1 Mother 2 Another

There are a few blogs I check in on regularly, and Dooce is one of them.  A reader mentioned the blog to me in passing, and when a girlfriend of a girlfriend recommended it shortly thereafter I knew I had to look into it.  Dooce has been up and running for five years and the author’s got a two-year-old daughter and a razor-sharp sense of humor.
 
Every month, Heather (the blogger) writes a letter to her daughter, and even though her daughter’s much older than Maddie I find Heather’s words express things I’m feeling much better than I’d ever be able to.  This month’s letter is for her daughter’s second birthday, and hit on a subject I’ve been thinking about a lot - no, not the constipation, though that’s discussed as well!  I’ve been mulling over the deep desire I have to make sure my daughter knows, down in her bone marrow, that I’m there for her and always will be.  I want it to be something she never questions, like the Dallas Cowboys are for my husband.
 
At any rate, click here to read for yourself.

When I was a kid (OK, teenager) one of my little pleasures in life was locking my dad out of the car.  We’d just gotten one of the fancy new cars with the newfangled “power locks”, and I was heady with power.  See, Dad’s old-school manners-wise, and he’d always open the woman’s door first, then walk around to get in on the driver’s side.  I’d sit in my seat, tense with anticipation, as he circled the hood and approached his door.  My hand casually resting on the door’s arm rest, I’d be the picture of innocence.  He’d optimistically reach for the handle, even start to lift it, and CLICK!  My timing was impeccable. 
 
He grew to regard his door handle with something akin to loathing, as if it were guaranteed to deliver a physical shock when he touched it.  No matter how long he waited, I’d still zing him.  I even, with masterminded brilliance, allowed him to open the door unmolested a few times, lulling him into a false sense of security before zinging him again.  I was merciless.
 
As they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Proving we really are the city with everything, NYC now has its first map of daddy changing tables across the city.  Click here to check it out; Daddytypes blogger Greg has designed a cool Google Map overlay with info on the best places to check under the hood if you’ve got the babe for the day.
 
And he’s even willing to go you one better – he’s working on a version you can download to your Blackberry; no more furtive wipe swipes on the floor of the children’s section of Barnes and Noble.
 
What more can an urban dad need?
 
p.s. – if you’re having trouble reading the map (say, it loads you up in Ft. Wayne Indiana!) make sure you’re using Mozilla Firefox instead of Internet Explorer.

Babies seem to come in waves; you’ll see a community with none, and within a year or two there’ll be nine or ten infants babbling together happily.  I felt like I was at the end of the wave I was riding, but it seems to have no crest in sight!  Since Maddie arrived, three more babies have been born to friends, and I’ve got another three lined up: my high school girlfriend Jen was due the end of January (we’ve moved into the timeframe where you can’t email and say, “Had it yet?”  You just wait for the email or birth announcement.)  Angie’s in the exact same spot, awaiting her second, and my girlfriend Sandra is expecting her second the beginning of March.  Add to that Emily’s July due date, and the wave might just be endless.

When Madeleine was about three months old, I noticed she started to become more daring, more outgoing, more explorative – but only from the safety circle of a caregiver’s arms.  At her four-month checkup, I tentatively remarked to her pediatrician that I thought Maddie might be going through separation anxiety.  The pediatrician smiled skeptically.  “Jennifer, babies usually go through it at 8 or nine months of age.  In all my years practicing medicine, I’ve only seen one baby go through it this early.”  By the end of the exam, though, she ruefully acknowledged that she was wrong, and Maddie was clearly into separation anxiety.
 
What can I say?  My girl’s a quick learner.
 
I naively assumed that early in meant early out, and we’d be over this minor road bump without much trouble at all.
 
What can I say?  I’m a slow learner.

Being from Texas, Madeleine’s already got a couple country-western dances down.  Sure, she was technically born in NYC, but we’re sure her heart’s from the Lone Star State and that’s all that matters.
 
We know she’s a cowgirl, ‘cause she does the Tush Push like a pro.  Also, the Hiney Shuffle and the South End Swing.
 
Madeleine’s crazy with the desire to move forward on her own, but so far all efforts have been sent to the, er, rear.  She gathers herself onto her hands and knees and rocks forward and back vigorously, as if building up momentum to launch herself forward.  Then she pushes off with her arms and moves – backwards.  Yep, she’s still doing the backwards scooch, and still looks surprised when she consistently ends up farther away from her target than when she started.

Every mother I know eventually finds herself asking the same question –
 
What now?
 
I don’t mean it in the “I’ve conquered Mt. Everest and cured cancer, so what now?” kind of way.  I mean it in the, “How can I be the best mommy possible and yet not allow who I was before mommyhood to die?” sort of way.
 
Because we all want to be a good mother, and often feel guilty even thinking that it may not be enough for us – that we do not feel whole or content to be simply “mom”.  At the same time, we can’t imagine how we’ll do anything other than stare at our baby’s face, mesmerized, for hours at a time.

Every mother I know eventually finds herself asking the same question –
 
What now?
 
I don’t mean it in the “I’ve conquered Mt. Everest and cured cancer, so what now?” kind of way.  I mean it in the, “How can I be the best mommy possible and yet not allow who I was before mommyhood to die?” sort of way.
 
Because we all want to be a good mother, and often feel guilty even thinking that it may not be enough for us – that we do not feel whole or content to be simply “mom”.  At the same time, we can’t imagine how we’ll do anything other than stare at our baby’s face, mesmerized, for hours at a time.

I’ve mentioned that my husband is a techie, right? 
 
Not to be confused with Trekkie, please.
 
Anyway, he’s always finding these techno gadgets that seem to me to be more trouble than they’re worth, until two years later I look around and wonder how I lived without it.  The ole’ compact disc was one of his first finds in our relationship – about two decades ago.  I scoffed at him and clung vociferously to my cassette tapes.  Now I can’t even find my cassette tapes, but they are somewhere in this house because I’m not throwing away a perfectly good cassette tape.  Ok, a slightly warped cassette tape.

We’re plowing full steam ahead with the solids thing, introducing a new food every few days and slowly but steadily adding to her meal choices.  Since we had to go on an all-fruit diet for her constipation, vegetables fell behind a bit and she’s definitely got a preference for the sweeter foods.  So we’ve been on a veggie binge, adding green beans after peas after pumpkin.  I have to say again that Wholesome Baby Food has been a great website, helping me navigate the “what foods when” minefield.  Madeleine seems to dislike most any food that’s not a fleshy fruit when she first tries it; I serve it every day during the allergy testing phase, then work it into her food rotation, and I find that a week or so out she begins to like most things.  Peas, alas, are still the exception, but we’re working on it.  Fortunately for Maddie, her repertoire is big enough that peas only show up on her chart every couple of days.

Yes, my daughter now eats such a wide variety of foods – granted, they are all fruits or vegetables or oatmeal, but still – that I cannot keep up with what she eats when; so, in an effort to keep all foods rotating through (no pun intended) somewhat regularly (ditto), I’ve gone into my typical over-achiever mode and created a meal chart for her.

I’m working on pulling all my tax info together for our upcoming meeting with our tax accountant.  I know, don’t hate me; it’s a sickness.  I have a compulsive need to have our taxes finished by the beginning of February.
 
But I was noticing a large backlog of filing to be done and receipts to be entered into Quicken; and strangely enough, all the dates start right around June.  Hmmm, what caused me to start falling behind on our family paperwork in June? 
 
Oh, yeah, we had a kid. 
 
And bought a house.

Madeleine’s found something she hates more than peas: mittens.  With the weather being colder recently and her penchant for pushing the stroller blanket down so she can feel the “wind in her face”, mittens have become a must.  Apparently, though, they cramp her style too much; she screams bloody murder every time I put them on, so I try to avoid doing that in public.  Once they’re on at home, they stay on for the duration of the walk.
 
Recently, though, we were stuck at the post office and she was becoming frantic in a search for her thumb -“Where did it go?  It used to be right here!  My thumb is missing!  ARRGHH!” – so I took the mittens off.  Fifteen minutes later, errand completed, we began our friendly wrestling match and the screaming took off.  Behind me, a woman getting mail from her p.o. box suddenly started waving her arms and jumping around, shouting, “Look at me!  Look at me!”  Maddie, startled, stopped crying, I swooped in with the last mitten, and we were off.

Wasn’t it just a week or so ago that I was talking about Madeleine being in a great routine groove?  And didn’t I say I hesitated to say anything because I didn’t want to jinx it?
 
Yep, the no-hitter is officially over.

Babies grow and advance at such an alarming rate their first year of life; I’ve always heard people speak in clichés about their kids growing up so fast and smiled politely, but it’s really true.  What’s more, I never thought about how much of what we do has to be learned – so much of the motor skills we take for granted have to be developed and nurtured.
 
My girlfriend Sandra told me that during Stephen’s first year of life, she tried to read “ahead” one month about his upcoming development so she’d know what to expect.  I loved this idea; since I had no clue what to expect with the whole baby thing, it was like using the Cliff Notes before a major exam.  Perfect!

I went recently to the opening of the newest Giggle store in Manhattan.  Mommies from all over the city were gathered to shop and chat and enjoy some like-minded (read: sleep-deprived) companionship.  I wanted to check out the bi-coastal store’s newest presence as I update my Top 5s Page, but I also looked forward to a chance to mingle with fellow mommies on roughly the same journey as me, sympathize with them, and let’s face it, pick their brains for more great recommendations to pass on to you guys. I’ll confess I was eavesdropping on more than one conversation debating the merits of this diaper bag or that stroller.
 
(On a side note, when I returned from the party, a friend of mine commented that I’m like the Carrie Bradshaw of the New York baby world.  My husband smirked and said, “I guess that makes me Mr. Big.”  There’ll be no living with him now . . .)
 
More on the store itself in an upcoming entry; I wanted to talk today about the company that organized the event, Divalysscious.

I picked up my business cards earlier today for this website.  There, big as life, is the 1Mother2Another logo and web address.  I was looking at it and thinking: Is that who I am now?  The go-to girlfriend?  Is this how I will be defined for the foreseeable future?  It’s kind of a relief to find a label to hang my hat on that doesn’t start and end with mommy (though since it’s a mommy website, it’s a bit debatable!), but is this really who I am?

I just found out a friend of mine is pregnant, and due roughly the same time of year I had Madeleine.  There I was sighing over my maternity clothes a couple days ago, and now I have an excuse to crack open the box and go through them!  I’m very excited they’ll be put to use again, and love having the chance to go through another pregnancy with a friend; just talking with her today brought back a lot of fond memories of my own pregnancy.
 
So fond, in fact, that I began to think that my hindsight had a bit of a rose-colored tint to it.  Was my pregnancy really that fun and trouble-free?  Did I truly enjoy every minute of it?  Or is this a case of mommy amnesia kicking in to sucker me into saying, “Gosh, it wasn’t that bad; let’s have another right now!”

Last summer when Madeleine was in her first few weeks, life was a big blur to me most of the time.  Everything revolved around feedings; whether one had just happened, she was in mid-meal, or about to eat again, it seemed a nursing was never more than half an hour away.  I found myself hiney-bound for a large portion of each 24-hour cycle (calling it “night and day” is laughable when a baby’s that age) and needing some sort of entertainment or escape for part of it.  Too exhausted to read during any of her 12 feedings, I turned occasionally to television to distract me and let my mind wander.  Finding the right television show, though, is crucial; watch one that makes you think too much and you’re exhausted.  Watch cartoons or something and you’re not drawn in at all and end up sitting there staring, unable to even veg out.  So where’s a girl to turn?
 
Hi, my name’s Jennifer, and I watched reality TV.
 
(Hi, Jennifer.)

I was putting away our Christmas decorations earlier – yes, I know, but that’s the subject of a different confessional blog – when I came across my box of maternity clothes, and wave of fond nostalgia swept over me.  Am I the only one who misses my maternity clothes?  I know, it’s a bit sick, but they’re so cute and, let’s face it, comfy. 
 
I freely admit that one of my concerns with getting pregnant was the misconception I had of maternity clothes; I was convinced I’d be wearing smocks with polka-dots and bows for nine months, which are definitely not me.
 
On the other hand, what a great excuse to go shopping.

Why is it that most cds of baby music sound as if they were not just written for babies, but written and recorded by babies as well?
 
I received a cd of “Christmas Music for Infants” last month.  Intrigued, I looked at the songs listing: what new songs had been written with the baby POV for Christmas?  “Aren’t Swaddling Clothes Tight”, perhaps, or “Time to Wake Mommy and Daddy”?  Imagine my surprise when I learned that Christmas music for infants is the exact same music adults listen to, with one very important difference; baby Christmas music is played on rinky-dink instruments and about half speed.  Apparently, that’s what makes it baby music.