The Family Bed
30 Aug 2011 Leave a Comment
This is actually a very controversial parenting topic. Co-sleeping refers to parents and children sleeping in close proximity to each other, and bed-sharing is when that “close proximity” means in the same bed together. In the world of attachment parenting, a style of parent-child bonding, it is the norm, especially among breast-feeding mothers who find their baby feeds better, bonds quicker, and everyone sleeps more soundly with this arrangement. The proponents for “the family bed”, as it is being so named, argue that this practice has been safely in use all over the world for centuries. Those who argue against it cite SIDS statistics and claim it’s too risky.
I am not a supporter of the family bed, mostly because I’m selfish. I like my body to myself and room to spread out when I sleep. I carried my children for nine (ten) months a piece and had them rolling and kicking me from the inside all night long. I couldn’t wait to get them OUT of my body! Once they were out, I did not lose my mind and suddenly want them in the bed with me so they could roll and kick me from the outside all night long.
What I want is sleep, and I can’t sleep with my children in the bed with me. It makes me so nervous that It keeps me awake all night worrying I will roll over and smother them. This isn’t some third world country where parents sleep on the floor with their kids to stay warm for sheer survival and because they have no alternative. My bed is several feet off the floor and could cause a serious head injury if my six month old were to roll off. And then I would feel pretty stupid knowing I had a perfectly safe crib I could put her in.
Anyway, just my personal opinion on the matter. I know many people feel differently and I don’t need to be “educated” as to why (TPG). I don’t really care where your kids sleep, that’s your business. I hope you don’t smother them. That would suck. For me and mine, separate beds and rooms is the goal.
I say “goal” because, to my dismay, we are currently sleeping in the family bed. Literally, as I type, I have a toddler knee shoved in my back. And it’s not comfortable. The baby doesn’t sleep in the bed, luckily, because her big sister would beat her in her sleep. Hannah is like a mini Mike Tyson in bed, I swear. She throws herself all over it, kicking the blankets off (both of us) like they attacked her, and most nights ends up completely sideways with her head hanging off the side and her feet in my back. Trying to reposition her in her sleep is like trying to lift a sack of potatoes that weighs 500 pounds. And she gets so angry, hitting and pulling hair while she demands her duck and shoves her thumb in her mouth. Her little body radiates more heat than the surface of the sun and the more I move away the more closely she wants to sleep. Sleeping with her is like being part of a hot, sweaty UFC match (that your losing).
The only reason we share a bed is because that’s all we have. Soon we’ll be moving and each of the girls will have their own rooms with their own beds and I will be able to rest peacefully in my bed alone. Hannah will be resistant to that so I will have to wean her gradually back to sleeping alone. And if I’m honest, the transition is going to be hard on me too. I will have to adjust to being without the security of having each of them within arms reach, not being able to watch them sleeping, or to check they are safely still breathing by merely opening my eyes. For someone who doesn’t support the family bed, a big part of me will miss mine.
Screaming in the rain
18 Aug 2011 Leave a Comment
in Stupid does not descriminate
I love rainy days, don’t you? The sound of rain and thunder are so soothing. Right now it’s dark outside and pouring. I’m snuggled up in bed with my PJs on comfortably sipping my morning mocha, courtesy of McDonald’s, with Katelynn happily cooing and chewing her toys beside me. For once, I have no pressing plans for today other than laundry and dishes (maybe…napping sounds better). Life is peaceful at the moment so I am enjoying the rainy weather.
If you had caught me around, say eight-ish this morning, however, I probably would have lost my religion on you over the torrential downpour I had to walk through to get Hannah to her preschool class. I’m pretty sure Desoto County had a hurricane this morning. I think I saw Geraldo in the parking lot in a poncho. It was awful and kinda scary. If I had cable, maybe I could have prepared and constructed an Ark. Although, as many cool things as the Mothership (my new name for the van) can do, I wouldn’t be surprised if it could morph into a Carnival Cruise Ship.
Anyway, it wasn’t raining when we left the apartment this morning and I only vaguely remember some dark clouds to the north of us on the way there, but keep in mind this was pre-McMocha. I’m not functionally human until I get my coffee. As soon as we hit the parking lot, though, things changed. Raindrops the size of small asteroids began threatening to shatter my windshield and before I could take my next breath we were having a full-on monsoon. So, I sat there waiting for the worst to pass, but after 15 minutes I couldn’t wait any longer since I had an appointment to make and Hannah was growing increasingly anxious about being left at school. So in my infinite mommy wisdom, I decided to grab both umbrellas, my kids, and make a mad dash for the safety of the covered walkway.
I obviously underestimated that we were parked three miles from safety. I opened one full size umbrella and handed it to my preschooler, while I manned the other in one hand, carrying Katelynn and Hannah’s school bag in the other. Hannah did pretty well for about two seconds until lightning and thunder were crashing all around us and the wind caught under her umbrella and threatened to carry her off to Oz. With both my hands full, I was forced to catch her with my body and force her against the wind, as she screamed in terror, towards the entrance. It took us what seemed like an hour to make it to the covered walkway and by that time we had been soaked with approximately 2,000 gallons of cold rain. How we didn’t get hit by lightening, I’ll never know!
Once inside, we squeaked down the hallway, sopping wet and shivering, towards her class. I caught the teacher’s assistant outside and asked her, in exasperation, what my options were for drop-off during days like these. Could I pull under the awning and walk her inside? Did they have staff or volunteers that could walk her from the carpool line to her classroom? She just stared at me for a second with wide-eyes like I had asked her to bare my next child for me and finally said, “Oh, nooooo…you have to park in the parking lot and walk her in. I’m sorry. I know that means you’ll get a little wet…” A little wet?! Lady, I just dodged 15 strikes of lightening, nearly dropped my infant trying to prevent my other child from being blown into the next county, and I’m soaked down to my socks and underwear! In what capacity does that qualify as a “little wet”?! Luckily, that string of word-vomit didn’t leave my lips, but my face said it all too clearly. So she said, “Well, you don’t have to drop her off so early.”
NEGATORY!
At that point, I lost it. I told her that I had important appointments to keep, a schedule to adhere to, and would eventually have job hours to abide by. What did they expect working parents to do? Wait in the parking lot until lunchtime when the rain passed? Humph! Ridiculous! Especially when the other students can be dropped off near the door, but they don’t want the preschool parents holding up traffic. I think I startled her, because she just walked away as I mumbled some half-hearted apology about being irritable because I was wet and hadn’t had my coffee. Then I kissed Hannah goodbye and carried Katelynn back to the car in Hurricane-screw-with-Brittney-Lee. I was so hot I’m sure the raindrops were evaporating in steam as soon as they made contact with my body.
So I made it to my appointment on time and then stopped to get my required cup ‘o Joe. I’m a little better now that I’ve dried out, but it still makes me angry and I’ll probably be sending a lengthy email to the school administration with suggestions that would be safer for the children who are expected to walk three miles to class in a severe lightening storm.
The first day
12 Aug 2011 1 Comment
In my child’s life, there are many “firsts” that I have waited for with joyful anticipation. The first tooth, her first words, the first time she walked, her first birthday…and so on…all these things bring an intense sense of happiness as I watch her grow and experience the world. Then there are other “firsts” that I absolutely dread. Firsts that rock me with fear and anxiety, robbing me of sleep, and putting gray in my hair at a premature pace. They suck. Like the first time she fell and scraped her knee, the first time she was sick enough to take to the hospital, and the first time she threw an all-out toddler tantrum in the middle of the Wal-mart check-out line over a toy. There’s nothing more embarrassing than trying hold onto a gallon of milk with one hand and using the other to wrestle a three year old while nine months pregnant as she kicks you in the stomach, tells you she hates you, and screams like somebody set her on fire. Here, have the stupid toy!
Yesterday was one of those dreaded firsts. It was her first day of preschool by herself. I had already prepared her teacher for it, because I know she’s a clingy child but her separation anxiety has been even worse lately. I also spent time preparing Hannah. We have talked about school all summer, she took a tour a few weeks ago, and we dropped-in for a “meet the teacher” day on Wednesday. She seemed excited, but I could see the uncertainty on her face at times, so I knew it was going to be hard.
I was right. The first drop-off yesterday morning was awful. I am so envious of the parents who drop their kid at the door and their child takes off before the can even blink. No tears, no hugs, no fear. What the crap? Your kid is a freak of nature, I swear. Does your kid not have toys at home? Do you lock them in a box and only let them out when you have to go into public? What’s the secret, because I will try anything at this point.
MY child had to be peeled off of me! Oh, she did fine getting out of the car and walking to class (which surprised me). I expected WWIII before we got out of the parking lot. But once we were inside, all bets were off, and the waterworks started. She buried her face against my blue jeans, clutching the fabric for dear life. “Mommy, don’t leave me!” she pleaded. I tried to soothe her, reassuring her I would come back in a little while. That only increased the volume of her crying. The teacher’s assistant tried to rescue me by attempting to distract her with toys and activities. No luck. Sorry lady, my child is way too smart to fall for your tricks. She knows what your ulterior motive is and she’s not biting. Or she mite bite you, so don’t get too close. I tried to give her a snack in hopes it would at least free her hands from my body. And that’s when she started to climb me. Like a tree, clawing and kicking the whole way up.
By this time, the baby was crying too. Don’t you love how they do that in unison? It’s so calming. So the teacher made a grab for Hannah, pulling her off me, and I calmly told her I would see her for lunch. Then I pushed my stroller of screaming baby away from my, now shrieking, three year old’s classroom as people looked on in shock and pity. Come on? I know I’m not the only parent whose child does this, right? So I walked to the parking lot and cried along with Katelynn as my tears fell beside Hannah’s tear stains left behind on my pants leg. I felt like the most horrible mother in the entire world and I sat in the parking lot waiting for them to call me because she wouldn’t calm down.
To my surprise, that call never came. But I kept a death grip on my phone until lunch time when I promised I would pick her up. Of course, I showed up early, expecting her to be a puddle of tears as soon as she saw me. I caught them at recess so I just hung back and watched her for about ten minutes. To my intense joy and satisfaction, she was having a blast! She was running and playing on the playground, swinging from the monkey bars and laughing with her new friends. The trauma of the morning drop off was a long forgotten memory. And when she saw me, she came running, grinning ear to ear and yelled, “Hey Mom!” and then took off to play some more. She even told me she didn’t want to leave yet. The relief I felt was heart melting. She’s a normal kid after all and I’m not scarring her for life I suppose.
Today’s drop off was even better. We hung her lunch box in her cubby and she sat at the table with the other kids waiting to paint puppy dogs with the teacher. Not one tear or hint of resistance. I think she’s going to really enjoy herself. Now I’ve just got to figure out what to do with myself all day so I don’t sit around wondering what she’s doing all day.
Am I doing this right?
09 Aug 2011 Leave a Comment
in Blessed be the children, Family Matters
It’s the age-old question every parents ask themselves: Am I doing this right? Or am I setting my child up for a lifetime of therapy to cope with all my stupid parenting decisions? Since my child is already in therapy, I guess it shouldn’t matter much…but to me every choice I make for her, especially now, is so critical. I find myself wondering if I’m doing all that she needs me to do or if I’m pushing her too fast into something she’s not ready for yet.
We start preschool this week. She will be in class, away from me and everything she’s ever known, for 7 hours a day, 5 days a week. My stomach is in knots just thinking about it! She’s only three. Aren’t three year olds supposed to wake up with bed head, run around in their underwear half the day, and eat their boogers while they watch “The Wonderpets”? Shouldn’t they have unlimited access to Mommy when they get a boo-boo, have a scary dream at nap time, or just need to cuddle? I wonder if this is really the best thing for her so early. Then again, I wonder if I will ever be ready for her to be away from me that long. Probably not.
So, I’m sending her. School starts Wednesday. I get to be there with her the first day, to help orient her to the environment and get comfortable with her teachers and her classmates. Sounds like a fabulous idea! In theory. MY child will probably have a bigger meltdown the second day when she is faced with the reality that Mom doesn’t go to preschool with her every day, which we’d honestly BOTH prefer.
In my heart, I know this is best for her. She’s insanely bright and will thrive in a learning-enriched environment that provides structure and normalcy. If she stayed home with me everyday, she’s not going to get as much of that as she needs (refer back to the part about hanging out in your underwear half the day). I can’t provide the peer-to-peer social interaction she will get either without adopting twelve other three year olds and that just sounds like a nightmare. God Bless Preschool Teachers! So for her, I feel it’s in her best interest.
For me, I dread the adjustment period. The first few mornings when I drop her off and leave as both of us cry (me, silently… her, not so much). She’s my little buddy and I’m going to miss her while she’s away, wondering what she’s doing all day. I pray that, with time, she and I will adjust and this will suddenly feel like the right thing. For now, I will try to ease my anxiety by remembering that if it is just too hard, I can always homeschool. In homeschool, it doesn’t matter if you graduate in your underwear, right?
Meet my Grandma
02 Aug 2011 Leave a Comment
So I decided, I needed a break. Desperately. So desperately, I decided to drive all the way to Gurdon, Arkansas to spend the week with my grandma. Now, if you have never been to Gurdon, well, you’re not missing much. It’s one of those small towns, with one stop-light, a truck stop or two, and plenty of old folks. The population is roughly over 2,000 and that number is quickly dwindling as such-n-such passes away of cancer, heart disease, or what have you. My grandmother is like a walking obituary page and I swear she’s related to almost everyone in town, sometimes in two ways. Not kidding. You can save your jokes. She calls it a “double-cousin”, the rest if us would call it something else.
Let me introduce you to my grandmother, Doris Ann (pronounced in Arkaneese as “DarseAnn”). She is probably known as the town busy-body because she knows just about everything about everyone and wants you to meet them all so she can talk about them under her breath and behind their back as they walk away. This person just got out of jail, that person is divorced, this one is cheating on her husband, and so on.
Doris is a wealth of knowledge when it comes to all things medical as well. I honestly think she’s a borderline hypochondriac. Her life revolves around her medical ailments, her medications, doctor’s appointments, and surgeries. The last time I saw her she wanted me to add her physicians’ office numbers to her Fave-5, she calls them THAT often. The woman is going to cure herself to death! She called me as I was driving here so I could possibly diagnose her bladder infection because she couldn’t wait another hour. I wasn’t even through the door 15 minutes and she was offering to show me pictures of the inside of her colon and from her hernia repair. Grandma, there are just some parts of you I don’t care to see or even know you have! Thanks for offering, though, especially right as we are discussing what to have for dinner.
I’m glad she’s so concerned about her health. She really puts a lot of effort into staying healthy. For example, she refuses to drink the water in Gurdon because it’s too “hard.” What does that even mean, Grandma? Maybe it’s like gangsta-thuggin’ on her colon, I don’t know. I didn’t look at the pictures, remember? But what I do know is that this is the reason I have to load four or five milk crates of glass bottles the size of Hannah in the car every visit so we can fill them with natural spring water from Hot Springs in 102 degree heat. That’s what she has planned for us tomorrow.
In fact she’s planned out the entire trip. That’s why I never come here with an itinerary. I just show up and let her know what day we are leaving, which usually bugs her because if we “woulda stayed just one more day, then we coulda (insert random thing she’s been meaning to get done here).” Audible sigh of irritation from her, “oh, well. Maybe next time.”
As quirky as she is, I absolutely adore my grandma. I love the way she says Wal-Mark, instead of Wal-Mart. I love that she is allergic to all dairy products except ice cream. I love her homemade biscuits and gravy. I love that she and Hannah “watered” the flowers and came in soaking wet and giggling. I love that no matter what happens, she is there to love me unconditionally, never runs out of hugs, and is the first to tell me everything will be okay. I love my Grandma!
And I know she doesn’t have Internet or a computer, so if any of my relatives read this to her, I will cut you.
