Thankful Thursday: My Baby

I've decided that I'm going to spend a little time each week thinking about the things for which I'm thankful. I'm starting with the best thing in my life - my wonderful child.

Have Nots

When I was in the Peace Corps I really missed showers. Every morning, I would brace myself against the cold buckets of water I'd soon be pouring over myself in the room that was supposed to be a bathroom, but really had no more plumbing than a spigot in the wall. Good thing I arrived in June when the temperature never really got below 80 degrees, even at night.

During the good months, the water would come every morning, turned on by the government. Everyone would race around, using half as many spigots as there were people, filling all of the available buckets with water for the 15 minutes it flowed.

During the bad months, the water only arrived about once a week. This was especially difficult because few people had the money for enough buckets to store the amount of water they'd need during the many day dry spell. Without the precious resource, many households began to look a bit tattered. Mine included.

Supply inconveniences aside, my own dislike of the water bucket system came mostly from the initial shock of having to actually take chilly bucket baths each day. For one thing, the logistics of it were complicated. Shampoo hair, dump water over head, fumble for more water with now blinded Shampoo Eyes, find giant toad instead, scream, fend off neighbors who run to my rescue upon hearing me scream. And it was cold! Did I mention how cold room temperature water can feel when a person is used to a lifetime of piping hot showers? Icicles on my elbows, I swear.

Of course, as with most things in the Peace Corps, once I paid attention to my Dominican neighbors' process, I was edified. They showered before bed each night, instead of our American custom of showering in the mornings. When I realized this, the cold buckets of stored water became a welcome end to each of my 110 degree days.

But, that doesn't mean I didn't miss showers. Glorious, warm, sanitary water flowing unendingly from a giant showerhead. A showerhead mounted high enough on the wall to prevent me from bending, ducking, and contorting.

I know that the water situation is still rather bleak for my Dominican neighbors of long ago. And while I was pondering this tonight, as I took an end-of-the-hot-summer-day shower, I suddenly thought of so many of the things I take for granted as a middle-class American citizen. Most of them involve my adorable son, who gets to bathe whenever he's dirty, eat whenever he's hungry, and see a doctor whenever he's sick.

I had him in a hospital. The doctors pulled him out, sewed me up, gave me a shot to stop me from bleeding so goldurn much, and vaccinated my new baby against a host of terrible diseases. Then, I brought that adorable baby home where I bathed him in safe, sanitary, purified-by-the-city water, which was available all day and night for my convenience. As he grows, I feed him organic fruits, vegetables, meats, and grains. I give him organic milk that I keep in my refrigerator, which always has electricity to keep our food from spoiling. I take him to his well baby check ups where the doctors and nurses keep track of his health. I have all day to spend with him, since I don't have to pick rice, sweep someone else's floor, or sell trinkets in order to live comfortably in my cozy, warm, well-built house. A house which I could afford to buy because I was able to go to college to earn a higher education degree.

And I realize all of this because of that once-upon-a-time when I lived in someone else's shoes for a few years. It makes me wonder what else I'm taking for granted... things that just don't occur to the Haves until we become Have Nots for a time.

To Procreate (Again) or Not to Procreate (Again)

Apparently, my son has now reached an age at which is it appropriate for everyone to ask me if I will have another child. My answer is usually the same, "Too old. Too tired. Too broke." The thing is, as with most major life decisions, it's more complicated than that.

Back when I was 25, and even when I was 35, I thought I wanted two children. Then, I changed my mind. It's multi-faceted and incredibly complex. Any woman who has pondered this question likely understands the mixed feelings and the weighing of pros and cons in endless lists. All of this data is then compared scientifically, and eventually becomes irrelevant in the face of the emotional pull of one side or the other.

And so on. Over and over. And over.

Perhaps, I'd feel better about having another if I had started a family while I was younger. Or, maybe, I would feel differently if I had had an easier pregnancy. Or, it's possible that I would consider another if I felt more financially stable. But, none of those case scenarios are true, so I'm working with the situation at hand. I'm in my late 30s; was dog sick for 9 months followed by another year of healing; and prefer to stay home with my child(ren), so will continue to be in a one income family as long as I have small people in my care.

A while ago, I was wrestling with the decision to add another or keep it small. I posted a question on the subject to a mothers' group I belong to online. The answers were overwhelmingly skewed. I only heard from two people who had decided to stay with one child. The first mother had a daughter with special needs and was too overwhelmed with medical visits to have another baby. The second had a train wreck relationship that ended with no new sperm in sight.

If I decided to only have one child, would these be my only counterparts? Mothers of the sick or divorcee's who were sad they never had the chance for more? Perhaps there was a confounding factor in my data. Who cares, since it won't matter in the end, right? (See above.)

Even my Ob/Gyn gave me an earful about not making any final decisions because the best choice she ever made was to have her second child. And that is the sticking point, right there. The best choice she ever made. People will get right up into your face about things that strike an emotional cord with them. And what is more emotionally all encompassing to parents than their children?

It's no Roe vs. Wade debate, but it does echo the idea that people want me to do what worked best for them. Humans have a way of generalizing their experiences and assuming that everyone would be better off if they would make the same choices (or avoid the mistakes) they themselves have made. This issue seems to be no different.

I realize that I might change my mind again in the future, and if that happens, I will make the decision based upon what is right for my family. The bottom line is, if I were to decide to have another child now, I feel as though I would be doing it for someone else... because that's what's expected. I owe my son, and any possible future children, more than that.

For now, I will continue to put all of my maternal energy into my sweet, sensitive, inquisitive son. And, maybe I'll have some energy left over to continue trying to understand me.

I Wish Our House Were Made of Bubble Wrap

They say that boys are more active than girls. I'm not one to put much stock in stereotypes, and besides I don't have a girl with which to compare activity levels. I do know that if you can find a toddler more active than mine in trying destruct him/herself and everything in the surrounding 5 mile radius, I will drive to your house and applaud you, in person.

Today's outing went like this. We spent 20 minutes putting on fleece, coat, hat, mittens, shoes, mommy's shoes, mommy's coat, mommy's hat. It takes 20 minutes because every single action is met with wild stomping, mad flailing, and a high pitched whine that my toddler uses indiscriminately to mean he either doesn't like something or he wants something this very moment or he might implode. This task involves both of those. He WANTS to go outside. He might vaporize at any moment from his colossal NEED to be outside, RIGHT NOW! Also, he very much dislikes having his hat put on, shoes tied, coat zipped, etc.

So, dressed. Ready to go out. I put him down on the sidewalk by our front step in order to close the front door behind us. He took off at a running toddle, fell face first, cried, got up, and ran off again... all before I could manage to get the door closed. I chased him and caught up before he ran into the street (thank goodness he still needs my help with stepping down off of the curb).

He wanted to destroy the pinwheel in our neighbor's yard across the street. D-E-S-T-R-O-Y. He used to be happy spinning it. Now he wants to crush the life out of it with his fist. Boy thing? I have no idea. I just know I've never wanted to crush a shiny, spinny thing of beauty.

I redirected. Next game... toddle back and forth across the street. Granted, it's not a busy street, but that's just not a safe game to start because I know that, very soon, he will be able to navigate steps alone.

I redirected. Next game... stick face in neighbors pointy flowers. That one didn't last long.

He changed his mind. Next game... climb that same neighbor's front porch steps, spill their watering can in milliseconds, and try to jump off the deck face first. I caught him.

I redirected. Next game... let's try the backyard.

It turns out that, while we have a large backyard, it is one giant death trap for a toddler. I also wish our backyard were made of bubble wrap. First, he wanted to play on the cement stairs. He managed with assistance. Then, he wanted to use his swing, one of the two things out there meant for him. The other is a sandbox, but it has no sand in it, yet. Unfortunately, the swing was covered in bird poop. Boo. I scraped as much as I could off, but it was a lost cause.

While I was doing this... scraping bird poop with the only thing I could find handy in the garage, a rose gardening glove... my little guy nearly toddled into the water feature. I'm sure it was once lovely, but it's now broken and, with an 18" pool of water at the bottom, it's a terrible thing to have in a toddlers play space. Water HAZARD.

I redirected back to the swing. I put him in the partially de-birdpooped swing. Waaaa! Done with that, already. And now, covered in dried bird poop.

He toddled back to the water hazard.

I gave up and we came back inside, where he happily ran off with no pants (since I removed them in the entryway due to bird poop), but wearing jacket, hat, and mittens. While I was trying to remove my shoes as quickly as possible, he pulled the paper tray out of the printer (BANG!) and moved on to destroy his next target.

As I understand it, toddlers manufacture mayhem in any environment. I just find myself wishing ours were a little less: pointy, wet, course, uneven, sharp, and unfenced.

It's not even 2pm, and I need a nap.

2010 in Photos

A photo blog about the year is difficult this time because we've decided not to put photos of our little one anywhere with public access. Well, 97% of our photos are of The Baby! This is my best shot.

New Year's Day: Golden Gate Park


January: Baby's First Science Outing


Baby Kisses: I fell more madly in love with my guys.


We Left My Beloved San Francisco: A new adventure awaited in a far away land.



New City: Sometimes, more rain equals more rainbows.


And spectacular sunrises.


The Grandparents: We visited them for a combined Mother's/Father's Day celebration.


Hiking: Baby and I went hiking around the desert.


Grandpa Visits: He accompanied us back to Seattle after our visit to the desert.


Minnesota: We saw many sights.

The City


The country


The Zoo (He was tired of the giraffes.)


And we ate some grilled food from Uncle Kevin.


And baby took his fourth flight... back to our home.


August: We bought our first house!


With a big, beautiful backyard.


Bryan's Birthday: We had a little party...


...with some friends.


Grandparents Again: They came, bearing gifts, to check out the new digs...


...and help out with some renovations and changes.


Autumn: We enjoyed having some seasons again. This is Green Lake.


Halloween Baby had his first Halloween. While I can't show you how cute he was without posting a photo of him, you can imagine it when I tell you he was a Garden Gnome.


First Birthday! Our little one turned one year old.


Snow: We got some fluffy white stuff that stuck around! Three snow days for Bryan!


Thanksgiving: Bryan's brother and family visited for Thanksgiving.


Christmas: We enjoyed being domestic in our new home.

Transitions

In the past year, my family has had its share of transitions. In November, we had a baby. In January, my husband got a different job in a new city. In February, I left my beloved City By the Bay, and set off for unfamiliar territory. In July, we bought our first home. Last weekend, we moved in.

This isn't even mentioning the underlying shifts inherent in all of the obvious change. For instance, I left my day job to care for the baby, redefining my role to the world and to myself. We moved cities, to a place where my husband has connections and I don't. San Francisco had been my city, so I was the one "in charge", in that respect. The power shift was a relationship rocker. There are also body image issues, breastfeeding issues, and support network issues. So. Many. Issues.

And yet, it's been okay. (Not great for my blog, however.)

In my sleep deprived comatose state, the whirlwind has just sort of blown by me unnoticed, for the most part. I mean, sure I felt the stress of adding a new person to our lives, of moving to a new city, and of buying such a large item.

But it took folding laundry tonight for me to really stop and realize how far we've come in this one short year. I stood in my bedroom (my bedroom, I bought it), and I folded onesies and baby pants and tiny socks as I watched the sky turn sunset pink. I could hear the neighbors in their backyard calling to one another. The summer breeze blew in through my open window and reminded me of my own happy childhood evenings.

Summer evenings are the best evenings. And, while I'm excited to share those future summer evenings with my growing son, and hope to give him the same sort of happy childhood memories, I'm increasingly aware that he will not always be my baby.

When we moved, we transitioned him into his own room. Until now, he's been right next to me in his own little bed every night. My little boy. I used to listen to him breathe sometimes and just lie there and smile like a sleep deprived, brainwashed idiot. *happy sigh*

So, tonight, folding those tiny clothes, I began to mourn his leaving for college. I know. Crazy. Except... not really. Earlier today, I folded and put away my breastfeeding shirts. My son weened himself entirely by about 7 months of age. And I miss him. I already miss him... the tiny, suckling, squishy baby version of him. Sure, I enjoy his current crawly, mobile, inquisitive incarnation and hope there will be so many delightful versions of him in the future. I look forward to those days. And yet, I feel his future absence so acutely, sometimes.

I have never loved anyone like this before, and I wonder who I will be without him needing me like he does now.

Pants

So I have these tan pants.

Recently, after discovering the raspberry noise, the baby likes to spit his food. Yesterday, I learned my lesson with strained carrots sprayed e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e, so today, I took off my very light colored, easily stainable pants when I fed him.

When I was done feeding him, I put my pants back on, tied my sneakers, strapped the baby into the Baby Bjorn, and got ready to walk to the grocery store. Then, I couldn't find my pocket. What the heck?

My pants were on backwards. But, you know, it was just easier to keep the backwards pants than take off the baby and the shoes in order to reorient the pants. So I pulled the bottom of my shirt down over them and went shopping in backward pants.

P.S. I had to walk right by some very cute firemen standing on the corner for some benefit thing. I'm pretty sure they would have come onto me if it hadn't been for the pants.

Assets

Regarding my continued use of maternity pants despite my nearly-flat-again stomach...

me: It's not my stomach that's the issue here. My ass is the problem.

husband: I don't think your ass is the problem. I think it's the solution.