More on Vacations: I’m Just Not That Into You.

Good grief I’m a whiner.

Just getting that all out made me feel a THOUSAND percent better.

In general I like my inlaws. And my SIL.

I think really what it boils down to is that I’m tired and stressed and really wanting something for ME.

Selfish. I know.

But I have a plan. If Baby O wakes me up early like I think he will? I will nap when he does.

I will take advantage of the built-in babysitting and make J take me out.

I’ll negotiate with J so that I can get out for a run EVERY DAY (bliss!).

I’m going to drink wine.

I’m going to enjoy the fact that I have family I love. Who maybe isn’t perfect. But they’re my family. And I’m lucky to have them.

I’m going to watch D and Baby O play, and giggle, and enjoy the fact that they’re close enough in age to play together.

I’m going to watch Baby O interact with his grandparents for a whole week.

I’m going to spend the longest amount of un-interrupted time with Baby O since September of last year. Where he’s walking, and learning new words, and playing in the sand.

And I’m going to realize that it ALWAYS goes better than I anticipate.

Thanks again for listening and supporting me, despite the selfishness of my last post.

Because I really am very lucky, and I need to remind myself of that. Often.

I’ll catch you all next week.

Vacation: I’m Just Not That Into You.

I have been drafting rants for the past week now and not hitting publish.

But today I just need to get this out.

So feel free to click away if you want; I promise I won’t be offended.

See. I’m tired, and stressed out, and need a REAL vacation.

Like where I can sleep in because I don’t need to get up earlier than Baby O to do a bunch of things before he wakes up. Like where I can take a nap when he does. Like where I spend the days outside in the sun with Baby O and J without having to worry about being “on.”

I need a real BREAK.

Instead we’re going next week up to a lake in New Hampshire. With my in-laws; including my SIL, BIL, and nephew.

Where we rented a house this year smaller than last year’s because at the end of LAST year’s vacation my SIL K told us that she didn’t want to make plans for this year. So we didn’t think said SIL would want to come. But of COURSE she’s going to be there. Because it’s free.

But hey! She’s “not there for the whole week” – just Sunday through Friday. (We have the rental Saturday to Saturday.)

And my FIL and J will go fishing every morning.

And Baby O will have to bunk with us, instead of having his own room. And he will wake up when J leaves to go fishing in the morning. And then will want milk/to hang out/get out of the pack and play. So I won’t get any sleep either.

And since it’s been fucking RAINING FOR WEEKS here in New England, we’ll likely be confined to the house all fucking day. Because the forecast for next week is much of the same of the past six. Showers, thunderstorms, clouds.

AWESOME.

And I’ll have to ignore the fact that my SIL makes EVERYTHING about HER kid, by showing off his “skills.” As in, “D, can you say ‘hockey?’” or “D, can you say [insert word here].”

And so I’ll have to ignore that I feel like it’s a challenge to counter with Baby O’s skills. Because I don’t want to get sucked into that sort of fucking mommy competition. But if I don’t then I feel like Baby O is being ignored. And that makes me angry and wanting him to get some of the spotlight too.

And she’ll mostly ignore me and talk to her own mom, and I’ll feel like the third fucking wheel. So instead I’ll take care of Baby O and pretend like I’m too busy with him to talk anyway.

And J will come back from fishing at 9am and spend the next hour cleaning the damn nasty fish because he does that best. And the guys will then want breakfast, so we’ll spend the next hour making them fucking breakfast because that’s what the women do. Cook when the men come back from fishing.

And so the whole week will be about biting my tongue, and being nice, and taking care of everyone else. And feeling like the only reason I’m there in the first place is to take care of the baby while everyone gets THEIR family vacation.

And I’m bitter, and I’m tired, and I don’t want to go.

And J and I are having relationship issues, where we haven’t really CONNECTED in weeks, where we don’t talk anymore, where our evenings are relegated to watching TV after we do all the chores.

And what I think we REALLY need is a vacation just the three of us. Where we don’t have a TV, or a Wii, or a computer. Where we can spend the days together just the three of us. Where Baby O goes to bed in his own ROOM and J and I get to TALK. Or play cards.

That’s what *I* want. But we’re not going to get it.

And so.

I’m going to suck it up, and find happiness in the fact that Baby O will spend a week with his cousin and grandparents.

And watch him and D play, and look forward to the time where they can bunk together, and play together, and I won’t have to be ON as much. Where I won’t feel drained, and depleted, and desperately needing something for ME.

Wordless Wednesday: Him and me. And no one else.

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Some cheese with that whine, perhaps?

At some point during my life, my mother*, when I had exasperated her to the point of exhaustion, said to me:

“I hope that when you have kids they’re just like you.”

When I was pregnant with Baby O, and wondering what sort of personality he’d have, I often thought to that comment.

Because a kid like me?

I could totally handle. I’m self aware enough to know what would have worked for me, parenting-wise anyway.

Like, for example. Standing in a corner? Was the worst punishment. EVER.

Being “grounded?” Not so much.

But see, now.

Baby O?

Well, let’s just say he’s not even close to the personality I had as a baby and a toddler.

He’s more sensitive. Less likely to stray too far away from J or I. Much more reserved in social situations than I EVER was.

And good LORD THE WHINING.

That’s his new thing. He doesn’t have the words yet to TELL me what he wants.

And so instead, he fusses. He whimpers. He cries. And in dire circumstances, he will arch back and very carefully lay down on the floor, so as not to hit his head. And look at me and cry. Fake crying, of course. At least, until he convinces himself that yes, he’s really upset. And then the tears come, and I have to spend time consoling him, when really I want to say “good GRIEF, KID! SUCK IT UP!”

I love my son. I really do. But as soon as he starts in on the whining, I have to mentally count back from 10 and focus on breathing.

But see, now Baby O really IS sensitive, so I have to be VERY careful in how I respond.

The ONE time I yelled?

I made him cry. And cry. And cry. And of course I felt like shit. All day.

So managing my OWN emotions when it comes to this toddlerhood thing is tantamount. Because I do NOT want to be the mom that yells. For many reasons but mostly that I don’t want my kid to be afraid of me. Or my reactions.

But I confess that it takes ALL of my energy these days. Not to react when he spends HOURS whining. Trying to put myself in his shoes to understand what he wants from his perspective.

To get past the whining.

So Mom? Having a kid like me might have actually been EASIER than the parenting the kid I’ve got.

*Speaking of my parents, my father was offered and accepted a job. In Texas. Not New Hampshire. I can’t say I wasn’t disappointed that they’re moving even further away than they live now. But I’m also happy that my dad has a job. It’s been a long nine months for them.

Luck.

I usually do my Thursday morning run in the early morning, at home, instead of at the gym. Because running outside is much different than running a treadmill.

At the end of my runs, I go inside to stretch and cool down.

I listen to my iPod the whole time. And there’s this one song that plays at the end of my stretch.

Whenever I listen to this song, it takes me back to a T ride I had. After a failed IVF and two failed FETs. After two surgeries. Where Dr. HIT and I met discuss the results of the second surgery. The septum. The removal of said septum. Our chances of an IVF cycle working after that.

Where, at the end of our meeting, he said in his booming voice and a smile: “let’s get you PREGNANT!”

I remember sitting on that train, heading back to my office and feeling such a sense of POSSIBILITY. That mix of hope and fear, and the decision that I was just going to let it all go and throw our chances out to the universe.

And listening to this song today, stretching in my living room, I look up and see my son’s toys strewn about our living room.

I am so lucky.

Understanding.

For so many years, I held such ANGER at my parents over my upbringing. Over how they tried to control me. Over the yelling, the hitting, the anger in our house. Over the fact that I never really ever felt LOVED by them when I was a kid.

And in every one of my dreams which featured them, I was yelling at my mother. I never wanted to call them. I would get stressed out before a visit with them.

And no matter HOW much I intellectualized that they were young, they were poor, they had three kids, it was the seventies, etc – I just couldn’t let it go.

So ultimately, the reason why we’ve gotten along as well as we do has always been because we live multiple states away from them.

But then I had Baby O, and my parents came to visit for two weeks. And my mom cleaned my house, and she was there when Baby O spit up (what seemed to be the contents of his stomach at the time) for the first time, and she held him and told me to take a nap.

And surprisingly, she didn’t drive me crazy. In fact, when they LEFT, I felt sort of sad.

And then when he turned one, they came up for a week again. And they kept Baby O home with them, and took care of him overnight while J and I got away, and lived with us for a week.

And again, it was NICE to have them here.

I’ve found myself wishing that they were closer so that they could see Baby O more. Because my parents totally ROCK the grandparent thing. Because I remember how often my own grandparents came to see us – we saw them once a week, at least.

Because I can tell my mom adores Baby O and wants to spend more time with him.

So on Father’s Day, my father casually mentioned that he had a phone interview with a hiring manager for a job at a company in New Hampshire.

Which would put them a half hour away from where we live.

He’s been out of work for 9 months now. Until an offer’s in his hand, I’m not sure he’ll get excited about anything. But at the same time, I found myself thinking:

That would be pretty cool.

To have them living close by.

It’s funny. As Baby O grows and the months slip by, I think I’m starting to understand them better.

Because it’s HARD being a parent. It’s physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausting. There are SO MANY nights where when Baby O goes to bed, I want to join him.

But there are mounds of dishes and preparing lunch for the next day and cleaning up and paying bills and myriad other things which need to get done.

And we’re fortunate that we have someone actually clean our house for us. And I have a job which gives me adult interaction and intellectual stimulation for 40 hours a week. And we only have one child. Not three.

In being a parent myself, I’m starting to see. Their desire to control me was really borne of confusion. Because nothing they did, discipline-wise, worked – the more they tried to control me, the more rebellious I got. So they thought they needed to be stricter. They were TRYING to parent me, I just presented a huge challenge. And it WAS the 70s (well, the 80s when I was giving them trouble). No one READ books on parenting in those days.

They did they best they could. And they did care enough to TRY. Over and over and over and over.

And now that I’ve got Baby O, I am remembering more and more of the FUN we had. The trips to the playgrounds. That my dad built us a sandbox. The imagining my mom helped us do. (When we’d ask “What’s for dinner, mom?” She would say “Spider soup. With a nasty smelly sock to it for good measure!”) The food fights they used to have at dinnertime. Our yearly trips to Great Adventure and the beach.

So having Baby O has been catharsis for my relationship with my parents, too. Because I GET some of it. And though I work really hard at trying to make it so that Baby O will NEVER doubt my love for him, I know that my parents love me. And they always have.

Even if they weren’t so good at SHOWING it when I was growing up.

And so if they DO end up moving here?

I think it would be a pretty good thing.

Houses have lots of edges.

So Baby O is addicted to walking.

Because, really.

Why bother playing with a toy when you can walk in circles around the house?

Unfortunately he is still honing his mad walking skillz, so he lurches and weaves and looks a LITTLE like a sailor who is trying to get his land legs.

But we’re discovering the HARD way that our house has a LOT of edges. And hard places.

Like yesterday. He was walking into the dining room. And he tripped and fell MOUTH-FIRST onto the wood window seat. That hurt his mouth, of course, so he THREW himself back and smacked his head on the dining room leg.

I was a freaking STEP BEHIND him. I saw the whole thing happen.

Cue his silent scream, hand crammed into mouth. And as I picked him up, even I was thinking “OW OW OW OW!”

Luckily there was no blood. No broken teeth either, though I expect that was more from the fact that his top teeth are taking FOREVER to grow fully in. (A fact for which I thanked the Almighty Deity as Baby O sucked on a frozen teether a few minutes later.)

But holy SHIT this part of the walking thing is hard.

I want to hover, standing over him to make sure that at the FIRST sign of instability I’ll be able to catch him. But of course he won’t LEARN that way, to be careful of what his feet are doing.

I want for him to have confidence. And hovering? Won’t allow him to feel confident.

The other option is padding the HELL out of our house until he figures out this walking thing. But that’s not helpful either, because then he won’t learn to be aware of his environment, that there are things which can HURT him.

About the only way he can learn that is by getting HURT.

So all I can do is stay a step behind and keep an eagle eye on him.

And hope that he won’t get hurt too badly when he does fall.

And keep telling myself that the best thing I can do for him is to let him experience his world on his own.

Without padding.

But yeah. This part is tough.

Updates (or: Lack of a Witty Title.)

First of all.

I’d like to go on record and state that I firmly believe that unless you’re actively trying for children, you should get a break from AF.

I’m just saying.

_______________

So. The updates. In bullets, since lately this is how I think:

• After reading your comments on my Zen post and the lack of sleeping through the night in the Serenity house, we bit the bullet and decided that Baby O will no longer get liquid overnight.  I didn’t want to confuse him with the water, when really what I want is for him to sleep through the night. The first night went okay – he woke up, but he wasn’t unhappy. He was awake and kept himself occupied in his crib from 4-4:45 or so. I did only go in once, and that was to tuck him back in and tell him “It’s time for sleeping.” Eventually he put himself back to sleep without issue. Last night went even better – he slept through from when J put him to bed at 7 until about 6am.

  We’re going to keep it up; because I really do think that this is important. But so far the results have been encouraging.

• The transition from the infant to toddler room is progressing. The first morning Baby O went for his visit was a bit rough. He clung to his favorite teacher, barely ate any snack, and completely lost it when one of the other toddlers in the room touched him on the shoulder. And because of that, yesterday morning’s dropoff went very poorly – he was very clingy and thin-skinned. I ended up having to leave him with a chipper “Have a great day! I love you!” while he sobbed as if his heart was breaking. It was horrible.But thanks to my friend D, who suggested I call and check in on him, I checked in mid-morning, and he was having a really good visit in the toddler room. From everything they’ve told me, he’s really interested in the room and toys itself, but isn’t too keen on the other kids yet. But yesterday he joined them at snacktime, sat at the table and ate his strawberries, then stayed for their outside play. He played in the sandbox of course. And by the end of the visit, the report was that he seemed a lot more comfortable. Which is good. Very good.

  Still, though, we’re bracing ourselves for some rough dropoffs in the mornings in the near term.

• My friend’s daughter at Children’s is doing MUCH better, from all I keep hearing from other folks. She’s still got a long road ahead of her, but for the moment she’s out of the woods and progressing well. Which is AWESOME.

So no complaints here.

Today at least.

Wordless Wednesday: Fun in the Sandbox.

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Zen. (Not so much, then.)

I never should have posted about the lack of night waking after Baby O walked that first day.

And yes. I know I said I was all Zen about Baby O’s night wakings.

Because I thought they were transition related. You know, big milestone like walking means night wakings.

Because when I look at it from his perspective, it makes sense. Because I hate the idea that *I* get to drink something when I’m thirsty, or get another blanket to get warm, when Baby O is essentially depending on US to do so.

Because he USED to go right back to sleep, with minimal intervention from us.

But people. I’m DONE with waking up in the middle of the night.

For the past TWO nights now, he’s woken up at 3:30. And here’s been our routine:

3:30am – go into his room at the fourth or fifth yell (because he doesn’t really cry. He yells “AH!” briefly. It’s like he’s calling “MA!” or something) to find him sitting up. Reposition him on his back. Cover him with blanket, give him bear, search the crib with bleary eyes to find lost pacifier. Rub belly/back/legs in the hopes that he’ll go right back down. Knowing that it’s probably a fruitless endeavor, but we need to try, anyway.

3:35am – leave room, tell J to go get sippy from downstairs. Go into bathroom. Pee. Put drops in eyes so that I can open them fully. Go back into his room. Take crying, fussing toddler out of crib and whisper that dada’s getting him some milk.

3:37am – sit on rocker while he gulps sippy. Shift weight because the damn thing won’t stop creaking. Spread blanket over baby and my own legs so I don’t get too cold.

3:45am – put wide awake baby back into crib, walk downstairs to put sippy away, go back to bed and try to ignore the sounds eminating from the monitor.

3:53am – go into his room to find him sitting up yet again. Reposition him on his back. Cover him with blanket, give him bear and pacifier. Tell him “it’s time for sleeping.” Rub belly/back/legs in the hopes that he’ll go right back down. Know that it’s probably futile because he’s kicking and bucking, wide awake.

3:54 am – leave his room, listen to him cry. And cry. And cry. And WAIL.

3:56 am – go back into his room, where he is now STANDING, looking at the door, crying. Pick him up. Sit on creaky fucking rocker, cover him and me with the blanket, and rock him until he calms down and zones a bit.

4:05am – put him into crib, where he thankfully lays there calmly. Tell him, “it’s time for sleeping.” Shut door, go back to room, turn of the fucking monitor. Ignore the sounds from the next room for the next half hour.

Lay there and pretend to sleep. Try not to move to wake J, who remarkably seems to be very much asleep. Stare at the clock for the next HOUR until it rings and I can get up and end the torment.

So this morning I announced to J and Baby O that there will be some changes to our overnight routine.

• There will be no more milk. Baby O now will get a sippy of water, which we’ll put in his room every night before we go to bed. That way J doesn’t need to get milk and I don’t need to put it back in the refrigerator. And Baby O will learn that milk no longer is served when it’s dark out.

• We will give him the water, put him back into bed, and leave. We will turn off the monitor. He can play on his own, if he wants, but J or I will no longer get involved with the rocking and the trying to put him back to bed.

• The rocking chair will get some WD-40.

• Baby O will be woken up at 7:15am every day. There wil be no “sleeping in” if he is up for an hour overnight. If we need to put him to bed early the following night because he’s sleep deprived from the prior night? Then we will do so, no questions asked. But there will be no sleeping until 8am to “catch up” from last night’s party.

I mean, really. I’m trying to be REASONABLE here. But I have to say that I believe that fifteen months is old enough to sleep through the freaking night. And as much as I want to be reasonable, and look at it from his perspective, I don’t think it’s too much to ask that *I* get a decent night’s sleep too.

And I don’t care if I sound selfish, either. I’m DONE with being up in the middle of the night. It’s been 15 months. And I can count on maybe two HANDS the number of nights where I haven’t had to get up once with him.

So. Zen? Not so much.

Let’s hope this helps.