I’ve been trying to recall what it was like around here when Lulu was an infant, and honestly, I can’t remember much. The first time around is just so hectic, so scary…so new, it’s hard to recall each moment with any degree of clarity. But after a glass of wine and some scrolling thru old videos and photos, here is what I can tell you:
Number One: Lots and lots of tears. The baby’s, mine, even Trent’s. I swear, I cannot believe they let us leave the hospital with Lu. We had NO IDEA WHAT WE WERE DOING! I mean, to drive a car you have to at least pass a test first, but all you have to do to leave a hospital with a baby is drink too much bourbon and have unprotected sex. I remember the first night (or ten) just bawling uncontrollably from midnight until 7 a.m., wondering if I would ever sleep again. When Trent went back to work and my ever-helpful mother in law left town after a week of helping us, I remember turning into a heap of uncontrollable tears. It was super-sexy.
Number Two: Of course there have been tears, but certainly the amount has decreased significantly. So much of this is due to knowing what to expect this time around. Guess what? Breastfeeding is hard. Like, super-duper hard and it hurts and there will be tears and it will get better. But the getting better takes a few weeks. And knowing that has made such a difference.
{Lucy}
{Tate}
Number One: Every gear item was set up before I was thirty weeks pregnant. Diapers in every size were at the ready. Crib was put together, carseat had been inspected by the fire department, highchair was set up and ready to go.
Number Two: Um, we barely had a room, remember? And a highchair? Really, 22 year old Megan? Did you think your infant would be using that right away? I mean, they can’t even control their own necks, how the hell are they supposed to use a high chair? Idiot.
{Lucy}
{Tate}
Number One: I miss my friends and my life and wah wah wah life is unfair!
Number Two: Many of my friends have kids of their own, and the ones that don’t? Well, they have been around enough babies now that they don’t seem to mind the entourage under 5 years old that comes with me everywhere I go. Also, don’t underestimate the power of good friends who are willing to come to your house to drink wine and watch bad TV instead of going out to fancy clubs. (I’m talking to you and you and you and you…thank you!)
{Lucy}
{Tate}
Number One: My life is so difference from everyone else.
Number Two: My life is pretty much the same as it was yesterday, just with more diapers and less sleep.
Number One: I am in love.
Number Two: Ditto.
http://www.crazybananas.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/Crazy_Banans_Logo_WebsiteBanner.png00Meganhttp://www.crazybananas.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/Crazy_Banans_Logo_WebsiteBanner.pngMegan2011-03-03 22:10:532013-01-19 23:51:55Number Two Versus Number One
The other day I found myself doing what I do every few hours in this new life, nursing the baby. I was snuggled up in my bed with little dude, happy as can be, when Lucy wandered in with a strange look on her face. She climbed into bed, refusing to look me in the eye, and buried her head underneath the blankets. I let her stay there until I heard her rip out a chunk of hair, as she tends to do when she gets nervous or bored. The hair twirling issue has been going on forever, so I went with my usual “Lu, let me see what you just did” speech. I felt around her hair and noticed a huge area was missing, but it wasn’t on the side she had been twirling. Upon further inspection, her hair was obviously cut, possibly with a hack saw. She basically looked like a member of Flock of Seagulls, which, as much as I love 80s bands, is not a look I want for my four year old.
It finally came out that while I was nursing, she got out her kid-safe scissors and decided to cut her hair to “make it even.” She did not succeed. And what followed was possibly one of my lowest parenting moments. I was so upset with her, for so many reasons (lying, disobeying rules, cutting her hair!) that I told her “I need to be alone, because I really can’t look at you right now.” Ouch, right? My thought was that I didn’t want to yell and scream and upset her, so I needed a moment to compose myself. Of course, she heard “Mommy is mad at me because I’m not pretty anymore.”
Ouch times a thousand.
Once I realized that was what she heard/thought, we immediately sat down to have a chat about beauty and what is “pretty” and how mom’s feel about their kids. I told her all the right things, she’s beautiful regardless of her looks, her intelligence, humor and kindness is what makes her beautiful, on and on, but she was still upset. When we went to get the amateur job fixed by a professional stylist, she was sad and kept telling me she wanted long, beautiful hair like me.
But since then, she has gone through what I think many people go through after a drastic physical change. She is liberated. She loves her short hair! She loves how quickly she can get ready in the morning and that she doesn’t have to wear pigtails every day. Her best friend at school has basically the same short cut, and they call each other hair twins. Of course there has been a nasty kid here and there that has told her she looks like a boy or that her new haircut is ugly, but she doesn’t seem to care. She just tells them she likes it and that is that.
I am not sure what I would have changed if I had this parenting moment to relive again…I mean, she disobeyed rules, so she had to be punished and I had a right to be upset. But I probably would have been kinder, emphasizing right off the bat the reason I was mad at her, so she wouldn’t bring up the beauty issue. But hell, I’m not perfect, and I guess I did the best I could. And the scissors (even kid-safe ones) are now in a permanent place WAY HIGH where no little fingers can get to them….
Number Two Versus Number One
/2 Comments/in Happiness, Lucy, Tate /by MeganI’ve been trying to recall what it was like around here when Lulu was an infant, and honestly, I can’t remember much. The first time around is just so hectic, so scary…so new, it’s hard to recall each moment with any degree of clarity. But after a glass of wine and some scrolling thru old videos and photos, here is what I can tell you:
Number One: Lots and lots of tears. The baby’s, mine, even Trent’s. I swear, I cannot believe they let us leave the hospital with Lu. We had NO IDEA WHAT WE WERE DOING! I mean, to drive a car you have to at least pass a test first, but all you have to do to leave a hospital with a baby is drink too much bourbon and have unprotected sex. I remember the first night (or ten) just bawling uncontrollably from midnight until 7 a.m., wondering if I would ever sleep again. When Trent went back to work and my ever-helpful mother in law left town after a week of helping us, I remember turning into a heap of uncontrollable tears. It was super-sexy.
Number Two: Of course there have been tears, but certainly the amount has decreased significantly. So much of this is due to knowing what to expect this time around. Guess what? Breastfeeding is hard. Like, super-duper hard and it hurts and there will be tears and it will get better. But the getting better takes a few weeks. And knowing that has made such a difference.
Number One: Every gear item was set up before I was thirty weeks pregnant. Diapers in every size were at the ready. Crib was put together, carseat had been inspected by the fire department, highchair was set up and ready to go.
Number Two: Um, we barely had a room, remember? And a highchair? Really, 22 year old Megan? Did you think your infant would be using that right away? I mean, they can’t even control their own necks, how the hell are they supposed to use a high chair? Idiot.
Number One: I miss my friends and my life and wah wah wah life is unfair!
Number Two: Many of my friends have kids of their own, and the ones that don’t? Well, they have been around enough babies now that they don’t seem to mind the entourage under 5 years old that comes with me everywhere I go. Also, don’t underestimate the power of good friends who are willing to come to your house to drink wine and watch bad TV instead of going out to fancy clubs. (I’m talking to you and you and you and you…thank you!)
Number One: My life is so difference from everyone else.
Number Two: My life is pretty much the same as it was yesterday, just with more diapers and less sleep.
Number One: I am in love.
Number Two: Ditto.
Superbaby!!!
/1 Comment/in Blond, Happiness, Tate /by MeganI know, right? What the hell is wrong with me. Poor kid.
Parenting Cliche
/0 Comments/in Blond, Lucy /by MeganThe other day I found myself doing what I do every few hours in this new life, nursing the baby. I was snuggled up in my bed with little dude, happy as can be, when Lucy wandered in with a strange look on her face. She climbed into bed, refusing to look me in the eye, and buried her head underneath the blankets. I let her stay there until I heard her rip out a chunk of hair, as she tends to do when she gets nervous or bored. The hair twirling issue has been going on forever, so I went with my usual “Lu, let me see what you just did” speech. I felt around her hair and noticed a huge area was missing, but it wasn’t on the side she had been twirling. Upon further inspection, her hair was obviously cut, possibly with a hack saw. She basically looked like a member of Flock of Seagulls, which, as much as I love 80s bands, is not a look I want for my four year old.
It finally came out that while I was nursing, she got out her kid-safe scissors and decided to cut her hair to “make it even.” She did not succeed. And what followed was possibly one of my lowest parenting moments. I was so upset with her, for so many reasons (lying, disobeying rules, cutting her hair!) that I told her “I need to be alone, because I really can’t look at you right now.” Ouch, right? My thought was that I didn’t want to yell and scream and upset her, so I needed a moment to compose myself. Of course, she heard “Mommy is mad at me because I’m not pretty anymore.”
Ouch times a thousand.
Once I realized that was what she heard/thought, we immediately sat down to have a chat about beauty and what is “pretty” and how mom’s feel about their kids. I told her all the right things, she’s beautiful regardless of her looks, her intelligence, humor and kindness is what makes her beautiful, on and on, but she was still upset. When we went to get the amateur job fixed by a professional stylist, she was sad and kept telling me she wanted long, beautiful hair like me.
But since then, she has gone through what I think many people go through after a drastic physical change. She is liberated. She loves her short hair! She loves how quickly she can get ready in the morning and that she doesn’t have to wear pigtails every day. Her best friend at school has basically the same short cut, and they call each other hair twins. Of course there has been a nasty kid here and there that has told her she looks like a boy or that her new haircut is ugly, but she doesn’t seem to care. She just tells them she likes it and that is that.
I am not sure what I would have changed if I had this parenting moment to relive again…I mean, she disobeyed rules, so she had to be punished and I had a right to be upset. But I probably would have been kinder, emphasizing right off the bat the reason I was mad at her, so she wouldn’t bring up the beauty issue. But hell, I’m not perfect, and I guess I did the best I could. And the scissors (even kid-safe ones) are now in a permanent place WAY HIGH where no little fingers can get to them….