It's just one day......

Well that was fun. Not. My ILs left a few hours ago to return to their home an hour away. Thank goodness for that hour. My ILs are nice people--really. They just have an issue or six. We see them 1-2 times a month, and that's plenty. My MIL spends literally all of her time when she's home watching tv, and her 'soapies' especially. The woman will watch one soap or show on one of the house's 5 tvs, and will be using all 5 of the VCRs to record other shows simultaneously. She has about 75 video cassettes with these taped shows that she hasn't even seen yet. She's the kind of person that ends every word with '-ie' because she thinks it's cute. Trust me, there's nothing 'cute' about a white-haired 50+ woman bouncing up and down like a toddler as she asks for 'huggie-buggies' when saying goodbye. She also likes to point out, 'doggies, kitties, horsies, buggies,' ad infinitam, and asks for things like, 'nummies' when referring to food or snacks. Um, what?

My 14 year old brother is staying with us since my parents are out of town, and he was watching a movie when the ILs arrived. He offered to turn it off so we could all visit, but MIL said no, she wanted to see it, too. She remained absolutely silent during every single commercial, but the minute the movie came back on, she chattered non-stop. She did this last time we were up there with "Dharma and Greg," too. Drives me bonkers. If she'd rather talk, I wish she'd say so, because as much as I'm used to multi-tasking, this is getting a bit ridiculous. It got to the point where I was glancing up from N's birthday invitations with an, "Mm-hm," in between sentences. My brother was staring intensely at the tv screen, and snarling his "uh-huhs". When C gets monosyllabic, you know he's irritated. She even went so far as to say at a climactic scene, "[FIL] is no fun to watch movies with. He never wants to talk during the movie. Never. You'd think for such a talker, he'd have no problem with it. I guess it's because he can't hear well, you know [I know. I know very well. Every conversation with FIL is punctuated by 'WHAT?' because the man won't change his damn hearing aid battery], and since he can't hear, he has to concentrate really hard on things. But I guess if I couldn't hear, I'd want to concentrate harder, too. Yeah, anyway, this movie is really good. I like it. Did you see it in the theater? We did. Twice. Owen Wilson is such a cutie. I think we've seen this one before [FIL] really likes it. He says it's good. That means he's gonna buy it. The man can never rent a movie, he always has to buy one. It would be better if he'd seen the movie before he buys it......." ad nauseam. At this point, I interject darkly, "Our family generally doesn't talk during movies either. We like to watch them." These lovely people are going to give me grey hair by the time I'm 30. Not just one or two, no way-the whole head-grey as a nasty little rain cloud. La-de-frickin'-da. They really are nice people though, and I'm grateful for everything they've given us and N, even if they get on my nerves sometimes (okay, most of the time).

This blog is where I get all of these negative emotions out. Under normal circumstances, I'm the picture of sweetness and light around the ILs.

Today was a bit rough. N is teething--his 1 year molars on the bottom have broken through, and to add insult to injury, he has the worst diaper rash his poor little bum's ever seen. He's been so tired, and frustrated and clingy, and I love him so much and it sucks so badly to see him hurt. His saliva has turned into acid, and it hurts to nurse him for more than a few minutes at a time on a side, and right now the Tylenol is only enough for a few minutes. He wants to nurse and nurse. Fortunately, he had a terrible nap earlier, and is now completely asleep in our bed with no fuss. I'm looking forward to crawling in next to him in a few minutes. I love snuggling with him, and I'm sure tomorrow will be better. Those teeth can't keep bugging him forever, can they? My N never does anything half-heartedly. He cuts teeth in sets. At the moment, he's cutting both of his bottom molars. So far, these are worse than the top 4 teeth, which he also cut within 2 days of each other. So add teeth, the stress of having my little brother who, while a wonderful kid generally, is really high strung and has some anger issues, staying with us, and the communication problems B and I have been having (more on those later), and I'm already pretty wound up. Throw one insipid MIL, and one gloaming, patronizing, so proud of his grandson he's bursting because he thinks he did all the work giving birth to the kid FIL, and I'm a little on edge. I'd tell MIL upfront that I'd like her to zip it when we're watching a movie that she says she wants to watch, but even said in the nicest way, I'd never hear the end of it--she'd be sooooo hurt and offended. Therefore B has to tell her. B won't though. B's being a jackball. But then again, I suppose I am, too.

Our communication is not flowing smoothly as it never has. LOL Some of it is him, some of it is me. For example, yesterday, we were supposed to take Little Brother (C) to his dogsitting job, and B kept telling me some weird plan for the day, that ended up with me not getting how N and I were going to end up with him and C at the restaurant. B ends up saying, "Since I said it in English four times, and you still didn't get it, I guess I'll have to use another language. @@" I snapped back at him, and we bitched at each other for a minute or two until we discovered that he responded that way because he thought I was being pissy with him, and we got stuck in a circle. This seems to be our biggest obstacle. He grew up with parents that picked at all of each other's little flaws, and saw nothing wrong with going for the jugular during an argument. I grew up with a pushover for a mom, but parents who almost always spoke to each other with respect, and would take it very seriously if someone were to use a condescending tone. It's been quite difficult for us to discuss things, because he's like his mother, who thinks that everyone else is saying that she's stupid, and is constantly worried that she's not good enough. If I don't get what he's saying right away, and I tell him so, I'm apparently saying he's stupid because he can't figure out how to talk to me. I didn't say that, or anything like it, I just said, "I'm not getting it, can you explain it a different way?" But noooooo. I obviously think he's dumb. @@

His other argument is that I always get everything my way. Not true. I just don't tell him when I'm giving up what I prefer for him. I don't want him to think he's guilted me or that I'm suffering because of his desire, so if something's not a big deal, I'll say, 'Yeah, that's okay,' or something non-committal so he doesn't feel bad. The problem is that he reads my non-committal as an enthusiastic okay. We need to work on that. Anyway, he says I always get my way, and I tell him that's because he always gives in. He's afraid I'll never stop arguing until we're done (not true, he's never pushed it beyond 5 minutes or so, except maybe with N's non-circumcision), and since he thinks our marriage is more important than him being right (how sweet :)), he thinks it's easier to let me have my way. I then inform him that he can't let me have my way and then turn around and bitch about it for months. If he gives in, he needs to let it go, or he needs to dig in and fight for it. His response? "Okay, then I'll never give in to anything again." DID I ASK YOU TO NEVER GIVE IN AGAIN?!?!?!? No. I simply asked that he dig in once in awhile on things that are really important to him. Everything is either all one way or all the other way. Hyperbole is his specialty. It drives me nuts. He does the same thing with the housework. I am not Martha frickin' Stewart. I'd like to be that organized, but I'm not. Get over it--he was well aware of the situation before we got married. I try to keep the house clean, and if I'm able to do a load of dishes, I'm thrilled, and he should be, too, or at least he should acknowledge it. But he'll say thanks for it that day, and then the next time I leave the dishes undone, I hear, "You never do the dishes, and you don't pay any attention to the things that are important to meeeeeeeee." The last part is said with a whine. A 27 year old man whining. Not a pretty picture. Let me get this straight. He accuses me of never getting anything done and not caring about his feeeeeeeelings, and he wants me to work harder on keeping the house clean? With that kind of reaction when I can't? Uh-uh. No siree, Bob. You wanna clean house? You're gonna thank me and remember it every dang time you come home to an empty sink. Hearing his normal reaction makes me want to not even try. I know it's important to him, but if he's not even going to notice when I make a valiant effort, then it's really not worth the hassle.

He feels like I really don't listen to him. He's probably right. The little things that he considers to be important (like a spotless kitchen), are not that important to me. I'd much rather spend an hour playing peek-a-boo with N than doing dishes, which are just going to get dirty again in an hour anyway. I should respect that an orderly house is something he needs to feel content, and I should do it more often, but I really lack the drive. The rooms he likes the cleanest are the ones that get the dirtiest, and are the hardest in which to supervise N while I'm cleaning. Still, maybe I am a selfish bastard (well, selfish anyway). He really needs to work on not being such an anal-retentive nitpicker, and speaking to people (namely me) in a pleasant, non-sarcastic tone of voice, and I really need to work on actually doing the things that he considers important. We've got some work to do...

A thought...

When we were at the arts festival a few weeks ago, an encounter with another mother got me thinking. She had her three kids with her. Her older boy was probably 4, his sister was almost three, and the baby had just turned 1. She looked harried, and asked, "Is this your first?" I answered in the affirmative and she said, "For heaven's sake stop there. It only gets worse." She didn't look at all like she was joking. I did a double take to make sure. Not a hint of a wink, smile, or anything that indicated she might have been just kidding. The kids weren't being horrible, just being kids (fidgeting in the stroller on a 90+ degree day--it was really humid, too). She just left me with the impression that she was not at all happy to be a mom that day. I'm sure there are days she feels otherwise, but it really really didn't feel like it. I hope I didn't come off as judging this mom, because that's not my intention. It just made me think.
I hope with everything in me that when I have a bad day with my kid(s), I can somehow manage to communicate that even when I'm at my worst, and my son, the object of my deepest affection, is driving me up a wall, that there's no way I'd trade being his mother for anything in the world.

Awwww

I'm so in love.

N has developed a sweet little habit when he wakes up from a nap. He nurses very strongly for a few minutes, then, just before he's finished, he pops off, looks up at me with is big gray eyes, and babbles to me. He grins as though he's just told me the best secret in the world, then buckles back down and nurses for a little longer. I love this baby.

My Weekend, Part 2

Read the other one first. It just seemed like a really huge post to do all at once.

First of all, I don't expect everywhere we go to be childproofed. I also don't expect other people to watch my kid for me. I do expect though that our parenting be respected, and that my ILs use the methods we do to instruct our child in the proper behavior, and that if we are at my ILs (N is their first grandchild), and I say, "Please remove your medications from the end table. That's just at N's height, and he will try to take them. I'd also remove anything you don't want him to play with. He's such an explorer right now." that they might move said medications from the end table, and remove the ceramic thingy that MIL has such an attachment to, or at least let me know that she's leaving it out. She says, "Oh it's fine, he can crawl all over, I'll keep an eye on him." So she follows him around for a bit, and when he crawls over to the end table and picks up the ceramic thingy, she goes over to him, and smacks at his hands to get him to drop it. She didn't smack hard (I probably would have smacked her if she had, out of N's line of sight, of course), but she was slapping at his hands. I was out of my seat (across the room) at the first one, and I took him out of her arms, and sat back down with him telling him that was not a toy for him and replacing it with one of his. And she wonders why we don't just run off and leave the baby with them. B wasn't in the room, but I made sure he heard about it that night. As a general rule, MIL is so sensitive that anything I might say that remotely suggests that she do things differently (such as a 'we don't do things that way') is met with near tears, total contrition, 8 million apologies, and constant references with plenty of overdramatic self-flagellation to said incident for the next month. Therefore, B's job is to inform MIL when something needs to be different. B has already informed MIL that this is not acceptable and that it will change. Now.

B has come to an understanding, too. N is 11 months old. He has hit a stage where he will reach out to go to someone, but if they get too close, he pushes them away. He likes to look at faces, not be in them. B was holding him and saying good night to MIL when N reached out for her. She got very close to his face and he pushed her back. The angle at which he was sitting caused it to seem like a hit. B tapped his hand (definitely not hard enough to make a sound), and said that wasn't nice. Argh! We decided long ago that this was not how we were going to train our babies to be gentle. The kid doesn't have the concept of gentle yet. We're working with him, but he doesn't get it quite yet. He will, but it's certainly not going to happen as a result of a hand-smack, regardless of how gentle it seems to be. So I took N and put him to bed. I went out and pulled B aside and explained said, "I thought we agreed that hand-slapping is inappropriate and not what we wanted to do to our children." B replied that yes, but it seemed ok in this case, and it was done now, and Oh Well. I was really fighting myself to not get screaming angry with him, but I stayed calm and said, "It seems to me that your reaction was inappropriate. We are trying to teach Ian that hitting and violence are NOT an okay way to solve problems. I don't think your reaction communicated that to him. I am of the opinion it would have been better if you'd taken his hand and showed him how to pat your mom gently. Your reaction did not sit well with me." B looked properly ashamed of himself, and said "Something to consider." He went over and kissed N extra gently before he went to bed himself, and based on his reaction, I feel pretty secure in my feeling he will not do it again.

My weekend...

Friday morning B and I woke up to the dogs barking. A lot. We keep N's blinds open in his room (where he has yet to spend one single night LOL), and B went in and saw someone pass the windows. We were getting ready to go out of town, so we went ahead and left anyway. B figured it was probably the meter-reader. I wonder how daft said meter-reader is to open our back gate with two dogs barking angrily at him. Shadow is a lab/retriever mix and Bear is a chow/retriever mix. Neither of them are particularly large, but both sound enormous when cheesed off. Thus, we have not one, but two, yes two Beware of Dog signs in obvious places, one of which is (gasp) the back gate. I mean, what would have happened if one of the dogs had attacked him? They're gentle in general, but also protective of us. What if he had maced my dogs? That would not be sitting at all well with me or B. We called the energy company and they confirmed that it was indeed a meter-reader. But still, I'd be really worried if it weren't. Gee whiz, I'd feel like anyone could just walk into our yard. Hopefully the dogs have more sense than that.

We spent our first evening out of town with my ILs. Nice people, but very set in their ways, and they think of me as the hippie freak who perverted their son. First, it was me planning to breastfeed, then it was me wanting to give birth at a birth center, then that changed to home, then it was me planning on breastfeeding past the first few weeks, then it was deciding not to circumcise N. That still hasn't gone over well, in spite of it being
a)not our penis
b)not medically indicated
c)not spiritually indicated
Apparently, our son will have locker room problems for the rest of his life, he will never find a girl to love him, and will have a hard time in general because God told Abraham to circumcise therefore we should all do it (keep in mind, my ILs seem to cling to that particular instruction and no other), and he will constantly have a nasty infection due to having all of that extra skin. Never mind that the circ'ed little boys in his playgroup have each had either an infection, or problems with the skin adhering.
That was a tangent, sorry. Being around the ILs for a weekend tends to bring out any and all frustration I have with unsolicited advice.
Anyway, we were at dinner, N got hungry, and I was preparing to nurse him when MIL asks when I'm going to wean him. I said, "I'll probably think about it around two, but we'll see when that birthday gets here. I'm pretty comfortable with child-led weaning, so it could be longer." I thought the woman's eyes were going to pop out of her head. She shouts, "TWO?!?!?!?" at the top of her lungs, and everyone in Applebee's seems to be immediately very interested in their dinners. B and I nod, and then she says, "And what led what?" B explains child-led weaning to her, and she just shakes her head and says that she thought I'd only do it for the first year, and rolls her eyes. So that was my fun until we got back to their place.

Ugh.

I am overwhelmed at the moment. N is asleep, and I must have sat there for 5 minutes just watching him breathe. My friend A lost one of her two month old twins to SIDS last month, and another mom I see on various message boards has just had to call hospice on her 7 week old. I can't imagine, and I don't want to. It's so, so hard. It seems like bad things are happening to babies all over the place, and if it can happen to these babies it can happen to mine. I know N's risk of SIDS is extremely low (large baby at birth, 10 months old now, singleton, etc), but fear is an irrational monster and it doesn't care who it gets to. I'm usually pretty good about being able to lay my fear and anxiety aside, but there are times, like today, that it bugs me. It bugs me a lot. N, my mom, dad, brother, and I are flying to Canada later this summer to see my grandparents. N is their first great-grandchild, and will very likely be the only one they see, as they are both well into their 80s, and quite frankly, old. So anyway, I'm usually nervous about flying, but this time even more so. It'll be the first time I've flown since 9/11. The last time I flew was the week before that, when I thought to myself (after watching some movie about Pan Am 103) while settling in, 'It's ok, no one hijacks American planes anyway.' Needless to say, my faith in my own powers of reassurance has been shaken pretty severely. We will also probably be flying on an 11th, and pardon me for being anxious, but with the news saying that a major attack is predicted this summer, and the 11th being a date 'they' seem to have a habit of picking to destroy things on (thinking of Spain here), it just makes me nervous and really insecure. Couple that with the fact that B has to stay here and work, and you've got one little ball of stress. So, if any of my travel psychic friends feel the need to reassure me, I'm willing to listen. LOL I guess since my own gut is so incredibly unreliable in regards to me and my safety, and I always have this impending sense of waiting for the other shoe to drop, that I'm extra anxious.
My dad, the psychologist says that anxiety is caused by 'what-if' thinking. He also said that anytime I've got a negative what-if thought (What if the plane gets blown up with me and N on it, and we never see my husband again?), I should think of two very positive what-ifs (What if it's the best flight I've ever been on? What if I really enjoy my trip?), to help cancel it out. I admit, it does help, but I'm still a worrywart.

Oh boy...

Apparently, I'm in for it. I went garage sale-ing today, and got 4 beautiful (and brand new) picture frames and 2 outfits (practically new) for N for ten bucks. I'm glad I found the frames because N knocked our only 8 x 10 off of the end table the other day and broke it. Needless to say, all picture frames now live on our mantle, safely out of reach of small destructo-monkeys. So anyway, I go into the garage to pay for all of this stuff, and the lady at the table starts making faces at N in his stroller, he smiled and made cute little flirty faces at her (the child is a shameless flirt-women love him, and men think he's a riot). She asked me if he was a good baby, and I told her that I think so. So then she starts shaking her head, and with a voice of deep sympathy informed me that that was a major characteristic of a strong-willed child. She said, shaking her head in despair, "My daughter was a good baby, too. But when she turned two years old, it was all strong will after that." I said something about how I was really glad that my son is strong willed (just like his dear old mum ), and that I thought it was a wonderful trait that will serve him well in life. She didn't seem to have a response to that, but that was okay because the wheels in my head had already started turning...
I want to know why it is that having a strong will is looked at as a bad thing, particularly among the Christian parenting community. I'm thrilled that my son knows what he wants and goes for it. How great is that? I am easily able to meet my son's needs because he communicates with me. He can't talk aside from consonant babbling, and he hasn't decided that nursing needs a name yet, although if you hear a 'Na na na na na na na NA!' issuing from the mouth of a small babe with clenched fists, you can be sure he's frustrated with something. I can tell right away if my baby is hungry, thirsty, tired, in need of amusement (apparently, his limit is playing for 3-4 hours by himself, after that, he wants my attention ), or just wants to be cuddled. Maybe that's not due to his being strong willed, but I still appreciate it just the same. :) I can say that I sincerely hope that his determination leads him one day to desire a strong relationship with God and to go for it with all that he is. I can't understand why anyone would think that the spirit of such a child should be broken in order to be molded into what someone else thinks is the ideal Christian. I know I'm being obtuse here, but give me a break. It's 3:30am, and I'm tired and want to get this done and get all of my thoughts out. I think it would have been far better for my parents to channel my drive and determination into something that would help me understand my faith and life, than to be so concerned that I be broken and easily compliant to their slightest command. Garage Sale Lady asked about what N was doing developmentally, and as he has just learned to wave bye-bye, I mentioned that. She tried to get him to do it, but N seems to only do it when he's ready for others to go bye-bye, and not on command. Same thing with kisses. I explained this to her, and got another sigh and comment about strong-willedness. Frankly, I like it that he waves when he's ready to do so, and not at the command of a stranger. I feel happy that he communicates that to me instead of having a meltdown (which even at 10 months, I can tell you, are quite impressive). I'm glad he doesn't give kisses to every old lady in the store that asks for them. I'd much rather he give his affection on his own terms. All said and done, I'm darn glad my kid has a mind of his own.

PS...Please remind me of this entry in 18 months when he tries to dress himself in navy pants and a bright green shirt with glow in the dark socks topped off with a Superman cape in bright red.

PS again...Please remind me again of this entry in 16 years when he wants to do weird things with his hair and dress oddly and do things that there's noooo way I would have wanted to do when I was his age.

Sigh...

Why is it that when people hear I've had a homebirth, do their eyes get so big, and they say in a stage whisper, "But--what if something goes WRONG?!"

I certainly do not suggest that all women should birth at home. Just those low-risk that remain so the entire pregnancy, and that want to. Women who homebirth are *usually* extremely well-educated on how birth works and what normal is. Based on some of the attitudes and questions I've been faced with IRL, they've implied that the thought is that if something does go wrong, the baby and mother are SOL. We're not. The overwhelming majority of labor complications are going to have warning signs (thick meconium for example, as an indicator of fetal distress), and midwives are trained to know and interpet those signs. Women who homebirth are very active participants in their own care. At every visit, mother and baby are carefully monitored. Any signs of potential problems-blood pressure that creeps up, headaches, sugar or protein in urine, measuring very large or very small for dates, excessive contractions, etc- are all red flags, and looked at in context and decisions are made from there about how prenatal care is continued. I had blood labs drawn when I discovered I was pregnant, my weight was carefully checked (41lbs-whee!), and my health, both general and related to the pregnancy, was kept under control. My prenatal exams took 30 minutes apiece, and time was spent examining all aspects of my health and wellbeing. I didn't just pick a midwife, tell her I wanted to have a homebirth and say, 'Ok, see you at my house when it's time.' It was very involved, and this may not be a popular assertion, but with the exception of a few very high risk cases, I'm willing to bet that my midwives spent more time with me than your (general) OBs did with you (again, general). And for the record, I'm extremely glad that there are hospitals and doctors available for when things do go wrong. :)