It's Another Boy! It's Another Boy. Two Boys.

So I found out yesterday that we are expecting another boy. I was obviously prepared for this possibility, but Mike and I did expect that our second would be a girl, just because this pregnancy has been so different from Wilson's. But our reaction and the reaction of others close to us has me thinking about what it means to have two children of the same gender. 

I'm not a particularly gender-focused person, so the gender/sex doesn't really matter to either Mike or I. However, we REALLY want an easy baby. And boys are usually a bit harder as infants and toddlers. Research (and our own limited experience with Wilson) shows that they cry more, have more issues with sleeping, are more prone to disorders and disabilities, are more emotional and have fewer innate social and emotional skills than girls as infants. So when we found out, we were both a little worried - WE CAN'T TAKE ANOTHER DIFFICULT CHILD. We will quit this gig, have a dissociative fugue, and send the kids to their grandparents to live. But, if this little boy is healthy, happy, is a better sleeper than his brother, has an easy temperament and maybe slightly physically resembles his poor mother that had to survive his pregnancy and labor, I would be pretty happy.

But there is something to not having both a girl and a boy to round off your experience as a parent. I see this in our own feelings, in people's pity faces ("Oh....another boy?") and people's requests that we keep trying for that girl. Did we not try hard enough this time? I blame Mike and his strong y chromosome sperm. "Stay back!" My egg should have cried, "It's time for a girl!" And what happens when we TRY again and it's another boy?? Suicide? 

I once joked that we could never have any males in our house (we had 3 female dogs and 2 female cats). We had attempted to bring in male animals who always got sent back to the shelter because they were obnoxious and tried to maim/kill/hump to death our existing animals. So, I jokingly said, "Well, I guess the only way another male is going to get in this house is through my womb!" Ha-ha, so funny.

But there are some definite advantages for us to having a second son:

• We will now specialize in all boys. We will be masters at dodging pee during diaper changes, rough and tumble play, turning everything into a weapon, boy toys and boy clothes.
• Boys get cooler stuff. Their toys, their nursery decor, everything is cooler. You can be a rock star, cool dude, have trucks, sports, dinosaurs and strong imagery on your clothes and toys. Girls get princesses and pastel. 
• Wilson will have a baby brother who is very close in age. They can play together, bond, protect each other and have a potentially better relationship as adolescents (unless they like the same girl...).
• Two words describing their potential adolescence versus the teenage years with girls: LESS DRAMA.
• Instead of having the ever-popular mother-daughter stressful teenage years where I hear that they hate me repeatedly, I will be loved, respected and serve as the model to which every potential partner of my sons must live up to...
• As one of Mike's friends politely put it, "When you have a girl, you have to worry about all the other boys out there. Now instead of a million penises to worry about, you only have one to worry about." Well two now.
• My parents already have 3 granddaughters, so I am fully giving them the male experience.
• If I were a queen, my king and the royal family would be so proud.
• Well, it is a man's world. So my children (particularly if they keep coming out whiter than sour cream) will not face a great deal of adversity on their gender, as women do. And I can teach them to respect and celebrate women, as well as to advocate for others from different demographics who have none of the privileges as they do. I clearly have the background to do this and plenty of Joss Whedon television series and movies to share with them. 
• I won't have to buy new clothes! And most of the girl clothes out there make me want to gag anyway. Who puts eyelashes and high heels on a giraffe shirt? She would have to deal with over-sexualization, conflicting messages about beauty and a culture that belittles her and her accomplishments. 

But in a way, I was looking forward to helping to shape a girl and guide her, as I have done, through this tumultuous culture and life. I have learned so much about being a strong woman, I want to share it with a future progeny who will live it and can benefit.

But as I considered all of these things, I realized that my assumptions about my boy in-utero is faulty. My initial assumptions relied on the suppositions that he will be a masculine, heterosexual, gender-conforming, stereotypical male, similar in temperament to his big brother. As much as I am educated and have experienced gender non-conformity first hand, I have to remind myself to not assume that about this child. He could be anything and anyone: the potential is limitless. My own two brothers could not be any different; And while my oldest brother preferred to hang out with my father, my other brother preferred my mother, helping her cook, shop and clean. So, I still may have a little buddy yet.

Culture dictates to males to be insensitive, heteronormative and "masculine". Even though Wilson is certainly gender-conforming, he is extremely sensitive and loving, defying culture's expectation of what a tough, strong boy looks like - particularly when he sees a furry stuffed animal and smushes it against his face to love it, sometimes falling on it (although sometimes he humps it too...). I have no idea what our second son will be like, but I do know this: I will love him no matter what he is like, help him understand and navigate our world and culture and help him become the person that he truly authentically is and wants to be. And I know this world will have two more amazing men to contribute to it.

And I can always later "try" again for a girl, although that would be a third child, beyond our cognitive, financial and emotional capabilities and would necessitate that Mike touch me again, which if he reads this sentence, will be highly unlikely.

It gets better...But it's still freaking hard.

This last weekend I led a workshop where I showed a clip of Sara Gilbert talking about coming out. She highlighted the fact that being gay does get better, but she talked about how it still scares her to come out or talk about her life with new people or groups. We processed as a group that it was an important message because, as is the case with many issues (e.g., being ill, grieving a loss) even though it does really get better and you want to stay positive, you still need permission to be sad sometimes. To grieve and to process that sometimes your current situation is still hard.

As I was up for the second time (at midnight) last night rocking a teething, growth-spurting Wilson back to sleep, the parallels of this conversation to parenting hit me. It does get better. Wilson is usually only getting up once during the night; his tantrums are almost completely gone; he is talking and signing and communicating well; and his amount of independent play has certainly increased. But, as yesterday proved to me: parenting a toddler is still really freaking hard.

I was up with Wilson the night before for a few hours, finally calling in Mike (the closer) to get him back to sleep when I realized he just wasn't going down. We gave him some ibuprofen on the sneaking suspicion that he was teething again. He hasn't mastered the sign or word for "hurt" yet, so it is still a guessing game. He went back to sleep (I was up from 12 to 2:30 a.m.) and I finally got back to sleep around 3 a.m.; just to get woken by the dogs at 4:30 a.m. who frantically alerted me to the dangerous cat in the yard. Being out of energy and patience, I shushed them, quickly ran and lowered the shades, gave them my best I-am-so-in-charge-of-you-bitches posture and stance and verbally threatened their lives if they woke up the baby. That seemed to work and then I finally got back to sleep only to be woken again when Wilson got up for good at 5:15 a.m. I slowly picked myself up off the couch, stared at the baby monitor in disbelief and watched him blithely taking his teething protectors off the crib edges and toss them around the room. I thought, well maybe he'll still go back to sleep. That's when he began jumping on the crib like a trampoline and I spoke a hushed swear word under my breath. I slowly trudged up the stairs, bottle in hand and fed, hugged and entertained him until 6 a.m., when I passed him off to Mike like a hot potato and passed out in bed for 4 more hours. 

Unfortunately, Wilson was equally cranky when I awoke, having given Mike a run for his money all morning: clingy, whiny and needy. Mike's hair was sticking up and he had the recognizable, exhausted "help me for the love of God, look on his face". Wilson turned his full attention to me when he saw me, targeting me for his neediness until his nap at 11:30 a.m. He went down quickly, but woke up an hour later. My blessed partner-in-misery (Mike) let me stay laid down as I realized I was getting a migraine in addition to the awesome events in our wonderful morning. He gave Wilson some meds and rocked him back to sleep so that he slept for two more hours. 

Upon awakening, I decided to check his teeth for progress. On his first side, his molar was red, swollen and clearly about to push through. As I shifted my gel-coated finger to the other side, it was clamped down on by a new molar that apparently had come through during the night. And when I say clamped, I mean it should have been accompanied by Jaws theme music. Mike frantically got some ointment for my finger and after my shriek of pain, Wilson started crying, clearly not intentionally trying to hurt me. Still, I feel as if "NO BITE" should be our new family theme song (perhaps to the tune of Jaws).

He played a little, led us around by pulling on our hands/clothes/faces, chased the dogs, then wanted to go upstairs to take a bath. I told him it wasn't time yet and he laid his head down on my lap in frustration. He rolled over, pawing his mouth, which should have served as a warning sign, but in my migraine stupor, it didn't look very threatening. Then he buried his head into my thigh and bit me, hard enough to break the skin. I yelled our "NO BITE" motto as Mike came racing around the corner, ointment in hand, with that familiar helpless concerned look on his face. Wilson dissolved into tears again, running to Mike and then back to me with his non-verbal apologies and seeming desire to make sure that I still loved him. After a few minutes, it was time for his bath, so we plodded up the stairs. We got to the top and he ran around checking all of the gates for flaws and then finally proceeding into the bathroom where he began rabidly pulling out the toilet paper and assorted goodies from the drawers.

And that's when it all hit me. I sat down on the top stair and just began crying hysterically. Apparently it was silent enough not to draw Wilson's attention from his current bathroom-focused tornado, but I just hit a mental wall.

I'm 13 weeks pregnant and some days I can't keep down water. My house is a disaster and I desperately want to clean and organize it, but have no energy or time to do so. I teach four graduate level courses with over 100 students in them cumulatively, making grading a weekly nightmare and something that I'm perpetually trying to get done. I have 3 active research projects and have not been able to give them much attention this semester. I have over 15 committee assignments at work and over 5 of them are chair or leadership roles. I just did 3 training presentations in a 3-week period. I supervise a fellowship student and mentor countless others. I am finishing up my counseling hours for licensure as a Professional Counselor. I am parenting a difficult-tempered toddler, who despite his sweetness and affection, is harder than any other tasks in my life combined. He drinks his formula voraciously, but is the pickiest eater on the planet. Every meal is a crap-shoot, with me employing dancing, singing and other distraction techniques just to get some food in his face. Half of it always goes to the dogs regardless of my dancing and singing skills. He has disturbed sleep, having a very difficult time falling and staying asleep, moving frequently in bed and clearly having a hard time managing teething and growth spurt pain. He has hella-limited skills with managing his emotions and frustration. He is very smart, which is positive; except that he has managed to outwit most of the child safety locks in the house, figuring them out quickly then causing mass destruction to whatever he can open. My mind shifts from my current anxieties to how-in-the-heck I will survive without family support in town, with dwindling finances and with TWO KIDS.

Will Wilson be better by next June? Will I get my sabbatical proposal approved so that I have off for 7 months after the baby is born? Will Mike and I manage to stay close and not kill each other with the birth of a new baby? Will Wilson try to eat/smother/return the baby? Will my house ever be organized again? Will I ever find work-life balance? Will this baby have a better temperament (please for the love-of-everything-holy)? Will I make it through this parenting gig sane?

At 11 p.m. when I had to get up with Wilson again, plodding up the stairs carrying camilia (a holistic teething pain-reliever) and a full bottle, I picked him up into my arms and then snuggled in the rocking chair. He pulled the bottle from his mouth and made a kissing noise, leaning up to kiss my face, then stroke it with his hand, softly saying "mom-mom". He put the bottle back in his mouth and then softly rubbed my already-protruding belly before easily falling back to sleep. Although he got up two more times, Mike got up with him once, his Abuela (his wonderful babysitter Susi) told me she should come to watch him all day today, my best friend Jess and I are going to lunch, and my colleague and close friend Cheri texted me first thing in the morning telling me she is coming from Tuesday to Thursday to help with Wilson and give me a break. The social and tangible support gave me the hope I was so desperately needing.

Because that is the thing that when you are struggling as a parent, you need more than anything. Words of encouragement and support. Help with your child. A hug. Time away. A little kiss and touch from your child reminding you why you do this gig in the first place. I wonder how many moms and dads out there suffer silently. Grin inauthentically when people ask them how they are doing. Telling others that they adore everything about parenting, that their little one is the apple of their eye and their purpose for living. I know that many parents, especially moms, do not want to ask or accept help because it means we can't do it on our own. But that's the thing. NO ONE EVER DID THIS MUCH BALANCING IN PARENTING ON THEIR OWN EVER. 

When you were a stay-at-home-mom in previous generations, it was much more common that you lived close to your family, you had constant support, a close community, continual hands to take the baby, words of encouragement and some much-needed-breaks. Your role was that of mother, partner and family member. With the much-needed advent of feminism, we, as women, are able to break out of that mold. But, many of us still choose to be mothers. And with that choice comes the traditional expectations of being an energetic, involved, caring and competent mother and most often, primary caregiver. We feel the cultural expectations that we can still take care of our houses, children and partners with ease. Yet, we also have careers, reasons for existing that do not involve breastfeeding and wiping butts all day. But with both roles, we now have a new challenge. Go to work and work on par with males, who don't have swollen breasts and morning sickness; and who, although these expectations are shifting, do not have such internal anxieties and pressures surrounding being SuperMom. SuperMom: she goes to work, exceeding everyone's expectations and getting that well-deserved raise, only to come home, clean the house, cook dinner and help with homework. She's everything to everyone. Except, unfortunately, just like Superman (although it would be really cool if he was real!), she is a myth. Instead, we feel like we are failing at every role, keep apologizing to everyone and sit on our stairs crying hysterically after a particularly bad day. But we still don't feel like we can let people see this side of us; No, we still have to be SuperMom and be everything to everyone. I talk about this all the time with so many mothers I know - it is almost a universal feeling for both working and stay-at-home moms; we are overwhelmed, disillusioned and feel like we are always disappointing someone.

This doesn't mean that parenting is this hard for everyone. Some babies really are easy, many parents have ongoing family support that they need to make their adjustment easier, and others have fewer roles that help them to not be spread too thin. Still others were not naïve enough to think it was a good idea to get pregnant right away after having a difficult-tempered child who just turned a year old... But no matter the level of difficulty you are experiencing, sometimes you just have to pause, say "this parenting stuff is hard", give yourself permission to be sad (or to cry hysterically), recognize your limits, let go of the parenting myths and get some much-needed and much-deserved help.

Once More With Feeling?

So right about now I am feeling INSANE. Diagnosably so. For some reason we told each other that trying to have a second baby earlier rather than later would be smart. We had good reasons. It will be nice for Wilson to have a sibling. We can get it out of the way. It will be easier the second time around. It is likely to take us awhile to get pregnant. I mean, it took us 3 and a half years to get pregnant with Wilson. Even if you cut that in half, it's over a year. Wilson would already be two and almost in preschool by the time the baby was born.

So our first month, we thought we would play it a little safe. We skipped my like-clockwork ovulation cycle. But I had a funny feeling. Even though my ovulation cycle is ALWAYS on day 17, it decided to come a full 10 days earlier. Almost immediately, I felt something happening. Having been pregnant before, I recognized those familiar cramps, the stretching of my stomach ligaments and an increased thirst. I told Mike that I wasn't sure, but if I wasn't pregnant, I was suddenly getting fatter, so I needed to go back to the gym either way. We laughed. Ha ha - so funny.

Later that week, I noticed myself rubbing my stomach ligament, something I only do when I'm pregnant. The month before, I had dreamt of a little girl talking to me and telling me she was ready to come to us. In my dream, I hugged her and said yes. Oops. At this point, my intuition was screaming it, but with Wilson, I remembered so many times that I was wrong; it was just wishful thinking. I decided to stop and get an early pregnancy test when I was 1 day late. I had to get a Birthday card for Mike, so thought - eh, might as well. I read the instructions to see that I didn't need to wait until morning, so I again thought - eh, might as well. I followed the instructions and held the little stick in my hand after putting the cap back on. And there it was. Hmmm, I thought - is that the baseline? Nope, that is the pregnant line, coming up stronger and quicker than the baseline, which showed up about 20 seconds later. A second test confirmed it. Very pregnant.

That excitement turned to a bit of anxiety as I revealed the news to Mike in his birthday card - it read, "For your birthday, I promise not to ask you to do anything...Except to go bring up my maternity clothes from the basement. Once more with feeling, daddy?" He read it, then read it again, and then one more time. He looked at me with a smirk. "Seriously?" he said. There was a reaction somewhere between excitement and nausea. I felt it too. Because, now, baby number 2 is real. I still had to show him the stick. He said, "Well that line is so much lighter though." I had to show him the diagram that revealed that light line was the baseline. "Oh, crap," he said. The ridiculously thick and dark line was screaming "Oh, you are sooooo pregnant."

Then the other realizations came flooding in:

• We have to pay our insurance deductible before June...
• Wilson will be around 21 months when this baby is born...
• Mike won't be out of work yet and has to plan his Field Day while I am puffy and ready to pop...
• Wilson, with his unique needs, already feels like having triplets...
• I have to get the house ready...
• We need another nursery...
• Hope they both want to go to SCSU for college...
• How am I going to take care of Wilson and be pregnant? The first trimester with him all I could do was lay on the couch, mumble, vomit and put my head back down again...
• Will my blood pressure be an issue again? Will I need to be induced?
• Please, for the love of god, let this one be of easy temperament...And maybe look a little like me??
• Will Wilson still be so needy?
• Will he try to beat this baby up?
• Oh, the poor dogs...

So the first trimester is coming to an end in a few weeks and I did make it. I would sometimes lay on the floor while Wilson was playing; beg him to let me sleep in the mornings on the couch, praying that he would want to snuggle like he did when he was small (no-go) and go to bed at 7 p.m. like I was 80 years old. I almost threw up on my students in class...multiple times. I almost threw up on Wilson. I've thrown up in my car, every time of day and actually had to be on bedrest for a few days because I couldn't keep anything down. All the while, Wilson was teething 4 molars (that have popped through now), 2 front teeth (also through) and 2 canines (those suckers are still poking him) within 4 weeks. BUT, we made it.

I'm pretty worried about what life will be like when this little one makes their entrance. But, one thing I have learned is that with the support of my awesome husband, my family and friends, I can make it through anything. So, despite our reticence, anxiety, slight shock, fear, nausea and dwindling money supply, here we go: once more, with feeling.

...And seriously universe, throw me a bone here. BABY WITH AN EASY TEMPERAMENT. I beg you.

My husband, partner and best friend...

I know that a lot of times dads get a bad rap: they don't have to be pregnant, breastfeed or deliver babies, tend to be the non-primary caregiver, get more easily frustrated with the kiddos, fail to understand what it is like to be home all day with children and sometimes say things that make us moms want to kill them (e.g., What dooo you do all day?). 

But as I am here laying in bed sick this morning, I could not help but reflect on everything that Mike does - that make him an epic father and husband. Even though Mike has always had a well-oiled, ridiculously regimented wake-up schedule before he goes to work, he altered it so that he can get up early with Wilson allowing me to sleep a few more precious hours before he has to leave. He gets up in the morning, changes and feeds Wilson, getting him dressed and often making more homemade formula (since my son drinks it like he's a frat boy, and rather than formula, we've replaced it with gin and juice). He gets dressed very quickly, coming to give me a goodbye kiss, only waking me up at the last possible moment, so I can spend the most time sleeping. He works all day as a Physical Education teacher, running around with elementary school students - seeing all 600 of them in a week. And somehow, unlike me with my PE teacher, he manages to make most of them enjoy it. He is always doing new fun things (a real-life replica of Angry Birds and Plants vs. Zombies, Dancing, etc.), helps with the PTA and does extra things like work on Cultural events for the school. He comes immediately home after work, often bringing me a treat or flowers. I try very hard not to throw Wilson at him the moment he comes home (most of the time I am good at that!), but Wilson often attacks him for a big hug as soon as he hears the door open. After a busy and exhausting day, I often haven't had time to do the dishes - and Mike seeing them, will often, without me ever having to ask, clean them up. He will often take Wilson for a walk so that I can get some rest after being full-time mommy all day, he helps me feed and bathe him; and when I'm not feeling well (like these last few days), he will put him to bed. Knowing I didn't feel well last night, he rubbed my shoulders, kissed me on the temple and asked me how I was feeling. Then he went to bed early, so he could get up early and start this whole process over again. Probably the most amazing thing about Mike is that he worries that he doesn't do enough or that he should never feel cranky. He worries about building a relationship with Wilson that is strong and reads parenting books and magazines late at night that I sometimes veto for freaking him out too much.

I know I am not alone; because of the new family dynamics, men are really stepping up and helping out around the house, with the kids and balancing their masculine roles with more nurturing and feminine ones. They aren't afraid to babywear, gush over their babies, enjoy snuggling and want to be more engaged with their children. Just like women who are balancing multiple roles in this new culture and generation, they are trying to settle into a new role in which they were not prepared, did not see modeling for and often feel like they are unsure of how well they are doing in it. They have worries, anxieties, fears about their gender role and how they are as a parent; except they were not socialized with the emotional and verbal skills (or the freedom to do so without mockery) to express their feelings.

So my reflection for today: I'm incredibly lucky to have Mike as a partner, to have him as the father to my son. I have every confidence that Wilson will grow up knowing what it means to be a good man and a good dad because he gets to see it everyday.

Toddlers: Cute, Cuddly, Little Jerks

This past week, Mike and I were exhausted from Wilson's teething drama and accompanying miserable mood, not feeling well and laid near catatonic on the couch after putting him to bed. Mike lifted his head slightly to say to me, "Honey, I love Wilson more than life himself. But is it just me or is he a little jerk sometimes?" I sighed, "Yep. Yep, he certainly is." Although it sounds awful to say out loud, there is no other way to describe his behavior.

It's not that he is not sweet a lot of the time. He has the best smiles, he loves to hug and cuddle, he has an epic sense of humor, his laughs are contagious and he has become, in every sense of the word, my life. But, like the Force in Star Wars, he has a dark side. 

He bites, he pinches, he screams at the highest pitch possible even though he knows it shreds our ears, he laughs at you when you get hurt, he tries to hit the dogs and pull their tails, he likes to bang things together, rip pages out of books, steal my keys, bash things against the wall, make a ridiculous amount of noise, slam doors, play in the garbage, stomp his feet in anger, collapse screaming when he doesn't get his way, pick my shirt up to poke my belly fat and laugh maniacally, check to see how firm I am feeling about that "no" I just shouted, pull all the clothes out of the hamper, slap my face and pull my hair. And that was just today.

Yes, he is teething and miserable. Yes, he is challenged by his difficult temperament. Yes, he looks confused, frustrated and sincerely upset most of the time. He's not intentionally being a jerk. But it's hard to remember that when he leans down to bite me in the boob.

Is Wilson some freak toddler jerk of nature? Here's the worst part that most parents do not dare speak of their toddlers. THEY ARE ALL LIKE THIS. Once in awhile you get one that is calm, naturally empathic, sweet and kind. You won the freaking lottery. The rest act like a tiny drunk, slightly crazy uncle that you don't ever want to visit you. When I take Wilson to MyGym to play with other kids his age, it is clear that all of his little toddler friends are little jerks. They hate sharing, try to smack each other whenever possible; even when they are interested in each other, they poke each other in the face or pull each other's hair. There's a sweet-looking little girl that likes to throw other toddlers from her path if they are in her way of enjoying a toy she feels is hers. These children are selfish, mean and completely happy to grab a toy from any unsuspecting friend. The embarrassed parents do their best to keep other children safe from their own toddler's wrath when things do not go their way; you just tiredly nod in gratitude when they caught their own toddler's hand before it made contact with your toddler's face. These children are walking Freudian IDs; they have no reference for others' feelings because they haven't learned to do so yet.

Some don't ever learn this. I know many adults, albeit they do not actively participate in assault as readily as a toddler, that cannot handle their temper, have issues being empathic to others, are not kind nor compassionate. They trouble other people, hurt feelings and fail at personal relationships. And despite all of my training and education, it was during the moment that Mike and I lay near comatose on our couch, that I realized it: with the exception of children with special needs/mental health diagnoses, it was their parents that failed them and allowed them to grow up to be adult jerks.

This sucks. You have so much pressure as a parent. Add on top of that if that you fail, your kid is "that kid" - the kid that is mean, a bully, that hits others and has no understanding of respect. And hence is the hardest thing I have learned so far about parenting a toddler. Toddlers do not come with innate social and emotional skills. They do not understand how to treat others; they only know what they feel and what they want. They understand their own feelings of frustration, anger, intrigue, sadness, pain. Empathy is not within their comprehension since they barely understand that other people are separate from them. "Oh you tripped on my toy and almost fell on your head? That was hilarious because it did not hurt me! But not allowing me to play in the toilet makes me feel frustrated and upset. How could you, Mom? How could you?!!"

It is our job as parents to not only teach them how to act, but to MODEL how to act. We show them every day with our behavior what is appropriate, how to not be selfish, how to be kind and compassionate. It's not enough that we say "no" and provide guidance; we HAVE to model patience with them, even when they are frustrating us.

But this is so hard when you are dealing with a miniature frat boy. Try staying calm and compassionate when they throw their hands in their poop while you are changing their diaper. Or when they rip off the place-mat on the table, breaking a glass when you are all barefoot and have three dogs. Or rip your earrings out of your ears. Try calmly applying discipline when you get bitten on the butt, slapped in the face or have your hair pulled. Some days, I just focus on living moment to moment. I take a lot of deep breaths. I count the minutes before Mike gets home from school, thank God that Susi is coming over, pray that he sleeps longer in the mornings and hope that his teeth come in so he is less miserable before he learns how to wield weaponry. 

More than that I pray and hope that I can be strong. Strong enough to teach him how to be a good person, not with my words, but with my actions. No matter how obnoxious he is and no matter how I need to discipline him, I want him to see me being calm, patient, loving, kind and compassionate and always acting with his best interest at heart. I want him to be a good person, to think of others and to be successful in his life and to find true happiness, while always showing respect for himself, his family, his friends and his environment.

And more than anything, I want him to be a good father someday to a completely obnoxious toddler so he can call me and say, "How the heck did you not kill me?" And I will calmly say, "Sweetie, it was harder than escaping poverty, recovering from depression, graduating from Yale, going through a 50-hour labor, staying calm while being interviewed on live television and time managing 4 jobs, a marriage and a baby PUT TOGETHER. But if your father and I could do it, so can you."

It's all about perspective...

So the other night I was with a fellow academic mama (Kari) and we were chatting about how intensely our whole lives have changed since becoming a parent. She recounted a story she heard before she had kids where a well-respected social worker colleague told her about why she was concerned for teenage parents. She relayed her story: she was in her early 30's with her first pregnancy; her marital relationship was strong and she identified as a calm, collected person. Kari confirmed that she was pretty much a female Buddha. But, the calm persona hit a wall when she had a baby...with colic. There were many times where she had to get her husband to take the baby so she did not throw the baby down the stairs...seriously. Kari, in her pre-parent perspective, listened horrified. Now, as she recounted the story, post-parent status, we both nodded in complete understanding and empathy. Yep, been there.

It got me thinking, however, how much and in what ways does your perspective change after becoming a parent? With the risk of scaring the bejesus out of pre-parent individuals, I give you the largest and most honest changes in perspective from pre-parent life to the post-Wilson apocalypse.

 

Perspective of Sleep

What, again, is sleep? Wilson did not really sleep through the night until after a year and since he is teething his molars, he still gets up at least once a night. Getting him to sleep and stay asleep was painful, torturous and uncomfortable for both of us. Before Wilson, I slept 9 hours a night and took naps during the day when I felt like it. I went to bed when I wanted and got up when I wanted. Hold on. I'm drooling a little just reminiscing. Now, I get interrupted sleep (a whole year's worth) and for 8 months, he still was getting up around 5 times a night. Insomnia is a thing of the past, as when it is time to sleep, I literally just fall down and start snoring. When I hear something over the monitor, I immediately awake and a sense of panic sets in. No, No, No, Noooooooooooo. Put yourself back to sleep. You can do it.... DO IT. DO IT. Sob. Sob (that's me sobbing by the way). CRAP. Zombie walk to get the bottle, rock him, wait until his little legs relax (the predictor of whether he will go back into the crib or not) and then stumble down the stairs to collapse for 4 more hours of sleep. 

 

Perspective of My Own Parents

Pre-Wilson, I had a great relationship with my parents. With age, I began to understand why they made certain decisions, even if I didn't agree with all of them. However, after becoming a parent, the huge shock of how difficult it is just to keep a child alive dawns on you. Every time you mouthed back, gave them cause to worry or took money from them without thought makes you feel like an ungrateful brat. I should pay them for keeping me alive to my teenage years. Seriously, Wilson would gladly dive down the stairs, sometimes throws himself headfirst onto the floor, throw himself from the couch with great abandon, smashes his head/hands/face into cupboards, sticks his fingers into things which could either get them stuck or cut them and that's all with a COMPLETELY baby-safe environment. Seriously, I live in a gated prison.

 

Perspective of Partner

I found that my perspective of my partner has changed significantly since having a baby. At first, the lack of sleep and change of life made us crazy, but now every day that I see how he steps up to the plate, looks at our son with love and thinks about us in everything he does, it makes me love him even more. But it took a good 11 months after Wilson was born for us to feel back in love with each other. Right after Wilson was born, we were cranky, over-tired and wanted to shake each other for saying stupid things. He did not understand my perspective, nor did I his. We were frankly too sleep-deprived and stressed to engage with each other in a healthy, productive way. Date nights were just short dinners followed by napping because we were so tired. There were several times when I actually said to him, "I have to stop talking to you because I want to punch you in the face." And I wasn't kidding or being hyperbolic. We are back to working as a loving, well-oiled machine, but we definitely had a breakdown and it was frightening to think that we had such conflict with being a near-perfect couple before a baby.

 

Perspective of Time

What the heck did I do with all my time before? Now I have to schedule time to shower, go through my mail and check my email. Not kidding. Pre-baby, I spent a whole summer leveling my characters from World of Warcraft. Seriously. I did nothing else besides eat, sleep, bathe and play WoW with Mike. We had no responsibilities (over the summer) and no one that needed us. For all intensive purposes, we shared summers of retirement. Now, our summers are more work than the time during the school year! From 5 a.m. to 7 p.m., we are slaves to a little man less than 3 feet tall, the house that we bought that was supposed to be mostly care-free and to time. Slaves. The time I had to kill before becoming a parent, now I weep for - what I would give for one full day to do whatever I want, with no worries, no guilt and no interruptions. Well, here's looking to retirement!

 

Perspective of Body

I have always had body issues. But when I was pregnant, I found myself loving my big belly. What a change. In fact, in the first trimester, i was begging for it to get bigger so that I indeed looked pregnant, not overly-full from a high-caloric meal. When I did get gargantuan, I still was proud of my body. I was proud of how it created Wilson and how it survived a long birth process. Pre-baby, there were parts of my body I didn't like. For women, our chest is a very important part of who we are and how attractive we feel. What men do not often pay attention to is that both halves of your chest are not typically the same size, leading to many hours of inspection, dismay and disgust for the one side you really dislike. I had that experience until post-Wilson. When my milk came in, the larger side that I never liked suddenly delivered about 3 times as much milk as the other side. I was never so happy for an oversized boob before. Finally, post-baby, your body SIGNIFICANTLY changes. That flat belly is no more. Unless you are a lying celebrity who has surgey and personal trainers, your body starts to look like a mom-body. Even though I was not skinny before Wilson, my belly was not that large. The other day I stood up quickly and heard my belly "flap'. It flapped. Seriously. I was slightly horrified, but given my lack of sleep and time to care, I thought "huh" and went on with my day.

 

Perspective of Other Moms

I am not a judgmental person by any stretch of the imagination, but I used to see what other  moms would do with their children and think - I don't think I could do that. I had my beautiful book knowledge, behavioral responses, developmental theory and thought that would serve me well. It's not that this hasn't. It certainly helps. But nothing prepares you for how you will react when your child does something insane. Like bite your butt. Yep. Wilson, as he is teething, sometimes likes to bite our arms, butt, thighs, etc. He's a freaking shark. I used to hear other moms yell a lot and thought - I'm just not that kind of person. Well, guess what, with lack of sleep and a set of teeth firmly placed on your ass, you will yell. I've fallen asleep on the floor. I've forgotten to shower for days. I've called in our babysitter for a mental health day. I am one of those moms.

 

Perspective of Yourself

I have always been commended on my patience. In fact, others have literally said, "You seriously have the patience of Job." And outside of giving my mother technical assistance via the phone on her computer, that is very true. I am patient and compassionate with everyone. But, after having a child, I have felt this part of me seriously challenged. Can you still be patient when your toddler bites your boob? Try it. You know that he's teething and doesn't know what he's doing, but FREAKING OW!!!!! It took everything I had not to throw him. I remember when he was 4 months old and would only sleep for 40 minutes at a time, I kept rocking him, praying to the gods and goddesses of the world (really whoever was listening at 3 a.m.) to get him to sleep. He would almost be asleep, then throw his arm out, accidentally slapping me in the face, waking himself up and screaming at full volume again. I had to wake up Mike because, again, I was afraid I was going to throw him. As a toddler, he became obsessed with doors. Anytime one was open, he had to run to it and open and close it for half an hour. If you closed it, he would throw himself on the floor in his best dramatic overture, scream at the top of his lungs and bang his head on the floor. Being a developmental psychologist, I knew exactly what my responsive parental behavior was supposed to be. Have empathy, soothe, identify his emotion and help him recover, then reward him for the recovery. But it took everything I had not to open the door again and sprint out of it. Being a mother is hard. Being a good mother is even harder. But, thanks to the wonderful support I do have in my life, I've never thrown Wilson, I've never been rough with him, I've never failed to be responsive in the way that he needs me to be. He knows he's loved, he knows that I (or daddy) will always be there for him and he sees me take breaths with him when I am teaching him how to control his frustration (and mine). And that is the biggest change I have embraced as a mother. I'm not perfect; I never will be. I have wanted to throw my child across the room, I have wanted to run away. But I have not done those things and I never will. I didn't realize how hard this mommy gig would be, nor did I realize that I would slowly have the strength to meet these challenges as they come, being patient with myself, working as a team with my husband and asking for help when I needed it. These struggles have made me a better teacher, worker, counselor and person. Pre-baby I thought it would be me shaping the life of my little one; post-baby, I realize that it is he that has shaped me and made my life challenging, real and wonderfully whole.

Open Letter to My Mother

Dear Mom,

Today as I was driving to work tonight, caught in a traffic jam, late to work and exhausted from taking care of my sick son all day, it occurred to me that about 50 years ago, with way less technology and information, with little extended family help, you raised 2 sons who were born within the same year. You did this while taking care of the house and our father. I can't imagine how you did that and survived...and raised two boys who are amazing human beings. Then 15 years later, when you were almost ready to say goodbye to two teenage boys, you became pregnant with me. You gave birth to me without medication even when I was flipped the wrong way and gave you lots of back labor (sorry!). Despite being older (and slightly surprised) parents, you and Dad never once acted too tired to play with or talk to me, despite you both working a lot to support us financially. You always made me feel special, important and loved. I never really realized how hard that was until having my own child. Just keeping him alive is a challenge!

This is not to say that we agree on everything and God knows we've had enough conflicts over our values and beliefs over the years. I know we don't agree on a LOT of stuff, but what has impressed me since I had Wilson is that you have been my number one supporter, cheerleader, encourager and support. You've been very careful not to give me advice, rather encouraging my natural mothering instincts and being supportive of my choices, even though they are unconventional. I expected to learn a lot by becoming a mother; and I also had a haunting suspicion that I would regret something when you used to say, "Oh, just wait until you have a kid!!" What I was not prepared for was for my mother to become one of my best friends, despite our differences. Even beyond this, I have become proud to see how you have grown with us over the years, how you have been so loving and accepting of all of us children, despite how difficult we may have made that for you. :)

I just want you to know that as I struggle (and I do!) to be a good mother with little family support for us here, I think of you and how you did this with little money, no iPads, iPhones, DVDs, Skype, Disney Jr., fancy toys, developmental psychology degree or family to help you...You just did this with love and faith in who we kids were as people...and this gives me strength and hope that I can make it through one more day.

I love you,

Misty