On my own

Back when I had a "husband in residence" I would get my panties quite ruffled whenever he would have to go out of town for business. I dreaded the inevitable chaos of being alone 24 hours a day with four tiny kids. Now I look back at those times and chuckle. For the past two years I have been doing this on my own. In truth, I have been doing a lot of it on my own for even longer than that. When people find out that I am a single Mom of four young kids they usually respond with awe, I often hear things like - "I can barely handle two (or one), how do you do it with four -and all alone!" Well, I probably don't have to tell you it's hard. Really hard. Being a Mom is a challenge no matter what your circumstances.

In the beginning, when I not only had 4, but four including a difficult two year old (that would seem redundant unless you actually knew Paddy boy at age two, in which case you know it's a huge understatement), and a 15 month old baby, I was running on empty all the time. I was determined to be the best mother I could be, to do all that I could do to protect my sweet cherubs from the inevitable pain of their parents' divorce. I did the one thing that has for all my life been the most difficult, I reached out and asked for help. I humbled myself enough to see that I had to accept help from others. I have so many to whom I am eternally and perpetually grateful (you know who you are). Let me tell you, Hillary was right, it does take a village.

I love being a Mom, in fact, it is the only thing I ever wanted to be. I was dealt a huge blow. My heart was broken and my world was turned upside down and I needed to pick myself up and take care of me so that I could take care of my kids. Kind of like when you listen to the safety instructions on an airplane (you do listen to the safety instructions pre-flight, right?) and they tell you that you need to put on your oxygen mask before helping someone else with theirs. I call it the oxygen mask theory of parenting. I had to take care of me as a means to take care of my kids. I was careful. I got myself a therapist, a spiritual director and a prescription. I steered clear of alcohol. I took my time and tried not to get overwhelmed. I admitted my weaknesses in order that I might be able to turn them into strengths. I became determined. While I admitted my need to accept help, I also realized that my goal was to be able to do it all, on my own. Even if I didn't have to do it alone, I wanted to know that I could. With time I was able to cut down my therapy appointments to every other week, sweep my own floor, cook my own dinners and even enjoy an occasional glass of wine without fear of it spawning an all out addiction. I learned that where the kids are involved I need to choose my battles, decide what I can let slide and what is non-negotiable.

So, as I said it's been just about two years now, and last week my need to be super mom peaked when I took four kids on vacation by myself. To an amusement park. We all survived. I only lost one kid, and only for about 5 minutes. We even had fun. Actually, we had a blast. We trashed a hotel room -ordered movies, junk food wrappers everywhere, bed jumping and diving and we were probably even a little loud. (can you say - "understatement"?) We met Elmo, Cookie Monster and Big Bird (although Dexter kept referring to him as the Big Chicken, making me suspicious that 24hrs of Disney Channel and Nick Jr. programming may be lessening the iconic effects of PBS). We managed to do it on a budget by eating breakfast and lunch in the hotel picnic style, and by stocking up on glow ropes at the local party store before we left. We made memories to last a lifetime and we did it on our own. We are a team, my cherubs and I.

Now then, I seriously need a vacation from my vacation. Four kids are exhausting.

Post script - I am never really on my own. I have the most amazing family helping me all the time in all kinds of ways, wonderful friends, and of course the never ending love and protection of the Lord! Thank you all.

Get On it

The tooth fairy sucks. At least in my house she does. When First Son lost his first tooth the tooth fairy was "on it". She was so excited. She anxiously awaited the moment when true slumber would set in, then she set about her business. Her intended purpose. Her raison d'etre! She slipped quietly between the pillow and mattress, extracted the precious gem, leaving in it's place a selection of golden coins. On the bedside, a personal letter to the newly toothless kindergartener extolling the virtues of his excellent dental hygiene which had of course produced such an awesome specimen for her collection. Said letter was printed prettily in a fairy-esqe font on a wispy ethereal slice of vellum and tied with a gorgeous silver ribbon. The next morning was filled with the delirious cacophony that comes when children discover something magical. On it. The tooth fairy was on it.

Last week first son had two baby teeth extracted by Dr. Dentist for reasons which fall under the category of unfortunate genetics. They were set in an adorable little plastic treasure chest that first son placed delicately under his pillow. Tooth fairy? She was off on a bender apparently. No note, no gold coins. Just a puddle of drool on the pillow and a look of disappointment and shrug of the shoulders from the now third grader. That damn tooth fairy is really blowing it. In the recent past I have found myself making all manner of excuses for her dropping the ball. "Fairies can't fly in the rain" " Maybe she caught that flu that's been going around." " The tooth dropped on the floor and she couldn't find it" I mean seriously. How hard is it to set your damn alarm get your ass up undetected in the middle of the night Miss Tooth Fairy? What happened to your "raison d'etre"? It is your job. Your only job. Leave a special little something for the newly toothless cherubs. What kind of mythical creature are you anyway?

By my count there are more than 60 deciduous little teeth yet to loosen themselves from the mouths of my cherubs....setting my alarm.

Crying Over Spilt Milk

I do this to myself every time. Every time. I torture myself. Of course, each and every time I have a new plan of action and I swear that I will not torture myself. Yet here I am, once again, engorged, weepy and miserable. I convince myself that I will breastfeed this baby, I have to. I have a plan and swear that I will not allow myself to give in to the anguish and self doubt, and let’s not forget extreme physical pain; apparently I am easily duped.

With First Son it was the worst. Well, he was my first and so I was quite the idealist. I had done all of my reading, of course. I knew that breast milk was the best choice for him, and since I was going to be the Best Mom, it really was never a question. I went to the seminars, I bought the La Leche League book, even a few nursing bras and tops, I was all set. Just like the book advised, I told the nurses and doctors in the hospital that he was NOT to be given a bottle or a pacifier, lest we have the dear boy come down with a bad case of nipple confusion. Then, the darndest thing happened. I had an emergency c-section, and felt like I was hit by a train. I was majorly doped up. First son was a big baby, and extremely active at birth. The nurses asked me if they could give him a bottle, and I of course said NO! Then, a few hours later they came to tell me that he was going to be in the “Special Care Nursery” because they were starting an IV, he had low blood sugar. Enter GUILT, cue TEARS. (his low blood sugar issue had nothing to do with my nursing decision, but as I said, I was doped up and slightly hormonal having just given birth) It was over 24 hours before I had First Son back in my arms, in my room, where I could even try to breastfeed him. I tried. I tried for days. My recovery from surgery was rough. Hard. I was in pain from the surgery, and then my milk came in. In addition to feeling like my stomach had been ripped open from inside by aliens, I now had these two rock hard, extremely sore, leaky extremities hanging from my chest. Add to that the fact that I was supposed to have the baby set his Vulcan death grip lips around them and suck? Can you say ow? I did. I said it and I cried it and I probably even shouted it once or twice. Why didn’t any of the books show the real picture? The mom sitting with the cute little baby attached to her breast, tears running down her sleep deprived face as she stares longingly at a bottle of whiskey? Within a few days both First Son and I developed a thrush infection because of an antibiotic I had been on before I delivered and that put an end to my breast feeding fantasies with First Son. I was sad, I felt guilty, I did not give up easily. Finally my wise OB advised me to stop torturing myself. She asked if I had been breastfed as a child, I replied that I didn’t think so. She went on to say that she hadn’t either, and yet miraculously she had grown up to become a doctor! She was fine and well, so was I, chances were good that my baby would be as well. So, out came the baby formula and bottles, and I started formulating a plan for my second child right then and there. I was certain that I would be given another chance at this breastfeeding thing, and I would prove myself to be a good Mom yet!

Just shy of two years later Curly Girl arrived, again by c-section, (though without the trauma of the first, as she was scheduled) and out came the boob. Still, I was in pain from the surgery, my breasts had swollen to two times their normal size, which was at least twice the size of her head, and I was not having an easy time. I couldn’t fathom that every time my sweet baby girl would latch on I would see stars, and seep tears. I called a lactation consultant and paid almost $200 that we really couldn't afford, for some “advice” and a private lesson. A day later I gave up. I pulled a muscle in my abdomen trying to get out of bed, and for the next week, in between myriad doctor appointments to try and figure out what the heck was wrong with me, I could barely get myself up out of bed to give her a bottle, much less hold her to my sore breasts for 20 minutes. I summoned all of my courage and told the lactation consultant through tears that I just couldn’t do it, and that I didn’t have to. I am sure I was trying to convince myself more than anyone else, because she didn’t put any pressure on me, but told me to call anytime. I then had to have someone drive me to the baby mega store to buy some bottles, as part of my “plan” had been to not even keep any in the house, because to do so would be sabotaging myself. I got over it a little bit quicker this time, though I was still sad and weepy.

When Paddy boy arrived I had a plan that I was going to nurse him for night feedings only. The rest of the time he would have formula. I decided that this was a good plan, because it would leave me free during the day to tend to my other children and a hectic schedule, yet give me and my baby some special bonding time at night. I didn’t even consider the fact that I would require some sleep during this time. Nursing takes double the time that a bottle feeding takes. I knew I had to call it quits when I became afraid that I would drop him in the middle of the night when I fell asleep holding him. Now, because I had witnessed first hand through First Son and Curly Girl that my original OB was indeed correct, my formula fed babies would be just fine, I made peace with my decision to stop the boob and move on to the bottle.

I think that part of the reason I was able to make peace with my decision not to nurse was because I knew I would have another chance. Each time I was coping with the hope of a “do-over”. That is what is so different this time. I am not as convinced that I will get another chance. I have four children! Four small children! I am stretched. We are stretched. Our home is stretched, our wallet is stretched, our cesspool is certainly stretched! I am not convinced that I am finished having children, I concede that there may be one more in there, but, for the first time, I am not convinced that there is definitely another one to come. The best I can say is maybe and mean it. So what that translates to is that this may very well be my last chance to get this whole breastfeeding thing right.

I have been crying about it all night. I am searching my soul to find out what exactly it is I really want. My plan this time around has been to pump for the first month and give my body a chance to recover from major surgery, before I even begin to torture myself with the baby and his Vulcan death grip lips (apparently they all have them). The problem is that I am in such a rush to get myself and my body back in form. This pregnancy was really tough for me, emotionally and physically. It is hard to have two babies, because let’s face it, at just 17 months that is what Paddy boy is, a baby. I want desperately to feel good again, to be able to pick my big baby up from his crib, and chase him off of the stairs, and give him a bath. I want to be able to be his Mommy again, instead of the lady who spends all day sitting on the couch or on her bed holding the “new baby”. Paddy boy is my baby too and it is killing me that I am not much more than a casual observer these days. Add to that the extreme fullness and soreness of my breasts, the fact that they are what is preventing me from being able to get up from bed at night to comfort Paddy Boy and his night terrors (they just hurt so much!), and the idea that I will be solely responsible for the health and nutrition of Baby Boy while others are able to help out with the rest of the cherubs and I am a bubbling, babbling mess of tears.

I am way too smart to think that the measure of a good Mom is the form of nutrition she offers her infant. On an intellectual level I can argue this point for hours. Still, there is a part of me that wants so much to be one of those Moms who can casually lift their shirt and let their babies latch on, all the while continuing their conversations and sipping their cups of chamomile. I don’t know why, even after 3 kids, 3 failed attempts, I can’t seem to let go of this ideal. Why do I do this to myself? I feel so selfish if I decide to abandon the nursing "project". I guess in truth though, either decision is a selfish one. The truth is that even my desire to keep nursing is driven not so much by my feeling that it is the best choice for Baby Boy, but that it will make me feel like a good Mom. How selfish is that?

I guess I need to face my reality. I am a good Mom. A really good Mom and I know it. I just have to accept it. I can take some pride in the fact that every one of my kids was nursed for the first few days of life, receiving what is known as "liquid gold", or colostrum, the rich substance that comes before the actual milk. It is full of antibodies, and wonderful, healthy goodness. At least they got that from me. Also, when I stopped nursing, I started to become myself again, a happy well adjusted Mom, who feels happy every time my baby cries from his bassinet in the middle of the night, because I anticipate the holding, snuggling, bonding act to come while I hold his bottle and stare into his eyes, rather than dreading the minutes that go by before he cries out again and I have to wince in pain as I do the "right" thing and offer my breast to the little alien.

And so, my decision is made. I am putting the boob away, again. Maybe for always, but definitely for good.

Much Better Today

Ok, So yesterdays post was a little, um, well, let's just say emotional. Today was much better. It's amazing what a good night's sleep can do for ya! That, plus the hours I spent agonizing over ways to improve the outcome of my days. Here's some of what I have come up with:

1. Schedule - it is imperative that we implement and adhere to (is that redundant?) a schedule, one for the mornings, one for the evenings. Well, hubby and I have already discussed and begun implementing an evening routine, because we need to get First son and his mother ready to catch that 7:30 am bus that will be pulling up out front in a little over a month!
Dinner is at 6PM or earlier, but not later. Immediately following dinner are baths. 10 minute time limit in the tub, and hair washing is mandatory. Upstairs, jammied, and reading a story by 7PM, asleep by 7:30. So far, it's going ok, with the exception of asleep by 7:30, but I know that that will come with time. We really have to be strict with ourselves about keeping this schedule with very little exception. Especially in the beginning.
Today I started a morning "routine" which consists of, bathroom (my kids esp, Curly, need to be reminded to go to the bathroom), breakfast, fang scrubbing, clothes, make beds/straighten-up bedroom. Then, Mom's errands, which leaves the rest of the day open for playing. Since this was only the first day I can't comment on progress yet!

2. Nutrition - Usually we are pretty good with eating a balanced diet and not letting the kids have too much sugar, but it needs to be more of a priority. I find that first son especially is a little off kilter when he hasn't eaten properly. Yesterday he had a bag of Goldfish for breakfast, ice cream for lunch (at VBS,- I wouldn't have given him ice cream for lunch!), and a bowl of honey nut cheerios for snack - (at a friend's - I don't stock sugar cereal) - so no wonder that by the time dinner rolled around he was off the wall! Today was much better - He had a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of OJ before VBS, then a Jelly sandwich on WW (is mine the only kid on the planet who doesn't like PB?), a plum, some apple juice, an ice cream bar ( hey, we were at the pool, and he had eaten his whole lunch, plus fruit!) Then I have implemented another new part of our schedule - the 4:30PM snack - today it was 1/4 of a green pepper and some baby carrots with ranch dip. Both kids gobbled it up and then - miracle - did not bug me every two minutes till dinner that they were "hungy". Extra bonus - they then ate their whole dinners - MacNCheese, chicken spring roll, and green beans with a big old glass of milk! Curly even asked for seconds! In sharp contrast to yesterday, today I may actually qualify for MOTY, I count 5 servings of fruit/veg!

3. No computer for Mom until after the kids are asleep! - this one is tough, but it will probably make a big difference.

4. Get Hubby on board for all of the above! Good thing he checks my blog frequently!

This isn't everything, but it is a start. I mean the one thing I definitely figured out yesterday is that some changes need to be made. I don't want to have to call Nanny Jo to come fix my problems!

Woe is me

Attention: This post is at best, melancholy. You have been warned.

Tonight is not a good night. I am feeling monumentally sad, dissatisfied with myself, and with my abilities as a mother and a wife. Basically, I suck. I have been fighting these feelings for a long time now. Months at least. I have been trying really hard to keep myself distracted, and for a while especially with the hub-bub of the nuptials, it was working, but now that has worn off. I can't put my finger on any one thing, there are so many things that upset me.

Tonight I just really don't like myself. I am not being the kind of mother I want to be. Today, I am really tired. I don't really have the luxury of being tired, with 3 little ones in the house, but today, I am tired. When I am tired I have no patience. I yell. A lot. I threaten. I am cranky and I am mean. It is not the cherubs' fault that I am tired. It is my fault. So why then do I take it out on them? Because obviously, I am a lousy mother.

I had this thought tonight, as I was holding Paddy boy, I flashed back to when First son was in my arms as a new baby. I realized that as I held my firstborn baby back then, and dreamed of the wonderful life we would have together as mother and child, none of my fantasies contained the types of rage and anger that I was displaying today and tonight. No matter how much good I do, however loving and cuddling and adoring a mother I am most of the time, I know that I erase that with just a minute's worth of mean Mommy.

Don't get me wrong, as much as the cherubs are indeed angelic, they are also quite mischievous and have lately been pushing the envelope on "fresh". Still, I am the grown-up, and sometimes I don't act like it.

Please don't write me any comments about stuff I already know. I am being hard enough on myself tonight. If you have something constructive or supportive to say however, I could use it.

They Bounce!

Scary, scary day today. My sweet, sweet, wonderful Paddy Boy...fell off the kitchen counter and onto his head. I saw his whole life (all 5 months of it) flash before me. I honestly don't think I have ever been so frightened in my life, and I am officially giving up laundry duties.

Here's how it went down: I sat him in his car seat, on the kitchen counter with a floppy book while I set about fixing his bottle for lunch. The two sibling cherubs were going back and forth between eating their lunch and playing house with it. Paddy sat quite contentedly in his seat, perched atop my kitchen "peninsula". I decided to seize this moment of relative calm to grab the laundry from the dryer and bring it upstairs. Frick and Frack followed me upstairs, and I promptly told them to go finish their lunch, and to talk to their brother who I could hear fussing a bit (not crying, just fussing, probably because he was left alone). I folded a few pieces of laundry, when I heard a loud crash, followed by hysterical crying from three sets of lungs. I flew down the stairs (I quite honestly have no recollection of my feet hitting the steps), found the two oldest sitting on the living room chaise, each as white as a ghost, sobbing and screeching inconsolably. I ran into the kitchen to find Paddy lying on his back, on the floor, crying! The car seat was also on the floor, a few feet away. My heart was in my throat. I scooped Paddy up and gave him a once over, he didn't seem hurt, but he was crying quite a bit. I went into the living room, tried to reassure the other two that they were NOT in trouble, but that I had to know what happened. Through sobs and tears I figured out that Curly was trying to talk to him and calm him down, as I asked her to do, and she leaned on the edge of the car seat, which tipped.
Immediately I called the pediatrician's office, although I was lucky I could remember my own name, much less their phone number. I was shook! Luckily they told me to come right in (I was afraid they would say to go to the ER, or worse, call an ambulance). Paddy boy calmed down pretty easily, but poor Curly was distraught. She had run up to her bed and was sobbing into her pillow. My poor girl. I took Paddy with me to show her that he was OK, that she was not in trouble, that we would just take him to the Dr. so we could make extra sure.
The Dr. looked him over and said he seems fine. Thank God. She did say to watch him closely for any changes. Then she told me to of course, be more careful next time, but to be kind to myself, all babies fall at one time or another, but they bounce! Of course this happens the day before hubby is set to go out of town on business, because all drama in my life revolves around hubby's business travel.

Later on when we were safely home I asked the kids to reenact the scene using Curly's doll and doll carrier. It turns out, that Curly really saved the day! She tipped the car seat, but rather than letting her baby brother fall, she grabbed him and held him as best she could letting him drop to the floor from her arms (a much shorter drop than from the counter). She is a good sister. She realizes now that Paddy boy is OK, and she is feeling much better about it herself.

I keep reliving those scary moments when I heard the crash, and ran into the kitchen. The pictures that went through my mind were scary, much scarier than the reality. The scariest thing though is that they could have been the reality. Paddy could have been really seriously hurt. I can see myself having nightmares about this for a while. Needless to say, he will not be sitting on any counter tops again anytime soon.
My blood pressure today? High.
Forecast for tonight: sleepless
General attitude: Gratitude!

Any votes for MOTY??