She may be like me, but she's her own person

Miss H is so much like me in so many ways that sometimes it's almost unreal. In many ways, it is a pretty good thing. I mean, she's overly-confident, headstrong, determined, vivacious, tenacious, incredibly intelligent and courageous without limits. A bit of a know-it-all, too. In many ways, it's a pretty bad thing, too. I mean, she's overly-confident, headstrong, determined, vivacious, tenacious, incredibly intelligent and courageous without limits. Oh, yeah. And a bit of a know-it-all.

Although she has a lot of my characteristics and traits, she’s not me. Not by a long shot. She is completely her own person. Thank, God. She is all ready a far better person than I could ever hope to be.

That being said, because I see so much of myself in her, I sometimes find myself trying to impose my own desires on her. For instance, my entire life – okay, like the first 10 years of my life – I wanted very badly to do ballet. I begged, I pleaded, I dreamed of it. But to no avail. I was enrolled over and over into gymnastics even though I could barely muster a somersault, let alone a cartwheel.

And thus I have tried getting my little lady to dance. She’s too young for ballet here, but not for tap. So she’s taken tap classes. She likes tap class. It’s fun. She is always smiles and giggles and happily shows me new moves.

But she doesn’t want to do tap. Just gymnastics. She loves gymnastics. Like, as much as I loathed gymnastics, she loves it.

So, though it seems ridiculous to admit, one of the most difficult things I’ve done as her mom is un-enroll her from dance class. I mean, I wanted it so badly when I was her age. And she is so much like me. So how can she not?

Because she is her own person.

Kind of like how she loves bows and dresses (like me!), and was crazy excited to pick out and order pettiskirts, but she also loves pants and t-shirts that don’t match and crazy hair (so not me!).

Miss H is her own little, wonderful person. She is figuring herself out, and will continue to do so for a long, long time. She certainly does not need me imposing my own desires on her. If she likes gymnastics, we’ll do gymnastics. And I will try really, really, really hard to bite my tongue when she is happily dancing around the living room and I badly want to say, “Don’t you want to take dance class?”

Because maybe one day she will. But I want it to be her choice.

And to think I was once afraid of having a boy!

With baby B's impending 1st birthday - just one more week! - I've been doing a lot of reflection on my pregnancy, birth, and first year with him. In general, I've just been thinking a lot about my beautiful little brown-eyed, blonder-by-the-day-haired boy.

One thing in particular is I’m realizing how incredibly silly my fear of having a boy was.

Don’t get me wrong. I never had gender preference. To be honest, that is something I don’t understand. J and I wanted healthy babies with each of my pregnancies, the gender never mattered. If we’d had two girls or two boys, we’d have been totally fine. We wouldn’t have been sad, or let down, and we wouldn’t keep on going in hopes of a different gender.

But still, having a boy terrified me. To the core.

Girls I know. I “get” girls. Plus, I know myself. I know how strong, intelligent, resilient, and confident that I am. And although Miss H is the spitting image of her papa, she is me through and through.

Boys…are completely foreign to me. Aside from my bothers and my dads (yes, two!), I don’t know anything about boys. And quite frankly, although I love my brothers and my dads dearly, they’re not exactly the kind of men I want my son to be like. J is the first man I’d ever met that I could say, “Wow, this is what a real man is supposed to be like.” Now don’t get me wrong, J wasn’t always Prince Charming. He has a history (like us all). He wasn’t always this amazing. He’s been very forthcoming about his past. But the man he is now is the exact kind of man I want my son to be.

But how do you raise a boy to be like that? I mean, J wasn’t raised to be how he is. It took a long time (there’s a reason he didn’t get married until he was 39!). How do you get that awesome result from the beginning?

And I was terrified I would treat my boy differently. That maybe I’d love him differently.

I come from a family where the boys and girls were treated ridiculously differently. I greatly feared I’d do that with my children. And not in the “All children are different and thus you must do some things differently depending on their personalities” way. But in the “Well, you’re a boy and you’re a girl, so…” way.

I remember holding him when he was barely 24 hours old and just sobbing. Of course, looking back I know the PPD played a huge role in this all too. I said to J then, “What do I do when H has a ballet recital and B has a soccer match on the same day at the same time? If I go to H’s recital am I doing it because I’m punishing B for all the preferential treatment my brothers got? If I go to B’s match am I doing it because I know H is like me and she’s tough, and she’ll live even if I’m not there?”

Of course, J was calm and amazing and said, “Whoa, there, Ki. You’re getting ahead of yourself and over thinking this. You could be in the same situation with two girls or two boys. And if it ever occurs, we will make the best decision based on our children. But let’s worry about that when we get there.”

But I couldn’t shake it. For days, maybe even weeks and months, I’m not sure, I wondered if I’d love baby B the right way. If maybe I loved him too little or too much. If maybe I coddled him too much or not enough. If maybe I expected less out of him than I did H simply because of his gender.

The beginning was hard. Painful, even. And all because my baby had a penis. It seemed so wrong.

I don’t know when things changed exactly. When I stopped thinking such crazy things. Probably about the time I was healing from the PPD.

Now I look at that amazing, brilliant baby boy of mine and I can’t believe I had so many fears just because of his gender. I can’t believe I questioned the kind of mother I would be to him. That I questioned if my love would be “right.”

I treat him no different than my girl-child. I certainly love him no differently. He’s a wonderful little ham that keeps me on my toes just as much as his sister.  He’s got his daddy’s laid back personality, and that dare-devil streak that both our kids were bound to inherit since neither J or I have any fear. (If you ask Miss H what she’s afraid of she says “Nothing!”).

Baby B is  perfect. He completes our family. He completes my heart.

It seems so silly now to have every worried. Even for a millisecond.

We don't do shots

Baby B’s big one year pediatrician appointment is coming up in two weeks. When talking about how I’m excited to see how big he’s gotten (on the scale) with another mom, especially because we missed his 9 month appointment, she said, a bit horrified, “But what about his shots? You went in for them right?”

No.

We don’t vaccinate. There. I said it. Most of the world is all ready thinking “baby killer” (yes, I’ve been called this).

It wasn’t a decision J and I made lightly. Like everything else involving our kids, we researched the bejeezus out of it. For every anti-vax study/article we read, we read a pro-vax article/study. We spoke with our children’s pediatrician until we were all blue in the face – and she was really awesome about it!

But during our research, a few big things really stood out for us.

1. There is no proof vaccines were responsible for the decrease in infectious diseases. Cleaner living conditions, antibiotics and moving out of crowed cities are more closely associated with the decrease.

2. There has NEVER been an independent (not funded by the pharmaceutical companies who profit from the vaccines) peer reviewed study showing vaccines are safe.

3. Many of the dreaded "vaccine preventable" diseases aren't even all that serious for healthy people. Not even polio (if caught early enough, of course)! When deaths are reported, you don't know if that person was 98 years old or had cancer or another autoimmune disease in addition to getting the vaccine preventable disease.

4. When "outbreaks" happen, the vast majority of those affected are fully vaccinated. The live virus vaccines can shed and CAUSE the diseases they are supposed to prevent. The package inserts themselves say to stay away from immunocompromised people for several weeks because of this shedding.

5. The US is the most highly vaccinated country in the world. We also have the highest rates of chronic disease in children in the world. Diabetes, arthritis, asthma, autism, ADHD, obesity, lupus, allergies, celiac disease, etc. This increase corresponds to the increase in recommended childhood vaccines. Obviously, we're doing something wrong to cause/contribute to this.

6. The placebo used in safety studies is not simple saline or water or anything benign. It's ALUMINUM! Aluminum is a top suspect in vaccine injury! Some placebo that is!

Don’t worry, we really do know all of the “pros,” too. Just for us, the negatives outweighed those. It’s what works for us.

We’d rather keep our children out of dangerous situations. And although it is true that the risk from vaccines doesn't come close to the risk of putting your child in the car, which one is more avoidable? If I can mitigate the risks to my child, that is what I will do. I don't want my child having formaldehyde or fetal bovine cells injected into them, the same as I don't want them eating junk: it's bad for them. Statistically, most of the disease that have been "eradicated" have more to do with better sanitation than vaccines, so I choose not to have my kids injected with things that we know are poison. I think parents that choose to vaccinate are doing what they think is best, just as I think I am doing what is best for my kids.... It's a personal choice.

It is something every parent has to research very seriously. Look at how diseases are spread, the risks of complications, how the vaccine works (i.e., the pertussis vax does not prevent pertussis, it lessens the symptoms and fully vaccinated people can carry the bacteria and pass it on to others), how many deaths from the vaccine vs. deaths from the disease, and most importantly...how would you feel if your child was injured or died from a vaccine, or from a vaccine-preventable disease...which one would you be able to live with? It's so easy to say "oh it won't happen to my kids" until it does.

It is definitely something that every parent has to take personal responsibility for and put time and effort into researching. I'm hugely supportive of parents who vaccinate and who do not vaccine or who are somewhere in between as long as their decision is based out of time and invested effort in researching. Taking anybody else’s word for it (even just your pediatricians) and not doing your own research is something I do not support. It's my belief that this is one area of childhood where it is crucial for parents to take personal responsibility and invest time and effort into.

So yeah, that’s why we don’t do shots around here.

"I love you even more for not doing that to our son."

J and I were lying in bed last night after watching American Reunion. (Sadly, I realized the first American Pie came out 13 years ago. I saw it. I was 11. Now I’m pretty horrified). Somehow, while lying in bed, circumcision came up.

Anyone who knows me knows that I feel extremely passionate and strongly about this human rights issue. Everyone is entitled to bodily integrity, and no one other than to whom the body belongs has the right to choose to mutilate or alter the body in any cosmetic way. Period.

But I digress, because this is not about that exactly. It’s about J. And him learning what circumcision really is. (That’s right; he’s 40+ years old and didn’t really know what it was!)

So while we were discussing this J tells me, “Well, I mean, obviously I don’t want it done, but they just snip the frenulem (spelling?). I get that they shouldn’t, but is it really that big of a deal?”

“You’re kidding me, right?” I shot back, seething. “They cut the whole top of the foreskin off! That way there is no foreskin to pull over the head of the penis.”

“No they don’t,” he insisted. “They cut the frenulem and then it doesn’t naturally retract over the head. They don’t actually cut the foreskin.”

“Um, yes they do. Look it up. Now.”

So J whipped out his cell phone and looked it up. First he looked at a picture on Wikipedia. His exact words were, “Oh my fucking God. This is a really sick joke.”

“No,” I insisted. “That is what circumcision is.”

“No way. No one would do that to their kid. Hang on, Wiki isn’t very reliable.” So he proceeded to look at three different medical website.

“Holy fuck! Why would someone do that to their boy? Especially if they actually know what they are doing? That’s sick, sick, sick. Oh, I want to vomit. People really do this to their kids?”

“Yep. Because it’s ‘cleaner,’ because condoms are too much trouble, because they want them to look like daddy, because their doctor told them to and he needs to make a boat payment.”

J shook his head and shuddered. “I love you. I loved you all ready. But I love you even more for not letting that happen to our son. I love you for protecting him from that. I didn’t get it. But now I do. And I love you so much for caring.”

To be honest, I always thought J and I were on the same page with circumcision. He’s intact, so he never saw a reason to cut our son. But he also didn’t get how wrong routine infant circumcision is. Now he does. That’s one more person whose eyes have been opened.

It’s estimated that approximately 30% of newborn males in America will have their genitals mutilated this year. Don’t let it be your baby. Do the research. Protect him. You owe it to him.

Our neighbors are green people.

It may sound crazy. But it's true. Our neighbors are green people. Miss H told me so.

I'm fairly certain this age is the best yet. The stuff Miss H comes up with cracks me up on like a minutely basis. (Is "minutely" a word?).

She woke up at 6am, my little alarm clock. The first thing she asked was if Grandpa J could come over. And then she asked like a bajillion and two times after that so at noon I texted him and asked if he'd come see H after work. Of course, he said yes.

So shortly before he was due to arrive Miss H used the restroom. She came out holding her chonies (this is totally Spanish slang, so I have no idea how to spell it). But then she saw our Flat Stanely book about baseball that we got from the library, and I was only half paying attention as she decided to "pitch" her underwear. So a few minutes later when I realized she was still naked I told her she needed to put her chonies on before Grandpa got there.

So what did she do?

As we stood in the kitchen, she cupped her hands around her mouth and started yelling, "Chonies! Chonies! Where are you? Donde esta, chonies! Chonies, come here!" Because, you know, her chonies were obviously just going to walk up to her and put themselves on. I just about died laughing. She was very serious.

So we ventured to the playroom for new chonies and I saw a car coming up the road. At first I thought it was Grandpa J, but then it turned into our neighbors driveway.

H said, "Oh, it's the green people."

"The green people?" I asked.

"Our neighbors. The green people."

"They're not green," I told her, laughing because I couldn't help it.

"They're green," she said matter-of-factly. She walked over to her large wooden bead set and picked up one green bead. "Verde, Momma. Green. This is green."

"I know what color green is," I laughed.

"Our neighbors are green people."

"Where in the world did you come up with that?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "They're just green people."

Yep, this is my favorite age yet!

But let me not overlook baby B. He's sweet and lovey and great, too! His big thing right now is walk up to the stove and reach his hands up like he's going to push the buttons, and then jerk them down quickly and start laughing hysterically.

That and he likes to smoosh H. If she's sitting in a chair or on the ground, he loves to just come up and sit on top of her. Fantastic. Luckily, she's typically a pretty good sport about it.

And his melt-my-heart thing he has started doing is taking his chubby little hands and putting them on each of my cheeks, and then proceeding to kiss me on the lips. Seriously, this boy melts me.

And to think I used love babies, and think after they got to a year they weren't as much fun. Ha! That was so totally before I had my own kiddos. Now they just get better and better!

Milk = Love around here

It’s no secret that I’ve been a bit burnt out on breastfeeding these past few weeks. It’s gotten to the point that I’ve been telling Miss H that my boobs hurt, so she cannot nurse for too long. This isn’t a lie, they really do hurt. She has a shotty toddler latch to say the least. 

But it seems she realized that I just needed some kind of upper to keep on trekking through this, and to do it happily, and not begrudgingly.

This evening at dinner, she sat in J’s seat since he’s gone, and put one of her stuffed puppies into her booster seat. Then she said to me, “Momma, my boobies hurt!” and grabbed her chest (because we may or may not have been eating in our underwear…) in case I didn’t fully grasp what she was saying.

“Why do your boobies hurt?” I asked.

“Because I’ve been nursing the puppy. All. Day. Long.” She uses her hands like a baby Italian.

Before this conversation went any further and it all got more clear, I all ready “got” it.

"Well, why do you nurse the puppy if it hurts your boobies?” (You’re loving that we say boobies around here, aren’t you?)

“Because I love him so much.”

I may have wanted to cry at this point. Instead, I was quiet while I gave baby B some more food on his tray before saying, “You know I love you, right?”

She nodded happily. “Yep. So much! That’s why I nurse your boobies!”

I nodded.

Without a doubt, ever toddler knows their momma loves them, whether or not they “nurse boobies”. But she reminded me of why I nurse my toddler. And I will keep on nursing her, hopefully with a better attitude now.

Because I love her.

So much.

A lesson in Miss Manners

Most of the time I feel like J is the one who is pretty old school the two of us (though admittedly, I'm pretty old fashioned, too, in a lot of ways). But then he goes and shows me how backwards he is, like our coversation last night. And I'm totally calling him backwards out of love here.

I have a small pile of invitations to Mr. Baby B's first birthday (How is that soooo soon?) sitting on my desk. Most of them have been mailed out, but there are a few people I currently lack current addresses for. I said to J, "I feel so bad that these haven't been mailed. His birthday is in two weeks!"

And J looked through them and then said, "Well, all of these people live out of state. They can't come anyway. Why are you even inviting them?"

I wanted to ask him if he lived under a box. If he'd never looked before and realized where all the invitations were going for Miss H's parties when he mailed them out. But I didn't. Instead I said, "You're supposed to invite everyone who you'd like to attend. Even if you know they cannot. That way they know that you are thinking of them and that you would like them there."

"That's just going to make them feel bad because they can't be."

Okay, so I admit, at this, I rolled my eyes. "No, it's not. It makes them feel loved."

"That doesn't make sense," he grumbled. "But do your thing, and I'll support it."

"Haven't you ever read Miss Manners? How do you not know these things?!"

"Is Miss Manners real?"

My eyes may have bulged out of my head here. "Um, yes. How do you not know this? Oh. My. Goodness. How did you survive before me?"

"You know, no one got thank you cards or Christmas cards before we were married. I never heard a complaint. I managed."

"But you have to have proper manners, J! You send courtesy invitations and thank you notes for any gift you recieve that the gift-giver didn't hand to you personally. You have to know this stuff. What if I die tomorrow? Our kids have to grow up knowing this stuff!"

"Well, I know now," he assurred me. "And you're not going to die tomorrow. But if you do, I'll send everyone a courtesy invitation to your funeral and a thank you card for the flowers."

"You might want to check with Miss Manners on that one."