING German Chocolate Cake from my company.  In a word the first half of today was "SWEET!" 

In an email from my mother this morning, she wrote:

6/30/1979

Brooke Lee

11:28 AM

6 pounds 15 ounces

20 ½ inches long

BEAUTIFUL BABY GIRL!!!! 

Every year my mom writes these same birth stats on a card or in an email or on gift wrapping or somewhere so that I can read them and be reminded of how much she loves me and will forever cherish the day I was born.  In recent years these little birthday "notes" have become more meaningful to me, as I am a mother now too.  The birth of your child is just such an overwhelmingly emotional event, and I am deeply touched by my own mother's expressed memory of my birth.  This year I thanked HER for having me!

Being a mom is the most rewarding experience in my life, but it also means my life now, at age 32, is significantly different from what it was before I had my son.  Everything I do and every decision I make now is ultimately considered in terms of "is this right for Jack?"  Sometimes it can seem like my life is not my own anymore, like my dreams and wishes are no longer just for me, but rather for him, and in reality becoming a parent changes your dreams and wishes too. 

Growing up, when I would blow out my birthday candles, I would close my eyes and think really hard about what I wanted the most, and chances were that it was a toy already wrapped and waiting for me b/c I had probably requested it a million times.  I'm sure there were a few wishes for pets in there, and later I added trips to the beach with friends or other similar experiences.  As a  teenager I wished for boyfriends to love me and for my parents to let me do stuff, or just not to find out about things I was already doing!  And as a younger adult, I definitely wished for materialistic things and more money.  In my 20s I wished to get married, but still most of my wishes were personal, selfish, all about me.

Not anymore, folks.  Being Jack's mom is my biggest wish come true!  So now, all of my wishes are for him - birthday wishes included!  This year my cake may hold 32 candles, but in my heart I have just 1 wish.  I wish for my child to be all around healthy.

Last week I read an article about grown ups who have what would be considered text book "happy" lives ending up in counseling b/c they had "perfect" parents.  One of the main points of the article was that most parents have the best of intentions and their parenting choices are often related to what they believe will make their children "happy," but in making them "happy" they may prevent them from learning necessary coping skills and deprive them of basic self confidence and independence needed in adulthood.  By never allowing their children to experience disappointment or failure they are actually doing them a disservice.  In short, the conclusion is that as a parent you don't have to be perfect when "good enough" may be better in the long run.

Now I think that last sentence could easily be taken out of context, so let me go ahead and clarify here that I am not agreeing with the idea that "good enough" parenting is the way to go, nor am I saying that I strive only to be "good enough" myself as a parent, but I am saying that I can see potential harm in being overly concerned with making your children "happy" when keeping them"healthy" is clearly the more important goal.  So for my birthday wish I want my son to be healthy...in every sense of the word.  I want him to be emotionally, physically, successfully, socially, happily, mentally, whatever "else-ly" H-E-A-L-T-H-Y!  Every kind of healthy possible, well I want him to have it!  That is my birthday wish!

I promise, as his mom, to do my best to help make that wish come true.  And maybe, in 30 years, 1 month and 4 days, on his 32nd birthday, Jack will be just as touched as I was by reading his own mother's little birthday note to him, saying:

8/4/2009

Jack Patrick

4:44 PM

8 pounds 3.6 ounces

20 inches long

BEAUTIFUL BABY BOY!!!!

 

The Train to Dreamland

"Chugga-chugga choo-choo...

Night-night to you...

We're gonna ride the train to Dreamland..."

This is the song I sing at bedtime to my sweet Jack-Bo.  He loves trains, so I made up this soft and soothing little lullaby that I just repeat over and over again as his eyelids slowly become heavy until at last, they finally shut, and he enters into dreamland.  I watch his chest rise and fall as his breathing becomes deep and steady, and when I hear him start to snore, I know he is truly asleep.  It is such a peaceful and special moment I get to experience night after night. 

We have a family bed.  Oh, yes...with 2 adults, 1 toddler, 2 dogs and a cat, The McQ Zoo can snuggle like mad!  Typically, Jack-Bo sleeps in the middle, while the dogs nestle respective to their size between mine and Mr McQ's legs, and the cat tends to hover around the top of my pillow or curl up underneath my outside arm.  It can be so comforting to go to bed, especially on a cold night, draped in flannel sheets with all the warmth enveloping us as we enter a peaceful dreamland together.

And sometimes it can be torture.  All those legs and paws interfering with anyone's ability to stretch out, too much body heat and not enough air conditioning, the ever so unfortunate allergy inducing inhalation of pet hair, the growling snores of Mr. McQ and our little dog, Tug, contributing to my insomnia, my child gripping me like his own personal security blanket with no regard for my own need to change position for the sake of my aching back or crooked neck, and the occasional accidental spilled milk, leaky diaper or yes, even hairballs...these are all sources of periodic frustration which often lessen our quality of sleep...but still, we have no intentions of changing our ways.

I have not done extensive research on the pros and cons of a family bed.  I have skimmed articles here and there about supposed "sleep training" or whatever you want to call the process of putting your child to bed, and I read one book I hated, but that's about it.  I am not a doctor, or a therapist or a sleep specialist; I am just a mom who enjoys writing and sharing my experiences with others. If you don't agree with my opinions or MO, it really is okay.  I'm perfectly happy to agree to disagree b/c I hold firmly to the overall principle that you have to do what works for your family. 

The McQ Zoo family bed works for mine...for now.

It's not perfect. It is certainly not always easy, and maybe most importantly, it is not forever.  I give us the right to change our minds at any point in the future.  In fact, what has worked for us so far has changed several times already over the last 22 months of parenthood, and I think one of the main lessons I have learned is that in our family, flexibility is the key to success.  I'm not saying it is right or wrong; that's just how we roll.  ;)

Before our son was born, and before we had our dogs, and before we were married or even living together, my cat slept with me every night.  Then we got the 1st dog and Mr. McQ and I moved in together around the same time, at which point our intentions were to crate the dog.  Mr. McQ, being the sap that he is, could not bear to put his sweet O'Della in the crate before going to bed, so he slept most nights on the sofa with the idea in his head that if he wasn't in the actual bed it didn't count as letting the dog sleep with us.  Eventually this created some resentment :-) from his future wife, so Della was crated, and she did surprisingly well.

Then we bought the condo (Why-oh-why did we do that?  Another story for another post.), and after a late night housewarming party Della regressed and began crying during the night from within her lonely crate.  Mr. McQ just couldn't take her whining, so that night he got out of bed and cuddled with her again on the couch.  The next day he told me that he wanted her to be able to sleep with us, and the decision was made to say good-bye to night-time crating.

Then we got married and added Tug to the mix.  Since he had already spent his whole life caged, we attempted to confine him to a gated area with puppy pads, but after a few months of very challenging potty training, we gave up and resorted to the crate...but from the day we brought him home, Tug slept in our bed with us and the other animals.  My sister made a comment about how people are with their pets is indicative of how they will be with their children, implying that we would most certainly have a family bed when our time to be parents finally came.



Daddy gazing at Jack-Bo on one of our first nights home

 And she was right.  We planned for our baby's introduction to our bed by setting up a cozy little close sleeper device that was just the right size for him, with short, soft barriers on all sides and a special little mattress pad especially for him.  We called it "the box."  We placed it in the middle of the bed between our pillows and night after night we just stared at him, marveling in how safe he was with us, and how wonderful we felt to be together as a family.  For awhile we shooed the dogs and cat away every time they came near for first-time parent fears of germs or pet hair invading his safe little sleep space, but on more than one occasion we entered our room to find either Tug or Sebastian curled up in the box, sleeping soundly and looking pretty adorable.  We decided it just meant they loved Jack-Bo too, and we relaxed about it.

Jack and Earth Bunny in the 2nd "box"

Jack-Bo outgrew the box quickly, consistently being in the 95th percentile or above in height, and once he was too long for it, we replaced it with a contoured changing pad, which was longer but still the same width.  He grew out of that too, and once he could roll over on his own, we put him directly between us.  I was still nursing, so this was very convenient, although I was struggling to get the sleep I needed. 

When Jack-Bo was around 7 months, we got to a point at which we entertained the idea of introducing him to his crib.  After a night of a solid 2 hours listening to him cry while crying myself, we decided this was not for us.  We planned to try again in a few more months.  Some time went by, and as we agreed, we tried again, creating a bedtime routine of dinner, bath and books, and then I would nurse him almost to sleep and place him into his crib.  He slept through the night maybe twice, but for a few weeks we had inconsistent results.  Any time he woke up we would bring him into our bed, primarily b/c he was still nursing.  Then, for his 1st birthday he got a toddler bed.  We stuck to our routine, but we stayed with him until he fell asleep so he couldn't get out of bed.  Some nights were better than others, sometimes taking over an hour before he would finally drift off.  Still, when he would wake up in the middle of the night, we would just bring him back into our bed.

So it may seem like we were creating our own problems by bringing him into our bed when he would wake up, but our reasons for trying him out in his own bed never had anything to do with not wanting him to sleep with us in the first place.  Mostly it had to do with wanting to provide him with the most uninterrupted sleep possible.  At first we recognized he was taking fewer naps throughout the day and needing to go to bed earlier in the evening, but we worried about him alone in the big bed, even though we had rails up.  Then it was more about needing to be able to use the computer in our bedroom after he was already asleep.  Having him in his own room meant we could go in and out of our bedroom freely without worrying that we would wake him.

We stuck with this routine for several months, and it seemed to work out okay for us.  We put him down in his room and then brought him into ours in the middle of the night.  He rarely cried.  He just woke up and called for us to come get him.  We put a child protector cover over his doorknob so he could not come out of his room by himself, so most nights he would be standing at the door waiting for one of us to pick him up and snuggle him into our family bed.  It was typically anywhere between 1 and 3AM.

Considering that we like our family bed, more recently we have changed our approach again.  Jack will still take naps in his toddler bed, but of course someone always has to lay with him until he falls asleep.  It is one thing for 5 foot 2 inch Mommy to squish into that tiny bed with him, but when a 6 foot 2.5 inch Daddy is crammed up against a wall surrounded by stuffed animals and blankies, it is rather hilarious.  Both of us were starting to feel the physical effects of our bedtime routine in the form of aches and pains.  We are getting way too old to contort our bodies to fit into such a small space!  Now, we are back to just putting Jack to bed in our family bed, and it is so much more comfortable.

Another advantage of our family bed is that often I can fall asleep with Jack, which means I get to temporarily overcome my insomnia and catch up on some much needed Z's.  Of course it also means I miss out on doing laundry and blogging and watching TV; but there is no sweeter way to fall asleep than spooning with my precious boy, his heavy head resting under my chin, his little tushie pressed against my belly, our legs curled up together, and his small but strong hand holding mine as my arm rests across his lower back as I'm holding him close.

And on the nights I don't fall asleep with him, I get back up and get on with whatever else I need to do, and we have figured out that the typing and noise from the computer doesn't even interrupt him, b/c the truth is, he sleeps better, more deeply, and most comfortably in our family bed.  In fact, he sleeps through the night.  We all do.

I can honestly say our intention when we have another baby is to make room for one more in our family bed, but maybe by then Jack will be more agreeable to going to bed in his room like a "big boy," or else perhaps the new baby will adjust to the pack n' play and be more used to sleeping in a crib-like setting from the beginning.  I do not know how it will turn out, but I am certain that The McQ Zoo will spend a lot of time over the next few years squeezing together into our family bed.  I imagine there will come a time when it will be necessary to make the transition, but until then, we'll just be flexible when we can and do what works for us.

Kids grow up so fast.  My child is already independent in so many ways; the sleep independence will come when the time is right for him, and I am in no rush for it.  So for now, we'll keep on keepin' on just the way we are going, riding the train to dreamland together...The McQ Zoo way.

The love our family shares is exceptional! 

American Idol-ology Part II

And the winner...

...of American Idol...

...Season 10...

...is...

(drum roll please)...

SCOTTY!!!!!!!!!!

In the words of Stephen Tyler, “Well, hellfire, save matches, f*** a duck and see what hatches!”  But I am not surprised.  Not even a little bit.  Scotty winning just further supports my theory about the voting audience.  It is my opinion that the majority of calling voters are girls between the ages of 8 and 14 years old.  Closely following are the 15 to 17 year old "late bloomer" girls, who are slightly less mature than some of their peers, but even as a smaller overall number of voters, they are equally as influential in the polls as their younger co-viewers due to their heightened access to phones and computers.  I have nothing to base my theory on other than guesswork and common sense. 

I believe that 8 to 14 year old girls will typically vote for who is most like them; this is why Lauren made it so far and Pia was knocked out so early.  Although Pia and Lauren sang different genres of music (Lauren = Country, Pia = Pop Ballads), their preference of positive, easy-listening, basically conservative music puts them in almost the same voting category, so if a more mature audience drawn to that type of music is failing to pick up the phone, and the 8 to 14 year olds are dialing for the one most closely resembling their own peers, the younger contestant is bound to get the votes.

Where does that leave Thia?  Ashton?  Nowhere - young or not, neither of them were "special," and even young viewers can figure that out, so don't go thinking their early departures throw a wrench in my analysis.

And what about Hayley?  Well, Hayley was all over the map in her song choices.  Clearly her talent was special, but often her performances were what I consider to be "misunderstood" by the younger, less mature audience.  Hayley is sexy.  Lauren is cute.  Pia is elegant, princess-esque even.  Most young girls are more drawn to cute and elegant, so if elegant is out, and only cute and sexy are left, the 8 to 14 year old female audience is obviously leaning towards cute, a.k.a. Lauren.

Okay, so enter the male talent.  Girls are boy crazy, and most boy crazy girls I believe to be voting are in that 15 to 17 "late bloomers" range.  James is sexy.  Edgy AND sexy.  His bad boy, rocker, comedic personality is what made him sexy.  The other guys (besides Scotty) were not sexy.  Not at all.  Here come my critiques...

Stefano - short, squinty eyes, but charming and sweet, kind of like an older David Archuletta.

Jacob - no comment

Paul - cute, some sex appeal, but young girls would probably think he is "old," and his chicken wing dance sometimes makes him look like he might be a little "iffy."

Casey - CRAZY talented, hilarious, funny looking, cursed (nice guys finish last)

And then you have Scotty...too young for the "grown up audience" (like myself) to think he is "sexy," but too special to not be recognized by the voters who actually know what talent is.  Country music or not, his charming and genuine personality is all "what you see is what you get."  I never felt played by him, even when his facial expressions were goofy, and when he sang a song, he told a story, every time he was on the stage.  Eat your heart out 15 to 17 year old girls!

James and Scotty are complete opposites...not just in the way of music genres either.  Scotty comes from a solid, all American family.  He is healthy, controlled, has integrity, and his upbringing has very clearly influenced the young man he is becoming.  James comes from a dysfunctional family, he has some health issues that have played a big role in his confidence level, and he is on his own with a family to support and struggling financially just as much as he is struggling personally to find his place in the world.  Nothing about him is grounded.  Nothing about him is controlled.  Well, except for that unbelievable vibrato in his superstar vocal abilities...

Some girls like a man who is in control...and some prefer a bad boy, living on the edge and free-spirited.  Most likely the ones who are disciplined and care enough to pick up a phone or make sure they get to a computer are the ones more on the straight and narrow path in life, and therefore they are likely Scotty fans. 

Then there are the many moms like me who LOVE James!  Fans of 80's and 90's music and rock n' roll, appreciating the talent and the sexy vibes he brings to the stage, touched by his emotional background, and secretly pining over him...yes, I said pining...seriously, did you see him cry???  Multiple times???  Oh, I so HEART James!

Every week I had intentions to vote.  Every week, I knew who I would pick.  Every week, I voted...except one week...the week James was eliminated.  I fell asleep with my son while putting him to bed and never got back up to cast my vote.  I will jointly accept responsibility for his exit with the rest of the moms who meant to vote but got distracted by mom things. 

Another piece of this is that when one Idol leaves, their votes are redistributed among the remaining contestants.  In the case of James, I'd say the Casey fans probably gravitated between him and Hayley, but the Jacob fans were likely NOT James fans at all.  They probably steered their votes down the road of the more gospel-ish music, like our country boy and his little southern belle, or just as possibly they gravitated towards the soulful Hayley...but I doubt too many Jacob fans put their money on James and his "give metal a chance" mantra.

So back to my overall theory about the 8 to 14 year old voting audience.  Once James was eliminated, most of those 8 to 14 year old girls were voting for Lauren, so bye bye Hayley.  The 15 to 17 year old "late bloomers" were half and half between Scotty and Lauren, some choosing their peer, and others choosing their newest crush.  The Jacob fans were probably split.  The James fans were probably mostly split, although I will say that Lauren's song to her Mother was really touching, and I bet she appealed to a lot of those James-adoring, had-intentions-to-vote moms (I swear I meant to get online after the finale performance show, but mommyhood was calling!)...the Hayley fans were probably partially a more mature audience, with a less emphatic rush to vote, but the ones who did could have gone either way.

So why did Scotty win?  Why, when it seems like the majority of the votes would point to Lauren?  Because in the end, Lauren was supposed to win.  After her last performance, it was her title to lose!  Moms were crying over her song, but moms are busy.  Lauren fans were making predictions, but they got complacent about voting.  And Scotty fans were called out by the challenge to fight for the win and vote harder and longer than ever before. 

And that is where those 15 to 17 year old boy crazy "late bloomer" girls come in!  Although I think the main voting audience is girls ages 8 to 14, my theorized 2nd audience group is more likely to have access to phones and computers, more likely to be up later at night casting multiple votes while their younger co-viewers are being tucked into bed by the moms who are also missing their voting opportunity, and more likely to pick the gentlemanly boy next door, probably following him all along, and now being put to the test by the judges who predicted that Lauren had a slight edge over Scotty.  Well, they gave Scotty the push right over that edge into the winner's circle!

And there ya have it, folks, my American Idol-ology follow up.  (Click here to see the original American Idol-ology.)  Oh, and to what do you think I attribute those record breaking voting numbers?  Yep - the new judging panel!  Seriously, the talent was there this year, once they got more than half of that top 13 out of there, the rest really did deliver week after week, but man, the judges!  J-Lo came to life every time she spoke.  Stephen was both entertaining and sincere.  Randy was classic and classy.  I hope they all come back next season.  I hope the dynamics stay the same so the focus can continue to be on the talent, encouraging more people to watch and dream big as opposed to offending them and crushing their hopes and spirits. 

My next prediction is this: Scotty and Lauren will be the new (and youngest!) country power couple, following in the footsteps of Tim McGraw and Faith Hill.  Um, yes, I think they are definitely an item.  Did you see the way she planted him with those kisses and how genuinely happy she was for him?  Did you hear the "I love you, baby" and the rest of his heart felt expression towards her and their journey together?  I don't have a theory on how that was kept out of the media buzz; I'm baffled by it actually, and I get that there are rules and a code of conduct among the contestants, but I am still shocked that I didn't hear any rumors or get a sense prior to the finale.  Anyway, this is a whole new blog topic...which I will skip b/c I am not Perez Hilton. 

I am just a music fan and former American Idol 2-time tryer-outer.

And that, my friends...is a wrap!

3 Seconds

It took me about 3 seconds to get to him, 3 seconds in which my heart was not beating, yet I was hyper-alive. Like an out of body experience, or giving birth, the surreal, super-human adrenaline takeover guided me. In those 3 seconds I was not breathing; I could not feel the cold water chilling my spine. I had no thoughts, only instincts, and I can only recall one image: my baby boy's face forced into the water.

And then suddenly, as if a bomb exploded, my heart started beating again, racing, pounding, as if it would burst out of my chest. I lifted him up, my brave boy, and freed his leg from behind the pool ladder; he barely cried. I saw a bruise forming on his shin, and he touched it and said "hurt!" And then my pulsating heart broke into a million throbbing pieces. I asked him to jump, and he did. I asked him to walk, and he did. I asked if he was okay, and he replied "yea-uh" in his sweet little voice. I kissed him a million times and hugged him the same. I asked if he wanted to go inside and he said "no," as he walked right back to the culpable ladder to jump in the pool again.

He wanted me to go back to the other side where the steps were; he motioned for me to let him be. No way was I letting him out of my reach! I sat down and dangled my feet in the water right next to him, pretending not to be panicked, acting nonchalant and keeping my cool, when really I was freaking out! I wanted to take him inside, check him all over, warm him up b/c he was shivering, hug him, calm him, sooth him...but he was already calm. He didn't need soothing. He was cold, but he was ok, and the "hurt" really was just a bruise. Somehow I kept it together; I didn't let him see the fear that consumed me, and I managed make it through the rest of our pool visit without crying or acting irrationally.

Finally I convinced him that he was hungry and if we went inside I would let him "cook" his dinner. He pretty much did make his entire meal himself. Aside from turning the stove on, and straining the pasta shells, he did everything else...from pouring the water to frying the hot dogs...the kid loves to cook!

Through all of this my demeanor remained stoic, yet I felt crazy and full of anxiety and terror. I called my mother and mentally re-lived the event as I described it to her, yet I still did not cry or breakdown emotionally in front of Jack. I gave Jack his dinner and we watched Chuggington and Wheel of Fortune together. I gave him some ice cream afterwards, and then we played on our bed with trucks and paperclips and looked through a photo album "book," as he called it. He didn't look at me any differently than before it happened. His trust was unwavering. His spirit was not tattered. He patted his shin a few times and said "hurt," but that was the only indication he gave of it ever even occurring. It wasn't until I was telling his Daddy that I finally shed some tears.

We were playing in the shallow end of the pool. I had convinced him to come in one step at a time to get used to the cold water, telling him that it would feel better little by little. Finally he had submerged his whole body, and he was laughing and squealing with delight at the frigid shock. His water wings were a new pair, this their first use, yet he maneuvered in them with ease, using his arms to steer and his feet to propel. Only his 2nd time in the pool this year, he had not forgotten the skill he acquired last summer, and his love of the water was stronger than his internal temperature gauge.

We were throwing the Gymboree ball into the papasan floatie chair, our own form of basketball, and he was giggling and directing my every move. Various other toys had been tossed about the pool, and his eye caught a boat he decided he wanted to retrieve. He was easily distracted by the shiny ladder, and perhaps he had a memory of it from last year. He made his way to the ladder, climbed up and out of the pool and performed a little victory dance and yelp of pride for me. "Are you gonna jump back in, Jack? Can you jump in now?"

Last year "jumping" was more like stepping off the side into the arms of Mommy or Daddy. By the end of the summer, he was getting a running start and doing this unassisted over and over again, going under water, and navigating his own way around whatever pool we were in. Never did we leave him unattended! We were always watching, our eyes glued on him, and he wore his water wings at all times in the pool area. He climbed the pool ladder at least a hundred times, both in and out, never falling, never off-balance, and it was obvious his early swimming skills were certainly advanced.

This year "jumping" is actually both feet off the ground at the same time in a vertical movement. Jack is an incredible jumper. He climbs and jumps off of just about anything we let him, and he has his fair share of bumps and scrapes, but overall he lands clean most of the time, and I seldom worry about him getting injured. But today, it was a little different. While last summer he stood on the ladder and just walked off of it into the water, today his first attempt was a real jump, but instead of jumping OUT, he jumped UP, and as he landed his left leg caught between the pool wall and the ladder, forcing him to bend at the waist face down into the water! His water wings fortunately kept him afloat enough that he was able to turn his head sideways to keep his mouth and nose mostly out of the water.

I was about 10 or 12 feet away, wading in the pool, the water not even all the way up to my chest. It took me about 3 seconds, 3 HUGE strokes, and what seemed like an eternity to reach him.

The entire experience was like what I imagine dying and coming back to life would be. In an instant my world had ended, and then just as quickly I was re-born, with all my senses heightened, my heart shocked into beating as I drew in my first breaths of sweet, sweet relief. My baby was okay. My angel was okay! He was completely okay!

My mother and my husband both said comforting words to me tonight; sure, it was a fluke thing, I was right there with him (even at 10 feet away), it could happen to anyone, I was not to blame...Really though? Was I not? I am a pretty laid back mother. My child is clearly physically advanced for his age, his balance and coordination evident in his already visible athletic abilities. He has been swimming in water wings since he was about 10 months old, and he can do perfect somersaults and jump with a 6 inch vertical. Not only can he catch a ball, but he already has a basketball jump shot and a football spiral throw. His talent is just emerging, but it is definitely there. A dare-devil by nature and encouraged by nurture, my motto for his fearlessness is this: "He is going to do it anyway, so I might as well let him get good at it." I don't hover over him on the playground, but I do stand near the open edges of tall structures. I don't restrict him from jumping on the bed, but I do make sure he has plenty of room, and I don't keep him confined to a stroller, but I do require him to hold my hand in parking lots and crowded places. I am protective, but not over-protective. In fact, I am probably more emotionally protective of him than physically, at least where his development is concerned.

So doesn't that make today's incident my fault? I feel terrible about what happened, and I honestly can't say if I were to see the same thing happen to another mother that I wouldn't judge her from a distance, just like the moms who judge me when I let my child take the stairs by himself or jump off the bench at the park.

I believe everyone has their own "-isms" that are just part of our own personal make-up. Often these are irrational fears or obsessive behaviors, or other not-so-normal personality traits that help make us who we are as individuals. I believe you can develop a whole new set of "-isms" with parenthood. One of my biggest Brooke-isms is guilt. I obviously have not forgiven all of my transgressions over the years and I clearly still feel bad about lots of things I have done in my life. The slightest awkward glance my way leaves me wondering what I did to cause it; I'm consistently trying to make everyone happy, underestimating my motives and often second guessing my own decisions. It doesn't always apply - I do have SOME things on which I refuse to budge - but as a parent I am learning so many new life lessons every day that it is easy to make a mistake and get mixed up in my own ideas.

Today I feel responsible for what happened with Jack in the pool. I feel like I was too far away from him, like I should not have encouraged him to jump in on his own, even if he had done it a million times before, and even then I was wrong for allowing it. I feel like I expected too much of him, my not even 2 year old, and I didn't prevent a totally preventable accident. I feel like I messed up, like I was too relaxed, not attentive enough and careless. I feel horribly guilty for that little bruise on my Jack-Bo's shin, and I worry that maybe there is more hurting that he just can't communicate to me yet.

I don't know if my feelings are just uber-sensitive right now, or if I will still feel this way after some time has gone by, but I can say that I don't want it to affect my overall goal of encouraging my child's exploration and independence. I want him to be who he is naturally, for as long as possible, without the awareness and learned feeling of fear and anxiety. He has his entire life to be scared; right now I want him to be free and unrestricted.

So I'll get through this night (it is 5:30AM by the way, and I am blogging instead of sleeping!), and I'll see how I feel a little later, but right now I am just so thankful that my little boy is okay. I am so blessed. I don't EVER want to let my precious boy down...

It took me 3 seconds to reach him, but in my book, it was 3 seconds too many.

Lunch Time Quick Post

I am a sap.  I cry at almost everything sentimental...even little pieces of joyful information about people who are barely in my daily life.  I just read a blog post from an acquaintance who gave birth to her 2nd daughter a few days ago; the piece was about "The End of an Era," as they transition from a family of 3 to 4.  As I was reading through her fears and excitement I became emotional and anxious about my own plans for a 2nd baby.  One thing she touched on was the amazing gift of a sibling, and I could not agree more with her perspective!  Despite the changes a first-born child has to endure when a new baby arrives, the relationship of a sibling is something I could never deny my child, and I just love that they will have each other and share their own special bond. 

Of course I am being a little premature here, counting my chickens before they hatch, b/c there is always a chance we may not conceive again, although I doubt it since it was so easy our first time around, yet I don't want to get my hopes up and then have them shattered.  I have seen that far too many times in the lives of others...None the less, I still get that lump in my throat when I think of our family growing, of becoming a mother of 2 children, and a "party of 4."  My heart beats fast, and my eyes well up with tears and I have to breathe deep to force myself to re-focus on whatever else I am supposed to be doing...

Speaking of which, I have to get back to work now.  Now this really was a Quick Post!

A Mother's Touch

My mom and I share a silly joke about how every time she would physically come close to me as a child, she would inadvertently injure me.  Poking me in the eye as she leaned down to tuck me into bed, scratching me with her rings as she playfully tickled me or pulling my hair during an attempted tender embrace all seem like normal and consistent memories from my childhood.  And yet, despite all the innocent misfires, I still wanted her to comfort me as only a mother's touch can do. 

I'm starting to cry as I type this.  Oh man, I am such a sap... 

 The Gift of Loyalty

Growing up with my mother was not always easy, and I'll gladly spare you most of the details, but looking back, my personal take on the hard times can basically be described as a pretty typical mother/daughter relationship with our fair share of drama.  I was independent and defiant from early on, full of teenage angst during high school, and moody and miserable for a long time after.  She was a working, mostly single parent with two daughters who couldn't operate on more opposite ends of the spectrum if we tried, doing her best to raise us fairly, ALWAYS putting us first, and often unhappy in her own life but struggling to keep it together for us.  It was hard for me to see it all back then b/c I was clearly not mature enough to realize how much she sacrificed, and I was frequently blinded from her good intentions by some of the not-so-great aspects of our general family life.  Overall, I can honestly say it was normal.

But there was also something not-so-normal about our relationship.  It started before I can even remember, and is still there even today, stronger than ever and growing more intense as the years go by.  Loyalty. 



Between my mother, my sister and me, there exists an undeniably overwhelming sense of loyalty.  Our bond cannot be broken.  Not by any man, not by any friend, not by any fight, not by any circumstance, not by anything.  Not ever.  Maybe this closeness developed b/c of the unique challenges we faced together, or maybe it was just something my mother instinctively instilled in us from the day we were born.  I'm not really sure, but I can tell you this: it is NOT to be messed with.  

We don't always agree.  I have grown up to be a much different person, woman and parent than both my mother and my sister.  I can't say we always get along either; we've experienced more than enough of the crazies between us with plenty more in our future, I'm sure.  But nothing is more powerful than our love for and loyalty to each other, and it always comes back to that.  Don't you talk about my mama...

And now, I'm a mom too, raising my own child in significantly different circumstances than I was raised, and it is my goal, even with the stability of 2 full time parents who love each other, that I can infuse the loyalty gene into the foundation of my relationship with my son, hopefully resulting in a just as richly blessed bond as the one I have with my mother that will forever be a wonderful, meaningful gift to him as I feel it is to me.

I Want My Mommy
21 months ago I labored in a birthing tub at North Fulton Hospital while my mother quietly timed contractions and my sister tended to the inevitably yucky water.  (Now THAT is loyalty, people!)  My husband sat anxiously in the hospital bed that was supposed to be mine, excitedly awaiting the birth of his son, but not really being welcomed to help me in my task of birthing, and trying to text updates of our progress to family and friends without disturbing my state of mind by asking any questions.  For the most part the hospital staff left me alone, by my own request, except to check the baby with a fetal heartbeat Doppler monitor that could be submerged in the water to reach my belly.  At one point we demanded a particular nurse not return at all b/c she was invasive and just plain irritating, speaking too loudly and patronizing me with her unsolicited instructions on how to moan more productively, and threatening to make me get out of the water if I didn't immediately hand over my belly to her monitor.  (Um, kinda busy here, having a monster contraction, don't you dare touch me!)  I remember her to be a very large woman in stature and quite offensive.  At the end of her last intrusion, my mother and sister silently gave each other knowing looks, and my sister briefly left the room.  We didn't see that nurse again.

And a little over 6 hours later, things really started movin' and shakin' in that tub, and at last my baby boy was born into the water! The midwife gave him a little nudge in my direction and he "swam" right up to my chest where I held him for just a moment before they decided he looked a tad blue and wanted to check him out.  Of course they didn't communicate their thoughts to me, so they rushed to have Brett cut the cord and then whisked my newborn angel off to another area where I could not see him.  I shudder at the memory of my panic as I yelled for Brett to go with them and I helplessly watched him follow, knowing he was feeling the same level of terror as I was throughout the longest 2 minutes of our lives.  

And I remember my mother, kneeling behind me, stroking my hair, with her soothing voice, her calm tone, whispering in my ear, "He's alright, don't you hear him crying?  He's just fine.  He's crying now.  Everything's okay, honey..."  

And then somehow my body mindlessly made it to the bed for the midwife to deliver the placenta and collect the baby's cord blood, and a strange sensation of weightlessness came over me as I became dazed due to a uterine hemorrhage, losing too much blood too quickly.  Madness engulfed the room, and I vaguely recall my husband being torn between checking on me and leaving the side of our child despite my explicit instruction not to.  My sister was in on the action, advocating from every which way to make sure I was treated properly, and I only remember flashes of her face, flush with worry and concern, but mostly business-like and stoic.

And there again was my mother's voice, through the mayhem and chaos I could hear her, pleading these words I will never forget.  "You're my baby and I'm not leaving your side!  You're my baby and I'm staying right here with you!  Brett's with your baby, but I'm with my baby!  I'm not leaving my baby..."

After a whirlwind of unexpected poking and prodding, my mother and I dismissed the nurses and cleaned me up ourselves.  Then Brett and I were given some alone time to just be a family with our new baby boy.  I wanted to nurse him, but I was just too weak to comfortably cradle him myself, so we mostly just stared in each other's eyes; it felt surreal and my mind was still foggy.  Not long after, the nurses returned to take me to the bathroom for the first time.  Upon standing I was immediately unsteady and I fainted.  I came to disoriented, startled and overwhelmed, my husband's face directly in mine, looking terrified and yet full of relief.  My first words were spoken, and bless his poor sweet heart, they were...

"I want my mommy."  

Within seconds she was there, and for a moment I think my husband was hurt by my instinctive call for her.  There is nothing like a mother's protection, nothing like a mother's touch, nothing like a mother to provide the deepest comfort, the purest compassion and the most gentle understanding.  In my confusion and discomfort I wanted my mommy to make it all better.

And she did.  Minutes later we were laughing hysterically at one nurse's ballsy threat to "cath" me if I didn't produce enough urine.  My mom and I shared a little I'd-like-to-see-her-try look, and then I peed more than that woman had seen from her last 3 post partum patients combined!  (Really?  I just had a baby, and you think you can scare me like that?  Hah.  I'll show you!)

My mother helped me to feel presentable to all of my guests by brushing my hair and gently caring for me. She shared in the joy of introducing her new grandson to the rest of our family, and then she was gone for the evening as Brett and I settled in at the hospital for Jack's first night. The next day, my mother came back, bringing a few choice items from home that we had requested. She never even mentioned it, but she had spent the entire night cleaning our condo from top to bottom, making it a truly comfortable place to bring home our baby.

A Mother's Heart IS Her Child
I always dreamed of being a mother.  I cannot remember a time in my life when I did not feel like motherhood was my true calling.  I believe that I could have been anything I wanted to be, but motherhood is not an ambition; but rather it is a gift, a blessing, a privilege and an honor.  I believe there are mothers out there who struggle more than others, mothers who maybe should not be mothers and women who would do anything to become mothers.  I know that most mothers, including myself are far from perfect, but I feel certain that they have their children's best interests at heart and they do everything with good intentions. 

Just like my mom.

My mom is awesome.  She is funny and smart and witty and super talented.  She is creative and sensitive and compassionate.  She is loving and nurturing, and a little nutty too.  She has her ups and downs just like everyone else, and to know her the way I do is to know her truly.  I can see past our differences and into her heart, a heart of a mother, my mother, and I know now, as a mother myself, that we share something miraculous together in the cycle of life. 

My mother has never once given up on me, never once turned her back on me.  Even during our most intense struggles, she was still there for me, waiting in the wings, watching from a distance and still loving me while she let me spread my wings and try to fly.  I didn't admit it, but I did know it.  I felt her presence of course, and I told myself I didn't need her, but really it was all just part of growing up, the denial, I mean, and deep down I actually yearned for her and loathed myself for feeling that way.

"A mother is only as happy as her least happy child."

My mother said that to me around the time I was getting married.  Her joy and happiness for me was overflowing in a way I am sure I will one day understand myself as I watch my own child experience heartbreak and making mistakes and going through the challenges of growing up...and in my son's case, becoming a man.  My mother helped me grow into the woman I am today, and I am thankful for her wisdom and her lessons of right vs. wrong.  She is one of the most ethical people I know, and at the same time, she truly understands the shades of grey that interrupt a world of black and white issues, and more than anyone, I believe she knows the emotional roller coaster that is motherhood.  When I am happy, she will rejoice, and when I am sad she will grieve with me.  Only a mother knows that her child IS her heart, and her child's pain is her own heart hurting.  I can relate now too, because I am a mother, and Jack is MY heart.

Inspiration

Often in our lives we find inspiration in the little things; something touches our hearts, like a sappy song or a tender moment with a loved one, and the result is some sort of output relevant to our own personality and/or talents.  My inspiration for this post is personal, but through the tears I am shedding while writing it I can share with you that the overall purpose of this piece is to express my deepest love and gratitude to my beautiful MOM on this extra special Mother's Day, 2011.  Mom, I love you, and I will always need you to comfort me as only a mother's touch can do.

Happy Mother's Day to all the Moms in my life!  You all inspire me and help make me the Mother I am to my sweet Jack.  I love you all, and I wish you a wonderful day full of joy and adventure with your loved ones!

The Put Me to Sleep-er

There is more happy than sad.

I've made lists and counted,

And when the numbers are all in,

The good outweighs the bad.

I can't sleep right now,

And when I can't sleep, I think.

I am stuck all alone in my clustered head

With my scattered thoughts.

The rest of them sleep peacefully.

I hear the rustling of covers and feet rubbing together,

The occasional groan and snores.

I hope they have pleasant dreams.

I'm just thinking.

Right now I am thinking about why I can't sleep.

I am happy.  I feel peaceful, tired even.

Why does sleep evade me?

I want to turn off the thoughts.

I want to sign out and shut down,

But I can't;

I'm a mom.

I'm a wife and I worry.

I worry about the future,

And I worry about now.

I worry about how tired I will be tomorrow.

I am thinking, but I can't think straight.

The direction of my written thoughts is unclear.

The direction of my subliminal thoughts is sporadic.

I'm beginning to feel dazed, sleepy now.

I think I just bored myself to sleep with this empty poem.

Good night.