Groundhog Day

Yesterday I hit the wall. Figuratively, not literally. I came home from work, The Babe in tow, and scrambled upstairs for the beginning the evening routine. This week has been a bit chaotic, topping off with my husband having to wake up The Babe yesterday morning to find that she had thrown up in the night and her entire bed needed to be stripped before heading off to work. Yay. I haven't made as many meals, have found myself eating out due to convenience  and what seems to be one big craving for processed food. As a result, we have been out more and the house has suffered as a result.

As I came upstairs I looked around and it looked as though a wild animal had torn through my kitchen, leaving dirty dishes, garbage, watermelon rinds and sippy cups in its wake. Clean Tupperware littered the floor and I came to the realization I had pretty much nothing for dinner for The Babe, as she is choosing not to eat chicken at the moment and that it what we were eating for dinner. As I struggled to put together a meal, avoid the ever-present dog, I felt as though I was in the movie "Groundhog Day". As though I wake up every day and spend time every day cleaning and doing laundry and cooking, only to wake up the next day and have it all undone, have to redo it, only to wake up again with the same thought. I felt defeated. I felt tired. And sad, because I don't want to constantly clean and cook. I want to hang out with my kid. But I'm struggling to find that balance and to quell the desire to clean everytime I'm in the kitchen. Some weeks it feels like a winning battle, but this week was not one of them.

Perhaps its the weather, or an over-scheduled week. Perhaps its the time of year - out of the winter but not quite into the nice part of spring. Perhaps I am looking at the house we own, the storage locker we pay for, and doing the mental math and realizing the end of the clutter and disorganization is nowhere in sight for us. Maybe it's all of that.

Luckily for The Babe and I, my husband swooped in right as I was in the thick of my stressed out melancholy. He took one look at me, put in his earbuds, loaded up a podcast and got to work. While we have different approaches to cleaning and organization in life, he knows I have a breaking point and has learned that when he sees it drastic measures must be taken. He handled the laundry while I spent some time reading to The Babe. He vacuumed while I did the dishes. In the end, we managed to tackle the brunt of it before dissolving into bed. There's more to do, but when I woke up this morning, I didn't see my shadow and went on to a brand new day.

The 80/20 rule

Today my post is about balance - can you achieve it, what does it look like, does it really matter? A friend recently told me she strives for an 80/20 balance of homemade vs. storebought baby food when it comes to daycare lunches. My question is: how do you attain that balance which makes you comfortable and should it really matter?

Tonight the Babe ate half a banana and half a cup of cornflakes for dinner. They were not organic corn flakes. They probably have high fructose corn syrup in them, and most likely are dyed yellow. You know what? Tonight I didn't care. I bust my butt on Sundays prepping food for the three of us for lunches and dinners for the week. If she doesn't want to eat the chicken, rice, corn purée I made on Sunday, then a banana is fine by me. Because I'll be damned if I'm going to thaw another batch of homemade purees, just to have it poo-pooed by her and end up in the garbage.

I am constantly trying new ways to get the Babe to eat veggies, legumes, less dairy and more fruit. But somedays it's hard, and I'm tired and uninspired and she ends up with something less than ideal for dinner. It's no one's fault, it's just the result of having two parents who work, somewhat clean the house and try to cook as often as possible. Sometimes she gets a delicious well balanced meal and sometimes, a banana because that's all she wants.

I think we need to give ourselves and other mothers a pass. You want to feed your son Annie's Bunnies for a few nights? Me too! Are you fed up with making oatmeal filled with squash, prunes and fruit purees, only to have it spat out? Me too! You've been sending your baby to daycare with jarred baby food for the last three days because the pizza you ordered for dinner doesn't purée so well? Welcome to the club sister! Or brother :)

Whether you work full-time outside the home, part-time, or work as a stay-at-home mom, this week give yourself a pass. Easter dinner wiped me out, as I'm sure it did the rest of you, and despite what Baby Centre may tell you, a few snacks of Goldfish crackers will not turn your child into a salt-hoarding Gollum. However, eating all your child's Easter candy in one sitting may require a few extra minutes (hours) on the treadmill.

~ H

Back in the swing of things

We've recently returned from a vacation to Oklahoma, which I blogged about here, and have now completely unpacked and gotten back into the routine of life. I feel as though we are starting to hit our groove with this work/life/daycare/fun time balance. Our days are pretty structured, but I have committed us to less (in my opinion) however if you were to ask my husband he may have a different answer. I am feeling somewhat more in control of our lives, which sounds laughable and naïve I know, but who knows - maybe we may actually be getting the hang of this parenting thing after all?

Our days look something like this: 6am wakeup for myself and the Babe (some days it's closer to 7am for her), a bottle and snuggle time for her with Daddy while I get ready for work, finish making her lunch and coffee for us and breakfast for me, 7am I am out of the house and the Babe is sitting down to breakfast with Daddy. Once we figured out that my husband was going to be the one taking her to daycare, my stress level decreased immensely as I no longer ran around the house like a screaming banshee trying to dress her, feed her, get out the door and into the car and to daycare on time. The day goes on normally from there while we are at work, and then I pick up the Babe sometime around 4:45pm. We head home, having a one-way conversation about our respective days. Me talking while she checks out the scenery. Sometimes we sing. Sometimes she cries. That's usually when the radio goes on, volume dependent on the level of crying. 5pm We get home quickly, and begin the dinner preparations. If I've meal-planned well (which I am getting better at), then dinner is usually a short process as everything is purchased and prepped on the Sunday prior to the week. If I haven't meal-planned well, I'm fumbling around attempting to chop and mix a million things while the Babe opens drawers and flings Tupperware around at my feet, creating a small obstacle course for me to dance around to get to the stove. Somedays, the Tupperware gets the boot. Other days, the dog by accident if she's underfoot. Once dinner is ready, the Babe and I eat together, sometimes joined by my husband if he's home in time. This is dependent on his worksite, as it's ever-changing.

If we finish dinner early, we play with toys for awhile, sometimes have a run around the hallway or bang on pots and pans in the kitchen. We rarely put the entire Tupperware obstacle course away, and I'm often left lid-less when packing dinner away for lunches. I suddenly understand how people end up with so many Rubbermaid containers. The lids seem to get up and walk right out of the house, choosing the life less lived. 6:30pm we're heading for the bath, the Babe in the bath and me or Daddy sitting beside the tub, trying not to check Facebook and to continue to engage with our child. My "no cell phones from 5-7" rule works better on some nights than others. Damned you Pinterest and all your tasty slow cooker recipe ideas! And stop it friends, stop pinning even more cute outfit ideas which I must catalogue before they disappear off my screen, pushed down by calligraphy and wedding ideas of other friends. After the bath we sit quietly in the living room with a bottle. This used to be a calming zen time for the Babe and I, but lately she's become squirmy and chooses to walk around or on the couch, bottle clenched between her teeth. It's sometimes a fight to get her to finish it, but not as long of a fight now that we've dropped to 4oz of milk from 6oz. Two pee-soaked mornings and the idea of lessening her fluid intake at night became quiet appealing! Most nights it's Daddy putting her to bed, but some nights it's me. We put on the sleep sack (when is she too big for these?) read a story, sing a song, turn on the ocean sounds and down to bed. A good night wish and I'm out of there, usually no later than 7pm.

I wish this is when adult time began (deep conversation, a cuddle on the couch watching HBO, reading together in front of the fire) but it's usually just back to the kitchen to do the dishes, clean the counters, pack the lunches, throw on a load of laundry, and then I'll take a shower to give myself more time to get ready in the morning. Add in a weekly run with a friend, soccer for me and a softball or hockey game for my husband, and that's our routine.

Whew, I'm tired just writing it. But I am a creature of habit, and once I get in a routine, I like being there. This is both good and bad depending on who you ask. I'm working on leaving the weekends open, so we can spontaneously go to the park, zoo, a family member's house or even, gasp, clean the house! That last one rarely happens. I'll be the first to admit that other trying to keep down the clutter, my cleaning regimine is non-existent. We have a cleaning woman in once a month so nothing goes too long without being disinfected  however I don't do much in between her visits. Frankly I don't have the time and I'd rather be taking the Babe on a walk with our fat beagle. We all could use the walk more than a cleaner house ;)

I think it's the meal-planning and the help from my husband that has saved us. Before the morning routine was sorted, and I was making meals up as I went, my stress level was crazy high. I felt I was neglecting everyone and everything, most of all the Babe. But now I leave the house in the morning with a daughter who's blowing kisses at me while her dad makes her scrambled eggs. It keeps me smiling all day until I see her little face at daycare, banging on the door when she sees me walking up to get her. Ahhhh ain't life grand?

~ H

Traveling

Traveling with a 15-month-old who is very stubborn sucks. Big time. We recently flew to Oklahoma City for a wedding. After careful considerations of naps and bedtime, I picked an 11am 3.5 hour flight to Chicago, followed by a 2 hour flight to Oklahoma City landing at 8:30pm. Perfect timing. But perfection, though often desired, is rarely achieved.

We made it to the airport on time, but forgot our carseat in the car, meaning we now needed to rent one from Budget. Unfortunate, but not terrible. The Babe was awake the whole flight, 3.5 hours, until our descent into Chicago. Though rarely crying, she was a wriggly wiggly demanding toddler the whole flight. Her dad and I took turns wrestling with her and convincing her to watch Sesame Street, to eat, drink, and to play with anything and everything. Then she fell asleep as soon as we began to descend, but only slept for 30 minutes in the airport. Our flight out of Chicago was then delayed two hours, finally putting us in OK at 10:30pm instead of 8:30.

To add to our already sunny disposition at that point, Budget only had an infant seat and a booster seat for the van we were renting, so we took the infant seat and crossed The Babe's legs so she would fit. The situation became unbearable on day two of the trip, and I managed to track down a forward-facing seat on Craigslist for the duration of our trip, as well as finagle a refund from Budget for the infant seat rental.

The Babe has become what I affectionately call a "whirling dervish". She does not stop moving. Ever. At home, this is easier to manage because I know where she can go, we've locked the cupboards she should not open and we rarely go out to eat. On vacation, this becomes infinitely harder. Dinners are often out, as we like to explore local food and culture. However trying to explain to the The Babe that Mom and Dad are eating and would like to finish out food, is like trying to get Lance Armstrong to admit he doped ALL the time. A waste of time and energy. So we end up taking turns walking around restaurants with her, apologizing to servers as she stumbles in front of them, or strategically blocking her from entering the kitchens and off-limits offices.

However, on day three of the trip I discovered a park nearby the house we were renting. With a massive playground and three baby swings. It became a saving grace, somewhere to go when the house became boring and somewhere The Babe could explore with less instances of me saying, "no, not for baby!".

All that being said, I cannot envision traveling again until the Babe is at least a year older, maybe more. It is just more work than I can handle, and I would rather the next time be sometime that she can remember. Or at least when she read quietly for short periods of time ;)

~ H

The times are a-changing

Online reading and conversations of late have led to this blog post. It's not a criticism of anyone, more of a clarification between old beliefs of mine and the questions I have received from others.

I have a child and my life has changed because of it. I cannot do things at the drop of a hat anymore. Except in the rare moment when the seas part, the baby is napping and my husband is home and usually, by that point, everyone has made plans, the esthetician is booked up, and there is nothing good playing at the movies.

I probably will not want to come to your house for dinner. It's not you, please know that. It's not your cooking - you are a lovely cook. It's the fact that you don't have a baby gate, you keep magazines on coffee tables as most do, and you have breakable/stainable/lovely furniture which I would rather not spend my entire evening protecting. When I am at your house I am constantly on the defense, ensuring my child doesn't destroy the things you like to look at and keep close, and why shouldn't you? When I am at home, I have baby-proofed, and can sit back for at least five minutes and know there is (almost) nothing within reach of The Babe. But I appreciate the invitation, and will make an effort to attend more.

I probably will not invite you to dinner. But it's not because I don't want to have dinner with you. It's because the idea of putting away the plethora of toys, having beverages other than water and homo milk in stock, and figuring out the timing of our dinner versus when The Babe needs to eat while managing not to burn anything is mentally exhausting. Sometimes I forget that we can just order in. Sometimes I still forget to brush my teeth and where I put my cell phone which is on silent so I can't hear it ring.

Any free time I have that I don't spend cleaning or having quality time with The Babe and my husband, is time I feel guilty for not doing those things.

I am "one of those parents". The kind I spent several conversations saying I would never be. I would rather be home for naps, because she sleeps longer at home. I don't go downtown. Ever. Because the idea of putting The Babe in the car, which she hates, for more than 30 minutes for anything other than to see family or go on a holiday, is completely unappealing. Your child doesn't hate the car? Lucky you. Mine does and there is no amount of Cherrios, new toys, or Charlotte Diamond singalongs which can change that for now.

We don't have a lot of babysitters. Our family, for the most part, is not close by. Other people offer, but the times we want to go out are often the times they would want to go out too, and the babysitters are often the people we want to go out with! Plus, people are busy and have commitments and their own families and late jobs and we don't even ask if we know it's not feasible. And if possible, we like bringing The Babe with us because she's funny and most people like her and I have a lot of cute clothes still left for her to wear.

But here's the thing - I like my life. Yes, I miss certain things but I don't miss them more than I love the things I have gained. I don't go dancing anymore, but I spin around the kitchen with The Babe and she laughs really hard. I don't go out for as many dinners, but perhaps I cherish those dinners out a little more now when I do get them. I do miss my girlfriends, but we're getting to a place where we all just seem to have less time. My life change is just one of many and we see each other when we can.

If you are thinking about becoming a parent, or have a friend who has become a new parent, I hope this helps to understand why you may see and hear from them less. Know that my feelings towards my friends haven't changed, my child doesn't shackle me to my house, but there are things which are more complicated and involve more stuff than they used to.

A year in review

So this post is about a month late, but since being back at work full-time I find that I barely can find time to shower, let alone blog. And since I work in an office, the showering has to take priority over the blogging. We celebrated the Babe's first year back in November and it's amazing how far we have come. We went from being terrified parents to... okay we are still are little terrified at time, but at least we seem to have a bit more knowledge under our belts. In the spirit of the holidays and the recognition of what little time everyone has, I'll share my observations in a bulleted list for ease of reading:

• If the baby is crying, it's probably hungry. Especially if it's under 6 months. For months I would try to figure out the routine of sleep, eat, play and try to source the Babe's crying to gas or boredom or overheating or underheating but in the end, almost always, if I fed her she would stop crying.
• Stop worrying about the damned laundry. And the dusting . And the dishes. Those old women who keep telling you they are only babies for such a short time? They are right. You will never look back 20 years from now and say “I wish I spent more time with my Swiffer.”
• Go out often before you and your baby get on a schedule. Because once you are on a schedule, it’s reruns and laundry while the Babe naps. The allure of a full night’s sleep is always enough to keep me housebound.
• Go out with your husband/wife/domestic partner more. We had trouble with this. We never wanted to inconvenience anyone, so we rarely asked people to babysit for us, and when we did, we often felt guilty. But the times we did manage to go out together, it was magical (and often involved a cocktail).
• Babies have a sense of humour. Have a new couch? The baby will spit up on it, 10 minutes after you burp her. Have your hands full of packages and the baby? She will choose to use that moment to climb you like a spider monkey climbs a tree, forcing you to drop everything, groceries included.
• Stop worrying about cleaning. Seriously.
• Surround yourself with positivity. I hooked up with an amazing group of women in pre-natal yoga. They were my rocks, my sounding board, my peanut gallery. They never hold back on their opinions and they will drop everything to help me. Latch onto the people who help you be a better parent, through positivity and support, because it will make all the difference when you’re going through the hard times of the first year.
• Stop wearing your nice clothes, because you will cry when they get spit up/pee/the other one/coffee/formula on them. Wave at them from afar and know that like every long distance friendship, you will see them again someday.

Lastly, know that you know your child. Listen to your mother , your doctor, your friends, but know at the end of the day you know your child and go with your gut. 

Happy New Year everyone!

Photo credit: Natalie Coutu

Mothers and daughters

So I am watching Joy Luck Club, a personal favorite of mine, and I feel there's something I haven't spelled out in my blog. I am a motherless daughter raising a daughter.

I haven't written this post because it is hard. It is not something that I want to write. But it is something that is so consuming, such a part of my everyday life, that I feel like a fraud by not writing about it until now. Don't get me wrong, I am not saying that I don't have wonderful amazing mothers of all ages to call on when I am in need. Because I do and they are fantastic and have gone above and beyond for me and our family. But there's something different about it being your mom, the one who raised you, the one who knows your milestones and says "I remember...".

I miss that experience of asking my mother how she handled a newborn, when I first teethed and how she handled my teenage rebellions, of which there were many. Because at 18 I wasn't thinking about asking her how to parent, how to be a role model, and how to be a wife. At 18, I had other priorities. And then, quickly, it was too late.

And to the complicated-ness of our situation that my Dad is no longer with us either, and as a only child there are no brothers or sisters to round out the mix. Any frame of reference to myself as a baby is gone. I deal with it in the only way I know how, voicing my feelings when I am able, cocooning when I am not. A quiet sigh from my mouth as The Babe marks another milestone. A absent reach for the phone to call a number that no longer exists. A swell of happiness when a family member tells a story of my cousins and I as babies. A random drive by of our old house to spark childhood memories. There is something about being able to ask your mom for help and advice that is so calming; I see it in my friends, how they can go from frantic to peaceful with one phone call (and the reverse also, I must admit). It is hard not having that.

Between the time of year (holiday season), the fast approach of The Babe's first birthday,the change of pace by returning to work, and of course, The Joy Luck Club, my emotions have kicked into hyperdrive. Don't worry, the next post will most likely be a return to bathroom etiquette or mealtime woes ;)

But for now, hug your mom or your daughter.

~ H