Vaccinations

I believe my son getting his shots is harder on me than it is on him.

At his two month checkup, they gave him four shots, and I turned my head while squinting my eyes and telling him, 'it's ok,' Due to the vaccination, he got his first fever that night and I felt like a wretched mother.

On Friday, he has his next doctor's visit, complete with a new vaccination. I have already rescheduled it twice, for the fear of anticipating my son's pain. Is the pain really that bad, or is it in my head? It got me to thinking, and I realize that more than anything, more than how bad those shots must really feel, I'm just wanting to shelter him from pain - any pain that comes into his life.

I guess that's what mother's do.

As a new mother, I realize I am fighting my maternal insincts that make me want to scream out to the doctor DONT HURT MY BABY!!! Insead, I must sit there and trust modern medicane, the Texas health department and my son's tough-guy mentality that even at four months old, he'll be alright.

I need to remember that he's the one teaching me about life. Although I can't protect him from the vaccinations, I can watch him seize the moment, and after a good cry, watch him have a good laugh.

The Pee Factor

"When we approach children with the awareness that they are our teachers, we become more present ourselves."

Often I go to www.dailyom.com - a website geared with daily affirmations, spiritual thoughts and helpful advice that helps me start my day on a positive note. Today I began to think about the 'little teacher' in my life. I think about the lesson's he has taught me: patience, letting go of control and finding humor in the moment - even when he pees on both of us during an uncordinated diaper change!

Mostly, I think how I am the student and my classroom is watching my child open himself up to the world, the observations I see through his eyes, and the lessons I learn from his innocent spirit.

A few days ago as I was changing Miles, and in between diapers, he peed all over his face. Had I peed on my face, that would be a deal breaker for the day, but because he has no reason to dwell on the moment-on any given moment for that matter - he looked up and me and gave a big grin. I laughed, he mimicked my laughter, and watched me steadily as I wiped away the dripping pee from his face. Why stress when you have a handy washcloth, a fresh diaper and a great sense of humor?

I am reminded that to enjoy life and it's lessons, I must live in the moment, even if that means enduring the occassional pee.

Peter Pan Syndrome

Acting silly. Sometimes I find this escapes my daily activities until I look to my son and am reminded how much I'm missing out on my own inner-child, laughing and acting like the carefree character of Peter Pan.

When we become 'grown-ups' do we become 'too good' for the fun to come out? We become focused on our work. We set deadlines for ourselves, our goals, our responsibilities. We want that body, that income, that relationship until we realize we are missing something important, signifigant, something we let go a long time ago. So, we look forward to events like Halloween when we're allowed to dress up and act silly. Then we wonder why we don't have more days like this.

I envy every moment of my son's life because unlike me - as much as I don't want to admit it - he is gleefull, silly -- and can find humor in a piece of gum, the crinkly sound of a peice of paper or the fan spinning overhead. Why can't we stay like this?

Sometimes I think Peter Pan had it right. Although he wasn't so much the model of responsibility, he was in tune with his childlike ways, and promised to be a boy forever. At one point, he looks to Wendy and says, Come with me where you'll never have to worry about grown up things again."

The truth for me is, I love being an adult, and the perks it gives me. I love my independence and my financial freedom. I love having a car that works and no longer driving a beat up, end-of-its-life 1985 Toyota Hatchback. I love no longer having to sneak out of the bedroom to see my friends when I'm grounded, or that sense of impatience because I want to be 'grown up'. I'm here, and I love where I am. But, I would also love to balance out my life a bit and remember that not every moment of my grown-up life needs to be serious. I can allow the sillyness in. I can be Peter Pan when I want to.

To Pee or Not To Pee

"When we approach children with the awareness that they are our teachers, we become more present ourselves."

Often I go to www.dailyom.com - a website geared with daily affirmations, spiritual thoughts and helpful advice that helps me start my day on a positive note. Today I began to think about the 'little teacher' in my life. I think about the lesson's he has taught me: patience, letting go of control and finding humor in the moment - even when he pees on both of us during an uncordinated diaper change!

Mostly, I think how I am the student and my classroom is watching my child open himself up to the world, the observations I see through his eyes, and the lessons I learn from his innocent spirit.

A few days ago as I was changing Miles, and in between diapers, he peed all over his face. Had I peed on my face, that would be a deal breaker for the day, but because he has no reason to dwell on the moment-on any given moment for that matter - he looked up and me and gave a big grin. I laughed, he mimicked my laughter, and watched me steadily as I wiped away the dripping pee from his face. Why stress when you have a handy washcloth, a fresh diaper and a great sense of humor?

I am reminded that to enjoy life and it's lessons, I must live in the moment, even if that means enduring the occassional pee.

The Golden Question

A good friend of mine who has 'baby fever' recently asked me if I think she'll be a good mother.

Other than the fact that I think she will be, motherhood - at least in my experience - has been a process of trial and error, of learning and most of all - trusting those maternal instincts that kick in as soon as we hold our baby in our arms for the first time.

I believe - that believing in ourselves - is the biggest trick to it all.

With that final 'push' at shortly past midnight on December 23rd, and the doctor showed me my son for the first time, I cried uncontrollably. Then, I laughed which resembled Jack Nicholson's famous cackle - and then I cried some more. My emotions were one of hysterics and intense as if love from the core was running through my body and out on the other side. It is true what the others say: you don't know unconditional love until you have a child.

So to answer my friend's question. Yes, she'll be a great mother because like the women before her and the soon-to-be mothers of the world, we will all be the great mothers we hope to be and then some. We will rely on our instincts for those moments we don't know WHAT to do, we'll lean on a community of women to help us along the way, and we'll believe whole-heartedly in ourselves and turn inward for the answers.

Male Bonding

There are few men I know who have a solid group of male friends and I wonder, does that contribute to their longevity? I believe it plays a crucial role in their happiness at least.

Living a happy life means someone to share it with. A fufulling marriage is one thing, but outside of that who do you rely on for support, laughter, the occasional cocktail over endless chatter? A good friend.

My husband is one of the only men I know to have a solid group of male companionship. Since the sixth grade, he's had a group of best friends who he still talks to on a weekly basis. Scattered throughout Texas now, they make it an priority to be there for one another - whether that means talking or texting on the phone, planning their annual golf trip, or meeting in the middle of the state for their 'male getaways'. They have found support in one another which I believe has filled in the gaps of their lives. They are friends in the truest sense of the word.

I hope my husband will pass on the importance of male bonding to our son. Last night I watched my husband demonstrate to him the importance of The Lakers, how great Kobe Bryant was playing and that unfair call from the referee. Our son watched in amazement - already at just three months old -- and listened to his father passionatly speak about his team who was alrady becoming 'their' team. As much as I hope my son will have a core group of supportive friends in his life, I also know he is forming a friendship with the greatest friend he will have - his father. From here, his own possibilities are endless.

Raising a Gentleman

Yesterday I took Miles to Starbucks. Being the coffee connoisseur that I am, he is learning early to patiently wait for me to finish my cup of coffee.

A older couple in their eighties came in and asked an employee for "David, please." A few minutes later a young man came out from behind the counter and gave the man a big hug, and gave the woman a gentle one. He looked to be in his mid twenties, and called them gramps and grandma. Waiting for the coffee to kick in and jolt me awake, I watched them interact and began to think about how many men I know who possess a signifigant amount of manners, how many who lack them and those that had them but let them go somewhere down the road.

Don't get me wrong. Many women I know have no manners at all. Spending a couple of years working at various retail industries I know firsthand how rude and inconsiderate people can be no matter what your gender is. But, in my family and close circle of friends I am surrounded by the best. We never forget a 'thank you', 'you're welcome', holding the door open for the elderly and sending thank you notes after a present is given. I've been raised by a showstopping, over-the-top group of etiquette believers. And, I fully intend on passing it along.

While I sipped my coffee, I watched the young man talk to his grandparents, gently, fondly, sweetly. They asked him how his honeymoon to Australia was. They asked him what he was planning for his anniversary. His grandfather interupted him in a stern tone to say, "You must always court your wife you know." The young man shook his head and said "Yes, sir,' as if to gulp down his years of wisdom, extracting what he could for his own marriage. He then went over to his grandmother, who was having some difficulty getting up from her seat, and he took her hand. He told her her hairstyle looked beautiful.

I looked down at my son who is only three months old. It got me thinking. How do you raise a man in this age when manners and etiquette seem to be disappearing? How do you raise a gentleman?

The message starts now, I tell myself.

I commit to raising my son with an awareness for people and the good of the planet, to always consider another person's position of hardship before thinking of his own, to tap into his skills and passions before expectations, and to always hold the door open for strangers and friends alike.

I believe in raising a gentleman who will continue the tradition of chivalry and respect. I expect nothing less. Starting now.

Lost in London

Although many women seem to have the curse of a bad sense of direction, I believe mine to be the worst.

I have travelled internationally and locally, seeing the beaches of San Diego, the castles in Edinbough, Scotland; the Vatican, Spanish Steps and Sistine Chapel of Rome; the view from atop of the Eifel Tower; Madison Square Garden, the subway and the Empire State building of New York; pub hopping, visiting Shakespeare's home in England, and wine tasting throughout the picturesque Tuscan countryside.

I also got to know many of these wonderful places by losing my way, becoming impressively lost and finding myself again. I was a chronic-disoriented-traveller who quickly learned to rely on the kindness of strangers for help. I have met strangers who sympatheized with my angst; I met others who could care less to help me find my way. I have spent countless hours of my life getting catagorically lost and finding my way again.

Once, I got lost in London an hour after I arrived. As soon as I got to my hotel room, I enthusiastically threw my bag on the bed (including my itenerary with our hotel's name and address on it) and set out to explore the world. Four hours later after several pub stops and fish and chips tastings later, I searched my pockets for the itenerary, and realized the hotel's information was in the hotel room. Where was I? Where was the hotel?

I panicked and began to cry in front of an tired, unsmpathetic bellhop.

What's the name of your hotel he asked. Had the cat got my tongue? I had no idea. What street is in on, he asked me and began to chuckle. Don't know that either I told him. The tears began to drop onto my cheeks as he shrugged his shoulders at me.

It's one thing to get lost in your car on the freeway half an hour from home. It's quite another to be disoriented and scrambling to find your way in another country. I walked in circles and for hours that afternoon. Long story short? I met both helpful strangers and unsympathetic bellhops that day, but the reason I finally stumbled back to old hotel of mine in the end? MY instincts. No matter what country I've been in or how lost I've gotten myself -- my instincts have gotten me back to where I need to be.

Instincts, and that helpful itenerary you stick in your pocket from now on -- just in case you get lost again. Trust me, I wouldn't put it past myself.

The Generational Gap

During my early twenties, I had the privilage to travel extensively.

Although I often travelled with friends, one of my most cherished memories was the trip I took with my grandmother. A fiercly independent woman even during her retirement years, she became a role model for me and the way I want to live my life: with adventure, travel and a curious mind.

At 20, she took me to Europe. We explored England, France, Scotland and Belgium.Some of my friends at the time (and hers) wondered if we would - or could - enjoy our time together, especially considering the generational gap. She was in her 70's and I in my 20's. What would we talk about on those long train rides? Won't we want to do and see different things? What could we really enjoy doing together for two weeks like that? Everything. Wouldn't we rather go with someone closer to our own age? Absolutly not.

We walked the day out in Brussels; we studied the Mona Lisa in the Louvre; we travelled to Shakespeare's home in Bathe and listened to the flute players in the street; we ate croissantes and espresso while idolizing the view of the Eiffel tower. We laughed so hard at times we were crying. And, as I remember she contained more energy for life at seventy something than I did in my youthful twenties. I admired then - and still do now -- her energy that often carries mine.

In June, my son will meet his great-grandmother for the first time. One day I will tell him the stories of our travels together, so that he may live through the adventures of ours. That way, the generational gap won't ever mean much, at least not when it comes to travel, love, and a curious mind.

My son began to teeth last night.

At not quite four months, he was ahead of schedule, or at least this is what my First Year Of Life book tells me. My parenting books pile up on the countertop: What To Expect During Their First Year, Your Baby, Your Life and So This is What It's Like?, stare at me from across the room. I breathe in, I sigh. I refer to them on a weekly basis and compare notes. Am I feeding him as I should? Is he getting enough tummy time? Is he progressing physically, emotionally, mentally. I attach my self- worth to their harsh opinions and advice.

I am convinced the universe was testing my strength as a mother.

Last night our dinner got cold. It was 7:02pm, and I was feeling proud of myself for having the energy -- in my sleep deprived state -- to go to the supermarket, buy some fresh garlic, tomatoes and pasta and create a new dish for dinner. Although to some making a new dish is nothing out of the ordinary, Miles appreciated it. He looked up at me and smiled as if to say GREAT JOB. Whether he smiled out of appreciation or support or just passing gas, it didn't matter. He was proud of me. I was proud of myself, dammit. Something besides baked chicken or speghetti. Way to go.

I cooked the pasta, browned and seasoned the meat and added my own touch (extra mozzarella cheese) before popping it into the oven. Just when the cheese began to bubble up in a sinful way, my son began to scream.

I thought he just aching for some cheese like I was.

After picking him up and quietly shhhhhing in his ear (which usually does the trick) his screams begun to elevate and turn into squeels, a piercing sound of irritability I had never heard from him before.

I held onto him tight. I caressed him. I rubbed his back. I sang him a sweet little lullabye only to be shunned by his violent arms and legs kicking me in protest. Ten long minutes later (was it only ten?) my husband returned from the drugstore with the teething ointment and I couldn't apply it fast enough.

My day as a 'good mother', a mother who knew exactly what to do -- when to burp, feed and change him -- rapidly turned into a hectic, holding-in-the-tears, I-want-to-cry-like-my-baby's-doin' mother. I was not as perfect as I wanted to be. What did my parenting book say about that?

Tonight I heated up the leftovers and we ate in peace. No crying, no teething but a perfect threesome for dinner. Right on track. Tonight I didn't refer to my baby books for an answer. Tonight my baby's peaceful state of being was the only answer I need.

A Conversation About Comfort Food

My son believes in the finer things in life: napping, being held when he cries, and holding onto his comfort blanket to sooth his distress.

A certain someone in my life admitted that the comfort foods in her life must stop. I agreed in sympthathy. My comfort food intake has been going on for twelve months. Now, I can't blame my ravishing appetite on the pregnancy hormones or the fact that I'm feeding another life. I can't blame my post-pregnancy hormones for my sweet tooth on the fact that breastfeeding uses up to 1,000 calories a day so I deserve that box of Oreos. I am no longer pregnant and I no longer breastfeed. No more excuses.

I too have been guilty of late night runs to Jack-in-the-Box for fries and a vanilla shake; McDonald's for their wonderful hot fudge sundaes, and downing a box of cookies without thinking twice about it. I soooooo get it. Comfort food for us women who do it all. Enough said.

Those women who 'do it all' --- and indulge in the cookies, sundaes, vanilla shakes, cupcakes and red velvet cakes --- convince ourselves that a good dessert will make our daily stressors go away, and that the hard day in front of us will be easier to manage. We tell ourselves this decadent chocolate cupcake is what we deserve, until of course that day turns into the next 30 or 60. We go about our responsibilities -- taking on the raising of children, finances, cooking and cleaning. We become super-mom, and want some comfort, a quick fix, a resolution that we're doing it good enough. We need something that will release us from our humongous responsiblities: the devilish cupcake; the sinful eclair, the tempting Krispy Kreme donut with extra glaze.

We look at our babies or remember the time when we were a baby ourself and idolize how comforting a simple blanket or pacifer was to once fix our distress. Sometimes, we wish it was that easy now to be comforted, safe, peaceful in our heart and mind.

We hold our babies tight and give them all the warm comfort they deserve and not be means of food, but love. We tell them that they are appreciated and perfect just as they are. And, instead of reaching for that dessert tonight, we try to tell ourselves the same thing.

Long Live our Girlfriends!

Every woman needs a good girlfriend or two.

I believe it’s crucial for our development, our mental stability, and it’s necessary in order for us to be the best wife, mother, driven career woman and successful multi-taskers that we are. As sweet as our husbands or boyfriends may be, we need the camaraderie of another female, one that appreciates gabbing for hours over coffee with a decadent chocolate éclair; one that convinces you to buy yet another pair of black heels (and yes, this pair is totally different than all the others you already own); one that can sympathesize with those hormonal changes during that time of the month, because she’s going through the same thing. We depend on our girlfriends to motivate us when we’re down, be our cheerleaders when we need a ‘boost’ and love us unconditionally through it all.

A good girlfriend or two is required --- for our sanity as women.

My grandmother has been friends with her Alpha Omega sorority group since college. They’ve been best friends for fifty years -- and been present – physically and emotionally -- for the most important and influential moments of one another’s lives. They’ve made it a priority to be there for one another – through thick and thin – and I believe their bond of closeness, laughter and companionship has contributed greatly to my grandmother’s wonderfully long and happy life.

What did cave women do during the dark ages? How did they emotionally survive while their husbands were out all day killing their dinner? What about the ladies of the Victorian age? Did they bore themselves to death while they waited around for a proper suitor? No. They formed a bond with their siblings; they created a sisterhood with the ladies of the same village or town – and instantly, a commonality begins.

Whatever time period we are from, we find a way to be there for other women. It takes the form of quilting bees, support groups; cardio classes, weaving circles. Whether we spend our time laughing together, crying together or both at the same time it really doesn’t matter. We are emotional creatures who follow our instincts to bond.

Here’s to the women we lean on for support in our lives. And to the great friend we are to someone else.


Long live our girlfriends!

The Bassinet

Before my son was born, my mom bought him a bassinet. Considering he screams every time I place him in it, I'm glad she didn't spend a fortune on that investment. Instead, my beloved cat Bandit sleeps in it, a place he has developed as 'his domain', and guards it ferociously.

I knew I would experience some nights of interrupted sleep. After all, I heard of the classic sleepless nights a newborn is prone to. Experienced mothers told me there would be frequent bottle feedings and diaper changings but I at least pictured when he did sleep, he would sleep in his bassinet. By the time we brought him home from the hospital, I placed the bassinet next to my side of the bed. That way, I could easily feed him when he cried. I pictured in my mind the perfect setup: crisp white bassinet sheets to match, and easy accessability. I just didn't expect him to cry each time we placed him in it. Still, three months after his birth when I attempt another try at it, he screams, hollers and shouts for me.

I lose the battle each and every time.

This is one of the many lessons I have learned as a mother. No matter how much sense it makes for my son to sleep in the very place I have picked out for him, he will often find another. What I often think is 'right', my son will insist is wrong. We pick our battles as mothers, and give up when the fight isn't worth fighting for.

And eventually with some luck, we find a use for the thing he will not use. Luckily in my case, I have a cat named Bandit.

The Little Teacher

A year ago I found out I was pregnant. Like all mothers before me have felt since before becoming a mom, my life has never been the same.

Sometimes I look at my son and am shocked by the look he gives back. So innocent, so smart already. So full of wonder and full of life. Sometimes as we look right into each other’s eyes, I feel like they are full of the lesson's I'm meant to learn.

When I think about how much my son has to learn about the world,and so many steps he needs to take before he becomes a man – he needs to learn how to crawl, walk, learn the English language, gain mobility, learn to read and write, etc… often the way he looks up at me with those 'knowing' eyes puts a halt to my thinking. True, he is a just an infant who does not have those basic skills yet, but it is foolish to think I ‘know’ more than him. He may have just been born, but those piercing eyes of his tell me another story. His eyes seem to stare back at me as if they are desperatly trying to communicate something crucial, tell me what I must figure out, what lesson’s it's time that I learn.

I hope that I will never assume to 'know it all', but instead take my son for the man he is becoming and for what he's teaching me about the woman I'm meant to be.

Trust

The other day my three month old son took a picture with the Easter Bunny. I have to admit it was pretty darn cute: my son's expression, the oversized bunny costume and the look of purity on his face, as if the world had never been greater. As I watched the Easter Bunny hold him, I noticed the way my son was looking at him. It was a look of total and complete trust. He didn't cry or fuss and he certaintly didn't need his mom to pick him up. He was inviting this stranger to hold him as long as he wanted because of trust. And in turn, it got my thinking about my own relationship was trust. How it is now, how it was, and how it's changed over the years.

Children are wonderful to watch because they're taking in the world for the first time, and with an open heart. As a teenager and as a women in my early 20's, I was trusting -- to a fault --- I hadn't yet seen what can happen when you trust without caution and what can happen when someone takes advantage of your trust. I experienced a plethora of wild adventures with trust: betrayal, excitment, unpredictability, friends that lied, cheating boyfriends, and being taken advantage of on numerous occassions.

At 31 years of age my relationship with trust has changed quite a bit. I am now cautious, mindfull and hesitant when I meet someone. As much as I want to assume the best, I proceed with caution, and rely on my intuition, a tool I use to guide me on the right path. As a woman and in the times we live in it only makes sense.

As I watch my son look up at the Easter Bunny with all the trust his little heart can hold, it fills up my own life with hope, hope that the world can be a trusting place for us all. Not even so much for me but for my son. I hope that as my son turns into a man he will have that trusting look forever because he'll never have a reason not to.