I'm struggling with this one. Not really struggling... But it's been on my mind today.
How do you be a punk rock mommy (or daddy, Toga has both), sticking it to the man, and teaching your kid how to play by the rules? In Baby's eyes, you ARE the man. You're this kid's entire representation of authority as a parent.
I suppose on one hand I don't expect Sara to follow the rules, but she has to have a damn good reason that she honestly and truly believes in for WHY she broke the rules. Doesn't mean she won't get punished. As an anti-authoritatian even I understand that when you break the rules there is going to be some kind of punishment.
I don't have much experience on the subject, but I'm looking forward to this challenge as she grows.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Single Motherhood and the Long Distance Relationship.
I'm not entirely talking about my baby for once. I've had a couple people in my personal life ask me how I balance having a long distance relationship and being a parent. Where's the time for my boyfriend? It can't be healthy for me to be distracted with a boyfriend who's six hours away while I have a baby. Or it can't be healthy for me to be distracted by a baby while I have a boyfriend six hours away. I'm not gonna lie, it's pretty difficult. But it manages to work.
Rules for managing an LDR and a baby.
Rule 1. The day is completely reserved for taking care of baby or my house. Once in awhile there is a day time phone call, but not often. Night time after baby is in bed is the best time to reconnect with a partner hours away. Minimal interruption from the spawn, usually the house is clean so you don't need to stress about that, and a good time to stop and appreciate each-other as much as you can over the phone.
Rule 2.
Web cam! This is almost a must have. It gives you something resembling face time, and if your LDR partner is involved with the baby it's a good way to get the little one used to your partners face. Especially if it's the daddy or the soon to be step-daddy.
Rule 3.
Hire a baby sitter, send baby to gramma, or send baby off to daddy's for the weekend (if this is not the person you're in an LDR with) and go visit for a weekend every couple of months. Completely ignoring actual face time with your partner will kill the relationship.
Rule 4.
Much like being in a regular relationship always use discretion with introducing your partner to the little one. This may be even more important because of the nature of an LDR. As your child gets older they might wonder why mommy's partner is so far away, if they don't like mommy that much (or them) and that's why they don't come around so much. It's tricky.
Rule 5.
Be honest with your partner about their role in your life. Baby comes first, partner comes second, even if they come to visit you. If you find yourself casting aside your kid for your partner then it's time for you to reevaluate things. If it comes down to your visit with your partner and your kid, kid comes first. Always, no exceptions. I don't care how much the bus/plane/train ticket cost.
Rules for managing an LDR and a baby.
Rule 1. The day is completely reserved for taking care of baby or my house. Once in awhile there is a day time phone call, but not often. Night time after baby is in bed is the best time to reconnect with a partner hours away. Minimal interruption from the spawn, usually the house is clean so you don't need to stress about that, and a good time to stop and appreciate each-other as much as you can over the phone.
Rule 2.
Web cam! This is almost a must have. It gives you something resembling face time, and if your LDR partner is involved with the baby it's a good way to get the little one used to your partners face. Especially if it's the daddy or the soon to be step-daddy.
Rule 3.
Hire a baby sitter, send baby to gramma, or send baby off to daddy's for the weekend (if this is not the person you're in an LDR with) and go visit for a weekend every couple of months. Completely ignoring actual face time with your partner will kill the relationship.
Rule 4.
Much like being in a regular relationship always use discretion with introducing your partner to the little one. This may be even more important because of the nature of an LDR. As your child gets older they might wonder why mommy's partner is so far away, if they don't like mommy that much (or them) and that's why they don't come around so much. It's tricky.
Rule 5.
Be honest with your partner about their role in your life. Baby comes first, partner comes second, even if they come to visit you. If you find yourself casting aside your kid for your partner then it's time for you to reevaluate things. If it comes down to your visit with your partner and your kid, kid comes first. Always, no exceptions. I don't care how much the bus/plane/train ticket cost.
Moving fears.
I found myself holding Sara last night and crying. It hit me that I really am leaving her behind for two months at the end of this one. It hurt. I know it's the right thing, to give her a better life. But I can't help but thinking of all the things I'm going to miss. I'm scared. I'd be lying of I said I wasn't. What if she forgets me? What if when I come back for her she hates me? Thinks I've abandoned her? That I'm never coming back? It's a hard pill to swallow. But this is what needs to be done. I know I can make ends meet on the little bit of child support I get each month, but it's not enough. She deserves better, and there is nothing in my area as far as work in concerned. Barely anything in my state for that matter.
I've been making sure to spend extra time with her. I know it's probably going to slow down the packing process, but right now, I don't care. She's back to sleeping in bed with me every night. I need it, she needs it. Being in the crib next to my bed isn't enough.
I've been making sure to spend extra time with her. I know it's probably going to slow down the packing process, but right now, I don't care. She's back to sleeping in bed with me every night. I need it, she needs it. Being in the crib next to my bed isn't enough.
Friday, March 30, 2012
THE BIRTH!
I've been wanting to write Sara's birth story for awhile, so here it is!
I knew I was pregnant with Toga before I should have known I was pregnant. I hadn't missed a period, in fact it had only been a week since conception. Life with a military man had it's perks when it came to knowing the exact date of conception. But I KNEW. I dreamed about her, my beautiful blonde haired baby. The faint almost nonexistent blue line on the pregnancy test confirmed everything. The pregnancy was relatively normal. I dreamed of a non-medicated natural labor and delivery, waiting for my love to come on her own time. I prepared for it, I read all of the materials I could get my hands on about hypnobirthing and natural labor techniques. I was going to be the crunchiest mama of them all.
At least until I was admitted to the hospital at 34 weeks due to pre-eclampsia and IUGR. After a routine ultrasound my OB came in and told me the one thing I never expected to hear, "We're having this baby, now. Either I'm inducing you, or I'm preforming a c-section. But she's coming out." This was not how I wanted things to happen, this wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Everything was a blur, her father had just left after coming in to visit at the hospital with a friend of ours. After a frantic phone call he was back in under 10 minutes. I was moved to a larger room where they began the pitocin. The contractions never picked up speed, and more threats of c-sections came. I refused. It was the one area I felt I still had control over as far as my daughter's birth. They were not cutting me open. I slept and woke in the morning to the power being out in the entire hospital. After 3 hours of sitting in the dark the doctor told me I could stay there and give birth and have my daughter transferred to a hospital 3 hours away or I could transfer to the hospital before the birth. I chose the latter. The pitocin stopped, the transportation team came and took me away. For three hours I layed on a stretcher in an ambulance making small talk with the pleasant EMTs. They asked about my plans for the baby, making me feel a little bit more incontroll of my situation. It was pleasant almost.
We arrived at the hospital where I was to have my daughter. The pitocin was started again, and my blood pressure was out of control. The new doctor, the one I didn't know, the one I didn't trust, told me if I didn't progress fast enough I would be having a c-section. Everything was falling apart. It was day two and no sign of the baby coming into the world, so I slept. In a last ditch attempt to keep something resembling the way I wanted the birth to go I asked for an epidural the next morning. Within an hour my blood pressure was dropping, my labor was progressing, and I was calm. I felt at peace with my decision to try and deliver my daughter the way I had wanted. My family began placing bets. Whoever guessed the closest time to when my daughter was born would win. 12pm, 4pm, 9 pm, and my guess, right before 11pm. The stress faded away, melted actually. I realized everything was going to be ok, my daughter would be fine, and I would be fine. At 10:15 pm I could feel her moving lower and lower, preparing for her entry into the world. It was surreal. At 10:45 my doctor and his nursed prepared me for delivery. At 10:57 I was ready to go. In one two minute long push, my daughter was born, face up and screaming, born at 10:59pm, July 12, 2011. She was born right before 11, I won the pool. She was tiny, only 3lbs and 15oz. She was placed on my breast and stared at me, taking in my face like she knew she was going to be carried away and placed in the NICU. In the few fleeting moments I was able to hold her I fell completely in love with her. She was determined, and strong. As quickly as she was placed on me she was gone. I spent the next hour stuffing my face full of Steak and Shake that her daddy brought me while sitting spread eagle so the doctor could clean me up, check for tears and all that good shit.
I was finally ready to go visit my beautiful Saratoga in her incubator. I had been prepared for the worst. The ventilator, the possibility that I wouldn't be able to hold her, that she could be blind. But as soon as I saw her, with nothing more than the standard IV and the monitors my heart flew. My tiny little Toga was perfect. Pink and rosey like the full term babies on tv, and staring at me, smiling at me. Two and a half weeks later, after only needing to learn to eat, she came home on her dad's birthday.
Her birth wasn't how I planned and more than a little traumatizing, but none the less, it was beautiful in it's own way, perfect even. Today I have a 25lb 9 month old, who continues to prove her doctors wrong. No one expected her to catch up, but unless you know the story you wouldn't be able to tell she was born 6 weeks early.
I knew I was pregnant with Toga before I should have known I was pregnant. I hadn't missed a period, in fact it had only been a week since conception. Life with a military man had it's perks when it came to knowing the exact date of conception. But I KNEW. I dreamed about her, my beautiful blonde haired baby. The faint almost nonexistent blue line on the pregnancy test confirmed everything. The pregnancy was relatively normal. I dreamed of a non-medicated natural labor and delivery, waiting for my love to come on her own time. I prepared for it, I read all of the materials I could get my hands on about hypnobirthing and natural labor techniques. I was going to be the crunchiest mama of them all.
At least until I was admitted to the hospital at 34 weeks due to pre-eclampsia and IUGR. After a routine ultrasound my OB came in and told me the one thing I never expected to hear, "We're having this baby, now. Either I'm inducing you, or I'm preforming a c-section. But she's coming out." This was not how I wanted things to happen, this wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Everything was a blur, her father had just left after coming in to visit at the hospital with a friend of ours. After a frantic phone call he was back in under 10 minutes. I was moved to a larger room where they began the pitocin. The contractions never picked up speed, and more threats of c-sections came. I refused. It was the one area I felt I still had control over as far as my daughter's birth. They were not cutting me open. I slept and woke in the morning to the power being out in the entire hospital. After 3 hours of sitting in the dark the doctor told me I could stay there and give birth and have my daughter transferred to a hospital 3 hours away or I could transfer to the hospital before the birth. I chose the latter. The pitocin stopped, the transportation team came and took me away. For three hours I layed on a stretcher in an ambulance making small talk with the pleasant EMTs. They asked about my plans for the baby, making me feel a little bit more incontroll of my situation. It was pleasant almost.
We arrived at the hospital where I was to have my daughter. The pitocin was started again, and my blood pressure was out of control. The new doctor, the one I didn't know, the one I didn't trust, told me if I didn't progress fast enough I would be having a c-section. Everything was falling apart. It was day two and no sign of the baby coming into the world, so I slept. In a last ditch attempt to keep something resembling the way I wanted the birth to go I asked for an epidural the next morning. Within an hour my blood pressure was dropping, my labor was progressing, and I was calm. I felt at peace with my decision to try and deliver my daughter the way I had wanted. My family began placing bets. Whoever guessed the closest time to when my daughter was born would win. 12pm, 4pm, 9 pm, and my guess, right before 11pm. The stress faded away, melted actually. I realized everything was going to be ok, my daughter would be fine, and I would be fine. At 10:15 pm I could feel her moving lower and lower, preparing for her entry into the world. It was surreal. At 10:45 my doctor and his nursed prepared me for delivery. At 10:57 I was ready to go. In one two minute long push, my daughter was born, face up and screaming, born at 10:59pm, July 12, 2011. She was born right before 11, I won the pool. She was tiny, only 3lbs and 15oz. She was placed on my breast and stared at me, taking in my face like she knew she was going to be carried away and placed in the NICU. In the few fleeting moments I was able to hold her I fell completely in love with her. She was determined, and strong. As quickly as she was placed on me she was gone. I spent the next hour stuffing my face full of Steak and Shake that her daddy brought me while sitting spread eagle so the doctor could clean me up, check for tears and all that good shit.
I was finally ready to go visit my beautiful Saratoga in her incubator. I had been prepared for the worst. The ventilator, the possibility that I wouldn't be able to hold her, that she could be blind. But as soon as I saw her, with nothing more than the standard IV and the monitors my heart flew. My tiny little Toga was perfect. Pink and rosey like the full term babies on tv, and staring at me, smiling at me. Two and a half weeks later, after only needing to learn to eat, she came home on her dad's birthday.
Her birth wasn't how I planned and more than a little traumatizing, but none the less, it was beautiful in it's own way, perfect even. Today I have a 25lb 9 month old, who continues to prove her doctors wrong. No one expected her to catch up, but unless you know the story you wouldn't be able to tell she was born 6 weeks early.
Monday, March 26, 2012
On baby teeth and the stresses of moving out of state
Saratoga has three teeth coming in all at once. She's been pretty crabby to boot. When one or two teeth were cutting she would be a little fussy but nothing too bad. This... on the other hand it an all new ballgame. She's clingier than usual, which is understandable considering she's in pain. But the downside of it is that I have to get packing my house up. We're moving out of state. I'll be moving in advance to get things ready, like a job, some kind of child care... and she'll be staying with her dad. By the beginning of July she'll be up there with me.
It's hard thinking that I won't be with my daughter 24/7. I've never been away from her more than a weekend every couple of MONTHS. But as hard as it is to think about sometimes I know in the long run this is for the best. But this means that there is a lot of packing to be done. Which is pretty impossible for me to get done with a crabby baby on my hands.
Wish me luck!
It's hard thinking that I won't be with my daughter 24/7. I've never been away from her more than a weekend every couple of MONTHS. But as hard as it is to think about sometimes I know in the long run this is for the best. But this means that there is a lot of packing to be done. Which is pretty impossible for me to get done with a crabby baby on my hands.
Wish me luck!
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Defining moments
There are moments, as a mother, that I find define me. It's not when I'm at my wits end trying to calm a screaming baby, or when I'm ready to pull my hair out after the millionth load of laundry. It's the giggles and the smiles. It's the look my daughter gives me when I pick her up first thing in the morning. It's when she stops to nuzzle my shoulder mid play session, just to say "Mommy, I love you." It's those moments that define me the most. I realize I would give up anything to protect this little girl who has placed all of her trust in me. In those moments, little else matters. She is my world and I am hers.
Today she turned 6 months. It's strange to think back that a year and one month ago today I found out I was pregnant. My entire world changed. Everything stopped being about me. It was about her. I remember sitting in the bath tub talking to her, pressing my hands to my stomach, anticipating the first fleeting kicks I knew would come in the next few months. For the first time, in a very long time, I felt something akin to hope. I had this tiny human forming inside of me, and while she was forming I was transforming. I couldn't imagine my life without her anymore. This was it. This was my life now.
This is my life now.
My wonderful, stressful, tumultuous, and lovely life. This little girl. Nothing else matters.
Today she turned 6 months. It's strange to think back that a year and one month ago today I found out I was pregnant. My entire world changed. Everything stopped being about me. It was about her. I remember sitting in the bath tub talking to her, pressing my hands to my stomach, anticipating the first fleeting kicks I knew would come in the next few months. For the first time, in a very long time, I felt something akin to hope. I had this tiny human forming inside of me, and while she was forming I was transforming. I couldn't imagine my life without her anymore. This was it. This was my life now.
This is my life now.
My wonderful, stressful, tumultuous, and lovely life. This little girl. Nothing else matters.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Not quite perfect
Over the past couple of weeks I've been struggling with the whole parenting thing. I've been beating myself up over and over and over again for not doing all of the things I had wanted to with my daughter. Mainly bfing. It doesn't make it any easier that one cashier at the local walmart likes to remind me I'm doing her a disservice by purchasing formula for her. Physically I can't breast feed. With both of my children my milk dried up in about two weeks. I tried and tried to boost production for months each time, to no avail. Even friends and family have been pointing out my failed attempts. But most of all I'VE been reminding myself how I've failed my daughter.
My temper hasn't exactly been in check lately either. I've never taken it out on my daughter, but to me it feels as if I'm going against all the peaceful parenting ideals I've been trying to instill into my household. I scream and shout and hit the pillows while my daughter is safely tucked away in her bedroom, but sometimes she hears me venting my frustration. She doesn't nap, she doesn't co-operate with tummy time, in fact she down right refuses to do it, she won't play on her own long enough for me to even toss in a load of laundry, she won't let me put her in her carrier. My lack of down time has been playing a serious role in my temper lately. Single motherhood is no bed of roses. There's no partner there to help when I get frustrated, there's no one there I can depend on to watch her while I try to clean my house, or even help with the cleaning when needed. I am on my own with this not so tiny little Princess who rules over the entire kingdom (aka my life).
But today something made me stop to think. It was those chubby little cheeks with the tiny dimples, and the excited baby squeals eminating from their owner that made me realize, maybe I am doing something right here. Nothing is perfect, nothing has been how I've planned it to be. But somehow I'm doing right by my little girl. She's happy (most of the time, even if it doesn't seem like it), she's amazingly healthy, and she's so strong. My situation is no where near perfect, but it's good enough. I know I should strive for better. But what's the use of beating myself up over the things I haven't accomplished, when there's obviously so much I have?
My temper hasn't exactly been in check lately either. I've never taken it out on my daughter, but to me it feels as if I'm going against all the peaceful parenting ideals I've been trying to instill into my household. I scream and shout and hit the pillows while my daughter is safely tucked away in her bedroom, but sometimes she hears me venting my frustration. She doesn't nap, she doesn't co-operate with tummy time, in fact she down right refuses to do it, she won't play on her own long enough for me to even toss in a load of laundry, she won't let me put her in her carrier. My lack of down time has been playing a serious role in my temper lately. Single motherhood is no bed of roses. There's no partner there to help when I get frustrated, there's no one there I can depend on to watch her while I try to clean my house, or even help with the cleaning when needed. I am on my own with this not so tiny little Princess who rules over the entire kingdom (aka my life).
But today something made me stop to think. It was those chubby little cheeks with the tiny dimples, and the excited baby squeals eminating from their owner that made me realize, maybe I am doing something right here. Nothing is perfect, nothing has been how I've planned it to be. But somehow I'm doing right by my little girl. She's happy (most of the time, even if it doesn't seem like it), she's amazingly healthy, and she's so strong. My situation is no where near perfect, but it's good enough. I know I should strive for better. But what's the use of beating myself up over the things I haven't accomplished, when there's obviously so much I have?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)