Retrospective: On Stay-at-Home Motherhood

The conclusion of our adventures in Denmark marked the “equality point” of Michael’s and my ventures as primary caregivers of our children. Michael was home with John for ten months after my maternity leave and I was the stay-at-home parent for our ten-month stint in Copenhagen. I thought of our trip as a chance to “try on” being a stay-at-home parent and, as you’ve read, its had it’s ups and downs.

I very clearly remember the moment when the glow of staying home wore off. On this particular day I tripped and fell quite ungracefully on the bus, experienced a heavy dose of ‘Mom guilt’ from a well-meaning acquaintance, locked John and myself out of the apartment, thought I'd lost our digital camera, cried openly for a whole city block over it until I realized the camera was in the back pocket of the stroller, and then was pooped on by a rather large bird. At dinner that night every time John would accidentally drop food on the floor, I felt like crying. Later I consoled myself by going to the mall, child and stroller-free, to ride up and down the escalator, and it was then I knew the honeymoon was over.

I spent the majority of this year trying to negotiate a new identity of sorts for myself. So much had to change – even down to things like my "personal fashion concept" – business casual is great for the professional world but not so much for Mother World. The success of my day was measured in the cleanliness of my apartment, the number of tantrums my toddler had and if I managed to get both children to nap at the same time when it was once measured in things more tangible and permanent. I discovered to my chagrin that new acquaintance’s initial impression of me was that I was "just a mom" when I still thought of myself as a working professional. And I came to hate how trivial and dismissive the word "mom" or especially "mommy" seemed when applied as a label. But I’ve slowly been learning how to find my way through all of this; allowing myself a little time away to exercise some of the skill sets I particularly enjoyed in my professional life, getting enough sleep at night, and learning to be as confident in myself as a primary caregiver as I was as a professional.

At the core though I’m both surprised and not surprised to find that I genuinely like my children and actually enjoy seeing their small selves grow and blossom up close on a daily basis. I get lots of little comments about how close they are in age and how energetic John is, all with an undercurrent of "how-in-the-world-do-you-survive-I-would-never-want-to-live-your-life." But I am not sorry and I don’t pity myself. I love that John already doesn’t remember a time when there wasn’t James, and even now you can see a bond of brotherhood between them. They’re both energetic but it’s a focused energy that is full of infectious enthusiasm.

This coming year I’ll be back for another round of staying at home. There are many reasons why this makes sense – lack of affordable quality childcare on short notice and possibly only being in our new home for one year among other reasons. And while I have persistent internal questions about whether I’m being a good model of womanhood for my sons and as we face certain negative financial implications of my not working full time, I’m rather looking forward to it.

Oh crap. There is a cartoon character on my blog.

James is at that great age where he is beginning to find his voice. Lots of "ahgoo" and "looo" and something else that I can only describe as talking whale, which is strikingly like the character Dory in Finding Nemo.

"Maaaamaaaa.... Iiiieeeee aaammmmmmmmmm a-waaaaaaK.... feeeeeeeeeed meeeeeeeee???? oooooooohhhhh....... iiiieeee poooooooood......."

First Hair Cut

You may have noticed from some of our Flickr pictures that John finally received his first hair cut. He was pretty much a baldy when we got here, but as of the end of April had developed a head full of pretty blond ringlets. Those pretty blond ringlets generally looked dirty and ratty unless they were within 30 minutes of being shampooed so I finally made the decision to trim them.

I have friends who talked about how hard it was to cut their kid's hair for the first time and how much they cried. But they also tend to be the kind of people who cry over almost all of their children's "first" - first time they rollover, crawl, walk. I remember being sad when John grew out of his newborn onesies and stopped nursing, but other than that I was leading the cheerleading section on all of his other firsts. So I calmly and rationally made this decision to chop off his hair and thought it wouldn't be a problem.

I made the first snip and immediately regretted it. Unfortunately cutting a toddlers hair is like deciding to ride on a roller coaster. It is wild and fast and there is no getting off. I had about 7.8 seconds to complete his first hair cut before he jumped off the chair so there was little time for pausing and tearfully reflecting on John's babyhood as I grabbed fingerfulls of hair and quickly whacked them off. And the rest of the afternoon and evening was spent in a fragile emotional state unbecoming of a woman of my self-perceived maturity and "it's just hair!" good sense. Serves me right.

Stick'em Up

There are a lot of things I didn't know were controversial until I became a mother. Things like breastfeeding in public, letting your baby cry themselves to sleep and circumcision. Another something that falls in that category is vaccinating your children.

James just had his first round of shots today (they start later in Denmark than in the States) and I've been reading up on the issue a little more lately. The best recent article I've read on the subject that seems to go beyond both extremes in the vaccination debate is The Needle and the Studies Done published recently in Brain, Child. It seemed to give a fair hearing to both sides of the argument and offers a middle ground (complete with the necessary Dr. Sears endorsement).

I've never had a good grasp on why some parents choose not to vaccinate their children but I tended to take a "live and let live" attitude toward the whole thing. Largely because I thought that not vaccinating a child was only risking infection in the nonvaccinated child. But then I was reading in passing about the measles outbreak in the States. Measles is still an active disease that effects 20 million people each year. In this case it was brought in by travelers and picked up by nonvaccinated children who in some cases passed it along to infants who haven't yet had their MMR vaccine. Infants like James.

To me this goes a little beyond live and let live.

"Peethz"

About a week ago we taught John how to say "please" when he wants something. He'll request something and then one of us will prompt in a smiley, sing-song voice, "What do you say???" and he'll respond with, "peethz!"

The please concept is still a little lost on him. A few days after our "please" breakthrough I was fussing at him for not doing what I told him to do.

"You may not do that, John! What did Mama say?"

"Peethz"

Walk 5 Miles in My Shoes

Now that the weather is nicer, the boys and I have been spending a lot of time outdoors. Between the Christiania Bike and the double stroller we have been covering a lot of ground; out to the beach, into the center city, down to Christiania to feed the swans. I do it primarily because it entertains John, and James naps really well with the constant motion of the stroller and the bike. But I also take these long outings because they're good exercise. I tend to be one of those people who exercise grudgingly and without joy. But I find myself trying to lengthen walks and bike rides to melt the baby fat off my midsection kill time.

That's how I ended up on a five mile walk today (thanks for the distance measurements Gmaps pedometer). And any moment now my legs are going to turn black and fall off.

Things I Get Way Too Excited About

Riding the Escalator - I always ride the elevators when I'm taking public transportation due to the stroller and if I get caught during rush hour will sometimes have to wait an incredibly long time to get where I'm trying to go. About five weeks into my life as a stay-at-home mother, I got my first few hours away from John and the highlight of my outing was riding up and down the escalator at the local mall. Pathetic but true.

Using the Bathroom Unmolested - Which sounds crase but I can't think of another way to put it. You wouldn't think this was such a big deal until the bathroom becomes your only place of semi-privacy; a place to collect your thoughts and just be still for the 60 precious seconds you might have. Or perhaps longer if:

Both Children Are Napping at the Same Time - It's like a little miracle. And it's happening right now.

Decalf Starbucks Coffee - It's my afternoon treat obsession. I have yet to find good decalf coffee in this country and Starbucks only lives at the Copenhagen airport. It's my little taste of home.

Buttoning Into My Old Jeans - Thank you breastfeeding.

Hard Day's Night

When I was a new mother working full-time, my goal was always to spend as much time as possible with my son. Each moment I had with him was really special because so much of my time was spent separated from him. I've found over the past many months that has switched to where I now looking forward with almost equal anticipation to time I spend away from my children. And that is unsettling for me.

This is a challenging time in motherhood - these first few weeks after my sister left and while James is still getting up every 3-4 hours at night. And while Michael is wonderful about coming home early, helping with household chores and being incredibly understanding and supportive, I'm often tired and frustrated as I attempt to negotiate life with two small children. As much as I know it's good to take breaks and spend time apart from my children, as I truly believe it makes me a better mother when I am with them, I still have the nagging feeling it's a personal failing that I'm not more patient and loving.

Firsts

It's funny how one day can encompass so many firsts.

Like the first time I sat up all night with a fussy baby. Poor James was not feeling well for some reason and seemingly could only find comfort in the arms of his parents. So he and I cuddled the night away with me catching a few catnaps whenever he was able to find a few stretches of relief from whatever it was that was troubling him.

Or the first time I lost one of my children in a public place. John, James and I were in the toy store at the mall. Fueled by hunger and the weariness preceding naptime, John didn’t want to return to his stroller and ran to the back of the store. With James strapped to me in the Snuggli, I turned to grab the stroller and started toward the back of the store after him. And then quickly back to the front. No sign of John. Five minutes or an eternity later I found him three stores down right before he ran into the pet store to visit with the birds.

Or the first real snow of the winter. Here it is St. Patrick’s Day and instead of green beer we have a couple of inches of snow. It snowed all afternoon and I got to enjoy it in the best possible way: inside my warm apartment, with hot drinks, snuggly babies and a big pot of hot soup.

Blogging One-Handed

You may have noticed I have a new blogging category: blogging one-handed. Lately my prime blogging hours are in the middle of the night while I'm nursing James. If there were such a thing as The Breastfeeding Olympics I probably wouldn't qualify for One-Handed Typing as I'm terrifically slow. And I wouldn't be a competitor in Side-Lie Nursing or Ring Sling Nursing either. Though I would at least have a fighting chance at the silver for Discreet Nursing (Age 0-3 Months).

Riddle Me This

Why won't my toddler eat apple peels when he will eat orange peels?

News Alert: New Moms Forget Stuff and Feel Like Idiots When They Do

Postpartum changes may bring on 'momnesia'

I love the subtitle: "Coping usually takes a few adjustments — plus, a sense of humor helps!"

Ok, Mickey. Whatever you say.

A Room of One's Own

We bought a baby book for James shortly before he was born and I was flipping through it over the weekend, filling out bits and pieces of it here and there. I came up a little short when I got to the page that asked for a picture of the baby's room.

When we were expecting John, one of my favorite parts of preparing for his birth was creating his nursery. Now we're living in a one bedroom, 538 square foot apartment with four people rather than a two bedroom, 750 square foot apartment with three. So no official nursery for James. It's the downside to being born in Europe to parents living on an educational grant.

But this afternoon as I was rigging up my version of a baby mobile above James' bassinet I realized that he sort of does have a nursery. It's located in the casement of our living room window and comes complete with storage space for clothes, blankets and slings, his carrycot bed, and is "artfully" decorated with colorful foam bath toys.

Less Writing - More Reading

Two weeks ago my little speedster entered the world and today he began his two week growth spurt right on cue. A growth spurt is characterized by nursing long and often, and I find I'm not very proficient at typing one-handed. So I spend a lot of time refreshing Shrook, looking for new blogs and interesting newspaper articles, and pecking out short Facebook wall posts and status updates.

Or if it's 3:00a, I strap on the neck pillow I bought for our transatlantic night flight to Copenhagen and snooze during Jimsy's middle of the night snacks.

Lost in Translation

James had his first home health nurse visit this morning. (I love, love, love that they come to your home to do this). I'm a little too tired to give you the nitty gritty details of his amazing growth but this story was worth sacrificing 15 precious minutes of sleep for:

I mentioned to the nurse that I was concerned about the content of James' poops (these are among the things that consume way to much of Michael's and my nighttime pillow talk since becoming parents).

Nurse: Poop. I don't know that word.
Me: You know. Bowel movement. Stool. Not pee, but the other thing.
Nurse: Oh, you mean making shit!

Yes. Precisely.

"Bebe! Bebe!"

For the past many months I've been asking around to various "mom-friends" about how best to help my toddler transition to having a new baby sibling in the house. I've gotten not so much advice as much as horror stories about the insanity the introduction of new siblings sometimes unleashes. My favorite one involved a toddler who acted out by taking off his diaper and rubbing poo on every imaginable surface including in between his board books. So it's not without some measure of trepidation that I await John's reaction to his new baby brother.

One hopeful sign though - yesterday we made a stop at a children's second-hand store in our neighborhood. Michael took John down to the basement to play with the toys and when I followed I found John parked in front of a child-sized stroller pointing excitedly at a baby doll.

"Mama! Bebe! Bebe!"

He pointed our the "bebe's" eyes and, at our suggestion that he give the baby doll a hug and kiss, he carefully picked the baby doll up by the neck and planted a big wet one on the doll's head. From there he continued to carry the baby doll around by the neck looking for the noisy toy telephone he remembered playing with the previous week.

So the upside is he apparently likes toys that look like babies though we will have to work on his handling technique.

Fake It 'Til You Make It

It's been a quiet few days here on the blog this week. I had some unexpected time and energy on Monday that I used to do a number of things around the apartment. If you had stopped by around 10:30 Monday morning you could have seen the comical sight of a very pregnant woman crouched in her tiny bathroom scrubbing a toilet. Or later on, making chicken and dumplings, wiping out her microwave and mini-fridge, cleaning her coffee maker, adding things to her hospital bag and, later, buying a carrycot that a friend found on a local Internet re-sale site so her baby will actually have his own place to sleep. There is actually a special name in Pregnancy World for this phenomenon: nesting.

So I'm worn out Monday night and head to bed. And then wake up around 2:30a having contractions. These peter on for a few hours - just strong enough and just often enough to prevent sleep. And I blearily made a made a couple of deals with God at various points in the night. How about these stop for now and then come back after I've had a good night's sleep? Please? Please please please?

And they did eventually stop. Though not before they had thoroughly convinced Michael that a taxi ride to the hospital was in our immediate future. And led to some frantic Man Nesting: filling out a Fulbright form with a 31st deadline, renewing library books and Mr. Cleaning our living room and kitchen. This is one of those times I'm really glad to be married to an academic and his flexible schedule.

I'm 39 weeks tomorrow.

Trial by Up-Chuck

Today my little blond toddler is 18 months old and today he came down with his first 24 hour stomach flu. We spent a lot of time sitting on the floor this afternoon, alternately cuddling and my attempting to shove a plastic bowl under his chin at the increasingly familiar sound of approaching up-chuck. I ended up batting .250 for the day.

I'm not the most patient person but for some reason taking care of my sick child - even a vomiting one - isn't such a chore. He's still just a baby and he feels bad. And there is something a teeny bit gratifying about the fact that just being there can make him feel that much better.

And a big kudos to Michael for cutting his day of dissertation writing short to pick up supplies on his way home, holding John until he fell sleep and then heading out in the rain with a IKEA bag full of soiled laundry. He's a keeper.

Uterus Yoga

Paul Michael (age 5): Why is your stomach so big?
Me: There is a baby inside of it.
Paul Michael: Must be crowded in there.

Yes, yes it is.

For the past few nights, as soon as my weary head hits the pillow, my child has started doing what I can only describe as uterus yoga. His favorite move seems to be downward facing dog with his feet firmly planted in my diaphragm and his little bum pushing out uncomfortably against my belly. This has produced repeated nights of absolutely fantastic heartburn.

Here in Denmark they have a very limited amount of over-the-counter medication. But after Night 5 of sitting up to sleep it was time to find the Danish equivalent of Tums. So off I go to the apotek (pharmacy), punch a button for a number, and wait for my turn. I thought for sure I'd have to go to my GP to get a prescription, but the pharmacist asked a couple of detailed questions about my symptoms and fixed me up with a box of antacid tablets from behind the counter.

I wanted to hug her.

Tuck-Tuck!

When I was small, I had a blue "blankie" which, by the end of it's life, had lost all the fuzzy middle and was reduced to knots of blue satin. Before John was born I wondered which of the 178 stuffed animals and soft blankets he would ultimately become attached. I was secretly hoping that he'd latch on to the adorable Ugly DollI bought for him shortly after we found out about the pregnancy. That green monster has been his constant travel companion for the last 17 months, he's in his crib right now, and other than occasionally using him as a convenient pillow John's never said boo to him.

That pretty much sums up John's attitude toward all potential "blankies," "binkies," and "softies." My son the Lone Toddler. In need of no pacifiers. No stuffed animals. No blankets or other objects of comfort.

But now there is "Tuck-Tuck." The mini-down comforter I purchased back in October when I was concerned about John getting cold at night. The Danes know how to handle the cold weather and the baby down comforter is part of the ensemble for any proper Danish child. John's is like any other - the down comforter covered by it's mini damask stripe duvet that I found on sale. At bedtime we started getting John to lie down for prayers by tucking him in. We'd take the comforter and say, "Tuck tuck tuck tuck..." and "Tuck-Tuck" was born.

Now he'll randomly run to his room looking for "Tuck-Tuck!" and the other day when I hung Tuck-Tuck out the window to air, he got very upset and started crying. The Lone Toddler found his Silver.

Apparently the problem was we hadn't bought John the high-end stuff.