A Challenge for Mommy
One would think that a "tough" Mommy who takes karate would be able to handle a little Kindergarten orientation without being reduced to tears. For a stay at home Mom who has been with her daughter almost every single day since the day she arrived on this Earth, orientation is rough. In fact, I know it was harder on me than it was on Big I.
Orientation started out just fine. Big I sat with me in the auditorium and we listened to the principal talk for a while. I happened to take a look at the schedule for the morning and noticed that the kids would be going off to meet the other kids and teachers. I whispered to Big I what the plan was and she looked at me with apprehensive eyes. I told her it would be o.k. and that I wasn’t leaving the building and would be there to get her in just a little while. She settled in beside me again. I thought she’d be with me for a bit longer, but all of a sudden they called for the kids.
Most kids willingly ran off to line up for the trek to the classroom. There were a few stragglers who seemed to suddenly develop a gravitational pull to their mothers legs. There were a few tears and some whining. None of that came from Big I. When it was time, she stood up, took a deep breath, and then killed me. She leaned towards me, gave me a hug, kissed me on the cheek and said simply, "Bye Mommy." I instantly teared up and found myself choking back the tears. My eyes were flooded and I sat there swallowing profusely to keep them at bay. My mantra became, "She can NOT see ME cry." I repeated it at least 20 times. My eyes welled, but they did not spill. As the kids finished lining up, most of them faced forward. But Big I turned around, smiled at me and waved.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud of Big I and of myself. Since the day I brought this little girl into the world, there were people who judged the way I was raising her. Family bed? Bad idea. Guess what? It worked for us and she’s a fabulous sleeper. "No pre-school? Is she crazy? Her child will be socially behind." My Big I is one of the most socially mature 5-year olds I know. Today proved that. Today was like an affirmation that I’ve done a good job with her.
Back in the classroom, Big I approached a little girl who was playing with some blocks. She started to play with her. The little girl said something about how she was playing with them. Instead of getting upset with the girl who was lacking sharing skills, Big I ignored her and instead took the high road. She introduced herself and asked the girl what her name was. She then started playing with her.
At another point during the orientation, the kids were listening to a story. Two little boys were moving around and getting in her way. So, she moved away from them, but into the space of two little girls who didn’t feel like sharing their space. They told her so. She explained to them that she was moving over because she didn’t have any room. Had it been me? At her age? I would have been sobbing in a corner.
At this age? I spent most of the refreshment time fidgeting and counting the minutes until I could go get my daughter. I felt like an outcast, not knowing any of the other parents who were already pretty familiar with each other. I counted minutes, and hoped that she was having a better experience than I was.
When I went to the classroom to pick her up after 45 minutes (that felt like an absolute eternity), she was sitting at a desk coloring and writing her name by herself. She was thrilled with her drawing, and I was thrilled to see that she wasn’t crying. She then told me about the two little girls who told her to "go away." "WHERE ARE THEY?" I whispered to her as I scanned the room for the little brats. She didn’t even remember what they looked like.
As we were leaving she said, "I think it was kind of fun." She quickly made sure after that statement that she didn’t have to go back for a while. I assured her. She then said, "I don’t think the kids liked me." Can I just tell you the million ways my heart broke when she said that?
People can spit on me. They can call me names. They can throw things at me or tell me to "go away." They can even send me hate mail or write rude comments meant to hurt my feelings. I learned today, that nothing anyone can do to me can even begin to compare to the physical pain that I experienced when I saw that my daughter’s feelings were hurt. It was so visceral, so deep and sharp that it made me feel physically sick. I felt emotionally spent the entire day.
After we got home and Lil C was napping, I held Big I on my lap, rocked her, and told her that everyone deals with new situations differently. Not everyone can walk up to someone they don’t know and introduce themselves the way that she did. I told her that some kids will put up a wall, so to speak, and act mean before they act nice. I told her that some of the kids will already know each other and therefore think they only need that one friend. I told her that anyone who chooses not to be friends with her is missing out BIG TIME on spending time with a great, sweet, bright, fun, wonderful person that she has become.
Tonight my husband asked her if the girls hurt her feelings, and do you know what she said? "Actually Daddy, it made me a little mad. They weren’t very nice." When my husband asked her why she didn’t tell the boys to move, she said "I didn’t want to hurt their feelings."
I think that Big I is going to be just fine at school. For me, it’s going to take some serious time to get used to it (and a whole boat load of tissues).
Teach your children well
I was on vacation last year when the whole Natalee Holloway story broke. I was glued to the TV first thing in the morning and each night hoping they would find her alive, praying that even if she wasn’t alive anymore they would find her so her parents could have some peace. Almost a year later, I’m still waiting like everyone else and hoping that the recent developments bring about some closure.
Stories like Natalee’s haunt and terrify me. Having two daughters makes it even worse. In one respect I can see myself in Natalee’s shoes. One stupid night of a bit too much alcohol, paired with a bad decision or two and your life as you have known it, is forever altered or over. What average young woman these days hasn’t been in the situation of going a bit overboard? For most young women, the overboard night ends with nothing more than a headache. Natalee wasn’t so lucky.
In another respect, I can put myself in her mother’s shoes (and I think this is what bothers me the most.) How horrible it must be to lose your daughter, and how much worse is it to not even know why or how? I think the most awful part about it is that Natalee went missing so far from home. How could her parents possibly keep up the endless string of nights in a foreign land, in a foreign hotel? But then again, how could they go home? Can you imagine what that must have felt like, leaving without their daughter?
I know my girls are young, but stories like this are a big part of the reason why all female family members living under my roof will take karate. I want to raise my girls to be strong physically and mentally. Karate is perfect for that. I want them to have confidence in themselves to the point that they tend to avoid potentially dangerous situations. I want them to ooze confidence so that any ill-intentioned persons don’t even give them a glance. I want them to know that if they get in a dangerous situation, they can get out and how to go about doing so. The problem is that you can know all the karate in the world, but if you are incapacitated due to alcohol, what are the chances you’ll be able to use it? This is a huge problem and I wonder when I’ll need to start talking to my girls about alcohol and whether or not they’ll listen. Right now, my 5 year old won’t even drink soda. I think I have some time; but considering how these past 5 years flew, it will be here before I know it.
I think one of the most important things for young girls is to have a good group of friends. When I was in college, shortly after I turned 21, I was out at a club with a group of friends. I had two drinks the entire night, certainly not enough to put me under the table; but all of a sudden I started feeling very strange. The next thing I remember is looking up at a group of faces I didn’t know. Thank God my friend came back quickly from the bathroom, and my boyfriend (now husband) noticed from across the room where he was getting a drink. They helped me to my feet and literally had to carry me out of the bar and home. It wasn’t your normal drunk; and having had only two drinks, I knew and they knew I had to have been drugged. I felt funny for a few days following that awful night and thank my lucky stars that I had two great people to help me home. Assessing the situation the next day with my friends, we remembered how I was watching a band and had my drink sitting behind me at a table. There were some shady guys on the other side of the table who followed us to the next bar later in the evening. It was a bad idea, putting my drink down; and I haven’t let a drink out of my sight since then.
Situations like this though, go to show that no matter how careful you are, one stupid mistake could end up meaning a world of trouble. Unfortunately, I think that’s what happened with Natalee. No one her age ever thinks anything bad will ever happen to them. Young girls tend to trust people easily and it’s very scary for a mother of two young girls.
Besides locking my girls in our house until they’re 30 or so, I really don’t know what else I can do besides giving them the tools they need and hoping and praying for the best. I also found this site which includes a questionnaire you can use to talk with your children. My 5-year old and I have been through it a couple times already, and we’ll go through it many more times for sure.
I guess all I can hope for is that I help to put a good head on their little shoulders. I guess that’s all any parent can hope for. But as a back up, I think I’ll display my karate weapons prominently on my walls when dating age is getting near, and possibly require a lengthy pre-date "interview" with any potential suitor. That should help spread the word that my girls (and their wicked karate mama) are not to be messed with.
Half year
I can not believe that my baby is already six months old. Last year at this time, I was just finding out that the baby did indeed have a heartbeat, after a nerve-wracking appointment where a heartbeat could not be found. It turns out, the dates were off, so that explained it. But it was completely stressful until the ultrasound confimed that a healthy baby was definitely on her way. Two years ago, I was finding out once again that I was not pregnant and was trying to put myself back together again and be hopeful for the next month. I am so happy that I have been blessed with this beautiful, healthy, and happy child.
But enough mush. . . if Lil C could talk, what would she say today?
Hello everyone,
I am six months old today. It has been a great six months. Mommy says I’m a great baby, because I rarely cry and I’m a champion sleeper. I am such a mama’s girl though, and when Mommy isn’t around, I am not a happy camper lately. (Daddy had to resort to putting me in my car seat tonight when Mommy was away, which equals instant sleep.) I love watching my big sister do just about anything. She cracks me up when she jumps and dances. I light up when I see her each morning. Sometimes she picks on me by putting a bunch of toys on my back or something, but I know she loves me. I am also in love with our cats. Today, one of them came close enough for me to reach out and grab him. That was exciting! I am starting to really talk lately too. I am not a quiet baby! I’m saying something that sounds awfully close to "mama," and Daddy is working hard on getting me to say, "dada." If his name was "ga ga" we’d be set! I love rolling across the room to see what my big sister is up to; and I’m also getting really good at spinning around on my belly and crawling like an inch worm. Mommy says I’m going to be great at karate, because I have the quadruple threat. When she leans over to get my belly, I grab two fistfuls of hair and at the same time pull my feet up to deliver a big kick. Mommy says I’ll soon have enough of her hair to make a wig. Tomorrow Mommy is going to try to feed me cereal. (I think I’d rather have spaghetti though.)
Love,
Lil C
I can only hope that these next six months don’t go as fast as the first six have. . .
Time flies Big I
Five years ago tonight, I was in the hospital, just meeting my daughter for the first time. I was in some serious agony, and finally, after 14.5 hours of pitocin induced labor, I delivered her at 1:29 a.m. on 3/28. She weighed 8 lbs. 0 oz. and was 21 inches long. I was induced because she was late and apparently did not understand that her lease was up. Today she is 45 inches tall and weighs 42 lbs. She still doesn’t understand the concept of being on time (her nickname is ‘Pokey-hontas’), although that may be genetic. One thing is for sure; time has gone entirely too fast.
Big I-not even a day old
I remember crying when Big I turned a month old because I thought it was going so fast. If only I had known that every month there after would fly even faster. By the time she turned one, she had been walking for two months, knew tons of words, and was also fluent in baby signs.
Big I-First birthday party
At age 1 we had a lot of fun. Big I showed us early that she was going to be strong-willed and hit her terrible two’s a bit early. They were mostly out of her system by the time she hit two. When Big I hit 2, she did many funny things, but a few in particular stand out.
- Coloring our lavender sofa with a navy blue crayon (Thank goodness for IKEA slip covers because she was quite thorough.)
- Ruined my favorite lipstick by smearing it all over her mouth area Ronald McDonald style
- Found a black magic marker and colored herself graffiti style
Big I-age 2
Age 2 marked our first trip to Disney World where Big I’s love for anything princess was revealed. This was the age of non-stop talking, and the beginning of whining. This was also the age when Big I and our one cat became great friends.
Big I- Age 3
At age 3, Big I decided to show us her sense of humor. She enjoyed cracking us up on a daily basis with funny questions and even funnier faces. This was also the year of true bravery, as in, the child rode the Tower of Terror at Disney World four, count them, four times. She also decided this was the year to become a little mermaid and started swimming up a storm one day. She also started taking karate and ballet. What a combination!
Big I-4th birthday
This was quite a year for Big I, as she became a Big Sister. Big I went to all my appointments with me and endured multiple non-stress tests a week along with me. She became my appointment buddy and never ceased to amaze and amuse me with her drawings to entertain me and her "American Idol" like performances to make me laugh. She truly became a big girl this year and has endured having a sister around 100 times better than I ever thought she would.
Big I-5th birthday party
Every year on her birthday eve, I have told her the story, hour by hour of how she came into this world. Every year she has been excited to hear that story, and has asked me to tell her again and again. This year, she just wasn’t having it. . . yet another sign that this time has gone entirely too fast.
She is already starting to show signs that Mommy and Daddy aren’t always "cool" anymore. I mean, she’s not yet ready to have us drop her off at the mall unattended or anything, because yeah, like that will ever happen. But tonight, when she was being grumpy at the dinner table, I thought I could cheer her up by delivering a comical rendition of Nelly’s new song, "Smile for me baby. . . I wanna see your grill. . . you wanna see my what?. . . your grill, ya, ya, your grill." (For those people who think Nelly is the name of your local dairy farm’s prized cow, "grill" means smile or teeth, at least I think it does.) Anyway, it actually elicited an eye roll. An eye roll. The child is just turning five; and I can sing Nelly. I thought I had a least a few more years before the eye rolling started!
In the fall she will start kindergarten; and I seriously may need to go visit my doctor beforehand for some anti-anxiety help for that day. I have always stayed home with her; we have been together almost every day of her life; and I can not imagine how bad it’s going to hurt when she goes to school.
Last week I was helping her ride her bike outside. I told her that she was growing up too fast. I told her to slow down. She said to me, "Don’t worry, you will always be my mommy." This weekend, at her birthday party, I told her to slow down again and she said, "Mommy, I can’t help it. It’s not me growing up; it’s my body." She is so right.
Happy Birthday Big I! No matter how big you get, you will ALWAYS be my baby. (I will probaby always sing you silly rap songs too.)
I Just Can’t
My Lil C is 5.5 months old; and I can not bring myself to move her from the cradle beside my bed to her crib, where she desperately needs to be. She needs to be there because she is a loooonnnngggg baby. She is off the charts when it comes to length and she literally has about a quarter inch from the top of her head to the top of the cradle with her toes grazing the bottom of the cradle. I know she’d probably be more comfortable in her room, in her crib. She takes naps there and I can deal with that. But the whole night, in a different room? I’m seriously having some issues with this.
Big I slept in our bed for just about the first two years of her life. She was not a great sleeper and liked to wake up for feedings often. So for me, it was an issue of "do I want to get any sleep or not?" So, she slept with my husband and me and it was fine. She went to her own bed and room when she was just about two and has been doing so since. (She actually sleeps in a loft bed now which was a whole other issue for me to deal with!) With Big I, there were no issues regarding the whole co-sleeping thing; although there were certain well-meaning family members and other people who had issues with it and weren’t shy about letting us know. My husband and I did with it what we do with other well-meaning advice. . . considered it briefly and then decided to promptly dismiss it.
Before I had Lil C, my husband and I bought a new bed, bigger and softer. The bigger part is good for a new baby, but the softer part is not so good. So Lil C slept in our bed, but in a co-sleeping infant bed that fit inside our bed. That worked for a while but then the little munchkin got so long so fast that we had to move her to the cradle. That was tough for me too, but bearable because she was still in our room.
I think the hardest part about moving her out of our room is that there is really no going back once I move her out. We’ll need to establish a routine; and then I have to really disconnect the umbilical cord. It’s so hard to do. What’s making it harder is that I always wanted to have three kids. After the pregnancy with Lil C, the gestational diabetes, the non-stress tests, the endless finger sticks, the glyburide which gave me low blood sugars and made me feel like I had heart-burn constantly, the ridiculous diet that limited carbs and sugars (how dare they do such a thing to a pregnant woman, for God’s sake?), I don’t know if a third is in the cards for us.
For any other person, maybe it wouldn’t be an issue. I gave birth to two perfectly healthy, full term babies. What’s a little gestational diabetes, right? Wrong. In my family there is a strong history of diabetes. My mother is a type 1 who was diagnosed with gestational during her second pregnancy and then it never went away. Although mine appears to have been a true gestational diabetes, who’s to say that it wouldn’t come back and stay? Is that a risk worth taking to have another child? And then there’s that whole thing about it taking over a year to get Lil C on her way into this world. I’m not getting any younger; and I like that my girls are 4.5 years apart.
If the experience of giving birth to Lil C wasn’t so amazing, I think I would be able to accept not having another child. In fact, throughout the pregnancy, I swore this was it because I would not go through all these ridiculous tests and finger sticks and stress EVER again. However, I had a wonderful midwife deliver Lil C and it was a truly beautiful experience. I was actually able to reach under her arms and deliver her myself. There was no i.v., no drugs (besides a miso to get labor going), and no knees-to-your-ears-counting-bright lights-pushing either. We even went home the same day I gave birth. She came into this world in such a relaxed way, which is why we think she is such a mellow and easy to care for baby.
It’s just hard to say that I won’t be doing that again. It’s hard to get rid of the 0-3 month clothes (which is why I don’t). It’s hard to accept that the giving birth part of my life might be done; so for now. . . I won’t.
Lil C is sleeping in her cradle tonight.
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