Author Archives: She's One of "Those" Moms

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About She's One of "Those" Moms

Balancing a full-time job, a LuLaRoe business, two boys, a traveling husband, three cats, and a dog is an adventure too good to miss. I hope you'll stop by often to read up on our trials, celebrations, and misadventures.
Jul24

The Due Date – A Year Later

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Robbie was due to be born one year ago today. It’s amazing how much has changed. As I type, Justin is prying shredded napkins from Robbie’s mouth while Robbie dances to music. My life has become a complicated web of diapers, bottles, hugs, kisses, tears, and messes. And that’s just with Justin!

This time last year, I panicked about having a baby. It suddenly occurred to me that I might not love the child I’d been carrying for nine months. I burst into tears on our couch one night, which probably didn’t surprise Justin that much. But my revelation did. He wrapped me up in a big hug and assured me that we would love life with Robbie. And, you know what? I do. It took me a while to get to that point. Especially the first five weeks. But now I couldn’t imagine life without him, even during temper tantrums.

During this time, I was jealous of every new mom I saw on the street. How was it that they got to meet their new babies and mine was still refusing to come and play. I think I got more panicked with every passing day because I had a finite maternity leave. Regardless of when Robbie was born, I had to go back to work 28 September. And all I wanted was time with my new baby. Now all I want is time with my little boy; I don’t even know that there’s any of my baby left.

My father-in-law came in town for Robbie’s birthday late last night. This morning, he told me he had something for me. Pat told me that birthdays, especially first birthdays need to be about moms, too. I couldn’t agree more! In fact, for the first time ever, I told my mom thank you on my birthday – I finally knew what she had gone through. Pat had brought something for me to commemorate Robbie’s first birthday. It was the ring he was given for his Confirmation over fifty years ago. I’m actually wearing it as I type. It’s a beautiful man’s ring with a diamond and a ruby — Robbie’s birthstone.

So, to everyone, I encourage you to thank your mom on your birthday; it’s really her day, too. Gentlemen, remember your wives on your kids’ birthdays. And, ladies, remember that your husbands were as supportive as they could be the days your children were born. Really, I’m sure they were. It just didn’t seem like it at the time…

Jul23

Some Days Are Like This…

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…even in Arlington. I thought about packing my bags and moving to Australia a few times today because it really was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Well, for the most part.

Young Robert decided to serenade Justin and myself at 4:30 this morning. He sounded so pitiful that I didn’t mind getting out of the bed I had been tossing and turning in for five hours. I took diaper duty and Justin made a bottle (Ladies, please get your husbands out of bed when the baby wakes up; there is much less resentment this way. Just give him a choice in jobs – “Honey, do you want to change his diaper or get his bottle?” – instead of asking if he would mind getting up. This is part of my Husband Management Strategies). Shortly thereafter, Justin and Robbie were softly snoring in their respective beds. And I watched the sun come up through closed blinds.

If you read my last post, you’ll know why I couldn’t go back to sleep. I never put out the raging inferno last night. It was still hanging over my head! So, I stupidly checked my email to see if there were any responses from roofers. There was nothing useful and one that was downright insulting. The latter left me tossing and turning again so much that I finally went down to the couch; I was a little worried that Justin might get injured.

Let me tell you that after five hours of very poor sleep, I was not a great mom today. I was probably an OK wife, and, from what I remember, I managed to be civil to the line of roofers and insurance adjusters who paraded through my house (ironically, in the middle of naptime, which meant I didn’t get to rest then either). Later in the afternoon, I managed to get Robbie into a stroller and walked around town for a few errands. In all honesty, they could have been postponed. I just didn’t have any idea how to entertain Robbie all afternoon with very little patience and cats that were already irritated with him from the morning play session.

I was in such excellent form today that I put Robbie down for a second nap at 3:00 and told him he just had to sleep for thirty minutes. Bless his little heart; he slept for almost an hour! Still no rest though; it was time to finish cleaning the downstairs (I know, I know — but it wasn’t as bad as it was last night!) and then get as much of the guest room finished as possible. And did I mention I was still dealing with the mortgage broker? He promises me that closing is tomorrow morning at 8:00. And, miraculously, our interest rate has dropped .125%. I’ve been an anxiety attack waiting to happen about all of this for 26 hours.

At my wits’ end at 5:40, I had no option but to put Robbie in the bathtub and soak my feet while he played. There are no papers to shred, no cats to torment, and nowhere to run. And that is exactly where Justin found me when he walked through the door twenty minutes later. Robbie and I appropriately read Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day before bedtime tonight. Here’s hoping that I don’t have to eat lima beans for dinner or lose my marble down the drain. And that tomorrow Robbie will look at me like I’m the best mom in the world and today’s antics didn’t matter at all.

Jul23

Managing Fires

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To all of the working moms… Do you feel like you get nothing accomplished on the days that you’re home with your adorable child? When I’m at work, I have the stress to keep the house clean, the dinner cooked, and the laundry managed. But when I’m home all day, I don’t know how to fit it all in. It’s like I’m running around all day putting out small fires, only to find that there’s a raging inferno behind my right shoulder that I should have noticed earlier in the day. Take today for example…

I purposely cleaned up the lower floor of the house Wednesday night so that I would not have to do it today and could instead concentrate on organizing our guest/craft room for the impending arrival of my father-in-law. However, by 9:00 this morning, there were little yogurt fingerprints all over my coffee table, dog hair blowing like a tumbleweed down the hall, toys everywhere (including in the dog’s bed — bad, Barkley!), and torn bits of junk mail (a la Robbie) all over the floor, furniture, and child. Add to this mix a sink piled with dishes, an iron in the dining room, miscellaneous items to go to the basement in the kitchen, laundry on top of the hamper, and clothes laid across the balcony. Oh, and a friend was set to arrive for our weekly walk in 30 seconds.

Never mind that fire… I had more pressing issues! There was a plane ticket to book home to Kentucky in the middle of August and rapidly rising airfare. It had already gone up $20 since the night before. Surely this was more pressing than a dirty house and company on the way. And then the doorbell rang. Time to put the house cleaning and the ticket buying on hold for a few hours!

By the time we got home from our walk, Robbie was ready for a nap and so was I. Unfortunately, Robbie is the only one who got one. I managed to get the downstairs picked up again (and, please note, that I just finished cleaning it for a second time today at 9:30 pm) and buy the plane ticket. Miraculously, prices hadn’t increased during my walk.

At 1:30 it was finally time to tackle the guest room, which is where I put everything I didn’t know where to put when organizing the downstairs closets last week. Including the junk mail, which needed to be shredded. And, of course, Robbie woke up at 1:35. Having never spent much time in the guest room, Robbie was intrigued by all the possible play things — rolling chair, boxes, toys that I had brought in for him — for about five minutes. Then he discovered the shredded paper bits and had a great time. I finally put him in his room to play (and when I went to check on him, he wouldn’t let me in!) and he entertained himself happily for nearly half an hour. That left me enough time to make the room more of a mess than it was when I started and feel as if my entire day had been wasted.

Which brings me to the raging inferno… All of these small fires had been maintained well enough (not perfectly, but don’t judge!). That’s when I got the call from the mortgage guy, who wanted just one more sheet of paper in order to process our closing tomorrow, which, incidentally, is the third closing date they’ve given me. This encompassed nearly three hours of my evening. I still have no solution and my guest room is not ready for my father-in-law, but, rest assured, the downstairs of my house is clean. Until about 9:15 tomorrow morning.

Jul22

The Truth Bites

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And so does my kid. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen; Robbie’s a biter. Before you refuse to hold him the next time I try to pass him off to you, let me assure you that he only bites his mom. The woman who was in labor with him for 47 hours. The woman who got up with him every night while her fabulous husband snored in bed. The woman who makes sure his laundry is done and his diaper bag is packed. And I know somewhere my mom and sister are laughing because justice is finally being served.

I didn’t have many issues with biting when I was little; there’s really just one that stands out. Mostly because it’s one of the family favorites to tell at holidays. Mom left me with Hilary while she took a shower, and we were cuddled up spending quality sisterly time together. Until my sister started crying. Mom came out and asked me why Hilary was crying. I simply replied, “Probably because I bit her.” Mom made me bite myself as hard as I had bitten my sister, and I think that was the end of my biting days.

Unfortunately, Robbie is too young to reason with. I say, “Robert, no!” with as much force as I can muster (really, I just want to cry out in pain and smack him away; not doing so takes a great deal of restraint). He finally pulls back, shakes his head, laughs, and returns to my arm to attempt a second bite. So, I’m no closer to solving the problem than I was before. We have determined that no one is allowed to laugh when Robbie bites (where was that rule while I was nursing?) and that we have to be consistent. And I’ve found that saying “Robert!” instead of “Robbie” or “XiXi” gets a better response. It sounds a little more harsh, and I don’t ever use his full name.

I’m not a fan of biting Robbie back, and I don’t think he would understand putting his arm in front of his mouth when he goes to bite. Instead, that might become a game… So, I’ll keep trying to be stern. And I’ll refuse to play with him when he bites. And if you notice small, purple bruises on my arm… Well, that means we’re still working on the problem.

Jul20

Attracting Other People’s Children

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It never ceases to amaze me how quickly a baby attracts other people’s children. What amuses me most about this is that, generally, the children fawning over the “little baby” are very nearly little babies themselves. As with the play group politics, I’m still trying to navigate the waters of how to act when Robbie catches the eye of someone else’s child. We began frequenting The Reservoir about a week ago, and we have met many children enamored with a “baby”. I’m learning there are different categories of children, and they (and their parents, when present) must be approached in distinctly different ways.

First we have the “Zackies”. These are the only children of older parents who don’t subscribe to any form of real discipline; their children will probably end up in a Montessori setting and then drive their high school teachers bananas when they refuse to participate in class discussions because they just aren’t feeling up to it. At a younger level, these are the children who throw grass in my son’s face and then get entirely too close for any sort of socially appropriate comfort, usually with an open mouth. These are the children with a regular name that should not have a “y” added to it but whose parents use the “y” with a whiny tone to curb undesired behavior (“Zacky, you shouldn’t throw grass and sand at the baby’s face”). You must escape from these children (and, more importantly, their parents) quickly. I’ve found the best way to do this is to have a specific location in mind and head there, Robbie in tow. For example, a look at the watch and a quick, “Oh, we only have 45 minutes to swim. We better hit the water” worked last Saturday.

The next group of children Robbie and I seem to attract are the show-offs. And I mean this in the nicest way, as these are my favorite form of other people’s children. They are generally very well-spoken and excited about whatever talent they may want to share with you. I love seeing a five year old (she will be six on next June 5th, which is, incidentally, a Sunday) demonstrate her dolphin swim (she had to get her mom to put her goggles on first, and then she held her nose and floated for a few seconds). I love a little girl who introduces herself by saying, “I’m Jessie, but you can call me Jess. Jessie’s a very popular name. There’s a song about it. It’s called ‘Jessie’s Girl.’ Want to see me dance?” I think these are the children whose parents have generally tired of watching them be dolphins and dancers, and so I let them perform for Robbie and me. I like seeing what stages Robbie will go through and what he might be able to do next August (when he’s one but will be two next July 28th, which will be a Thursday).

The third group that I’ve found are the the know-it-alls. They seem to know everything that a baby can’t do and why. Today, for instance, we met four-and-a-half-year-old Caleb. He informed us with a very serious face that Robbie could not go near the fountain because it was too cold and would be scary for a baby. He told us that he would go in, check it out, and let us know how it was. Another place we have encountered this group of children is at the gym. All of the kids at the play center there want to show Robbie the “right” way to play with blocks or roll a truck. Robbie seems to have found the best way to deal with this type of child. He listens to what they say with a serious look on his face and then does whatever the hell he pleases. And now I follow suit.

There are some commonalities with all children of other people. They all seem to want to tell you their age, generally down to months (remember when you were six-and-five-eights?), commenting on how much older they are than the baby that attracted them in the first place. They also like to speak for their younger siblings (well, the show-offs and the know-it-alls; the Zackies don’t typically have siblings). And, perhaps most interesting to deal with, they all want to touch the baby. I’ve gotten a little more accepting of this as Robbie has gotten older, and I’m still not quite sure how to tell someone else’s child to please get their grubby hands off my son. I guess I’m much better at correcting other people’s children when they are in my classroom…

Jul20

Play Group Politics

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I never thought I would be one of “those” moms, but, after fifty-one weeks on the job, I am forced to admit that I am. I am the mom who lets her kid open his mouth when the dog licks his face and the mom who does not put a bib on him when he eats (much to my mother’s dismay — she wonders how he will ever learn to eat neatly). I’ve been known to take Robbie out of the house with a dirty face, and I’ve let him fuss in his crib for twenty minutes when he wakes up for a nap. And, God forbid, I have let my child throw a temper tantrum when I wouldn’t give him the remote control. And I didn’t give in.

These true confessions did me no favors when I took Robbie to a new play group this afternoon. I thought we would try an older group — kids between one and three — since there were lots of little babies at the younger group. Robbie loved the group and didn’t realize that anything was amiss. He played with all of the other kids — sharing toys but more often grabbing them from other kids and having them grabbed back. He visited their moms, pulling up on their shoulders to smile and say hello. However, he also made the mistake of trying to grab other kids out of the crawling tunnel and patting the wrong little girl on the head to roughly for her mother’s taste. And then, horror of horrors, he tried to drink from the little girl’s sippy cup.
So, today I learned the truth about play group politics. I do not fit in. These are mothers who bonded in the infant play groups. They’ve celebrated birthday parties together. And their kids are apparently genius children who know how to play nicely. Instead of venturing to play groups where I need to pay for admission, I think Robbie and I will stick to three good friends who let their boys roll and tumble on the floor, share sippy cups, steal toys, and plot to steal the “good” snacks from the big table while eating out of each other’s snack traps.