My writings here mainly consist of my experiences as a mother, or lessons learned in parenting. For example, tonight's lesson: what really happens to lasagna if you bake it without covering with foil?* (I know, my life is painfully boring sometimes). I try to offer my experiences as tuition-free knowledge to new mommies, but, I'M a new mommy myself, and I have a lot to learn.
One thing I really grapple with is where to draw the proverbial line with other mothers and their children. Seriously, the last time I saw any lines drawn were on that EPT I took last year. Seeing as how I am a playgroup dropout, I don't know when it's appropriate to interject in some situations. Sure, there's the obvious: "Oh Tommy, hunny, don't touch the dog poop, that's ucky." But there is an awful lot of gray area too.
Last week I took my son for an evaluation for a continuance of his physical therapy. Like any good waiting room for children, there was one of those giant blocks with the loop-de-loops & little wooden pieces which my son just happens to love. So there we were, playing with the cubes & spheres very quietly... when suddenly cerberus itself had escaped the gates of hell and was running through the waiting room, pulling the blocks away from my son & shoving a sippy cup in his face whilst shrieking "BABY! BABY!". Where was these children's mother and why wasn't she plucking them up off the blanket (and you KNOW it was the one I knitted while I was pregnant!) and sitting their little butts down in the corner on leashes where they belonged?! I was like a deer in headlights... I didn't know if this was an appropriate time to ask the children to play nice and not put their grubby little paws on my precious angel or if I should be scowling at the mother, sending her telepathic messages riddled with four letter words. And so I did what I always do. Nothing. I forcefully smiled at the children, swiftly put Holden in his stroller, and wheeled him over to the waiting room chairs, hopefully out of their sight. Well, as it turns out, we were out of sight... out of the mother's, that is. The woman I sat next to was legally blind, and was there with her two children (i.e., cerberus) & seeing-eye dog. That may be the first time in my life I was grateful I didn't say something, and I felt that I had been given a reminder... don't be quick to judge & have a little patience. Seems simple enough, right? After all, it worked for Jesus & the Buddha (except for that whole, died-on-the-cross & self-starvation-in-the-woods thing. I know, I'm going to hell in a hand basket).
So, here is where the line-drawing & the non-judging intersect...
(this portion has been removed by the author to prevent any further mama drama!!!)
I don't intend to use my blog as a vehicle to "mommy bash", but these are just a couple examples of my not knowing how to respond since I don't know all the rules yet. But, to hell with it. I was never really one for rules anyway.
*As for the lasagna, i regret to inform that nothing extraordinary happened without the foil wrapping. Sigh.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Sunday, October 2, 2011
If I only had a Brain
In the words of Bill Cosby Himself, "My wife & I used to be intellectuals"...
I graduated from Business School with a BSBA in Marketing and a 3.4 GPA. I would often find myself meandering in art galleries or participating in heated discussions about religion & politics. I always kept my journal at an arm's length and a book in my messenger bag. Nowadays, the only degrees that matter in this house are on the thermostat. The last piece of artwork I saw was a pumpkin hand-painted by a child (painted orange, nonetheless). My heated discussions consist of breast or bottle. The only thing I have time to write is a grocery list, and my messenger bag has been traded in for a diaper bag, complete with the literary work titled "Hello Giraffe".
Is it any wonder then that tonight I found myself putting vaginal cream on my toothbrush? This remarkable phenomenon of deteriorating intellect is known as Mommy Brain (MB). Since the day I found out I was pregnant, my brain cells began popping like bubble wrap. This was evidenced by the fact that I checked my calculator for missed calls at the office, and when I sent a fax through the copying machine. Six hundred copies of an invoice later, I had noticed a pattern.
I understood that in order to grow a human from scratch, sacrifices had to be made. But I was wholly unprepared for the brain damage I would incur as a result. I figured the lapses in judgement would subside postpartum... until the morning that I found myself haphazardly putting coffee in my son's bottle. Or the afternoon that I violated my refrigerator trying to make the George Foreman Grill fit on the bottom shelf. Or the time that I replaced the cap on the Pedialyte with a bottle nipple and placed it back in the fridge.
I know I am not alone in my diagnoses of MB... I have several girlfriends who are also stymied by this condition. The other day I received a text from one of my mommy friends, apologizing for dropping out of our conversation because she placed her cell phone in the cereal cabinet. Another put oatmeal in her rice cooker instead of, well, rice. Even my husband has been found guilty of stashing the remote in the freezer.
Symptoms of MB include the inability to form complete sentences, severe bouts of butter fingers, and heavy consumption of caffeinated beverages. While there is no cure for MB, there are steps you can take to alleviate the pain. Talk to your local grocer about which wine is best for you. Side effects can cause deep relaxation or unintentional sex with your husband. Do not use wine while operating heavy machinery, if you are attending a 12 step program, or are completely unprepared for baby number two. Or three. Or four.
I graduated from Business School with a BSBA in Marketing and a 3.4 GPA. I would often find myself meandering in art galleries or participating in heated discussions about religion & politics. I always kept my journal at an arm's length and a book in my messenger bag. Nowadays, the only degrees that matter in this house are on the thermostat. The last piece of artwork I saw was a pumpkin hand-painted by a child (painted orange, nonetheless). My heated discussions consist of breast or bottle. The only thing I have time to write is a grocery list, and my messenger bag has been traded in for a diaper bag, complete with the literary work titled "Hello Giraffe".
Is it any wonder then that tonight I found myself putting vaginal cream on my toothbrush? This remarkable phenomenon of deteriorating intellect is known as Mommy Brain (MB). Since the day I found out I was pregnant, my brain cells began popping like bubble wrap. This was evidenced by the fact that I checked my calculator for missed calls at the office, and when I sent a fax through the copying machine. Six hundred copies of an invoice later, I had noticed a pattern.
I understood that in order to grow a human from scratch, sacrifices had to be made. But I was wholly unprepared for the brain damage I would incur as a result. I figured the lapses in judgement would subside postpartum... until the morning that I found myself haphazardly putting coffee in my son's bottle. Or the afternoon that I violated my refrigerator trying to make the George Foreman Grill fit on the bottom shelf. Or the time that I replaced the cap on the Pedialyte with a bottle nipple and placed it back in the fridge. I know I am not alone in my diagnoses of MB... I have several girlfriends who are also stymied by this condition. The other day I received a text from one of my mommy friends, apologizing for dropping out of our conversation because she placed her cell phone in the cereal cabinet. Another put oatmeal in her rice cooker instead of, well, rice. Even my husband has been found guilty of stashing the remote in the freezer.
Symptoms of MB include the inability to form complete sentences, severe bouts of butter fingers, and heavy consumption of caffeinated beverages. While there is no cure for MB, there are steps you can take to alleviate the pain. Talk to your local grocer about which wine is best for you. Side effects can cause deep relaxation or unintentional sex with your husband. Do not use wine while operating heavy machinery, if you are attending a 12 step program, or are completely unprepared for baby number two. Or three. Or four.
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