Gentle Parenting Fail

I just read an article about mommy anger, frustration, and losing your cool. The struggle is real, my friends. I know someone else wrote about it well, I feel the need to share. This is like my own personal confession of my AP/gentle parenting failure. It happens to so many of us. And what's worse? We're not supposed to talk about it.

I experienced it last night while shopping with my wild thing and mom. He started biting me and I ended up flicking him in his little cheek each time he escalated the biting because he didn't get the result he wanted (me to put him down). Neither of us was hurt by the biting or flicking; just angry. I hate when I respond this way. It's usually lack of resources; being hungry and tired gets the better of both of us.

Then I realized how I was acting. Yes, how I was acting, not him. He's one. It's normal for him to lash out when he doesn't get what he's asking for. I, on the other hand, am supposed to be a mature adult. I am supposed to be the one who helps him regulate all of these big emotions. People were watching our interaction and I was not modeling gentle parenting or helping him calm down.

I took a deep breath, sat him on the floor, and talked about being gentle with each other (Yes, both of us need to be gentle and I use this as my apology for acting inappropriately). Then we both modeled gentle touches. When he shows me gentle touches he rubs me gently and says, "Nice." (It's cute, and helps me when I was ready to lose my ish with him a few seconds before). The whole interaction took less than a minute and it was over.

Gentle parenting win. At least until the next time toddlerhood meets tired, hungry, stressed mommy. Hopefully I'll do better next time. That's all I can hope for; to constantly improve my interactions with him and others.

Nursing vs. Weaning

I'm a nursing mama. My eighteen-month-old is an avid nurser. I've begun to wonder about the nature of our nursing relationship. It's strong and healthy. But, how long will it last? Longevity was not something I strove for when I began this journey a year and a half ago. Sheesh.

I'm not sure what began my pondering.
-- Maybe it was the woman in the Montana dinner who sneered at me from behind her Elton John glasses and shook her head with disapproval, while whispering to her tablemates.
-- Maybe it was my family beginning to question me as my wild thing neared a year old, then continuing to make sarcastic "subtle" comments.
-- Maybe it was my pediatrician who said he supported my decision, but warned me about the social pressure I would face.
-- Maybe it was me who wanted my body to myself (as my little guy did downward dog while nursing) or longed for a full night of sleep. 

Though I can't pinpoint when, the fact is I've begun wondering. When is the right time? Mine, his, society's? There are times I want it to be in my time. I want to be in control. I'm bigger, older, and used to getting my way when it comes to my body. But I wonder about my wild thing. What am I teaching him if I force him to give up something he loves (sometimes the only comfort he has)?
  Am I teaching him that his feelings mean nothing?
    Am I teaching him that I am attuned to his needs?
In answer to these questions, I'd have to say I wouldn't be the kind of mom I work so hard to be. Nursing or not, I want to be the mom who raises a little boy who: knows he's important to me, knows I listen and try to understand, has the confidence to explore and learn and trust. (Whoa! That's a big one...trust. Trust others to care and meet his needs. Trust himself.)

Nursing will go on until it's our time to wean. When is that? When he's ready, we're ready. When he can understand boundaries and is able to self-soothe, I may feel comfortable nudging him in that direction. Despite all of the tricks I've read about for gentle nursing, I know he's not ready for that. He can't grasp that we only nurse when the sun is out and he certainly doesn't understand when I tell him he can't nurse. It's heartbreaking for him. That's when his big emotions take over and he can't cope. That's when he needs me to comfort him, not turn him away.

To toddlerhood.

I love when my wild thing stirs in his sleep and stretches. His little toes spread out on the ends of his chubby feet.

I love when I've gone somewhere and he sees me come through the door or walking across the room. He gasps, smiles, and says, "Mama." My cowboy did that every time I got him from daycare.

I love when he says a new word or fits in a puzzle piece and yells, "Did it!" He's so proud of his accomplishments and wants us to be too.

I love when my wild thing lays down at night and, sometimes, I get 3 hours of freedom before he needs me.

I love that he wakes up and asks for me (even when I'm in the middle of something and I want hubs to handle it). It makes me smile.

It's the little things, in this time of exploration, volatile emotions, self-assertion, and expanding vocabulary. If there wasn't joy in small moments or accomplishments, these days would be overwhelming indeed.

To toddlerhood. You're bittersweet.

Accidents?

Recently, various home and vehicle safety items have been arriving in the mail. Knowing that I have ordered these items, and wanting to be gentle with me, my husband asks, "What are you suddenly afraid of?" My answer? "Life. I'm afraid of life." I'm not even sure how to articulate my fear, except to say the world is a scary, unpredictable place. Generally, my struggle with fear runs on the back burner of my mind at a low simmer. Lately, however, it's almost all I can think about.

The internet reveals dangers on a daily basis.
Child dies of secondary drowning.
Child is strangled by minivan seat belt.
Child dies of hyperthermia when left in the car by parent.
Vaccine deaths.
Measles outbreak.
Whooping cough outbreak.

HOW CAN I PROTECT MY CHILD FROM DANGER? I'm sorry, I'm yelling. I'm out of control with worry.

If I watch my child like a hawk and take precautions will God keep him healthy, safe, and alive? Not necessarily.

Things happen..."accidents" happen.
Is leaving your child alone in the car after forgetting to drop them at daycare an accident?
Is ignoring your child as he wanders into the backyard and falls into the pool an accident?
Is your child falling out the second-story window an accident?

Here's my answer. "No!"

Only I can protect my child and, even then, there are no guarantees. Only you can protect your child. I feel like Smokey the Bear here. ("Only you can prevent forest fires.")

"How can I live like this?" you ask. I don't. Most of the time. Sometimes, like now, it gets the better of me. My need to save my child is so strong that I find myself ordering seat belt cutters, window locks, second-story window ladders, etc., etc. I worry that I will be the one to neglect my child in the moment that matters; in the moment that saves his life. I worry that something else will happen, outside of my control (as with my cowboy), and I will lose him. I will lose my baby again. I'm not sure I could live with that.

Hours upon hours.

Today I was away from my wild thing for four hours. FOUR hours. It seems like nothing. He goes to daycare for this many hours a few times each week. I always go check on him, cuddle, nurse, or visit for a little bit each day. Today, I didn't. Today, I trusted his teachers. Trusted that they would call me if he needed to nurse. They didn't call. My wild thing ate a ton of food...I mean, a ton for him. And nursed as soon as I got there, a ravenous little beast. Now he's crashed in the backseat cozy, with me. We survived. We came back together, like always.

I love my wild thing and miss him like the dickens when we're apart. I also have school work, research responsibilities, and a thesis to write. Today, four hours. Tomorrow, a thesis.

Gripped by Fear

Today I was
gripped by fear
after reading
the story of
a little boy
who
chased a frisbee
into the street
and
was hit
by a truck
and
killed.
Not
my baby.
Not
today.
It could be;
any day,
any time.

My One-Year-Old Boys

When my cowboy turned one, we had a party. He swam with his daddy. He ate a little green birthday cake.
He was
walking,
talking,
skinny,
social,
sleeping through the night,
napping alone,
spending the night at Grammie's,
riding horses,
and,
most important,
happy and loved.

My wild thing turned one, and we had a party. He threw up on me multiple times and went to urgent care. He played balls with his daddy. He destroyed a little green birthday cake (though the color was coincidence).
He is
crawling,
cruising,
talking,
social,
shy when mommy's not around,
nursing through the night,
napping with mommy,
chubby,
exploratory,
and,
most important,
happy and loved.

My wild thing is not my cowboy. They are different and alike. They are both occupying my heart. They are loved. I read a quote the other day that had the dsfinition of a mother. It said she will hold you in her heart until her last breath. I read it as, "...until your last breath." And thought it was a vast underestimation. She will remember you so far beyond that. It made me sad because I know things about mothering that many don't. I know that this birthday, this day, is worth remembering. You could have thousands of todays together or this one could be the last.

Run-down Mama

I'm a garbage disposal lately. You want to nurse and don't want food. Since you've been sick it's nurse, nurse, nurse. I keep offering you food, but you only take a few bites then refuse. My body is struggling to keep up with the demands. Food and sleep is what I want. Lots of sleep.

I'm incoherent and unresponsive lately. Daddy asks if I'm doing alright; if I'm depressed. "Just tired," I say and stare at the tv, computer, or you playing. I'm more than tired though. I'm exhausted to the core. You, my wild thing, require so much of me. I'm being pulled in different directions. School, work (insignificant as it is), future plans, you, daddy, and everyone else. It's all good. It just gets so big in my head.

This time. These struggles. It will pass. I'd rather be mommy, than not have you with me. Not having you would be worse. I know this because, when I lost my cowboy, I've had emptiness. I was lost. I was without purpose. Having you is better. Having both of you, my sons, would be sweet, fulfilled exhaustion. Not harder or easier; just more right.

"Ow! That hurts!"

"Ow! That hurts," I say, "That hurts mommy. Biting makes me sad."

You smile and laugh. It feels good to bite, especially when you're teething. And you get a reaction from me.

I want to cry or scream. I don't.  Sometimes I get loud. A few times, I've thumped your little cheek. We both hate that. It hurts my heart when I'm startled and react that way.

Most of the time I repeat the same thing over again. I hope you learn to understand before you bite off a piece of me. You are so small and don't get my facial expressions or words. You're starting to. Now when you hit or fall or bite, you say, "Ow!" You're learning the words. Understanding will come later.

Please let me have patience and not overreact. I don't want to hurt you. Not in anger. Not in reflex. This phase will end before long. We'll get through it together.

In Weakness

Fevers and sickness make a needy baby. Work and school and remodeling and prepping for a first birthday party make a tired, indecisive mommy. When I feel this way, I walk in circles wearing or holding my needy baby and getting nothing done. Ugh! I hate this version of me, who gets so weak and useless. I don't always know why it happens. I can just tell that I'm not myself. It's exhausting to try figuring it out amidst my busy life. It's even worse when other people, who know me, are around because I'm the one who normally has it together. I don't know how I became the organized and in control woman. I do feel her slipping away since I've become a mommy again. So many emotions were locked up tight and controlling my life was how I functioned. That is not how things have worked for the last year. I've given up all control of my emotions and my schedule in order to meet the needs of my wild thing. It works for us and he is happy. It doesn't always work for the woman I knew myself to be.

In my befuddled, needy baby state my family came alongside me to help finish projects and get the party ready. It was beautiful (the party and the effort). This is what my family used to be like. We have been broken for a long time. Losing my cowboy didn't just break me, but my whole family. People changed and relationships were damaged. We still loved, but grieved and healed alone.

First Birthdays

I keep reading
that first steps
and first birthdays
turn a baby
into a toddler.
My one-year-old
is still a baby;
my baby.
He cuddles,
crawls,
cruises,
climbs stairs,
nurses,
eats people food,
laughs,
cries.
He loves
balls,
animals,
outside,
Bubble Guppies,
mama,
daddy.
He's had
two haircuts,
seven teeth,
and one birthday.
I don't care
if he's thirty
and thriving.
He's always,
in part,
my baby.

Big, Sweet Baby

Lie down with me,
sweet baby.
Come nurse
right by my side.

Mama,
I'd rather
headstand,
flip flop,
crawl around,
dive bomb,
somersault,
sit up,
do the splits,
and stand up
while I nurse.

I know, but
it's time to sleep.
So, lie down with me,
my big, sweet baby.
Come nurse
right by my side.
I'll stroke you gently
and shush you softly.
As you sleep
right by my side.

Stuck

Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to be totally and completely stuck? To be competely reliant on someone else? How scary is it to trust that someone else will meet your needs?

I do whatever I can to make sure that I can meet my own needs. I try not to be reliant on anyone. That's part of why not working has been so difficult for me to handle (more on that later).

Yesterday I had a glimpse of what it feels like to be needy and trust that someone will come through. It was just a small thing, but left me feeling completely vulnerable. I was getting ready to leave for my midterm exam when I realized that I didn't have my wild thing's carseat. Our only carseat. Allen was at work 30+ miles away. I dialed him several times and began to break down.

I had no idea what to do. I don't really know our neighbors and don't have anyone close enough to rescue me. Feeling that alone and vulnerable was very scary.

Magically, he saw my call and called me back. I was nearly in tears when I answered and told him he had the seat. He left work immediately, but I continued to fret that he wouldn't make it in time and I would be out of luck. (My teacher has a hard line no no make-ups policy, unless you're dead and can prove it.) I spoke to the neighbor with a little guy. Then I got us ready and waited.

Allen came through at exactly the right minute. The neighbor remembered that she had an infant carseat tucked away in the garage. She brought it over. I was saved, though I know it seems silly. You would think that the situation would make me more likely to trust in others' ability to help out. On the contrary, I want to make sure that it never happens again. Lol. It makes me fear the moment I truly need something and am alone.

Vulnerabilities are scary.

Baby Belly Laughs

By the time my cowboy was this old, he had a great belly laugh. He would really get going, especially with my dad. He would blow raspberries on my cowboy's belly. He loved it. I wish I had that laugh recorded.

My wild thing, on the other hand, does not have a belly laugh, or even a fully developed duodenum. He is super happy and laughs. He's just not good at it yet.

The other night we were playing with a napkin. (Paper = <3) I was waving it in the air and saying, "Wheeeee." He was having a great time and started laughing at me. Next thing we know he's throwing up, avocado running down his chin, while laughing. We kept dabbing and it kept running out of his laughing mouth. Less than 10 seconds later he got the hiccups. Since he was tiny, the hiccups have been his nemesis and laughter brings them on something fierce. Laugh. Hiccup. Drool. Repeat. Good times.

Side Note: The best part was when my hubs tried to do the same thing with the napkin. My wild thing just stared at him like he was crazy. No laugh. No hiccups. Nothing. Then he turned to me to keep playing. Kids, I tell you. No rhyme or reason why it's funny for mommy and not daddy.

Happy times with my boys are a beautiful part of life.

More Ways of Remembering

Since I talked about remembering my cowboy, I've been thinking about things that I do. I don't do much. I know other families who do things for the hospitals who helped them, raise cancer awareness through head shaving and speaking to the government, and those who see the memory of their child spread across states. I'm a little jealous of their zest for the cause and the memory of their child. I've just never been that person. My remembrance and emotional turmoil has always been more private. It doesn't make either of us wrong; just different. Recently, I've begun participating in a few events each year to remember my cowboy and support the cause. I feel weird about asking people to help, donate, participate. Like I'm imposing on their lives by asking by talking about cancer. Maybe it's just me.

I do want to do things to spread the word, to support families currently struggling with their own children, and to support research so that it occurs less in the future. I just don't know how to do it the best/right way.

One of the things that we've started doing (we're at our third year) is build a team in memory of my cowboy. It would be great to have a lot of people involved and supporting us. I don't know if I waited to long to be putting myself and our story out there. Maybe people have forgotten or moved on. I haven't. It's still with me everyday. He's still with me everyday.

P.S. If you happen to read this and want to know more about the event we do. Wink, wink. Here's some links.

PCRF Reaching for the Cure

Booster

Ways of Remebering

I haven't been to the cemetery in months. I think about it. Am I too busy? Am I not interested? Do I no longer care?

NO.

I'm busy, but not that busy.
I'm interested.
I care.
How could I not?!?!

The thing is, I think of my cowboy everyday and in most things I do. I am always comparing him to my wild thing and wondering how alike/different they are. I smile when my wild thing does something I remember my cowboy doing. Being my cowboy's mommy is the only mommy I know how to be. Now that I have my wild thing, I'm constantly adjusting the mommy I was to the mommy of both of my boys.

My wild thing is so much more adventurous than my cowboy was. He's fearless when it comes to so many things. He climbs the stairs and loves the horses and chickens. I remember when my cowboy was around horses when he was little. He held tight to my dad or I, a little fearful of the big animals. The first time I showed my wild thing the horses, their big horsey heads came up and sniffed him. He just sat there, fascinated.

Holidays come and go and people always ask me if I visited my cowboy. I guess, I'm getting to the point where I don't feel the need to visit him when I'm always thinking of him. I used to feel very guilty about that, but he's just becoming a part of me in a different way.

The Bread-winner

When my husband and I have conversations about money or things we want to do, I always chime in with, "I'm sorry." He continually reminds me that we made this decision together. But I feel a sense of responsibility for the situation we are in. After all, when we met we both felt very differently about working women.

He wanted a strong, independent woman. I was a strong, independent woman. I was going to stay that way. End of conversation.

Then we got married and were pregnant with my wild thing. As it got closer to his "birth" day, I got more trepidatious about returning to work and he grew more interested in being able to provide for his family. When I took another job with the school district, he was actually disappointed that I would be working. I was frustrated. Wasn't I needed? Why shouldn't I provide for my family?

After all of these years you would think that the man's desire to provide for his family, be the bread-winner, and have the wife home caring for the children would be in the past. This is, after all, the twenty-first century and we no longer hit women on the head and drag them back to the cave. We don't even have shows like "Leave it to Beaver" on the air. The shows on television are more about dysfunctional families than anything else.

You would think that things would have changed. I'm no feminist, but I feel like I should be expected to hold my own in the world. So, why is that not how it works? I don't know how to function being the needy one in the relationship. I need him to provide for us: food, shelter, clothes...you name it.

Right now, I guess, I'm needed in another way. My wild thing needs me to be the best parent I can be. My husband needs me to be the best wife I can be. I thought that part of that was money, but right now it's not. I don't understand it. I'm slightly uncomfortable with it. In the future, things will change. What role I play in my little family will change. We will see what the future holds for us all.