Credit Where Credit is Due

So I have had this sneaking suspicion that I may be offending those moms who don't work in a job outside of the home, and I feel I need to clear the air.  First, I am going to vent about this term "work."  When I was a server and then a bartender, people (other servers and bartenders included) would ask me, "When are you going to get a real job?"  And for anyone who has ever served or bartended, answer me this: what type of activity are we engaging in, if not work?  Is not handling the requests of 3 if not 6 or 7 tables (many many more if you're a bartender), coordinating the cook time with the serve time, running back and forth from table to kitchen to table, etc, preparing drinks, rolls, sides of lemon - all with a smile on our face - work?  No offense, but people who sit at those mall kiosks trying to sell miracle lotion probably tell people they are going to work, and no one argues with that.  If we are going to say that the work of bartenders and servers is not real work, and if we really thought that all those in the industry should find a "real" job out of it, then kiss your date nights good-bye.  That is one of the reasons I absolutely love to go out to eat - I appreciate every single aspect of the experience (assuming service is good.  If not, watch out, because I can also be the world's worst critic, although I rarely tell that to the person's face.) But alas, I digress.

I rant about times passed in order to make a point about work.  I have sensed the - what is a softer word than "shame?"  Whatever that word is - I want to use it.  But regardless I've sensed the "soft-shame" women feel when someone says, "What do you do?" And they reply, "I stay at home with my kids."  Some women jazz it up with, "I'm a professional taxi for my children," or "I've made my life my children." And I totally get that.  I want women who care for their children all day long to realize that I know that they ARE working.  To my point above, I am certain that the daycare workers at Samara's daycare say they are going to work.  I would think then, that what you do IS work!  Certainly working parents consider the care of their children work (while also a pleasure) on nights and weekends (sounds like a cell phone plan!)

I have been meaning to write this blog post for a long while but other subjects have come along.  However, a recent Facebook exchange with a friend gave me a renewed interest in the subject.  I realized that there is an essential ingredient in my life which makes me completely okay with leaving Samara.  I WANT to go to work.  Oddly, the way it works between my husband and I is that I want to work - non-negotiable.  If one were to choose to stay home, it'd be my husband, but we of course need his income so it just isn't happening (anytime soon at least!) I may be one of the rare few, but I look forward to work and am exhilarated by engaging in what I do each day.  I know that God has placed a lot on my plate, portioned it out, and I have some serious changes to make in my community.  I have often heard some women say that they were born to be mothers. I have never felt that, though I feel so blessed to be a mother.  And yet I know exactly what they mean.  So please, again, know that I consider the care of a child to be work.  I just want to make sure that I give credit where credit is due.

Glad It Worked Out This Way

So who would have thought that my child would be such a people person?  She is only four months old and is absolutely enjoying daycare.  It is funny.  For the past two months while Samara has been attending daycare, friends and family ask me, "So is she enjoying daycare?"  And I think that we know that that is a silly question to ask because how do you tell?  I know the real question is, "Does she cry a lot there?  Is she adjusting?" etc.  The thing is, this girl really likes it!  There are three other babies her age there - one who is a few months older who is also a babbler, just like Samara.  Apparently they lie on the floor and gab and gab and gab for the time they are awake together.  Once her teacher took her off the floor to change her and I guess she fussed and fidgeted until she was put back on the floor at which point she began to gab with her classmate again!

Her favorite classroom to be in, though, is with the one-year olds.  Now if you know my daughter she SCA-reams when she is hungry - a high-pitched shriek is more like it, but it is what it is...  I guess one day she was wailing away and the teacher in her room was already feeding two others.  The woman from the one-year old room came down and took her back to her class to feed her.  She arrives in the room and sees one of the one-year old boys.  Well, the two of them start flirting - she's apparently talking and putting her hands up to her chin, batting her eyes, laughing, the whole nine.  Completely forgot she was hungry!!  Now that, my friends, is a crush!

But seriously, it is so great to see!  I picked her up yesterday and observed her before walking into the classroom.  She was hanging out with the teacher, babbling, cooing, etc.  I walked in and went over to her and she completely ignored me.  So some moms/dads may be hurt or offended by this but it was such a typical, "If I don't acknowlege her she doesn't exist and then we won't have to go home" kind of behavior.  Not to mention, if she really is "ignoring me" to make me go away, she wants her independence, which is both her father and me.

My point is that daycare is technically a logistic ritual that we must endure because we have no other day care options.  I want to work, we need Tim's income, so daycare is a must.  And take it a step further - daycare is an opportunity for Samara to meet other people and learn to socialize.  But throw in that she is actually enjoying it - and you can tell that at four months old - and you have one very happy mother who is so glad that it worked out this way.

Nursing the Wounds

WARNING: If you do not like to read about nursing (i.e. breast feeding) do not continue reading!!!! 

What better time than 1am to write a blog you've been dreading writing...?  I was told that I would stop producing breastmilk around the time my baby was three months old - this has been the case for many women in my family - grandmother, mother, aunts and even cousins.  And for the most part, I guess that was true - I did stop producing milk when my baby was three months old.  But something I didn't know while pregnant, and learned once my baby was about two months old, was that the more active you are as a mother the less milk you may produce.  That was a new one to me, and I think I might have taken my maternity leave a little more seriously if I had been told that from the get-go.  I don't really blame anyone for not telling me, although certainly people have given me much advice along the way I do wonder why such a valuable piece of information was left out until it was too late.  Overall, I would have expected the lactation consutlant in the hospital to have said as much.  I think telling someone to take it easy and rest isn't always the right message.  Some of us ladies, myself included, need the more effective message - the warning, if you will, "Do not do too much or else your body will stop producing milk."  THAT, my friends, I think would have grabbed my attention.  Being told "to take it easy" without any reason as to why that would be important to my body's milk production failed to make the mark in my book.

It has taken me a long while to write this post.  Thankfully, I think I've gotten past "the hurt" and have settled nicely into "the memories." (don't let me fool you too much, though... the tears are streaming down my face)  The indescribable part of nursing is the bond with your child - and I think I mean the physical bonding of the two bodies.  As my milk production died I found myself screaming frantically from the inside, yelling at my body, because I was realizing that this one-time, temporary part of my relationship with my child was soon coming to a close.  There was so much pain with that realization.  And I saw my husband observing my struggle.  It got to the point where I wasn't really feeding my baby much milk and she would scream for food.  My husband knew better than to suggest that I wasn't feeding her enough so he would silently position the bottle next to me, knowing that it was the only option I had, once I could admit it to myself. 

And so, in the end, I think my biggest sacrifice - as I've jumped back into the work-routine - is my whim of experience as a nursing mother.  I think I wanted more time with that.  And I think I could have had more time with that.  Of course, with nursing comes the hassle (truly a hassle, in my opinion!) of pumping.  Good gracious, if I ever bear another child I am investing in an automatic double pump, I don't care how much they cost!  I had a single hand pump and pretty much dreaded the practice of pumping.  This too probably had a lot to do with my decrease in milk production but that part was somewhat intentional because I just couldn't make myself do it...

So here I sit.  I have picked myself up and licked my wounds.  But the questions from medical professionals at my appointments, or the looks from people who see me with a glass of wine in hand, while my child sleeps in her car seat at the restaurant - those reminders to me that I no longer have a physical bond with my little one - they hurt still.  Less and less each day, for sure, but the reminders exist.  Though I try my hardest to cherish the milestones with my baby, I guess I hadn't realized how valuable or quickly-attained this milestone would be.

The Weighting Game

This past Sunday, Samara was baptized.  My husband and I used this occasion to throw a big party for people to meet and visit with Samara.  There were many people there, so we - trying to be good hosts - made sure there was enough food.  We went the "veggie platter and deli meat platter route," as that seemed easiest.  We also had desserts, beer, wine, etc.  And the aftermath leaves me with a lot of food.

And the amount of food at my fingertips makes it even harder to shed the pounds.  I have tried so hard to get back on track with my eating.  And the thing of it is, I was not a bad eater during my pregnancy.  I was well aware that I was NOT eating for two.  My baby was only a fraction of my weight so my additional caloric intake was only fractional.  I also maintained a workout schedule somewhat similar to my pre-preggo routine.  Oddly, it was the month or two after returning home from the hospital that got me into my current bad eating habits.  At that point, after the birth and its toll on my body, I knew it was going to be weeks and weeks before I ventured to a gym again.  So due to some weird justification, I told myself it was okay to eat what I wanted because I wasn't going to the gym.  I couldn't be "exercise healthy" so told myself not to be "diet healthy" either.

Isn't that counter-intuitive?  To know that you are not going to go to the gym so you start to eat whatever you want?  And yet, that is what I am now learning about myself.  I have an all-or-nothing mentality.  If I am not going to be going to the gym for a few days, then I let my eating habits drop as well.  The more I go to the gym, the better my diet.  Not to mention that I have a treadmill in my basement - why not use it?  My husband runs on it practically every day, so I know it works well.  Why not run on the days I can't make it to the gym?

I start my improved diet and exercise regimen for a few days, then stop - either because of an impending deadline that inhibits me from going to the gym, or a huge family weekend where I want to enjoy without worrying about my diet.  And because I just had a family weekend, and I have a deadline (well I missed it, it was June 30) I am - AGAIN - postponing the gym.  This is Part I of The Weighting Game - the aspect where I push off the diet and exercise routine because I know it takes so much out of me.  I "wait" for the best time.  The fact of the matter is, there is no "best" time.  Then, once I am on my regimen, I have to understand that there are not immediate results.  As with most people, there are a few days if not a few weeks you must diet and exercise before expecting results.  I call this Part II of The Weighting Game.  If I can make it through these Parts of my life, than I think I will be happier with myself.

I look back to my pre-preggo weight, which was my happiest adult weight, and I want it back so badly.  It isn't so much my clothes fitting as much as it was my healthy, happy routine.  I felt fit.  THAT is what I miss.  So I hope my Weighting Game ends soon.

Little White Lies

Here's the thing: I appreciate...no I EXPECT honesty.  Battling the ins and outs of "pretendhood" is exhausting.  When I enter an office or conference room, or encounter a colleague at a meeting, I am very often told that I shouldn't be working, "Oh you should be at home with your baby."  "Where is your baby?," etc, etc.  And so, I politely explain that she is in childcare, yes, I would LOVE to be at home with my child, but I also am passionate about my job.  And as if a new button were depressed on the microwave, we go into crunch mode.  The tasks are given, the timelines are short, and the demands are high - the expectations mount exponentially from the time I was sweetly told I should be at home with my child.  

The "best" was when I was on what was quasi-maternity leave.  I made myself available to phone calls, emails and various meetings if necessary, since I was in a new position and still closing out an old position.   Someone emailed me a list of about 40 people that needed to be contacted and said it was a perfect job for me since I could make calls while the baby was sleeping... "Oh and how IS that dear sweet baby of yours?" No comment except to say I never called a single one of those people...

And I'm not quite sure which "Little White Lie" I find more offensive - that I should be at home with my child (as if writing me off), or that I should accomplish more in the next week than many people are expected to accomplish in a month.  One of them MUST be a lie because they exist at opposite ends of the "expectation spectrum."  And the high expectations isn't what necessarily offends me, it is the fact that I was just told I should make sure to "spend time with your child, make her the priority, she will grow quickly, time will fly, before you know it she will be driving, graduating high school, entering college..."  Well, if I'm going to be camped up in my office for the entire weekend delivering your charge, I can understand how I would miss out on important milestones...

Thankfully I do have those I encounter who actually do want me to have time to spend with my child.  They understand I am working, but for now, it is a strictly 8 to 4 type of job because I have my rule, "If she is awake when I am at home, I am with her." PERIOD.  We discuss priorities, but we also discuss the essential tasks versus those that can wait to be completed.  They are honest.

And I do have my secret weapon, my child herself.  If she weren't in child care she would be booked solid with people that want to see her again.  And for those who really do respect my time, you better believe I will make the time to bring her over. There is nothing, I do not think, more satisfying for a mother than to share the joy of her child with others.  But for those who talk the talk, and expect me to walk all the walks, I smile and nod, and say, "Yes, sometime soon, I will bring her around."  And THAT my friends, is my own little white lie.