Before we have kids, we think about all of the benefits; how the addition of a miniature human will enrich our lives. Somehow along the way those good feelings seem to get muddled with poopy diapers, muddy hands and screaming fits, but it's important to remember why we have kids in the first place - not just so when we are old and incontinent they will return the favor, but because kids truly make our lives better in (almost) every aspect.
Sure there's the love, affection and overwhelming sense of purpose, but those aren't the only upsides to parenthood. Parenthood makes you better; at least it made me better. So many aspects of my life, and myself, got better when I had my son.
I was mid-spin at 10:30 a.m. as I had this revelation: having a child had taught me how to be a kid again. Hunter was nap fighting like a champ so I decided an impromptu dance party was the best way to pass some time before we tried again - and hopefully a good way to wear him out. We like to have dance parties, usually while I get ready in the morning to keep the little busy. However, now was as good a time as any. Nap fighting can cause a lot of anxiety, mostly for me as my OCD likes the reliance of a schedule, but this time I chose not to fret the fighting. Instead, I chose, in that moment, to overcome the obstacle (I'm pretty sure I've read these catchphrases on a motivational poster somewhere). So we danced to Top 40s hits via Pandora, and as David Guetta sang Bulletrproof, my son and I hopped in circles. We probably looked ridiculous. And it was perfect.
It was a solid 30 minutes before the little wore out, pooped and was ready to actually sleep, but that 30 minutes were a snapshot of what I always imagined parenthood to be. While I was pregnant, I thought a lot about what parenthood would look like, and it's always amazing to me when those thoughts become a reality. It's happened before... reading books to a 3 month old, sprawled out on a dino blanket. I first had the visions as I made the blanket during my second trimester and the first time I laid there with him reading the stories my hear leapt.
Hunter has taught me how to enjoy life in a new way, how to see the simple, enchanting wonder kids get giddy about. Sure, kids are weird - they're just about the weirdest creatures out there - but it's the best kind of honest weird you can be. Hunter has made the dance parties aplenty. I can't remember the last time I kicked a soccer ball in the house, finger painted or really drew something before he came into my life. All these simple pleasures that slipped away as I become an adult I am slowly regaining as I watch my son grow. We sing silly songs about our toes and jump for no reason. We make animal sounds in the car. I wish everyone could remember the lighthearted life of a kid. I'm lucky I get to partake everyday and learn how to be carefree again if only for a moment. Hunter balances me. I'm my best self now.
I made a pact with myself years ago not to sweat the small stuff and I try my hardest to stay true to that. Becoming a parent gave me a lot more small stuff to sweat but I'm always proud of myself when I can let it go (let it goooooooooo), and it's better for Hunter and myself. We both end up happier and everything works out in the end.
-N.
Monday, March 30, 2015
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
The Toothbrush Thief.
My son is getting taller. When I look straight at him I can't tell that he's grown at all, and according to the doctor's charts his height definitely isn't breaking any records. It's as I have to slowly move the drying rack and kitchen appliances back several inches on the counter that I realize just how much he's grown. Sure he's up on the very tippiest part of his toes, stretching as far as he can to grab whatever forbidden object his heart desires at that nanosecond in time (before he moves on to a particularly expensive glass object or my favorite bottle of wine from the wine rack) but nonetheless his determination couldn't stretch him that far a week ago. That's how I know he's growing.
It's usually when I see him actually holding said object that I realize his most recent growth spurt. I try to be good about the baby proofing -- though I'll admit I think redecorating the entire house to accommodate tiny, disobeying hands is a little overkill - but objects nonetheless get left out. On this particular morning, it was a toothbrush my son had gleefully shoved in his mouth in the split second I was focused on putting away dishes that alerted me to the several inches he had obviously grown overnight.
My husband works the early shift, which means he 's up before our son. In an effort to not wake him, thanks to the unintelligent way our house is designed with a master bathroom that shares a wall with the same wall the baby's crib is on one room over (okay, maybe it's partially poor planning on our part), he brushes his teeth in the kitchen. This means, said toothbrush, along with the tube of toothpaste we share, is on the kitchen island every morning when my son and I wake up.
Since my 16-month-old has a (healthy) obsession with brushing his teeth, he took advantage of the opportunity that presented itself that morning, and quickly began brushing his full-set of pearly whites with my husband's toothbrush... or so I thought.
What I didn't realize, until my husband got home and I recounted the story of his toothbrush, pointing to the stolen object now safely placed several inches back on the counter, was that it wasn't his toothbrush at all. It was mine.
That morning I had taken my toothbrush into the kitchen with me to brush my teeth for two reasons. 1) It would allow me to keep an eye on my son while he ate breakfast in his highchair - and fed half to the dog - and 2) The toothpaste was already out there. The little stinker had stolen MY toothbrush, which actually makes more sense because everything that is mine is at least 100x better than my son's. Most mornings we brush our teeth together. I let him scrub mine while I shine his, or its a no-go.... Kids are weird.
Now it's probably important to mention that I'm OCD. Not in the I-have-to-turn-the-lights-on-and-off-seven-times-before-I-leave-a-room-for-good-luck sort of way, but more in the I-can't-stand-when-my-picture-frames-aren't-perfectly-asymmetrical-in-just-the-way-I-like-them sort of way.
Two years ago the thought of someone else using my toothbrush - even my husband - would have resulted in one of two scenarios 1) making an impromptu Target trip to buy a new one or 2) boiling it in hot water for 10 minutes until I had time to make an impromptu Target trip to buy a new one. Instead, I shook my head in disbelief, smiled briefly the way you have to when your child gets into harmless mischief and relocated my toothbrush back to the safety of my vanity in the master bathroom - where I would use it again that night without so much as rinsing it off.
They always say having kids changes you - and my stretch marks are proof of that. But most important are the changes on the inside. I can no longer stomach sad stories posted on Facebook about the horrible things that happen to babies (please friends, stop posting them) and I've somehow also become a more efficient, motivated individual. I didn't notice this particular change until that moment: my illogical OCD wasn't as bad as it used to be. Sure I still vacuum the baseboards now and again and a pile of laundry anywhere but inside the washing machine makes me cringe, but the germaphobia is a little less. I guess having a boy will do that to you. I now gladly stick out my hand for stray pieces of hardened mud found in the house (dragged in by the dog) as my son happily places them in my hand. The excitement on his face to hand me an object to throw away is priceless, only made better by the times I let him throw them away himself. (I guess that extra OCD energy is being transferred somewhere). And I can see, in this simple experience, that my son, the toothbrush thief, isn't the only one growing.
Now if my husband uses my toothbrush, I'm still running to Target.
-N.
It's usually when I see him actually holding said object that I realize his most recent growth spurt. I try to be good about the baby proofing -- though I'll admit I think redecorating the entire house to accommodate tiny, disobeying hands is a little overkill - but objects nonetheless get left out. On this particular morning, it was a toothbrush my son had gleefully shoved in his mouth in the split second I was focused on putting away dishes that alerted me to the several inches he had obviously grown overnight.
My husband works the early shift, which means he 's up before our son. In an effort to not wake him, thanks to the unintelligent way our house is designed with a master bathroom that shares a wall with the same wall the baby's crib is on one room over (okay, maybe it's partially poor planning on our part), he brushes his teeth in the kitchen. This means, said toothbrush, along with the tube of toothpaste we share, is on the kitchen island every morning when my son and I wake up.
Since my 16-month-old has a (healthy) obsession with brushing his teeth, he took advantage of the opportunity that presented itself that morning, and quickly began brushing his full-set of pearly whites with my husband's toothbrush... or so I thought.
What I didn't realize, until my husband got home and I recounted the story of his toothbrush, pointing to the stolen object now safely placed several inches back on the counter, was that it wasn't his toothbrush at all. It was mine.
That morning I had taken my toothbrush into the kitchen with me to brush my teeth for two reasons. 1) It would allow me to keep an eye on my son while he ate breakfast in his highchair - and fed half to the dog - and 2) The toothpaste was already out there. The little stinker had stolen MY toothbrush, which actually makes more sense because everything that is mine is at least 100x better than my son's. Most mornings we brush our teeth together. I let him scrub mine while I shine his, or its a no-go.... Kids are weird.
Now it's probably important to mention that I'm OCD. Not in the I-have-to-turn-the-lights-on-and-off-seven-times-before-I-leave-a-room-for-good-luck sort of way, but more in the I-can't-stand-when-my-picture-frames-aren't-perfectly-asymmetrical-in-just-the-way-I-like-them sort of way.
Two years ago the thought of someone else using my toothbrush - even my husband - would have resulted in one of two scenarios 1) making an impromptu Target trip to buy a new one or 2) boiling it in hot water for 10 minutes until I had time to make an impromptu Target trip to buy a new one. Instead, I shook my head in disbelief, smiled briefly the way you have to when your child gets into harmless mischief and relocated my toothbrush back to the safety of my vanity in the master bathroom - where I would use it again that night without so much as rinsing it off.
They always say having kids changes you - and my stretch marks are proof of that. But most important are the changes on the inside. I can no longer stomach sad stories posted on Facebook about the horrible things that happen to babies (please friends, stop posting them) and I've somehow also become a more efficient, motivated individual. I didn't notice this particular change until that moment: my illogical OCD wasn't as bad as it used to be. Sure I still vacuum the baseboards now and again and a pile of laundry anywhere but inside the washing machine makes me cringe, but the germaphobia is a little less. I guess having a boy will do that to you. I now gladly stick out my hand for stray pieces of hardened mud found in the house (dragged in by the dog) as my son happily places them in my hand. The excitement on his face to hand me an object to throw away is priceless, only made better by the times I let him throw them away himself. (I guess that extra OCD energy is being transferred somewhere). And I can see, in this simple experience, that my son, the toothbrush thief, isn't the only one growing.
Now if my husband uses my toothbrush, I'm still running to Target.
-N.
Monday, March 23, 2015
Little Boys & Super Heroes
Ok, confession time: I hide books from my son. That's awful, right? I'm 100 percent for reading to children. In fact, my son and I have been reading since before he was born. I'd read my books aloud when he was still growing in my tummy in a valiant effort to produce a human being that is smarter than my husband and I. Even if he was listening to Nicholas Sparks novels and What to Expect When You're Expecting, it was better than nothing right?
Books were a huge part of my life growing up. I was always reading something - usually not required school reading - and I'm happy to see my son take after me in that sense. Although, lets be honest, I'm happy to see my son take after me in just about any sense considering he's the carbon copy of my husband.
Now, however, he gets stuck on his favorite things, including books. No matter how many dozens of books I buy him - mostly for my own sanity because a person can only read "Where's Spot" so many times in their life - he wants to read the same ten or so every time we sit down to read. And usually, he prefers to read the same book several times in a row, before moving on to the next.
I make a game out of this practice, mostly to make round 300 of "Ten Tiny Toes" bearable. I change up voices, I make different sounds and try to include interactive portions for my son. I started doing it to help myself, but in the long run I can see it helping my son. Some books, however, do not lend themselves to creative storytelling and are therefore a lot harder to read 100 times over.
My son's favorite book as of late is called My First Batman Book. His aunt bought it for him partially because little boys tend to like super heroes and also partially because Batman is his dad's favorite, but the problem is he could read the Batman book until the end of time, never reading a single book in between, and be perfectly content. There are few ways to get creative with the already slightly interactive book and my voice is quickly growing hoarse from trying to sound like Batman. I've given sounds to the fake "buttons" inside the book, prompting my son to push them when directed and even make "zoom" and "zip" noises as Batman drives his Batmobile with Robin or ziplines across tall buildings.
The realization eventually came to me that perhaps I had made the book too fun; that in an effort to quell my own boredom I had made the book more desirable in my son's eyes. So I quickly changed my approach. I began speeding through the pages quicker than my son could turn them and speaking in monotone voices, with no cool sound effects or added interactive ploys.
To my dismay, it didn't work. My son still loves the Batman book and it only angers him when I don't add in the extra "fun" parts. I don't know why everylittle boy member of the male population has an obsession with Batman, but it seems to be universal.
I tried hiding it once. I slipped it behind his stuffed animal bin and forgot about it for weeks. Until the day my son tipped over said bin and uncovered the "lost" object. His eyes lit up when he saw it as he immediately handed it to me and promptly sat in my lap for 20 or 30 straight readings. I tried to pick up other books in between but he wouldn't be swayed. It was like a brand-new toy and the weeks it spent missing from his easily-accessible collection only added to its worth.
I guess I learned my lesson. Damnit, Batman.
-N.
Slightly Crunchy: giving in to some of the earth-preserving, "granola-esque" qualities that are often associated with mothers such as cloth diapering, breastfeeding and organic baby food-making, but without fully embracing the "make-your-own-clothes-wear-organic-deodorant-all-natural-everything" lifestyle.
Books were a huge part of my life growing up. I was always reading something - usually not required school reading - and I'm happy to see my son take after me in that sense. Although, lets be honest, I'm happy to see my son take after me in just about any sense considering he's the carbon copy of my husband.
Now, however, he gets stuck on his favorite things, including books. No matter how many dozens of books I buy him - mostly for my own sanity because a person can only read "Where's Spot" so many times in their life - he wants to read the same ten or so every time we sit down to read. And usually, he prefers to read the same book several times in a row, before moving on to the next.
I make a game out of this practice, mostly to make round 300 of "Ten Tiny Toes" bearable. I change up voices, I make different sounds and try to include interactive portions for my son. I started doing it to help myself, but in the long run I can see it helping my son. Some books, however, do not lend themselves to creative storytelling and are therefore a lot harder to read 100 times over.
My son's favorite book as of late is called My First Batman Book. His aunt bought it for him partially because little boys tend to like super heroes and also partially because Batman is his dad's favorite, but the problem is he could read the Batman book until the end of time, never reading a single book in between, and be perfectly content. There are few ways to get creative with the already slightly interactive book and my voice is quickly growing hoarse from trying to sound like Batman. I've given sounds to the fake "buttons" inside the book, prompting my son to push them when directed and even make "zoom" and "zip" noises as Batman drives his Batmobile with Robin or ziplines across tall buildings.
The realization eventually came to me that perhaps I had made the book too fun; that in an effort to quell my own boredom I had made the book more desirable in my son's eyes. So I quickly changed my approach. I began speeding through the pages quicker than my son could turn them and speaking in monotone voices, with no cool sound effects or added interactive ploys.
To my dismay, it didn't work. My son still loves the Batman book and it only angers him when I don't add in the extra "fun" parts. I don't know why every
I tried hiding it once. I slipped it behind his stuffed animal bin and forgot about it for weeks. Until the day my son tipped over said bin and uncovered the "lost" object. His eyes lit up when he saw it as he immediately handed it to me and promptly sat in my lap for 20 or 30 straight readings. I tried to pick up other books in between but he wouldn't be swayed. It was like a brand-new toy and the weeks it spent missing from his easily-accessible collection only added to its worth.
I guess I learned my lesson. Damnit, Batman.
-N.
Slightly Crunchy: giving in to some of the earth-preserving, "granola-esque" qualities that are often associated with mothers such as cloth diapering, breastfeeding and organic baby food-making, but without fully embracing the "make-your-own-clothes-wear-organic-deodorant-all-natural-everything" lifestyle.
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
Dogs Best Friend.
My son thinks his friends are dogs.
The other day we were having a play date with our cousins when Hunter joyfully decided to share. I usually encourage this behavior, because as an only- and a non-daycare-going- child, I want him to learn how to play nicely with other children. The problem is that when Hunter shares, he likes to shove toys right into his friends' mouths.
This odd behavior was proceeded by Hunter getting in trouble for not being gentle with his playmate.. hitting him a little too hard and throwing an object in his direction, hitting him square in the chest. But what happened after I said the words ,"be gentle" gave me some serious pause.
Hunter promptly looked at me, his little face clearly registering the command, and then proceeded to pat his play mate lightly on the head and then lean in for an armless hug (basically Hunter putting his head on the other boy's chest). This behavior was not received with the good intentions with which it was meant because the petting was invasive, probably a little to rough and slightly condescending, and the hug registered as a rather strange gesture given their was no actual hugging involved.
Hunter's playmate quickly looked from Hunter to the adult supervisors in the room with a level of confusion and disgust that resulted in a priceless face I wish I had a picture of, and an immediate push as he tried to remove the small human from his chest.
The thing is, Hunter's behavior was supposed to be nice. He was petting his friend. And, in all fairness, this is my fault (because his dad wasn't around to take the blame).
We have a dog and I'm a huge proponent of pets for kids. I think the right pet provides a lot of benefit for young children. Not only have studies proved that kids with dogs tend to have stronger immune systems (probably because the dogs constantly expose them to dirt, germs and crap they otherwise wouldn't usually be around) but I credit our dog with helping to teach our son to walk. It was the determination to catch up with his dog, after all, that motivated Hunter to take his first steps - right toward our 90 lb. Black Mouth Cur, who immediately ran for cover, horrified that this small but loud lump had suddenly learned to move on its own. But our son has also learned how to play with others based on how he plays with our dog.
The command "be gentle" most commonly comes in response to Hunter using our dog as a drum - or a horse, or a step stool - so when I made the warning, he jumped into action. Responding exactly how he would to our dog with a series of nice pets and an animal-appropriate hug.
Despite thehilarious awkward inappropriate exchange, I can't help but marvel at how children view the world. In a way, his immediate reaction shows an impressive amount of acceptance and tolerance as well as the true innocence of a child. He doesn't see an animal as lesser than another human being - to him, he was treating his playmate with the same respect and love he shows his own brother. To Hunter, that was the utmost compliment (or perhaps it was a knee-jerk reaction to my command, but let's pretend it's not). Either way, PETA could learn a thing or two from Hunter.
In closing, my takeaway is simple: We need more human play dates.
-N.
Slightly Crunchy: giving in to some of the earth-preserving, "granola-esque" qualities that are often associated with mothers such as cloth diapering, breastfeeding and organic baby food-making, but without fully embracing the "make-your-own-clothes-wear-organic-deodorant-all-natural-everything" lifestyle.
The other day we were having a play date with our cousins when Hunter joyfully decided to share. I usually encourage this behavior, because as an only- and a non-daycare-going- child, I want him to learn how to play nicely with other children. The problem is that when Hunter shares, he likes to shove toys right into his friends' mouths.
This odd behavior was proceeded by Hunter getting in trouble for not being gentle with his playmate.. hitting him a little too hard and throwing an object in his direction, hitting him square in the chest. But what happened after I said the words ,"be gentle" gave me some serious pause.
Hunter promptly looked at me, his little face clearly registering the command, and then proceeded to pat his play mate lightly on the head and then lean in for an armless hug (basically Hunter putting his head on the other boy's chest). This behavior was not received with the good intentions with which it was meant because the petting was invasive, probably a little to rough and slightly condescending, and the hug registered as a rather strange gesture given their was no actual hugging involved.
Hunter's playmate quickly looked from Hunter to the adult supervisors in the room with a level of confusion and disgust that resulted in a priceless face I wish I had a picture of, and an immediate push as he tried to remove the small human from his chest.
The thing is, Hunter's behavior was supposed to be nice. He was petting his friend. And, in all fairness, this is my fault (because his dad wasn't around to take the blame).
We have a dog and I'm a huge proponent of pets for kids. I think the right pet provides a lot of benefit for young children. Not only have studies proved that kids with dogs tend to have stronger immune systems (probably because the dogs constantly expose them to dirt, germs and crap they otherwise wouldn't usually be around) but I credit our dog with helping to teach our son to walk. It was the determination to catch up with his dog, after all, that motivated Hunter to take his first steps - right toward our 90 lb. Black Mouth Cur, who immediately ran for cover, horrified that this small but loud lump had suddenly learned to move on its own. But our son has also learned how to play with others based on how he plays with our dog.
The command "be gentle" most commonly comes in response to Hunter using our dog as a drum - or a horse, or a step stool - so when I made the warning, he jumped into action. Responding exactly how he would to our dog with a series of nice pets and an animal-appropriate hug.
Despite the
In closing, my takeaway is simple: We need more human play dates.
-N.
Slightly Crunchy: giving in to some of the earth-preserving, "granola-esque" qualities that are often associated with mothers such as cloth diapering, breastfeeding and organic baby food-making, but without fully embracing the "make-your-own-clothes-wear-organic-deodorant-all-natural-everything" lifestyle.
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