Sometimes my daughter truly amazes me.
Yes, she's 2. She acts like she's 2. And that's okay. We've all been there at some point.
(Is it bad that I'm currently pretending I don't see baby B eating the cupcake wrapper out of the trash so that I can take the 2 minutes Miss H naps to type this? Yeah, probably...)
But then sometimes she does something that just kind of makes me go, "Whoa! Was that my girl?"
We were at the park today and a little girl who was probably about 4ish, started randomly hitting and shoving Miss H. Her little eyes welled up with tears and I wasn't sure if she was going to cry because she'd just been hurt (and hadn't instigated anything), or if she was just going to turn and wallop the girl. Both scenarios were pretty feasible.
After taking a few steps awayfrom the girl, instead she said, "Hitting's not nice. Maybe you're hungry. I sink (because this is totally how she says "think") I have snacks. Want some?" And came over to get some grapes to share with the little girl.
I watched this whole thing from where I was seated with baby B in the mulch, my jaw probably falling off it's hinge. WTF? Did my little girl really just respond that way?
(Okay...I fished the cupcake wrapper out of his mouth. He's moved on to chewing on the Internet cords...typically they nap at the same time...)
I was just dumbfounded with how well she handled the situation. And how it is in fact possible for kids to handle situations without other intervening all the time.
They ended up sharing grapes and the little girl helped Miss H into a "big kid" swing and pushed her for a while.
And this all seriously started with Miss H minding her own business (for once!) and the child randomly taking out some aggression on her.
I can't believe how big my baby girl is getting!
(And baby B is cutting 3 teeth...so I'll remove him from the cords now and be an attentive momma).
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
Sprinkles
Who knew something as simple as sprinkles could procure a nearly hour long conversation between J and I?
I made cupcakes yesterday for my little sister's birthday. Fantastically delicious dark chocolate cupcakes with dark chocolate nutella frosting. Yeah, yum! But of course, they're all brown, not very pretty, and so I decided I wanted to pretty them up with some sprinkles. Which brought on the conversation.
To sprinkle or not to sprinkle?
You see, Miss H has a food coloring sensitivity. So if she eats food coloring she ends up with a nasty case of diarrhea. It used to be that just touching it would break her out in a rash. But now she's gotten better, and so long as we wash her up thoroughly, and she's not touched/played with it for too long, it doesn't seem to bother her.
You do no realize all the things in the world that have food coloring in them until you have a babe that gets sick from it. Between her food coloring sensitivity and baby B's sensitivity to wheat, I've become a pro at reading labels. Mac 'n cheese, Nutrigrain bars, even marshmallows all have food coloring! Which, if we're being honest, I'm not really okay with feeding my kids artificial food coloring on a regular basis - sensitivity or not. This just makes me even more cautious.
Anyway. We can find a lot of natural foods around here. Naturally colored sprinkles are not one of them though. So to put sprinkles on the cupcakes means to put food coloring on the cupcakes. We went back and forth debating whether or not putting sprinkles on the cupcakes made us bad parents. If it was wrong, etc. We ultimately decided that a minimal amount of sprinkles would be just fine. It's not like a peanut allergy or something where she'd die, though probably terrible justification, I'm sure.
People warn you about a lot of things in parenthood. But they don't warn you about things like food allergies/intolerances and what a pain they are; for the kids and the parents.
I made cupcakes yesterday for my little sister's birthday. Fantastically delicious dark chocolate cupcakes with dark chocolate nutella frosting. Yeah, yum! But of course, they're all brown, not very pretty, and so I decided I wanted to pretty them up with some sprinkles. Which brought on the conversation.
To sprinkle or not to sprinkle?
You see, Miss H has a food coloring sensitivity. So if she eats food coloring she ends up with a nasty case of diarrhea. It used to be that just touching it would break her out in a rash. But now she's gotten better, and so long as we wash her up thoroughly, and she's not touched/played with it for too long, it doesn't seem to bother her.
You do no realize all the things in the world that have food coloring in them until you have a babe that gets sick from it. Between her food coloring sensitivity and baby B's sensitivity to wheat, I've become a pro at reading labels. Mac 'n cheese, Nutrigrain bars, even marshmallows all have food coloring! Which, if we're being honest, I'm not really okay with feeding my kids artificial food coloring on a regular basis - sensitivity or not. This just makes me even more cautious.
Anyway. We can find a lot of natural foods around here. Naturally colored sprinkles are not one of them though. So to put sprinkles on the cupcakes means to put food coloring on the cupcakes. We went back and forth debating whether or not putting sprinkles on the cupcakes made us bad parents. If it was wrong, etc. We ultimately decided that a minimal amount of sprinkles would be just fine. It's not like a peanut allergy or something where she'd die, though probably terrible justification, I'm sure.
People warn you about a lot of things in parenthood. But they don't warn you about things like food allergies/intolerances and what a pain they are; for the kids and the parents.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
I need to be on my list of priorities
I won't lie, I really pride myself on always putting my babes first. This is just super important to me.
But I'm slowly realizing that although it's okay to put them first, I need to put myself at the very least somewhere on the list of my priorities. Since the day I got a + sign, pregnant with Miss H, I've put myself to the curb and dedicated every breath in my body to my babes.
And that's not a bad thing. Not really.
But there are so many simple, mundane things I forget, put off, or completely ignore for myself.
I mean, the kids get their hair brushed every single day. When we leave the house they are always in nice, clean, matching clothes (well, now that Miss H dresses herself frequently they're not always matched...). I won't lie, there are lots of days my hair never sees a brush. I just throw it up and hope for the best. Sometimes I wear a ratty t-shirt out in public, or, this is probably awful to admit, wear the same freaking shirt for 48 hours straight. Not to mention that I legitimately have two pairs of shorts and four shirts that even fit me properly - everything else is falling off and even my belts are too big to help. But whenever I say I'm going to go buy clothes for just me, I end up deciding against it because all I can think of is what I'm taking away from the babes. Ridiculous.
Every single day I read countless books to the babes. Miss H could literally read all. day. long. And I believe so strongly in reading that I read to her like crazy, even if it is the same book twenty times in a row (sadly, I'm not exaggerating here). But I never get to read for pleasure anymore. And before children, I easily read 2-3 books a week, though one a day was not uncommon. Now it's a miracle if I make it through a whole book in 6 months. No joke.
I make sure my kiddos eat well-balanced meals each day. Some days I forget to eat altogether (and I used to think people were crazy when they said they "forgot" to eat. I mean, who forgets to eat!?). I need to make eating a priority. And eating well a priority.
My babies say their prayers every single night. I can't remember the last time I said a real prayer. Something more than the repetitive grace I say before eating or the "please God let us be safe" before travelling. I think God and I are due a little heart to heart sometime in the near future.
It's a miracle I've managed to become relatively thin, because I never exercise. And I really need to. I do Pilate's once a week. But that hardly counts. I need to start running again. I need to make the gym a routine part of my day. Which really means I need to stop bitching about lack of sleep and get my lazy bum out of bed at the crack of dawn so I can hit the gym before J leaves for work.
Miss H's baby scrapbook doesn't go past her first Christmas. I need to finish it up until her first birthday. Then I need to work on starting baby B's. I need to find a way to just let those babes be and do some things on their own. They don't truly need Momma to entertain them every waking second. Do they?
I've been working on the same quilt, made from my grandfather's shirts for over a year now. It's still relatively unfinished. The only sewing projects I have been able to complete are for the children. I deserve at least one thing for myself. I really do.
I make sure the babes have active social lives. They play with other kiddos nearly every day. But I've not even gone out with a friend since Miss H was born. Not once. Not even for an hour. I need social interaction, too. Don't get me wrong, I adore the social interaction I get from J and the mommy friends who get together with us, but it's probably okay to have friends who I actually see without our children, right? Maybe.
This is why it's so hard to make me a priority. Because once I start thinking of what I should do for me, I start feeling like I want too much for me. That I'm selfish and that every single thing that I do for me is in some way taking away from the babes. And I feel like that's not fair because I chose to have children. I chose this life. It's kind of like I don't have a right for "me things." But I know that's also super silly. If I don't take care of myself, and make myself some sort of a priority, I'll probably end up a sour pickle. Or maybe not.
But I probably do need to do something about the me factor.
But I'm slowly realizing that although it's okay to put them first, I need to put myself at the very least somewhere on the list of my priorities. Since the day I got a + sign, pregnant with Miss H, I've put myself to the curb and dedicated every breath in my body to my babes.
And that's not a bad thing. Not really.
But there are so many simple, mundane things I forget, put off, or completely ignore for myself.
I mean, the kids get their hair brushed every single day. When we leave the house they are always in nice, clean, matching clothes (well, now that Miss H dresses herself frequently they're not always matched...). I won't lie, there are lots of days my hair never sees a brush. I just throw it up and hope for the best. Sometimes I wear a ratty t-shirt out in public, or, this is probably awful to admit, wear the same freaking shirt for 48 hours straight. Not to mention that I legitimately have two pairs of shorts and four shirts that even fit me properly - everything else is falling off and even my belts are too big to help. But whenever I say I'm going to go buy clothes for just me, I end up deciding against it because all I can think of is what I'm taking away from the babes. Ridiculous.
Every single day I read countless books to the babes. Miss H could literally read all. day. long. And I believe so strongly in reading that I read to her like crazy, even if it is the same book twenty times in a row (sadly, I'm not exaggerating here). But I never get to read for pleasure anymore. And before children, I easily read 2-3 books a week, though one a day was not uncommon. Now it's a miracle if I make it through a whole book in 6 months. No joke.
I make sure my kiddos eat well-balanced meals each day. Some days I forget to eat altogether (and I used to think people were crazy when they said they "forgot" to eat. I mean, who forgets to eat!?). I need to make eating a priority. And eating well a priority.
My babies say their prayers every single night. I can't remember the last time I said a real prayer. Something more than the repetitive grace I say before eating or the "please God let us be safe" before travelling. I think God and I are due a little heart to heart sometime in the near future.
It's a miracle I've managed to become relatively thin, because I never exercise. And I really need to. I do Pilate's once a week. But that hardly counts. I need to start running again. I need to make the gym a routine part of my day. Which really means I need to stop bitching about lack of sleep and get my lazy bum out of bed at the crack of dawn so I can hit the gym before J leaves for work.
Miss H's baby scrapbook doesn't go past her first Christmas. I need to finish it up until her first birthday. Then I need to work on starting baby B's. I need to find a way to just let those babes be and do some things on their own. They don't truly need Momma to entertain them every waking second. Do they?
I've been working on the same quilt, made from my grandfather's shirts for over a year now. It's still relatively unfinished. The only sewing projects I have been able to complete are for the children. I deserve at least one thing for myself. I really do.
I make sure the babes have active social lives. They play with other kiddos nearly every day. But I've not even gone out with a friend since Miss H was born. Not once. Not even for an hour. I need social interaction, too. Don't get me wrong, I adore the social interaction I get from J and the mommy friends who get together with us, but it's probably okay to have friends who I actually see without our children, right? Maybe.
This is why it's so hard to make me a priority. Because once I start thinking of what I should do for me, I start feeling like I want too much for me. That I'm selfish and that every single thing that I do for me is in some way taking away from the babes. And I feel like that's not fair because I chose to have children. I chose this life. It's kind of like I don't have a right for "me things." But I know that's also super silly. If I don't take care of myself, and make myself some sort of a priority, I'll probably end up a sour pickle. Or maybe not.
But I probably do need to do something about the me factor.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
"Best Dad Ever"
J is seriously the best father I know. He is so present with his children, which seems to be a rarity for many these days. He always puts them first, and I love that. I mean, this is the guy whose little girl called him one early afternoon and said, "Papa, come home and carry me." And what did he do? He immediately turned his computer off and came home to hold her and play with her. I don't know a lot of dad's who would do that! (Granted, a lot aren't in work positions where they can, and I do get that, too).
The relationship he has with our children is so beautiful and amazing. Nothing melts my heart more than seeing him holding and playing with our babes. And nothing breaks my heart more than when he's away and I have to listen to them cry for him. But I always remind myself that it's a good thing they cry for their papa, because the alternative is them not being attached enough to be phased. And I wouldn't want that.
J inspires me as a parent each and every day. It's like he's able to take all my beliefs and carry them out without all the mistakes I make. He definitely inspires me to be better.
He's incredibly supportive of all the crazy ideas I come up with in regards to our children. When I mention something that is "new" to him (and typically me too!) he is always immediate in going about to research the new idea. And then he typically feels more strongly about it than I do, and is my support person when I'm feeling weak. (So many times I have sighed after feeling all touched out and proclaimed that maybe I wanted to wean Miss H, and each time he says, "If you really feel like you can't do it one more single day and still be happy, then let's do it. But remember, these xyz reasons are why we decided on self weaning.").
J's never raised his voice to our children. Not once. He's never made empty threats. He's never hit them. He's always so calm and gentle, the best peaceful parent I could ever hope to know (and far better than I could ever hope to be!). And let's be honest here, it's not like my kids are little saints that never try him. He's just a saint and realizes that he must be the example for them and must react the way he wishes for them to. Seriously, he's an awesome dad.
Right this very second he is out on the porch swing putting baby B to sleep, because he was having a rougher time going down tonight. I brought B downstairs after 30 minutes of trying, to no avail, to help him into slumberland. Immediately J whisked him into his arms, kissed his cheeks, and said, "Let me take him out to the swing." And that was that.
I hear so often of married mothers who do the majority of all the childcare 24/7. And if that's what works for them, than that's great! But I think I'd lose my mind. J changes nearly all the diapers when he's home. He gives baths and helps to feed them. Nearly all of our children's waking hours when J is home he's playing with them. And that's kind of awesome to me. And it's not him playing with them because he feels like he has to, but it's because he truly wants to.
He loves teaching our children new things. Today he and Miss H found a dead bumblebee outside and he was so excited to explain all the different parts of the bee to her. At the Farmer's Market he held baby B's little hands and walked him through the fountain, talking to him about the temperature of the water and the texture of the rocks on his feet.
I love the kind of father J is. I love the kind of man he is that let's him be such a kick-ass papa. I love that he adaptable. I love how tough he likes to pretend he is, but how I can watch a 2 year old girl and a 9 month old boy turn him to putty without saying a word.
I know, I know, everyone has the "Best Dad Ever" or are married to the "Best Dad Ever." But seriously, my children really do have the best papa ever. I seriously am married to the man who is the best papa ever. And that's just that, folks.
The relationship he has with our children is so beautiful and amazing. Nothing melts my heart more than seeing him holding and playing with our babes. And nothing breaks my heart more than when he's away and I have to listen to them cry for him. But I always remind myself that it's a good thing they cry for their papa, because the alternative is them not being attached enough to be phased. And I wouldn't want that.
J inspires me as a parent each and every day. It's like he's able to take all my beliefs and carry them out without all the mistakes I make. He definitely inspires me to be better.
He's incredibly supportive of all the crazy ideas I come up with in regards to our children. When I mention something that is "new" to him (and typically me too!) he is always immediate in going about to research the new idea. And then he typically feels more strongly about it than I do, and is my support person when I'm feeling weak. (So many times I have sighed after feeling all touched out and proclaimed that maybe I wanted to wean Miss H, and each time he says, "If you really feel like you can't do it one more single day and still be happy, then let's do it. But remember, these xyz reasons are why we decided on self weaning.").
J's never raised his voice to our children. Not once. He's never made empty threats. He's never hit them. He's always so calm and gentle, the best peaceful parent I could ever hope to know (and far better than I could ever hope to be!). And let's be honest here, it's not like my kids are little saints that never try him. He's just a saint and realizes that he must be the example for them and must react the way he wishes for them to. Seriously, he's an awesome dad.
Right this very second he is out on the porch swing putting baby B to sleep, because he was having a rougher time going down tonight. I brought B downstairs after 30 minutes of trying, to no avail, to help him into slumberland. Immediately J whisked him into his arms, kissed his cheeks, and said, "Let me take him out to the swing." And that was that.
I hear so often of married mothers who do the majority of all the childcare 24/7. And if that's what works for them, than that's great! But I think I'd lose my mind. J changes nearly all the diapers when he's home. He gives baths and helps to feed them. Nearly all of our children's waking hours when J is home he's playing with them. And that's kind of awesome to me. And it's not him playing with them because he feels like he has to, but it's because he truly wants to.
He loves teaching our children new things. Today he and Miss H found a dead bumblebee outside and he was so excited to explain all the different parts of the bee to her. At the Farmer's Market he held baby B's little hands and walked him through the fountain, talking to him about the temperature of the water and the texture of the rocks on his feet.
I love the kind of father J is. I love the kind of man he is that let's him be such a kick-ass papa. I love that he adaptable. I love how tough he likes to pretend he is, but how I can watch a 2 year old girl and a 9 month old boy turn him to putty without saying a word.
I know, I know, everyone has the "Best Dad Ever" or are married to the "Best Dad Ever." But seriously, my children really do have the best papa ever. I seriously am married to the man who is the best papa ever. And that's just that, folks.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Baby B's name just isn't as cool as Miss H's
Let's face it, it just isn't. At least not in my opinion.
Miss H's name is beautiful and spunky, just like her. It expresses a passion of mine and tells a simple love story that is J and I. It took immense amount of thought and time to come up with.
Baby B's...well, his first name is his great grandfather's on his papa's side. A man I never knew, which alone makes me a bit uncomfortable. What if he wasn't the kind of man I'd want to name my son after? Albeit, it's an uncommon U.S. name, so it gets tons of points for that, but most people absolutely butcher it, so I often prefer people to call him by his shortened nickname. And I do love the nickname.
His first middle name is my dad's middle name. Nothing wrong with that at all, except I really hate the idea of naming kids after family/friends. It's like taking a piece of their identity away, you know? But at the end of the day I have no one to blame but the flabbergasted woman who gave birth to a boy when she was certain he was a girl...yeah, that'd be me.
And his second middle name is the name of a great man in one of my favorite novels. If he grew up to be like him, I'd be okay with that.
So although I like his name, it's no where near as "cool" as H's. I kind of feel bad for that, but really, Miss H just has a kick-ass name. We knew we couldn't give another kid a name quite as great. But baby B's name is pretty great, in it's own way. And I'm sure the older he gets the more I'll appreciate it, and the story of how it came to be (I mean, seriously, I was 100% sure without a doubt he was GIRL!)...
Miss H's name is beautiful and spunky, just like her. It expresses a passion of mine and tells a simple love story that is J and I. It took immense amount of thought and time to come up with.
Baby B's...well, his first name is his great grandfather's on his papa's side. A man I never knew, which alone makes me a bit uncomfortable. What if he wasn't the kind of man I'd want to name my son after? Albeit, it's an uncommon U.S. name, so it gets tons of points for that, but most people absolutely butcher it, so I often prefer people to call him by his shortened nickname. And I do love the nickname.
His first middle name is my dad's middle name. Nothing wrong with that at all, except I really hate the idea of naming kids after family/friends. It's like taking a piece of their identity away, you know? But at the end of the day I have no one to blame but the flabbergasted woman who gave birth to a boy when she was certain he was a girl...yeah, that'd be me.
And his second middle name is the name of a great man in one of my favorite novels. If he grew up to be like him, I'd be okay with that.
So although I like his name, it's no where near as "cool" as H's. I kind of feel bad for that, but really, Miss H just has a kick-ass name. We knew we couldn't give another kid a name quite as great. But baby B's name is pretty great, in it's own way. And I'm sure the older he gets the more I'll appreciate it, and the story of how it came to be (I mean, seriously, I was 100% sure without a doubt he was GIRL!)...
Thursday, June 14, 2012
The heart and the head
Eleanor Roosevelt once said, "Do what you feel in your heart to be right - for you'll be criticized anyway."
I have to agree with those words. And I try very hard to live by them.
During those moments of frustration when Miss H and I are not connecting because she's just so pissed off about something that seems absurdly ridiculous to me, and I really just want to toss her screaming, throwing things self into her room until she can "behave", because my head says that is what should be done since so many people raise amazing kids and have implemented this, I try to always let my heart get a say in . Because my heart says to hold her, to talk to her and sing to her, even if this only enrages her more at first, and takes her three times as long to calm down as opposed to just putting her in her room. I want her to know that her feelings are valid. That even while tantruming I love her and I am there for her. That I realize that she is oh-so little and needn't be left alone to deal with such big feelings all on her own.
Granted, I'm not perfect. I don't always react this way.
But still.
I've learned that so much of parenting is a constant battle between your head and your heart. I've always been a very practical, reasonable, and logical individual. Not necessarily when it comes to my babes though.
My head has always said that babies should sleep in their cribs from day one, to help prevent "sleep issues" down the road. My heart has never let me part with my babes during slumber.
My head says a 2 year old does not need to breastfeed. My heart says she does, even if for only emotional needs.
You see, it's an interesting difference in viewpoint that the head and the heart can have. For some, we make all choices, parenting and non, with our head. For others, it's with our heart. And for some it's a mix.
I'm definitely a mixer kind of momma, but any way works. Any way is right.
I have to agree with those words. And I try very hard to live by them.
During those moments of frustration when Miss H and I are not connecting because she's just so pissed off about something that seems absurdly ridiculous to me, and I really just want to toss her screaming, throwing things self into her room until she can "behave", because my head says that is what should be done since so many people raise amazing kids and have implemented this, I try to always let my heart get a say in . Because my heart says to hold her, to talk to her and sing to her, even if this only enrages her more at first, and takes her three times as long to calm down as opposed to just putting her in her room. I want her to know that her feelings are valid. That even while tantruming I love her and I am there for her. That I realize that she is oh-so little and needn't be left alone to deal with such big feelings all on her own.
Granted, I'm not perfect. I don't always react this way.
But still.
I've learned that so much of parenting is a constant battle between your head and your heart. I've always been a very practical, reasonable, and logical individual. Not necessarily when it comes to my babes though.
My head has always said that babies should sleep in their cribs from day one, to help prevent "sleep issues" down the road. My heart has never let me part with my babes during slumber.
My head says a 2 year old does not need to breastfeed. My heart says she does, even if for only emotional needs.
You see, it's an interesting difference in viewpoint that the head and the heart can have. For some, we make all choices, parenting and non, with our head. For others, it's with our heart. And for some it's a mix.
I'm definitely a mixer kind of momma, but any way works. Any way is right.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
I wish I weren't such a freak
Really and truly I do.
I wish I could leave my kids for an hour, an evening, or even a whole day, and not freak out. But I can't even do it theoretically in my head, so in reality, not so much.
Today is the first day our new sitter took the kids as a "trial run" before she has to watch them next week while I attend pilates. She took them to the park for one hour. She's two blocks away, and we both have phones. And yet I'm still sick to my stomach paranoid. And she really is a terrific girl!
J and I have talked/fantasized about taking a vacation kid-free once they've weaned...so you know, in like ten years...
But then after we've daydreamed about where we'd go, it always boils down to me saying, "Well, it's a nice thought. But who'd keep the kids? Never gonna happen..."
And then the bubble is burst.
Sane, rational, loving parents leave their children all the time. And it's okay! So why can I not get on that bandwagon, too? Especially when I want to.
Why do I, instead, just focus in on all the ways someone might treat my children differently than I would? Sure, they probably would. But J treats them differently than I do, and I have no issues with that. But then again, we are the same page, we just do the smaller bits differently. And to be honest, if someone "messes up" in our parenting style/beliefs, it's me.
I'm the one who has lost my cool a few times and yelled at Miss H. I'm the one who's taken her and tossed her in her room because I didn't want to hear her scream. I'm the one who has put her in front of the TV for an hour just so that she'd be quiet and baby B could nap.
Has J ever done any of that? No. Never.
So why am I so afraid of someone else performing my parenting mistakes on my kids?
I irrationally worry that someone will take H to the park and tell her she's not allowed to go on the big slide all by herself, or try climbing up anything, or that she cannot swing on the swings Superman-style. Or, God forbid, that she cannot climb up the slide. (Don't worry, I drilled it into the sitter that these were all acceptable!)
I'm afraid that someone will lose their cool and yell at her. Or worse, hit her.
I'm afraid someone will insist she not wear her clothes backwards after she has worked so hard to do it herself.
I'm afraid someone will let her watch TV for 3 hours straight. Or to make it worse, it'd be something that I'm not okay with her watching. Something with sassy kids or violence.
I'm afraid someone will feed her nothing but processed food and not realize that Kraft mac n cheese has food coloring in it and now she has diarrhea. Which of course would likely lead to lots of accidents, and she dislikes being in a diaper, so I can only envision the hysterics if someone tried to put her in one because they didn't want to clean up the accidents, which would lead to a battle of wills, and then maybe H would be punished, and all ready my heart aches for her mistreatment and it's never even happened.
I'm terrified someone would leave them to cry alone if they woke up at night.
I'm afraid they'd be forced to eat certain foods at certain times, when they are always allowed to mostly eat when they want and how much they want.
I'm afraid they'd be forced to clean up all the toys, when that's not a requirement we have of them (though we encourage them to help!).
I'm afraid, in general, that situations would just not be handled the way I would handle them.
Which is silly. Because as I have no qualms admitting, I'm not perfect. I make plenty of mistakes, nearly on a daily basis. So how in the world could I expect someone else to live up to my impossible expectations?
Yeah, I really am a freak. I get it. I truly hope I can get over it at some point in my life. Because that weaning vacation sounds fabulous...and there are plenty of people who love my babes and they'd be perfectly fine with.
Of course, most of those people leave far away. I keep telling J that we are going to have to face the fact that we will eventually have to end up out West to be near his family and friends who might lend a hand every now and then.
And hell, it's possible my kiddos might even have fun without me!
Nah...baby steps...freaks need to take baby steps...
I wish I could leave my kids for an hour, an evening, or even a whole day, and not freak out. But I can't even do it theoretically in my head, so in reality, not so much.
Today is the first day our new sitter took the kids as a "trial run" before she has to watch them next week while I attend pilates. She took them to the park for one hour. She's two blocks away, and we both have phones. And yet I'm still sick to my stomach paranoid. And she really is a terrific girl!
J and I have talked/fantasized about taking a vacation kid-free once they've weaned...so you know, in like ten years...
But then after we've daydreamed about where we'd go, it always boils down to me saying, "Well, it's a nice thought. But who'd keep the kids? Never gonna happen..."
And then the bubble is burst.
Sane, rational, loving parents leave their children all the time. And it's okay! So why can I not get on that bandwagon, too? Especially when I want to.
Why do I, instead, just focus in on all the ways someone might treat my children differently than I would? Sure, they probably would. But J treats them differently than I do, and I have no issues with that. But then again, we are the same page, we just do the smaller bits differently. And to be honest, if someone "messes up" in our parenting style/beliefs, it's me.
I'm the one who has lost my cool a few times and yelled at Miss H. I'm the one who's taken her and tossed her in her room because I didn't want to hear her scream. I'm the one who has put her in front of the TV for an hour just so that she'd be quiet and baby B could nap.
Has J ever done any of that? No. Never.
So why am I so afraid of someone else performing my parenting mistakes on my kids?
I irrationally worry that someone will take H to the park and tell her she's not allowed to go on the big slide all by herself, or try climbing up anything, or that she cannot swing on the swings Superman-style. Or, God forbid, that she cannot climb up the slide. (Don't worry, I drilled it into the sitter that these were all acceptable!)
I'm afraid that someone will lose their cool and yell at her. Or worse, hit her.
I'm afraid someone will insist she not wear her clothes backwards after she has worked so hard to do it herself.
I'm afraid someone will let her watch TV for 3 hours straight. Or to make it worse, it'd be something that I'm not okay with her watching. Something with sassy kids or violence.
I'm afraid someone will feed her nothing but processed food and not realize that Kraft mac n cheese has food coloring in it and now she has diarrhea. Which of course would likely lead to lots of accidents, and she dislikes being in a diaper, so I can only envision the hysterics if someone tried to put her in one because they didn't want to clean up the accidents, which would lead to a battle of wills, and then maybe H would be punished, and all ready my heart aches for her mistreatment and it's never even happened.
I'm terrified someone would leave them to cry alone if they woke up at night.
I'm afraid they'd be forced to eat certain foods at certain times, when they are always allowed to mostly eat when they want and how much they want.
I'm afraid they'd be forced to clean up all the toys, when that's not a requirement we have of them (though we encourage them to help!).
I'm afraid, in general, that situations would just not be handled the way I would handle them.
Which is silly. Because as I have no qualms admitting, I'm not perfect. I make plenty of mistakes, nearly on a daily basis. So how in the world could I expect someone else to live up to my impossible expectations?
Yeah, I really am a freak. I get it. I truly hope I can get over it at some point in my life. Because that weaning vacation sounds fabulous...and there are plenty of people who love my babes and they'd be perfectly fine with.
Of course, most of those people leave far away. I keep telling J that we are going to have to face the fact that we will eventually have to end up out West to be near his family and friends who might lend a hand every now and then.
And hell, it's possible my kiddos might even have fun without me!
Nah...baby steps...freaks need to take baby steps...
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