Mary Makes Babies

The Length of Our Tether

It's bluebonnet season here in Texas. Like so many things about this wild western place, spring is both lush with beauty and fraught with peril. The beauty of the wildflowers and the mild perfection of the weather make the temptation to spend time outdoors pretty much irresistible. Sounds great, but lurking beneath that field of bluebonnets and Indian blankets is a rattlesnake coiled and ready to strike. Floating within that comfortable spring breeze is a barrage of pollen waiting to steal your breath, choke your throat, and muddle your head. 

It's hard to breath. It's hard to think. My throat stings. My head hurts and my eyes burn. Every morning I wake up with a head full of congealed misery. Allergies in central Texas are no joke, and I've learned that for me and Scott, they are a year-round battle. I never feel quite right anymore, and during certain times of year the discomfort boils over into something that is borderline debilitating. I spend every day battling through fatigue and a constant feeling of illness - trying to somehow keep up with the mountains of dishes and laundry, the piles of work and upcoming deadlines, and maybe hardest of all - coping with a little boy who is feeling the full effects of Texas allergies for the very first time.

He doesn't feel good and it's making life very hard for both of us. He's become my constant shadow, clinging to me morning, noon, and night. We made the decision several months ago to pull him from pre-school for both financial and emotional reasons. We simply couldn't afford his tuition, but aside from that our boy had been struggling with morning drop-offs almost every day for months. The running, screaming, crying, and clinging would lighten up by every Friday, but on Monday it would return with a vengeance. No matter how I tried to justify the behavior, or rationalize my guilt, going through that every morning was tough.

To make matters worse, he was struggling to fit in at Montessori. Our little wild child had a hard time sitting still, staying quiet, and following instructions in the serene and orderly setting I'd placed him in. His teacher was a very sweet woman with a kind and loving nature, but I sometimes got the feeling that she simply didn't know what to do with him. As usual, she assumed his behavior was the result of a lack of "constraints at home" - a hard criticism for this highly engaged mother to hear. Later, when we got C evaluated for Sensory Processing Disorder, we were able to finally understand how things were from his point of view. Some kids aren't built to sit still and listen quietly. 

So now he is home with me, and I make time for work by swapping care time with my sister two mornings a week and hiring a nanny for three or four mornings every week. I also work during nap time and during the afternoons that Scott is home from work. While I rarely work for eight hours in a row, I almost always end up working seven days a week. Scott recently started mowing lawns and doing handyman work in his spare time, so his days "off" are now spent working too. Whatever time is left over is spent giving our undivided attention to C. He spends every Monday morning and every afternoon and evening all week with at least one of us by his side. But if you ask him, that's not enough - not by a long shot.

Scott and I love C's nanny. She's responsible and kind, patient and caring, and energetic enough to keep up with C all day long. C really likes her too, as evidenced by his chatter during her days off. But even with the perfect nanny, C can't seem to deal with being separated from Mama - even when I'm just in the next room! Every work day lately comes with an unsettling soundtrack of 2 3/4 year old sobbing. Every 20 minutes or so he bolts into my room, crawls into my lap, and does everything he can think of to stall his ejection. Sometimes he covers me in kisses and pouts about how much he loves me and misses me. Sometimes he growls and snarls at our nanny, proclaiming his hatred for her in surprisingly clear and stinging words. Most times he demands "baboo" (his word for nursing) and spends his time wiggling in my lap with his hands down my shirt. 

It's gotten so bad lately that I end up spending a good half of my workday trying to convince him to give me some space. Even after work, when we are simply existing together, he is beyond clingy. He cries in the car - begging me to sit in the backseat because he "so loves me" or is "so lonely". Every night he wakes in his own bed and immediately rushes to mine. Sometimes there are tears. Sometimes he is angry. Either way there are usually plenty of questions and accusations from him to me. Why did I leave his room? Why wasn't I there when he woke up? Why do I want to sleep with Daddy instead of with him?

Last night I had to go number two with him sitting on my lap. He refused to leave the room, or even my arms, for long enough for me to use the bathroom. It's getting so intense lately that I can't get anything done without his interruption. He'll either sob and cry to stop me from doing the dishes or folding laundry or find something nearby to destroy or endanger himself with. The only thing that will keep him occupied long enough for me to even shower is television. I hate leaning on it as a babysitter, but I find myself using it more and more just to get through the day. It's one of those things leaves me feeling defeated. I never wanted to be that kind of parent. 

Lately I've started to wonder what this mommy-obsession is all about. Is it a symptom of his SPD? Is he extra clingy because he doesn't feel good? Is it just a phase - something that all kids go through at this age? Am I working too much? Not spending enough time with him? Or is it that I spend TOO much time with him? Have I done this to him somehow? Am I too affectionate, too snuggly, too doting or permissive? Will he EVER stop nursing? Go potty? Adapt to a school setting? Right now, it's hard to believe any of that is on the horizon.

I love this kid so much - SO MUCH. He makes me happy every day. Being with him and being his mama fills my heart and soul in a way that nothing else has. Still - I value my career. It's something I've worked hard to attain and as crazy as it might sound, I LIKE working. I need to work. I need to make and create and write and share. Every time I think we've finally found a way to make time for me to do my thing it seems to crumble. Daycare ended in flames. Montessori wasn't sustainable. The nanny seemed perfect! The best of both worlds - part time care with mom nearby for hug breaks and sick days. The first few weeks with our nanny was amazing. I got SO much done. I was incredibly productive while C was happy visiting the zoo, doing gymnastics, or exploring our neighborhood park. Lately he refuses to leave the house with her and stubbornly clings to me throughout the day no matter how we try to entice him toward the door.

I'm not sure what to do next. How do we help this little boy learn that it's okay to stray from Mama's side? How do I prove to him that I love him no matter where he goes, and that I will always ALWAYS come back? How do I show him that growing up, getting bigger, and moving on from babyhood is a good thing? How do I balance his constant need for my attention with my own need to be productive and creative?

Life with C is a beautiful field of wildflowers. His presence floods my senses with joy and wonder. But we struggle through the beauty - each of us trying desperately to grow and thrive during a time that drains our resources and denies our desires. We're both pushing the boundaries of our worlds to see how far they stretch, testing the length of our tethers to each other, and having mixed feelings about growing up and apart a little more every day. I try to remind him that I'll always be his Mama, no matter how big he gets, where he goes, or what happens next. He just holds on tighter, begging me to always stay.

On Boundaries

"I know he doesn't have a lot of constraints at home."

"I'd like you to read this chapter called The Toddler Executive."

"You are WAY more tolerant than me."

"I would have been way too afraid to treat MY mother that way."

"If that were my child I'd..."

These are the kinds of things you hear while raising an extremely curious, high energy, strong willed child. I've heard them all. Sometimes from well-intentioned friends or caregivers. Other times from total strangers who may or may not have realized that I could hear them. I won't pretend that these words never bother me. They do, but for the most part I brush them off. 

My child is a wild one. I know it. He knows it. Our entire neighborhood and social circle know it too - as does everyone at the grocery store.

What they don't know, is that I was a wild one too. I recognize that spark my little one thrives on, and I remember how crushing it was when the people around me tried to dampen it out. I was lucky to have a mother who allowed me to explore the world in my own way. She saw the art within the destruction, and the joy within the havoc I wreaked. She put up with a lot, and even loved me for it, messes and all.

But growing up with freedom doesn't mean that I didn't grow up with rules. My mother set boundaries, both physical and philosophical. I, of course, challenged and questioned every one, exhausting her with questions, doubts, and creative ways to get around the rules she had set. I spent my childhood walking the line between disobeying and re-interpreting the boundaries set before me.

At home, it worked. At school - not so much. I struggled with a world where few adults would take the time to answer my questions, where nobody seemed to see things my way, and where social and societal pressures forced me to cram inside I box that I just didn't fit inside. I quickly became an outsider, and spent my school days being bullied by kids, and scolded by teachers. By the time I got home my energy was so pent up that I exploded, making sitting down for homework pretty much impossible.

I needed freedom. I needed to be myself. Not being able to crushed me. By the time I reached seventh grade I had fallen into a hole of chronic depression - a pit that I didn't climb out of until re-discovering my freedom after high school. Despite life's challenges, I consider myself to be a happy and successful person, and I believe that I owe my success in a large part to my mom's willingness to set me free and let me be myself. 

So, when my son jumps fully-clothed into a mud puddle I don't flip out. I laugh, snap a photo, and gently steer him back inside to get changed. When he hurts someone else, or does something dangerous, I stop him, and depending on the circumstance, I discipline him. Then we talk about it. I let him know what I expect him to do, how I expect him to behave, what is safe to do and what isn't. When he asks questions, or challenges my point of view, I listen. If he's right, I bend. I give him a long lead, and I allow him to explore his world at his own pace. I let him get scrapes, bumps and bruises along the way. I let him fail at things he tries and I celebrate with him when his wild ideas succeed.

 

Why I was late. Reason 10k

A post shared by Mary, Scott & CC (@leonardfamilyatx) on Mar 6, 2017 at 4:30pm PST

As his mother, I feel that I am his guide, his protector, and his home. I do not feel like I am his boss.

I know that choosing to grant him this freedom makes my job harder, but I also know that his spirit thrives when it is allowed to explore. And while I sometimes wonder if school would have been easier for me if I'd been disciplined more firmly at home, I just don't believe that hobbling my independent spirit would have been worth it. 

School may prove to be equally challenging for CC, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, I am loving every minute (OK maybe not EVERY minute) of life with this wild, messy, strong-willed child. He is marvelous just the way he is.

Mama Diary: Bunnies and Boogeymen

My son is scared of the Easter Bunny. Terrified, to be more exact.

It all started on the first day back to pre-school after CC's Spring Break. Let me paint the scene. Here was a class full of toddlers who had just returned from about 12 days spent at home. Mondays are often emotional for little kids because they settle in to life at home by the end of every weekend. Just imagine what a week-long vacation does! His beloved teacher, Miss A. was also out on vacation abroad so the teacher the kids were left with was a substitute.

As a rule, kids aren't super flexible. Even the smallest change to their routine can result in meltdown - so I would categorize this situation as a toddler powder keg. It also happened to be the school's annual Spring Celebration so their anxieties were about to be soothed with games, treats, and special activities. Maybe, I thought, CC's first day back to school will go alright after all.

And it may, in fact, HAVE gone alright, until the staff decided to introduce a stranger in a bunny costume to the mix. The story I was told about CC's reaction to his very first mascot costume character was heartbreaking. They told me that all of the kids ran screaming from the bunny to hide behind their teacher's legs, but CC seemed especially upset and was actually shaking and chattering with fear.

Needless to say he was a total wreck when I picked him up. He talked about the Easter Bunny all afternoon and cried at bedtime, telling me that the Bunny was going to get him and was waiting outside his window. He woke up screaming with nightmares multiple times the first night and off and on again for many nights after that. Every day when we went to school it was the same thing.

"The Bunny, Mama. The Easter Bunny get me."

And then Easter came. We had to warn everyone in our family not to bring up "You Know Who" which was pretty tough because everyone we ran into wanted to ask CC if he was excited to get a visit from him! Even strangers at the grocery store would chime in, telling CC how the Bunny was coming to his house and asking him what did he think of that?

I'll give you three guesses as to what it was he thought.

Luckily, CC didn't seem to associate the Easter Bunny with Easter itself and was pleasantly surprised by the actual holiday. He was thrilled with his basket of treats and had a blast hunting for eggs with his cousin. In a strange twist, Easter was a big hit and he has ALSO been going on and on about how much he loves eggs and baskets ever since. It's pretty much his favorite holiday.

You know, except for the whole evil murderous bunny thing.

So, would you believe that even after months and months the poor kid still brings this up? Like, all the time?

Just the other night we were snuggling up for bedtime when he told me the Bunny was at his window again.

"I scared, Mama. The Easter Bunny, Mama."

I launched into my usual routine of explaining that the Easter Bunny was certainly not outside his window and could not hurt him or get him. I told him there was no Easter Bunny here and that he was safe.

He nodded, but I could see the look of worry on his face. He was staring into space and nodding, his little brow furrowed. I know how that look feels. It's the look I get when I want to believe something someone is telling my but my gut disagrees. It dawned on me then that he wasn't just talking about a costumed stranger. He was scared of the boogeyman - of the world outside of our cozy little home where there were very real things (and people) who could hurt him.

The concept of danger and consequences is a relatively new discovery for CC. He's always been a bold and daring child. Only recently has he taken time to stop and consider getting hurt before launching his body wherever it wants to go.

While he is still a very friendly child he's now run into adults that scare him, make him uncomfortable, or even behave inappropriately - like the old bearded grandpa-type who thought it would be funny to growl and bark at him while he ran from Mommy at the zoo, or the not-so-great replacement teacher at school whose high anxiety level and motormouth caused him to come home every day in a frenzy.

CC is discovering that not everyone he meets wants to be his friend, nor are they all people that HE would like to be friends with.

As for me, the dangers of the world and how they relate to my tiny precious child have been my constant companion for a very long time now. Before I ever even considered becoming a mother the idea of being responsible for someone so small was scary. Once he was here I could see how easy it would be to slip into a cloud of anxiety and never come out. I'd never loved anyone so much in my life, so I'd never been so vulnerable.

Lately the mama-fear has been pressing me harder than usual as we prepare for CC to have a small surgery sometime in the next month or two. My baby is sick, and even though all of the odds and statistics and general medical wisdom point to him coming through the whole experience completely unscathed it is difficult for me to not become consumed by fear.

Many things have changed since I became a parent, but nothing is more altering than the knowledge that I can not live without him. He's as much a part of me as my beating heart and my fear of him being hurt or lost is the only thing that surpasses my fear of failing to do the right thing as his Mama.

So when he was cuddled up to me, whispering his fear about the big bad world outside I held him close. I promised to protect him and keep him safe and to love him forever and ever. I saw his face soften and his body relax as he looked at me and said, "OK, Mommy."

I breathed in and out, my nose in his hair, taking in the smell of his hot little head and the warmth of his soft little body in my arms. I reminded myself that he's right here and that he's OK, and at least for a little while even my Boogeyman kept his distance.

How do you help your kids cope with their fears? How do you manage your own? Comments below, s'il vous plaît.

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Mama Diary: Eighteen Months (Err, More like Nineteen and a Half)

Earlier today I was force-fed cheese crackers while being made to breastfeed a plastic brontosaurus. This extreme degree of both bossiness and imagination can only mean one thing.

My little baby has become a toddler.

He's a hot-blooded little giggle monster with a mouth full of hard-fought teeth, a head full of crazy ideas, and a freakishly strong little body. He is capable of expressing both violence and tenderness, depending on his mood, and surprises his parents on a daily basis with new words, tricks, and pranks - mostly pranks.

It's hard to describe the difference between C as a baby and C as a toddler. The only way I can think to describe it is to recall that scene from Jurassic Park when Satler chuckles and says "...unless they figure out how to open doors. Psssht!"

Yeah, it's like that. He knows things that we never taught him. He's been LISTENING. Now that his speech and motor skills are taking off he is finally able to show us just how much he's overheard over the past eighteen months.

Important discoveries - such as the existence of Sesame Street - have been made earlier than expected. Subsequently his tantrum skills are also taking off.

He has favorites now too! His favorite color is red. His favorite animals are cows, bears, and dinosaurs. He even has a favorite Pandora station! Every night he makes us turn on the Elvis channel so he can shake his little booty.

Suddenly he is no longer an adventurous eater and stubbornly insists on eating only three or four foods (at all, ever) all of which fall into a muted palette of white, yellow, and sometimes orange. Pink and red are occasionally tolerated, but really CC would prefer to eat macaroni and cheese or Pirates Booty for every meal.

He scales the walls, climbs over gates, jumps out of bath tubs, and hurls himself down slides head-first. He remains our rough and tumble little boy - forever reaching past his limitations and up towards whatever he sees the "big kids" doing.

He doesn't seem to care that his feet can't reach the ground while riding on a big-kid swing, or that they can't reach the pedals on his tricycle. He wants to do it anyway.

It's just who he is.

We were at the park yesterday with a particularly warm and wonderful abuela. Her sweet little grandson was having second thoughts about the playground's tallest slide so I helped him down the steps. As I was doing this, C was launching himself up the very same staircase and barreling toward the slide. "Oh my!", she said. "He's not certainly not afraid of heights, is he?"

We laughed and she told me some stories about her first son who was just like C - climbing everything and giving his poor mama nightmares. I confessed to her that I'm sometimes embarrassed by the looks that I get for "letting" such a little kid climb the way that he does.

She sweetly shook her head and said. "Oh no, dear. You can't fight nature. All you can do is help him".

Mama Diary: Cell Phone Policy

The only thing stopping me from being the perfect parent is having a kid.

Before CC was born I had lot of ideas about how things were going to be. For one thing, he was NOT going to go around man-handling my cell phone. My brilliant plan to stop this from happening was just not to ever give it to him. Duh, right? I mean - come on. It's not rocket science.

Fifteen months later this is one battle that I have clearly lost. I can't even share a photo of him fondling my cell phone since I'm too busy trying to stop him from destroying the blasted thing. How often is that? Let's just say that CC has a whole telephone routine worked out. It goes something like this "Dada?! Dada!! Mwah heh ya ya ya no nonono." He throws his head back and laughs as if he were the villain in some eighties ski mountain movie. You know - the guy with hair like a Ken doll and a sweater tied across his chest? I call him "Blaine".

So if you ever call me and ask to speak to "Blaine" he will gladly oblige.

By the way, this isn't meant to be one of those snarky things you plaster on expecting mothers' Facebook walls. When I was pregnant I hated that stuff. Let them have their dreams, ladies. Who knows, maybe some mother somewhere has actually managed to accomplish all of the goals she set for her perfectly perfect little baby. Good for her. I'm sure Little Blaine will be very well adjusted. 

The images above were generously shared by HilahCooking.com, BabyTasteBuds.com, and my friend, Julie.