Child #1 hates peanut butter. Really, really hates it. Child #2 dislikes raisins. Both dislike celery. The two of them are at this very moment enthusiastically munching on celery filled with peanut butter and raisins, also known as ants on a log. Is it the combination of hated ingredients that magically makes for good eating? Is it the invocation of insects and downed trees that makes it appealing, like gummy worms in dirt (crushed oreo) cups? Or are they so fun to make that taste is irrelevant to the total enjoyment of the experience? Maybe they are as much toy as snack, like Pez or Lego Eggos (which, disappointingly, don't work, by the way, so don't waste your money)? I like all three ingredients alone, but not together, so I really don't get the appeal.
Snippet of conversation, while getting 2 year old son dressed this morning. He's been obsessing about Halloween, but I haven't quite finished his Jack O' Lantern costume yet. This might be the conversation I needed to motivate me to get it done:
me: Let's put your shirt on.
2 year old: I think I'm going to be . . . Naked Boy! That will be funny!
me: Might be kinda scary.
2 year old: I think it will be kinda funny. I will run around and around naked!
me: Huh. (tying shoe laces)
2 year old: I told Daddy when I was going to church. Everybody will laugh.
Our fat little dumpling of a baby is suddenly refusing to drink from a bottle, after almost three months of happily taking whatever we offered, from me, from his big sister in the car, or from his dad when I couldn't be there. I was looking forward to being able to occasionally leave him with a sitter sometime soon and go see a movie or visit the temple or sub at bunco, but won't be able to now unless I can somehow change his mind about me being his only food source. I need him to take a bottle.
Nothing stresses me out more than parent-teacher conferences. I look forward to them the way I imagine most people look forward to dentist appointments (not me: I love dentist appointments because the dentist usually has little to do except compliment me on my lack of tartar, which makes me feel like a good person even if I'm not). Sitting in front of a teacher who is holding in her lap a record of every grade on every assignment my child has done, or not, and every little blip of behavior good or bad, every bathroom visit -- day and time included, for heaven's sake!-- just freaks me out. It's like Judgement Day. Only worse.
It's not as if I've ever had any real trauma at a parent-teacher conference. My kids are well-behaved and bright. The teachers always make a point of telling us how well-behaved and bright they are. Our daughters' school had conferences last night, and I sweated, worried and was hard-pressed to not break down in tears halfway through the evening. And yet, there were no major problems. Their report cards were fine. I think the word "sweet" was used no less than 10 times between the two teachers we talked to last night.
But I still feel guilty and inadequate as a parent when my kids' teachers start talking about all the little things my kids need to work on: My first grader is shy about speaking up in class. She's been making mistakes with writing some of her letters and numbers backwards. She needs to work on her handwriting. She needs to practice reading aloud because, while her fluency rate is more than twice what it needs to be by the end of the year, her comprehension is higher, which means she could be performing better with practice. She reads a lot, but has neglected to take Accelerated Reader tests for anything she hasn't read in class. She needs to remember to put her name on her papers. And so on. I don't even want to get into everything that was discussed in my other daughter's conference. I'm just glad both girls were playing in the computer lab during this time, because if I felt picked apart and miserably inadequate and guilty by the end of two fifteen-minute chats, I can't imagine how bad they'd feel. (Along those lines, how do parents of children who are failing or rebellious feel? Are fewer little issues brought up because they have a few big issues that trump everything else? And would that make conferences any less exhausting?)
A large part of my problem, I'm sure, is that it's not hard to make me feel guilty. I feel reflexive guilt whenever I see a police car on the road, and immediately slam on my breaks every time, never mind whether I'm actually speeding or not. I resist worrying and feeling guilty about my parenting, because it doesn't help anything. I resist with all my might. If only I could avoid parent-teacher conferences, I might resist more successfully.
I know I'm not responsible for every little thing one of my kids will ever do, but it doesn't keep me from feeling responsible. I certainly don't hold my parents responsible for the stuff I did as a child, but it seems to me that expectations for both parents and for kids are higher than they used to be, in the good old days, when I was a kid. On the other hand, I could very well be viewing the past that way because I didn't feel pressured to perform as a kid. Maybe meeting with my teachers was pure hell for my mom (not an unlikely supposition, since I'm not sure any of my teachers would have described me as either "sweet" or "well-behaved") and I just didn't notice.
As an antidote to feeling like a miserable excuse for a mom, I'm baking cookies now. Baking is good therapy for cruddy days and worries. It's predictable, feels productive and smells great. My girls will be home from school in a few minutes, and I'm happy to know I can do something as a parent that will garner enthusiastic praise. I'm sure they won't even tell me what I can work on to make the cookies more successful, or more attentive, or more assertive.
According to this study(thanks, BTD Greg), most women would rather have a plasma TV than a diamond. Uh-huh. Guys, go ahead and try this on her birthday, Valentines Day, Mothers' Day, as a special anniversary present (is it the ten year anniversary that's Plasma, or fifteen?) or a post-partum token of appreciation (hilarious discussion of which may be found here). See where it gets you. Be sure to report back so we can laugh at your credulity.
A really nice TV would be great, and I'm not into jewelry myself. But there's a big difference between buying electronics that will be enjoyed by husband and wife, wearing sweatpants and scarfing down popcorn vs. buying a romantic gift. The two situations are not equal, no matter how much a poll conducted by a TV network, published in a tech magazine, would like to make them appear so.
But none today. Thanks for the good wishes, everybody. They did their job. Henry's birth was my second-easiest induction, out of four. A little long (although still my second-shortest) but not at all difficult.
Some thoughts I've had recently:
1. When you're in labor, in the hospital, for a long time and are limited to clear fluids, slushees are a much more palatable source of energy than, say, gross jello or broth from the nurses' lounge. Thank heaven for slushees. Although they did dye my lips and tongue blue, which made for some odd-looking photos.
2. Walking all over the hospital is more fun and feels more productive than lying in an uncomfortable hospital bed waiting for something to happen. If you have a choice of induction methods, that might be something to keep in mind. Although if you do, keep in mind...
3. Even in a hospital, just outside the maternity wing, where you would think extremely pregnant women are somewhat common, people just can't keep their mouths shut about how alarmingly pregnant you are. And it's amazing how many people will go ahead and tell you they are sure you are having twins, even if you and your doctor don't believe so.
4. Recovery rooms are great. Yeah, nurses come in all night long, at roughly two-hour intervals, to check your blood pressure, draw blood to test for low iron, take your temperature, and all kinds of other silly things that could reasonably wait until morning or could at least be grouped together to minimize the nighttime interruptions. On the other hand, you are forced to rest because there is absolutely nothing else to do. Once you go home, especially if you have other kids, you may intend to rest, but it won't happen because there are so many opportunities not to. Hospitals are like the most boring vacation ever, in the most expensive hotel ever. If I had it to do over again, I would have stayed until forced to leave.
5. My mom is awesome. The kids miss her. I miss her. My husband misses her. We'd all be thrilled if she moved in permanently. Unfortunately, I think every member of my family feels the same way, so we'd have to get in line.
6. Cabbage leaves are awesome. For breast engorgement, anyway. I always scoffed at the idea of stuffing vegetables in my bra, but dang, it works. And fast. I can't believe I only tried this now, after several years (between my other three kids, almost four years) of breastfeeding.
7. My two year old is a BEAST. I have no idea how I managed to lift him while pregnant, because I barely can now. He feels like he weighs two tons. He seems to like the baby, though, and he hasn't been any more difficult than usual.
8. Going from one child to two was much, much harder for me than going from two to three, or three to four. So far (knock on wood) this has been the easiest adjustment. I hardly feel psycho at all. The situation is certainly made easier by having a very mellow newborn who sleeps a lot, and older girls who love to help, and a husband with a decent work schedule. I had none of these things when I had my second child.
9. People are really nice. It's almost worth having a baby just to see how incredibly nice people can be. It's inspiring. Also, I haven't had to cook anything for over a week, and have enough leftovers to last at least another week.
10. Nothing is more beautiful than a smiling baby.
