How to Make a New Working Mom Feel Bad... and What Will's Doing for DayCare

Note: This post is a little snarky, or maybe a lot snarky.  Please don't take offense at it. Be sure to read my commentary at the end.

How to Make a New Working Mom Feel Bad:

1. Assume she isn't going back to work.

2. When you find out she is going back to work, make an "oh that's too bad" face or comment.

3. Assume she found a "desirable" daycare situation for her baby, like family, or friends, or, at the very least, an in-home daycare. 

4. When you find out the baby is going to a regular old daycare center, make an "oh that's too bad" face or comment. 

To really hit this one home, say something like, "Can't your parents take him?" or "My friend is using this website to do background checks on home-care places.  I could get it for you."  or "I bet if you ask around, you could find a home-care place.  I knew a lady who only took teacher's kids."

5. When you find out the regular old daycare center isn't a fancy special one, but just a Kindercare, make an "oh that's too bad" face or comment.

6. Offer platitudes about how it will all work out to try to make her feel better.



Okay, so, first, please note that most of my actual friends have not said these things to me, as they've been in the loop on the situation the entire time.  It's actually mostly been acquaintances and near-strangers who've commented.  And if you are my friend, and you have said something like #4, know that I know that you weren't trying to hurt my feelings; you were just trying to be helpful.

Perhaps the most fascinating thing I've discovered in the last week as I've prepared to go back for work is that somewhere over the course of the last several months, I have learned to believe that by sending my son to a daycare center, he's not in the best situation he can be in.  When people ask me "who is taking care of him?" I respond with "He's just at a daycare center."  Just?   No, not just.  It's a very nice facility, with a staff that seems lovely and well-trained and very caring so far. 

I shouldn't have to feel guilty for going back to work.  I'm not here just because we need the money, but because I love my job.  LOVE it.  Being a SAHM wouldn't work for me, although I admit that I could probably go part-time if the finances allowed. 

I shouldn't have to feel guilty for putting him in a daycare center.  I asked around.  I put out feelers for a home-care situation.  Nobody I knew was able to recommend someone to me, and I just wasn't comfortable finding a place online, regardless of how well it was rated.  So I visited a few centers near school and home, and picked this one based on several factors.  It's not just a daycare center.  I'm not going to let myself say that anymore.

The reality is, I'm a full-time working mom.  I love my job, and I love my son.  I love my son more than I love my job.  I wasn't going to put him somewhere that wasn't good for him.  We'll see how this goes, and if doesn't work out, I'll find somewhere else.  But for now, I'm happy with it.  He's doing okay, he's getting adjusted.  And I don't want to feel badly about my choice.

I guess I'm saying that it's really not all the fault of the people who've made those faces and comments, because I've set them up to say them by saying he's just at daycare.  I've believed that family or friends or home-care is best, too, and I've felt guilty.

But I'm done with that, okay?

From now on, here's what I'm going to say:  "Will's at a daycare center really close to our house.  So far, the staff seems really lovely.  I really like the directors, and the lady who is with him most of the day is this Bosnian-grandmother type who clearly loves babies and wants to take really good care of him.  He's only been there a few days, but he seems to be adjusting pretty well - I think he really likes watching the other babies and can't wait to be able to sit up on his own and play, too."

So that's that.

The One Where I Talk About Being a Mom....Again

Had to share this picture.  How that's comfortable for a nap, I have no idea, but he sure was sleeping soundly.

One of my recent Facebook status' read thus:

"1. I feel like my son is huge! He's grown so much already. I know, I know, you'll all say it just keeps going faster!

2. I wonder if I'll have a status update that doesn't involve something Mommy-related any time soon?"

After all the comments about how my status' would all be Mommy-related, I made sure to post this one:

"Cleaned the bathroom, made the bed, took a shower, went to the library, AND am doing a little online grading today. Is it prideful to be impressed with myself?"

Of course, if we're being honest here, well, it's only impressive that I did all those things today because  I'm the mommy of a 5-week old baby. 

See, what I'm realizing is that I've entered the next phase of my life, Motherhood, where everything is different than it was before.   Everything comes back to being a mom, it seems.  I want to be a better blogger (for various reasons) and have one of those blogs that is a fun mix of who I am - stories about things that happened, ways God is teaching me, random posts about clothes and decor and fun things- but all I can come up with these days seems to be Mommy-things.  (Of course, finding time to blog is also challenging.  Typing with a baby in your arms is a skill I have not yet mastered.) 

It's the same when I Skype with my bestest friend Brooke, who is currently living in Korea.  She gets to tell me all sorts of her adventures about people and places.  What do I do all day?  Hold the baby, change the baby's diaper, feed the baby, comfort the  baby, play with the baby.  Repeat.  "Today he spit up five times!"  Not exactly newsworthy, folks.

But it's who I am, now.  In an instant (okay, after 9 months of pregnancy and 10 hours of labor), I am a mom.  I can't just run to the store if I need something - I have to load up Will.  Go to a movie?  Haven't figured out how to do that yet.  Want to read others' blog posts?  That's not usually the most important use of his naptime. 

When it's time to go back to school in the fall, I'm not going to want to stay there late, I'm going to want to go pick up my little boy and spend the evening with him.  Nor will I want to grade papers, I imagine.  Sick days (which I never take) will now be taken when I need to be home with a little guy who isn't feeling so well.  I'll be thinking about those big blue (or whatever color they turn out to be) eyes all day, and waiting to see that sweet little smile.

I'll be (I already am) a little more of a worrier than I've ever been before, because I'm responsible for him, for his health, his well-being, his spiritual development, his education.  I care about school districts and safety and college funds.  I'll do price comparisons on baby items and do research about what products are best.  I'll think about making my own baby food to save money.  I read to him already, whatever I'm reading, and soon we'll start with books of his own.  I'll speak Spanish to him so he can learn it early, and leave the English for when we're with his daddy.  We'll do a baby dedication at church, and I will continue praying and praying for him, every day.

I've always been a daughter - to my parents, for 30 years.  To my Father, a few less.  A reader for 25 years, a student my whole life.  A big sister for 24 years. A jogger for 13 years, a coffee drinker for 15. A wife for nearly 4.  A Spanish-speaker for 16 years, a teacher for 8. These are the roles I play, among others. 

But now, well, now I've added a new role, and I'm pretty sure it's one of the important roles I'll ever have.  It's a nerve-wracking, joy-filling, fear-creating, awe-inspiring role.  Being a mom is forever.  I'll be his mom when he gets his first tooth, on his first day of school, at his high school graduation.  When my son is grown and having his own children, I'll still be his mother.  I'll be his mother until the day I die.

So I guess it's okay if that's all I have to talk about these days, because it's kind of a big deal, you know.  Someday (and maybe sooner than later), I'll blog about something else, but for now, this is where I'm at, spending most of my time learning how to be the best mommy I can be to my sweet Peanut.

I'm a diaper-changer, a colic-comforter, a tear-drier, a rock-as-we-walk-er, a cozy-cuddler, a sit-and-stare-er, a baby-talking Spanish-speaker, a play-whenever-he's-awake-er, a 24-hour-a-day-diner.

I'm a mom.

Midweek Confessions: On Being a Mom for the First Week

This is THE perfect Wednesday for me to join in with Midweek Confessions again.  I mean, it, perfect.  For I have lots to confess, what with being a mom for a grand total of less than two weeks.  Those of you more experienced moms who might stumble upon this, well, advice given with good intention is welcome, I think.

- I just let my 11 day old son sit in his car seat on the kitchen counter and scream for minutes before going and picking him up.  I'd put him in there because I don't have a sling or any other place to put him on our main floor yet and I needed to fix myself something to eat.  I left him there because he started to fall asleep, and we're struggling with sleeping anywhere but in someone's arms.  Rather than take him to his crib, which would totally disturb him and the screaming would begin, I left him there.  It worked for about 5 minutes.  Then the whimper.  "Maybe he'll self-soothe.  We need to not pick him up at the first sign of a cry," I thought.  Then the slightly more persistent cry.  "No, he still might go back to sleep.  Just wait.  Get the computer out, I want to blog."  The soft wail.  "I'm ignoring you - I think you might still make it, although probably not."  Finally, the scream.  "Well, maybe he'll get tired of that and go back to sleep."  Ummm.  Nope.  Pick him up - and the crying instantly stops.  He must have tired himself out, though, because I have him sitting in the boppy on the couch next to me, and he's sleeping there.

- He looks adorable, sleeping there.  I almost forget he's been screaming.  Almost.

- I may have let him sleep in the boppy in the bed last night with us.  All night.  Yup, I might have.  See, we have a pack and play in our room that has this nice little newborn bassinet attachment.  Up until two nights ago, this was working out great.  We would get up, eat, walk or rock for a minute, and go back to sleep.  He went from waking up once between feedings to sleeping from one to the next.  He went from needing a 10 minute rock and walk to a 3 or 4 minute one, and sometimes less.  Sunday night, though, it started to change.  He slept great between feedings, but he took a long time to fall alseep again.  Monday night, the same thing, but worse.  Lay him down, a whimper, a cry, a wail, a scream.  I took to sleeping with my head at the end of the bed so I could try rubbing his belly and shushing without picking him up.  Failure.  Last night, Husband had him asleep in his arms for an hour so I could get some rest, and the moment he put him down, straight to the scream.  I tried for another hour. And then I quit.  I put the boppy in the middle of the bed, and slept with my arm under him as if I were still holding him.  And we stayed that way the rest of the night.  I didn't even bother trying again.

- I put him in the bouncer outside the shower this morning so I could take one.  It gave him hiccups and he couldn't get rid of them the entire time he was in there.

- I've cried nearly every day at least a little.  Sometimes out of tiredness (that was big at the beginning of the experience), sometimes out of frustration (not usually at him, but at others), sometimes out of sadness when he's crying so hard, sometimes from being overwhelmed as I look at his sweet face and feel the heaviness and joy of responsibility for his life.

- Poor little baby has gas a lot and I can't figure out if it's something I'm eating or if it's a phase he's going through.  I hate to use the word "colic," because I think we jump there too fast with babies.  But he definitely has gas and it definitely bothers him.  And I want to make it all better and haven't the foggiest how, but am working on it.

- On a more positive note, I just want to kiss his sweet little cheeks all the time.  I love it when he looks up at me with his big currently-dark blue eyes and his mouth forms a perfect little "o," as he takes it all in.  I love snuggling and rocking and cuddling with him, and could stare at him for hours.  I climbed in the backseat the other day while Husband ran into the store for something and just put my head on his carseat, watching him sleep.  I'm in awe of how powerful his tiny little grip is and how forcefully his little legs can kick.  I want him to be healthy and happy and safe, and I've never felt more strongly about making that happen for anyone than I do for him.  I've said all along, I'm not a mushy person, and I mean it, but this little man, the Peanut, is about as close as I can get.   But it's not just mushy love and adoration of him.  There's a fierceness I feel, a protectiveness. 

Welcome to motherhood, you might say.  A plethora of emotions, roles, and experiences.

Thoughts on Impending Motherhood

It's been a little over a week since I last blogged - not because I haven't had posts ready mentally, but because the speed of life has been picking up and most minutes have been full.  Hopefully I will have time to do a "check-in" post tomorrow, but this post has been on my heart (and in my journal) for over a week now, so it comes first.

As of today, we have 71 days until our due date.  It was more the other week when I originally journaled this, but as of today, 71 days.  I realize it could be more, could be less, but still, 71 days.  Motherhood is impending.  Speedily.  

Read along with me.


It hit me (the other) night in the shower.  I was thinking how odd it is being a giant, pale hippopotamus is considered beautiful.  (Clarification - I do understand that the miracle of creating life, of pregnancy, is beautiful.  It's just the giant hippo part I think is a little weird.)  And it just hit me.

There is an actual small child inside of me, but he will be in our house before we know it.

And we'll be responsible for him.  And I'll be his mom.  How do you be a mom to a boy and acheive the same type of relationship I have with my mom?  Is that even possible?

A slight panic ensued - literally.  I stood frozen for a moment, on the verge of tears, unable to breathe.

This is REAL.  And VERY big.  (And I'm not just referring to my belly.)

I'm not ready.  Tears prick again as I write this.  I haven't read any books yet.  I haven't been seeking enough advice on what to do.  Most of all, it's nearly impossible to actually imagine him here.  Vague, blurry glimpses I can create, bu tthe real thing?

The overwhelming realization that this baby is real and will change my life entirely stops me in my tracks. 

Am I excited?  People may think I'm not, because I don't gush and offer up mushy detatils about loving pregnancy and nursery colors.  I'm more likely to, when asked, "how are you feeling?" respond with "fat" and a laugh.  Don't get me wrong - I may not love pregnancy, but I'm a pretty big fan of feeling my son kick and move and wiggle - it's my favorite.  But to be truthful, I'm not sure I could describe the word excited to describe what I'm feeling right now.  Excited is what I am for Christmas lights, seeing a new Harry Potter movie, eating Cadbury Mini Eggs, or drinking a Gingerbread Latte.  This is way beyond that.  I want to be a mom, and I know the moment I hold my son in my arms that I will be overwhelmed with love.

But excited isn't the right word.  This is deeper, more serious.  I cannot help but think about the weight of this change.  The responsibility.  The committment to raising him to be a Godly man. The tears I know I'll shed because I've watched my mom shed them for me. 

I guess I've been being an ostrich, still.  That I've not allowed myself to feel too much joy in anticipation or too much of the weight of how big of a deal being a mom actually is.  It would be so much easier to go back to just doing the "preparing to leave" stuff mentally and emotionally, but I know that (and I want to) need to embrace these deeper, more complex, more heart-stirring and heart-warming and terrifying realities, too. 

That there is great JOY in this experience.  And that there is great responsibility.

Perhaps, for the first time, I catch a tiny glimpse into Mary's heart.

Lord, God, Father, Spirit.  You are unfathomable in your complexity.  Your ways are higher than mine, and your plans infinitely better.  You have been weaving  this child in my womb, and You know every detail about him, just as You know me.  You have made me the way I am - do not let others make me feel guilty about not being gushy enough, or about being too "honest." 

Instead, Lord, walk with me into a joyful anticipation of this, knowing that You have placed a great responsibility on me, but also that You are with me and that Your plans are perfect. 

Teach me to focus on the Joyful pieces for these last many weeks - to claim for my own the depth of understanding of love and joy and incredulity at this life You are creating.  Let me become a woman who becomes a mother in love with her God first, transformed by Him in every way, so that I might have my eyes focused on You as I raise my son, that You will be whom I seek, and that I will heed you in all I do for and with my child.  Let me remember that You are Lord, and that no work of my own will cause this child to grow up into a good, strong man.  I, like I cannot change my husband, cannot force or will my son to be a certain way.  Instead, I must consistently and ferverently seek You in all I do, entrusting him to Your care, believing that You guide and lead me each step of the way.

Create JOY in me, oh God, and please, keep reminding me of Your truths and promises.

Amen.

Just last night we were talking paint colors and making final choices.  We had the nursery set we bought out and were trying to envision colors and layout and other decor, and again, it was just this powerful moment of realization.  I finally started reading a book someone gave me (I'm not placing too much stock in any book, but I wanted to do some reading), and as the author wrote about how we should talk with our babies, and call them by name, from the beginning, I told Husband that I am hesitant to call the Peanut by name now, because that's really real, too.  And part of me is still afraid, I think. 

Either way, I want to accept the responsibility, but focus on choosing the Joy.

30 Thankful Days: Day 27

Coming into the last few days with Dawn at Dawn's Good Life, where we've been counting our way thankfully through the month of November.  Join us for the last few days!

Thankful Thing #26
A Clothes Dryer

Sometime at the beginning of the summer, our clothes dryer stopped working.  It would run and run and run, but never get hot.  We were busy, broke, and I didn't mind channeling my inner-Spaniard and line-drying all our clothes, so for whatever reason, we didn't look into fixing it.  We figured it would take more money to repair than would be worth it, so we would save for a new one. 

I washed everything in small-ish loads.  We hung things on the door, the furnace, the water heater, the clothes horse, and everywhere else possible in the laundry room.  I bought fabric softener (a first) to attempt to de-crunch our towels.  Laundry couldn't be done in a day, because I had to wait for things to air-dry before I washed the next load.  Thus, it usually took two or three days to finish, and then only if I were really diligent and washed the first load early in the morning and hung it right up.

I did this every week, all summer.  And didn't mind. 

Then school started.  And I started to mind, a little.  I was more busy, and it was more challenging to get the clothes done in a reasonable amount of time.    And then I started to mind a lot.

A few weeks ago, I declared I was finished.  I wanted a dryer, and I didn't care if we bought it for cheap off Craig's List.  Never mind brand new, just let me be able to do everything in a day.  Let the crunchiness of my clothes go away.  Let me be able to wash my quilts.

Husband started emailing people on Craig's List, and then suddenly he had a brilliant thought.  If it were just the heating element that were broken, he might be able to replace it himself.  On Wednesday, he drove the part down to an appliance repair store, where they confirmed it's brokenness.  He purchased a new one (for a fraction of the cost of a dryer!), installed it, and gave it a test run.  It worked!

But I didn't believe it until I tried it.....

And it works!  I've now washed and DRIED both the comforter that has been on our bed all fall AND the comforter that Ginny adopted as her "bed" a while ago.  Hers was REALLY dirty.  And now, it's fresh, clean, and DRY.

So excited to do laundry.

At least, for today.

Thankful Thing #27:
My Mom.

My mom is amazing.

Seriously, amazing.  I couldn't even begin to explain how amazing she is, and I'm not even really going to try today.  I'm just going to tell you about the way she helped me today.

We all agreed it's time I start to wear maternity clothes.  I'm getting quite the belly, and things are not starting to fit right.  Someone told me to go to Old Navy, because they have cute maternity clothes.  We went.  They don't anymore (not in stores).  I cried. 

Perhaps my tears were Mom's first clue that I'm a bit "crazy" about this whole what-I-look-like thing, so she decided we absolutely needed to get me clothes that I would feel good in, and we headed to JC Penney.  You know, thinking that it, as a large but reasonably priced department store, would have some cute maternity clothes, right?

Wrong. 

Their selection was slim.  Frumpy.  Not my style.  But she helped me pick out a few things and I went to try them on.

And I cried.  (Umm, yes, my hormones might have been being a bit out of sorts today).

I felt fat. And I have a confession.

I do not think pregnant women are cute. 

I mean, there are some that are more cute than others, but I still don't think they're cute. 

Thus, I'm not cute.

Cue confession #2.

I have some body image issues.  I usually do really well with them.  God and my mom helped me work through the worst of them during college, and I rarely think about them or have them affect me.  But now I'm pregnant, and gaining weight, and getting quite the belly. 

And something about trying on maternity clothes just made me feel fat.  And not cute.  And I cried.  (It was almost as bad as the time we went bathing suit shopping after eating at Outback.)

But Mom kept affirming me and telling me I needed to get some pieces that I could feel good in.  And so, even though she has tons to do to get ready for school this week (she's a choir teacher who has a concert on Friday), she took me to Target to find a few more things so I could have some mix-and-match outfits.  She scoured their also very small maternity section and kept bringing me pieces she thought I might like, kept affirming me, and kept telling me what worked and didn't.    I didn't cry at Target, but the tears were just there, lurking behind my eyes.

Several outfit combos later and a fair amount of money, we were done.  We have some things I think I actually like, and some things I think will grow on me (no pun intended, lol).  On our way out of the store, Mom bought me a Decaf Gingerbread Latte to take home with me, because she knew that I needed that, too.  A little bit of my always-happy drink makes things much better, and she wanted me to feel better.

And I do, a little.  I'm tired.  It's draining, feeling fat and ugly and crying in department store fitting rooms.

But I feel really glad, and extremely thankful, for a mom who gets me, gets what I need, and still, even after all this time, does what it takes to take care of me.

All I can say is, it's a good thing this little boy is going to have her for a grandma.  He's spoiled.


Note.  I am not even beginning to do justice to this post, to the emotion of the shopping trip, or to the absolute heart and amazingness of my mom, but I'm tired.  And emotional.   But I wanted to acknolwedge how much I love my mom and how thankful I am for her, so I'm writing anyway.