The Return of the Chicken Monkey

Many years ago, I learned the phrase, Chicken Monkey.

Labor Day

Labor Day weekend is almost here, and as with all three-day weekends, it cannot come fast enough.  

This year, as was true when the Fraggle Bug was in my belly, I feel so pregnant that my own "labor day" cannot come fast enough either.  Nevertheless, I try (try!) to remind myself that what I really want - more than anything - even more than to not be pregnant anymore - is a healthy, happy baby (emphasis on the healthy).

This year, I also find my mind wandering frequently to questions about my job, my career, and that ever-elusive work/life balance.

Monday 4am to Friday 11:59pm

This week, I have been on my own with my belly and the Bug while my husband has been in New Orleans for his school's seventh grade class trip.  

Highlights and lowlights:

Bangs

One morning, a woman I work with said that she liked my hair - and especially my bangs.  I thanked her but wondered if they were really bangs?  Are bangs still bangs if they are unintentional?

I have avoided discussing the following topic on this blog in an effort to protect Future Mommas-In-Training from running far, far away from ever trying to get pregnant, but now it is time.

This morning, in an effort to avoid Day Three of piling all of my hair on top of my head and twisting it into the sorry result of what would happen if a pony tail and a bun got together, I got out the curling iron.  

Several things are worth noting at this point.  

How to Ask Your Mother Rude Questions: newyorker.com

Well, if you can pick up a copy of this week's New Yorker, or if you want to subscribe online, then I recommend without reservation Tina Fey's piece about working motherhood.  It is smart and funny - i.e., par for her course.  Enjoy!

Cognitive Dissonance And Pre-School: Part One

Recently, I learned a bit about cognitive dissonance and self-justification, and I could go on for many, many posts about examples of both in my life, but here I focus on pre-school.

Pre-school?  

Did you, or did you not, write recently about your child's first birthday?  

Do you, or do you not, still refer to your child as "Baby" on this blog?

Yes.  

Yes, I did.  

And, for as long as I can, yes, I do.

But I live in New York, and pre-school is a Thing here.  It is exciting and wonderful, but it also requires research, tours, applications, at least one (albeit very brief) expository writing sample, and a deep, deep reserve of patience.

Here is the dissonance:

Family Values

There has been a lot of talk lately about types of mothers.  Are you a Tiger Mother?  A Western Mother?  A Wimp Mother?  All of the talk, the criticism of mothering-types, and the declarations of values led me to wonder where I fit on the spectrum.  What values am I imparting - consciously or unwittingly?

At the beginning of the process, I have to admit that I wondered whether I actually had any values to articulate.  Frequently, especially at the beginning, I felt like I was not making values-based decisions but was just getting by.  (See e.g., I describe myself as a momma in training -- not a woman in charge -- and certainly not a woman with a clear set of values guiding my parenting decisions).  Then I realized that I had spent a lot of time thinking about my motherhood through the lens of my childhood.  My own feelings about what I liked (and probably more about what I didn't like) about growing up informed a very substantial part of my approach to parenting.  Last, and on a less myopic note, I looked to friends' choices and the advice I could read in the limitless variety of parenting books, magazines, and - yes - blogs.

When I told my husband about this post and my values-evaluation, he told me that the following are his sources for his parenting values [and I believe that they are in order of importance]:  

1. Ninja movies; 
2. Survival shows [e.g., Man vs. Wild]; and 
3. America's Test Kitchen.

So we have all that going for us, which is nice.

Resilience

I swear I have been trying to come up with at least one potentially fun and witty post . . . but then . . .

Baby got sick on Tuesday night.  He called out for us, I went in, and as soon as I got to him, the poor thing puked.  Repeat twice.  We ran out of sheets and crib liners, at which point I said I would just sleep with Baby on the couch in his room.  But sleeping with Baby is, to coin a phrase, like sleeping with a baby elephant, and that couch is small.  So I put Baby on a blanket on the floor, hoping he would not puke again, while I got rid of the couch cushions, pulled out the sofa bed, and got us some covers.  Baby and I snuggled down.  He proceeded to flop around like a confused baby elephant, and an hour later he finally fell asleep.   Baby woke up, flopped, then puked around 7 a.m..  He did it again after half of his oatmeal breakfast.  Then, all was clear through his toast and apple juice lunch and after his nap.  Around 4 p.m., the worst of an awful, gusty, rainy day was over, and we both needed some fresh air.  I took Baby down to a coffee shop where I had some tea and a cookie while he pointed at everything in sight.  I was almost done with my cookie when he puked again.  I jumped up, grabbed a stack of napkins about four inches thick, and tried to clean up Baby, his shirt, and the sleeping-bag-type-thing that keeps him warm in his stroller.  I did my best, but I still felt embarrassed in the elevator up to our apartment with a nice couple who must have smelled a not very nice smell coming from the afore-mentioned sleeping-bag-type-thing.

I should note that Baby (perhaps like all babies) is resilient in a way that puts me to shame.  His expression is so small and sad when he gets sick, but within minutes he is pointing at something else and smiling.  Seriously - smiling. 

Over the next couple of days, Baby slowly but surely stopped puking and started taking more substantive food than toast.  

My husband got sick on Friday night.  He had a fever and felt sick to his stomach.  Then he came to the bathroom just as Baby finished his bath routine, and he puked.  He has not been feeling well since then (though he is better than he was on Friday and Saturday).

I have no kernel of wisdom from this experience to share here.  I am, very simply, very tired (and wondering if - or when - I will get sick, too).  

Post-Bedtime Glass of Wine Demographic

In an article I read about the woman who started net a porter.com, she noted that there was an obvious uptick in sales around 8 - 9 p.m. in time zones around the world.  Her explanation?  The post-bedtime glass of wine.

Just now, I put Baby to bed and walked into the kitchen where my husband was making dinner.  Exhausted, I asked if I could just veg out on the couch while he continued without me.  No problem, of course.  I turned on E! for the comfort of meaningless babble and a little fashion schadenfreude.  What were the first two commercials I saw within five minutes of turning on the television? 

One: Weebles for preschoolers.

Two: microwaveable brownies.

Apparently the woman at net a porter is not the only one who knows about the post-bedtime glass of wine demographic.  

With kids, the days are long, but the years are short.

Yesterday was Baby's first birthday, and it was a long day.  

At 8:00 a.m., Baby was standing on the changing table (yes, standing), naked as the day he was born (ha!), and refusing to slow down for a clean diaper or any day time clothes.  

At 8:01 a.m., Baby peed.  Still standing, still naked.  

By 8:20 a.m., Baby was dressed in a very cute birthday outfit (thanks to my grandmother for the awesome striped onesie... Baby looked like an adorable baby bumblebee, which completely made up for my pee-soaked shirt).

By 10:30 a.m., I was leading a conference call.  Perhaps "leading" is too strong... I was trudging through the mud of the call and waving my arms frantically at the other participants as if to say, "Over here, guys!  Oh hey...  I'm over here!!"

Then it was 6 p.m., and I was in my office crying because I did not think I was going to make it out in time to see Baby before he went to sleep.  About fifteen minutes later, I had the following internal monologue:

Even if I left now, I would only get to see Baby for his sleepiest five minutes, and he will not care one way or another if he sees me for those five minutes.

What am I thinking?

Happy Mother's Day

To all the Mommas In Training, may the smiles be big, the naps be long, the diapers change themselves, and may you be reminded all day that you are the best moms for your babies.

(Baby woke up at 4:45 this morning.  I normally walk the cry-it-out-line before 6 a.m., but for whatever "reason" (a term I use loosely) I thought that Baby had had a bad dream  - so in I went, and so the day began.  May the naps be long today, people.  May they be long!)