It's Funny that Everything Stinks

From the first week of Mae's life I've been consistently asked two questions: "Is she always this happy?" and "Is she always this expressive?" No, and yes. 
To be fair, she is a darn happy kid. But always is a word I like to avoid. And since I just have this one little booger, I really don't know if she is exceptionally happy. My response is, "Well, she has her moments..."
     
Expressive, however, yes yes and yes. Mae communicates through her face more than any person I have ever met. I remember someone telling me that newborns mimic their parents' faces. This makes me think that although my own face seems to be fairly normal in still photos, in real life I am hamming it up like an episode of I Love Lucy. 

I think my kid is prime for a life a theatrics. If she keeps up this personality, she is not only going to have a golden life of happiness and confidence, but she will be an amazing actor and/or comedian. 

I love her a lot. I enjoy being around here. My bad mom confession: I hope she doesn't get annoying. With all of her ability to be funny and charming, I also see the potential to bug the crap out of every adult in the room by the time she is a 4-year-old. Well, besides me. I love a good fart joke, even when the punchline is a fart. 

And that might be the problem. Our on going joke right now is, "Everything Stinks." It started with feet, moved along to diapers, and now is anything she puts under my nose. And I laugh every time. I'm encouraging this zanny, kooky behavior that might lead her to either a life of stardom or eye rolls and exasperated sighs. 

I hope it turns out to be positive. Even if I knew it would eventually turn her into a dork, I don't think I could stop it. As a bad mom, I am a bit selfish you know. I enjoy her crazy expressions and egg her on to give me more. Feed me your stink jokes, blow farts on my belly, and pretend to sing in high-pitched repetitive whines. I live for it. It turns my ho-hum day into The Laugh Factory. Me and my slapstick kid, we're going places. Even if it is just the two of us when we get there. 

The only child syndrome

From my understanding, it is less common for a mother to have an only child than to have multiple children. As a mother of only one, I am dumbfounded by how this is the norm. How do you do more than one, and so commonly within only a few years of each other?

Tonight my husband and I went out for a romantic Valentine's Day dinner, as it has been our tradition for the past 10 Februarys. And, like last V-Day, we were joined by our daughter. Last year she gurgled and cooed while I nursed her for 40 minutes as I awkwardly attempted to fold a falafel sandwich into my mouth. Sexily. This year our girl was plenty grumpy from lack of a proper nap due to parental school and work schedules. She spent the first half of the dinner plunging her hands into ice water to extract the tasty cubes, and the remainder being bobbed and swooped by one parent as the other tried to shovel in the $40 dinner we so desperately tried to treat ourselves with.

I know we could get a babysitter. But we are saving our babysitter points for important things, like when Wayne has a business meeting while I am in class. Or our annual date to my husband's company work party. And besides, that's not the point. The point is, some people do what we just did with lotsa kids. How do you do that, you super mom?

Can we handle more spawn?

I actually liked being pregnant. I am saddened by the idea of not being preggo again. But another person to be responsible for? I can't even remember to pack the diaper bag properly. Scratch that- I can't even remember the diaper bag. And this isn't because I am new. My kid is 15 months old.

So if we ever have another kid, I think we are going to have to do it the old fashion way and forget birth control for one night. There is no way we could conscientiously make the decision to let another being into this family. Don't get me wrong- our family is full of love and sunshine and bubbles. But how the hell do you throw an infant into the mix? How do you appropriately love and support more than one being at the same time? And I'm not just counting kids; I am putting my hubbo and myself into the equation. We count too. Our happiness and sanity matters.

So happy VD to you parents of multi babes. I commend the insanity you take on and the amount of love and patience you dish out. I hope that I am never so blessed. Maybe.

Judge No More Sayith I

In light of my initial post, I have a confession to make. I used to judge moms. I would never be so brazen as to throw out advice or criticism, but I had my opinions. Most were about what people fed their kids, some were about behavior management, and sometimes I would have the, “wow, you can just not control that little dude” thoughts. And I say, “used to” but I am human and I still think it sometimes. So I give myself a little mental slap across the face.

Neighbor: "Is that little baby going to eat ALL that candy?" Me: "No, her mother is."

It wasn’t the birth of my own daughter that changed my ways. I still had my thoughts on formula feeding and cry-it-out method and screen time (these are all ideas that allude a non-mama, but tend to consume us once we are thrown in the ring). It took time for me to realize that to every question a parent asked, a hundred answers would surface. Of those answers, there were handfuls of pretty darn good ones. So I learned that a parent is constantly skimming through ideas on how to raise their unique child and figure out what works for their family. We are continuously pruning our methods, failing, trying out things that seem unnatural or uncomfortable, learning to say “no,” learning to say “yes,” and literally making thousands of decisions for another human being who relies on us for survival and happiness. Holy shit.

Sometimes having a partner and community makes these tasks easier. You don’t have to be completely responsible and someone else can take some of the blame when a poor decision was made. Like when your husband approves the high chair you found at a yard sale. It’s now just as much his fault when you discover it has been recalled after you have been using it for 6 months. Sometimes it makes it more difficult to have others around. You try to let the village raise your child, but for some reason the village idiot is the only one ever stepping up.

I’ve learned that other parents are my allies. Sometimes I meet moms that are boring and don’t like fart jokes and have never seen an episode of Parks and Rec and have no interest in discussing Katy Perry’s outrageous outfits. Fine. But as moms, we are more alike than we are different. Who cares if we talk for an hour about gas relief remedies and stole consistency (our children, not our own. Okay, sometimes our own). As long as we are happy and entertained and feel like we are learning/contributing, I find that poop talk is A-Okay. In fact, it is an easy way to test out some fart jokes and see what this mom is about. Or not.

I think it was a gradual transition for me to (almost) completely step of my high horse and put myself in check when I found myself making a judgment call on another parent. My online mamas’ group helped a lot. I found that we are all in the same boat, with the same problems, and the same huge love for our babes. Yet what really pushed me over the edge was being judged. I could tell that my roommate was watching me for the past four months, making mental notes of each time I fucked up. It wasn’t confirmed until recently, but I really didn’t need that confirmation. You know when you are being sized up. Your failures sting more, you bottle up frustrations to save face, you quiet your concerns and doubts because you will be seen as weak.

I think it sucks when people call each other names, especially when it is people that love each other. So if you call your child a mean name, I will judge you as being a jerk. I will judge you if you beat your children or leave them at home without food while you spend the night at Dave and Buster’s adult arcade. But I am trying real hard to leave it at that. I have no idea what your life is like, what you have tried with your kid, what your kid responds to, what kind of day you just had, what your resources are, etc. Do you love your kid? Good. I think you are doing an awesome job. 

A lengthy explanation of why I suck at motherhood

I am starting this blog as a confessional. I am a bad mom. This was pointed out to me just a few days ago. Before then, I didn’t think anyone knew my dark secret. Or should I say, our dark secret. Because every mom out there knows she is a bad mom. You know it from the dirty looks you get when your baby is crying in a restaurant. You realize it when you get a call saying your kid just ate ant poison that you neglected to keep out of crawling distance. And it is certainly apparent when your infant screams bloody murder every time you wipe off her face or change her diaper. You obviously aren’t good at it and you probably haven’t tried anything to make it better.

Mae must beg for food and attention.

My roommate and dear friend recently accused of being a bad mom. Well, not so much those words per say, it was more like, “…you act sad about people hurting their children, but your actions don’t match your words.” Ouch. She went on to describe an incident insulting my daughter’s intelligence. Hang me now. It went down is this: My 11-month-old, Mae, and I were chilling. She handed me something and I asked her if she wanted me to read it, and I added, “cause babies aren’t smart enough to read,” in a singsong voice. My friend says what happens next is the telltale that Mae was offended: my daughter refused to share her apple with me because she was picking up on my negativity.

Oh, but my accuser had more ammo than just me insulting my baby (and 1-year-olds everywhere)’s intelligent. Way worse. I am letting my daughter be poisoned.

After Mae’s one-year check up I found out that she had a blood lead level of 4. I immediately freaked out. I called the county and ordered a test kit for our water. I reported Mae’s elevated lead level on the lead safety line. I panicked. I cried. 

I called the lead line and discussed lead prevention and protection for a solid hour with the county expert. I got a filter, promised to flush the pipes each morning, and get Mae tested again at 15 months. I also ordered a test kit for our water, although the dude said that if it was coming from the tap then the flush and filter method is going to keep us pretty darn safe. 

Another mama friend of mine also got her pipes tested. She said it takes forever to receive the kit in the mail, and forever for the county to get back with you about the results. So I waited, waited, waited. After a month I called and left a message. And then two weeks after that I called again and left messages with two different offices. Finally I got a call back. I guess my request had disappeared. Maybe I didn’t follow the teleprompt system correctly. Anyway, a new kit was on its way.

            Because I neglected to test the water for this period of time, I deserve significant berating. It is apparent that I do not care for my child or the health of my family. I was naïve to trust the lead expert from the county.

            So here I am, a bad mama confessing all of her wrong doings. I honestly don’t think my daughter is smart enough to read at 11 months old. I really did refuse to bathe her in bottled water or move into a motel while we put our toxic home on the market. I thought I was getting away with it until I received a rambling Facebook message that my non-mama friend sent to me. This was her only opportunity to talk to me about it, because I am very big and scary and mean (another reason why I am a bad mom).

            It’s a shame really, when everyone finds out you are a bad mom. All of the work you have been putting into for the past 14 months, trying to prove to everyone around you how awesome you are, and then someone catches you fucking up. And I came so close to fooling everyone. Rats.