Friday, May 5, 2017
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
Co-Sleeping
I often wonder if I am doing the right thing co-sleeping with my kids. I always feel guilty when I lie down to nap or sleep with my kids. My two kids have gotten used to sleeping with their yaya or with me before they can fall asleep, ever since they were born. They are unable to fall asleep (unless they are super tired) without someone beside them. It has always been this way. As with anything related to parenting, it is tiring and fulfilling at the same time. There are days when I wished they could just fall asleep on their own and days when I feel so much love bursting out of my heart seeing them sleep beside me. I have always said this to family and friends, I like sleeping with my kids. Being able to carry, hold, and watch them to sleep are some of the priceless moments in my book. Thanks to this article. It has somehow affirmed what I have always believed in, there is nothing wrong with co-sleeping. I will not deny my kids the security and comfort that they need at this stage in their lives. For now I will just savor each moment where they are still small enough to stay in bed with me.
'Lying Down With Your Kids Until They Fall Asleep Is Not A Bad Habit'
by: Wendy Wisner
I’ve spent approximately 7 billion hours of my life lying in the dark next to a fidgety, sleepless child, praying to the gods that my child will finally go the eff to sleep.
When the going gets tough, I’ve been known to hide under the blanket with my phone on the dimmest setting, scrolling through Facebook and hoping against hope that my half-asleep child doesn’t notice what I’m doing and call me out on screen time after lights out.
Other nights, it’s not quite that miserable. Actually, sometimes it’s downright beautiful.
Lying there as my kids drift between wakefulness and dreaming can be as magical and intimate as I imagined parenting would be before I actually had kids and realized how draining and relentless it actually is.
Sometimes, in the dark, my kids will nestle against me, and I’ll get a whiff of their sweet hair, feel their warm cheeks against my neck, or their little hearts beating wildly in their chests — and I’ll want to sob with gratitude.
As they’re drifting off, they’ll pour out their hearts to me, opening up about stuff they keep under lock-and-key during their waking hours.
I’d heard all the arguments about why lying down with your kids until they fall asleep is a bad habit. It’s kind of the No. 1 habit you’re supposed to break when your kids are babies.
Except, what if you just never do that? What if you rock or nurse your baby every night? Then, as they get older, what if it evolves into holding hands or patting their back until they’re out?
And then, even after they’ve outgrown all that, what if they ask that you to just lie there, soothing them with your presence until they’re fast asleep?
You might ask: How will they ever learn to self-soothe? How will they learn to fall asleep without you? Aren’t you going to create dependent sissies who never learn how to function in the world without you?
The answer to the last question is an unequivocal nope. Numerous studies have shown that the more attached kids are, the more secure and independent they actually become. It makes sense if you think about it: Giving kids security makes them feel confident and able to function with ease in the world.
I don’t think that means that every single family must lie down with their kid at bedtime every night. There are many ways to raise secure kids, and this is absolutely not a prerequisite. But I also know that there is no reason not to if that is what works for your family, and that just because you allow your children to have that habit doesn’t mean they won’t be adaptable when you aren’t there or that they will never learn to fall asleep alone.
I lie down with my kids because they want me to, because it is something we’ve always done, and because even though I often begrudge those extra 10 to 20 minutes of waiting, it’s really only a handful of minutes in my day, but they mean the world to my kids.
I lie down with them because between school, work, meals, homework, and other commitments, it’s rare for us to have moments of silence and closeness as lovely and deep as the ones just before sleep.
I lie down with them because, dammit, even I don’t like falling asleep alone. If my husband is out or away, it takes me forever to fall asleep, and I’m 38 years old. I feel like, at just 4 and 9, my kids are allowed to have that extra security that even grown-ups crave.
I lie down with them because there have been plenty of nights in the past few years that my older child did not need me there at all — times that he literally shoved me out of his room so he could fall asleep on his own. But I lie down with him the nights that he is stressed, restless, or just needs me and doesn’t know why.
I lie down with him then because I know that the days of him needing me that much are numbered.
I lie down with my boys because I know that boys are usually taught to be tougher than this, to bottle up their needs and wants, and I think that’s a dangerous way for boys (and men) to function.
I lie down with them because they ask me to and I’m willing.
Yes, sometimes at the end of my long days as a mom, lying there in the dark is the last place I want to be. Yes, sometimes I’m agitated, hungry, touched out. Sometimes I find myself tightly gritting my teeth just so I won’t let out my screams of frustration.
But I also know that these minutes that my kids drift off in the safety of my arms or my presence are exactly the ones that hold the most weight for my kids — and for me. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
'Lying Down With Your Kids Until They Fall Asleep Is Not A Bad Habit'
by: Wendy Wisner
I’ve spent approximately 7 billion hours of my life lying in the dark next to a fidgety, sleepless child, praying to the gods that my child will finally go the eff to sleep.
When the going gets tough, I’ve been known to hide under the blanket with my phone on the dimmest setting, scrolling through Facebook and hoping against hope that my half-asleep child doesn’t notice what I’m doing and call me out on screen time after lights out.
Other nights, it’s not quite that miserable. Actually, sometimes it’s downright beautiful.
Lying there as my kids drift between wakefulness and dreaming can be as magical and intimate as I imagined parenting would be before I actually had kids and realized how draining and relentless it actually is.
Sometimes, in the dark, my kids will nestle against me, and I’ll get a whiff of their sweet hair, feel their warm cheeks against my neck, or their little hearts beating wildly in their chests — and I’ll want to sob with gratitude.
As they’re drifting off, they’ll pour out their hearts to me, opening up about stuff they keep under lock-and-key during their waking hours.
I’d heard all the arguments about why lying down with your kids until they fall asleep is a bad habit. It’s kind of the No. 1 habit you’re supposed to break when your kids are babies.
Except, what if you just never do that? What if you rock or nurse your baby every night? Then, as they get older, what if it evolves into holding hands or patting their back until they’re out?
And then, even after they’ve outgrown all that, what if they ask that you to just lie there, soothing them with your presence until they’re fast asleep?
You might ask: How will they ever learn to self-soothe? How will they learn to fall asleep without you? Aren’t you going to create dependent sissies who never learn how to function in the world without you?
The answer to the last question is an unequivocal nope. Numerous studies have shown that the more attached kids are, the more secure and independent they actually become. It makes sense if you think about it: Giving kids security makes them feel confident and able to function with ease in the world.
I don’t think that means that every single family must lie down with their kid at bedtime every night. There are many ways to raise secure kids, and this is absolutely not a prerequisite. But I also know that there is no reason not to if that is what works for your family, and that just because you allow your children to have that habit doesn’t mean they won’t be adaptable when you aren’t there or that they will never learn to fall asleep alone.
I lie down with my kids because they want me to, because it is something we’ve always done, and because even though I often begrudge those extra 10 to 20 minutes of waiting, it’s really only a handful of minutes in my day, but they mean the world to my kids.
I lie down with them because between school, work, meals, homework, and other commitments, it’s rare for us to have moments of silence and closeness as lovely and deep as the ones just before sleep.
I lie down with them because, dammit, even I don’t like falling asleep alone. If my husband is out or away, it takes me forever to fall asleep, and I’m 38 years old. I feel like, at just 4 and 9, my kids are allowed to have that extra security that even grown-ups crave.
I lie down with them because there have been plenty of nights in the past few years that my older child did not need me there at all — times that he literally shoved me out of his room so he could fall asleep on his own. But I lie down with him the nights that he is stressed, restless, or just needs me and doesn’t know why.
I lie down with him then because I know that the days of him needing me that much are numbered.
I lie down with my boys because I know that boys are usually taught to be tougher than this, to bottle up their needs and wants, and I think that’s a dangerous way for boys (and men) to function.
I lie down with them because they ask me to and I’m willing.
Yes, sometimes at the end of my long days as a mom, lying there in the dark is the last place I want to be. Yes, sometimes I’m agitated, hungry, touched out. Sometimes I find myself tightly gritting my teeth just so I won’t let out my screams of frustration.
But I also know that these minutes that my kids drift off in the safety of my arms or my presence are exactly the ones that hold the most weight for my kids — and for me. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
Monday, March 13, 2017
Reminder to Self
This is a good reminder to myself. While I still consider Rafa and Claire my babies, I am acutely aware that they are fast growing up. I have to admit there are days (or should I say many days! Hehe) where I wished that they would grow up sooner. But I know like all parents, when that time comes (yes, sooner than we think), I would long for them to be tiny and needy again.
'5 Ways To Let Them Be Little'
by: Simple As That Blog
The days of diaper changes and cradle cap have passed for us. No longer do I search in the dark of night for a pacifier, or gather Gerber puffs from the floor of my car. I’m sleeping more these days, and that’s a plus. There is something about the longing to hold my babies again that still gets me at times. I want so much to let them be little, while still enjoying them as they grow.
Our home is full of noise and of hustle. Their chatter, the sound of legos, of deep belly laughter, the sweet way my daughter sings to her baby dolls – these are the soundtracks I play. They’re beautiful, and though these sounds are a far cry from the noises of their toddler-hood, I cherish the melodies all the same.
THE SPACE TO BE LITTLE
As I watch my young children grow into bigger and wiser versions of the babies they once were, I am inspired to allow them the space to be little. I have long since put off the notion the house should look this way or that. I’ve decidedly accepted the loss of one too many broken dishes and learned to find acceptance that the carpet used to look a whole lot brighter.
I’ve chosen a better attitude about mistakes. Middle of the night accidents, picky eaters, and kids with emotions they are unable to control, these are things I’m okay with now. I’ve taken long, deep breaths when I wanted to yell. I have done the hard work of choosing a smile over a frown when the stairs become muddy (for the hundredth time this year). I have decided to gift them with childhood, with these precious years that go by all too quickly.
Because before I know it, they’ll be grown and gone, and that melody I love so much? It will be replaced with the absolute quiet of their absence.
'5 Ways To Let Them Be Little'
by: Simple As That Blog
The days of diaper changes and cradle cap have passed for us. No longer do I search in the dark of night for a pacifier, or gather Gerber puffs from the floor of my car. I’m sleeping more these days, and that’s a plus. There is something about the longing to hold my babies again that still gets me at times. I want so much to let them be little, while still enjoying them as they grow.
Our home is full of noise and of hustle. Their chatter, the sound of legos, of deep belly laughter, the sweet way my daughter sings to her baby dolls – these are the soundtracks I play. They’re beautiful, and though these sounds are a far cry from the noises of their toddler-hood, I cherish the melodies all the same.
THE SPACE TO BE LITTLE
As I watch my young children grow into bigger and wiser versions of the babies they once were, I am inspired to allow them the space to be little. I have long since put off the notion the house should look this way or that. I’ve decidedly accepted the loss of one too many broken dishes and learned to find acceptance that the carpet used to look a whole lot brighter.
I’ve chosen a better attitude about mistakes. Middle of the night accidents, picky eaters, and kids with emotions they are unable to control, these are things I’m okay with now. I’ve taken long, deep breaths when I wanted to yell. I have done the hard work of choosing a smile over a frown when the stairs become muddy (for the hundredth time this year). I have decided to gift them with childhood, with these precious years that go by all too quickly.
Because before I know it, they’ll be grown and gone, and that melody I love so much? It will be replaced with the absolute quiet of their absence.
Tuesday, March 7, 2017
Family 1st
My husband would always tease me that I am anti social. I would always choose to stay home instead of going out. Friends would know that I am an early bird - I'd like to start and end early. I don't like staying out late because I would get less sleep, which would mean having less energy to take on the kids the next day.
I would like to think that while I am an introvert, I am pretty friendly and sociable. As much as I want to go out and relax, I can't. The logistics of leaving the kids behind is something I don't want to think about. I feel uncomfortable leaving the kids with their yayas for too long. They're probably sick of me giving so many reminders before I leave. Hehe And while my mom or sisters will gladly stay with the kids for awhile, somehow I feel guilty to ask them for their time. And when I'm out, I constantly worry and think about them. I guess it's the wired in us mothers to feel that way. I don't regret anything though. I will cherish these moments, no matter how hard at times, because it will only be awhile that they need me.
'Yes, I Miss My Friends, But I Just Can't Do The 'Bar Scene' These Days'
by: Clint Edwards
I was texting a childhood friend. We were catching up, as we do every couple years. She’s a single mother living in a big city. She has a good job and one daughter. I live in a small rural town. I’m married with three children. Obviously, we’ve ended up in very different places. Somehow we got onto the topic of how often we socialize without our children.
I told her that I really didn’t. I work two jobs and any free time I have I spend with my kids. She mentioned to me that she tries to go out with friends (to bars or a concert) as much as possible. “I have a good life,” she said. “I make good money, and I have a good sitter. I try to make sure I have a balance, so that I can keep sane.”
I read that text and felt like such a loser. I hadn’t gone out with friends in, well, months? A year? Both of us were in our mid 30s, and it’s not that I don’t have friends. I do. They just seemed really far down on my priority list, and I wondered if they should be a bit higher. Should I be spending more time with my friends? (And less time with my family?)
This isn’t to say that either of us were doing anything wrong. From everything I can tell, my friend is a great parent. But at the same time, I couldn’t understand how she did it. How she found the time to juggle her daughter’s extracurricular activities, run a household, work a high-stakes job, and still manage to have an active social life.
But the more I thought about how I could manage to find time for my friends, and what that would look like for my family, the more I felt like I wasn’t really missing out. It was around this time that an article by Joelle Wisler came across my newsfeed, titled "I Cherish My Friendships, But I’d Rather Spend Time With My Family Than Anyone Else" where she discussed this very subject, listing out all the times that she will choose her family over brunch with friends or a girls’ vacation because she only has a short window of time when they will choose her first.
And I think to anyone who really values socializing, this all sounds very suffocating. But for me, as a father working 50-plus hours a week, it makes perfect sense. It isn’t uncommon for me to leave before the kids are up, and get home once they are in bed. It isn’t uncommon for me to be sent to some conference, or meeting, or whatever in another city, far from the people I love the most, where the only interactions I have with my family for four or five days are choppy phone conversations and grainy images through Skype.
Every time I travel for work, I sleep through the night which, I admit, is awesome. I make a couple new friends from different places whom I will probably never see again. I learn a few things, but most of all, I miss my family. I miss their snuggles. I miss holding their small hands. I miss kisses from my wife.
And I miss being there for her. I hate hearing about how overwhelmed she is caring for three small kids, not because I think she can’t handle it, but because I know how demanding our children can be, and I like being her partner. I like being able to help. I like being a father and husband, and I enjoy everything that goes with it, even the frustrating parts.
So much of this comes down to the fact that, as a working parent, I spend a lot of time away from my family trying to support them, and so when I get home, I want to feel like I’m doing more than simply bringing in a paycheck.
This isn’t to say that my kids don’t frustrate me. This isn’t to say that I don’t sometimes come home to half-naked kids and a frustrated wife and think about how peaceful it was at work. But when I’m at work, I think about my kids and smile. I long for them in my arms. I look forward to watching them play soccer or practice gymnastics. I think about how amazing it feels to help my daughter figure out a math problem.
I have this deep longing to help them become something special. And I feel a deep connection to my wife that has evolved over the years from one of romance to one of partnership. It’s not that we don’t still have romance — we do. But we have grown to work well as a team. I get her, and she gets me, and together we are ready to take on any stain, sticky face, or poopy butt. I love her company more than I love the company of anyone else. And I feel very at peace when we are together.
Just last week, we watched Trolls as a family, and with each song, everyone but my too-cool-tween son had a dance party in the living room. My youngest shook her pigtails and stomped her feet, while my middle daughter pulled some seriously impressive ballerina moves. My wife and I bumped hips, and my son looked at it all with a red-faced, dimpled grin. It was better than any other dance party or concert I’ve ever been to.
Honestly, it’s hard to give that up.
Furthermore, it’s hard to spend so much time away, and then spend more time socializing with others, when all you really want to do is spend time with your wife and kids. I don’t think that makes me boring or uncool at all. I think it means I’m really digging this stage of my children’s lives, and I know that it will end sooner than I’d like.
Like Joelle said in her article, “So I’m sorry to anyone out there if I miss some stuff. I will probably miss a lot of stuff. You see, I only have this short amount of time to choose these little people because soon they aren’t going to choose me. I’m really going to try not to miss a single moment of it.”
I feel exactly the same.
I would like to think that while I am an introvert, I am pretty friendly and sociable. As much as I want to go out and relax, I can't. The logistics of leaving the kids behind is something I don't want to think about. I feel uncomfortable leaving the kids with their yayas for too long. They're probably sick of me giving so many reminders before I leave. Hehe And while my mom or sisters will gladly stay with the kids for awhile, somehow I feel guilty to ask them for their time. And when I'm out, I constantly worry and think about them. I guess it's the wired in us mothers to feel that way. I don't regret anything though. I will cherish these moments, no matter how hard at times, because it will only be awhile that they need me.
'Yes, I Miss My Friends, But I Just Can't Do The 'Bar Scene' These Days'
by: Clint Edwards
I was texting a childhood friend. We were catching up, as we do every couple years. She’s a single mother living in a big city. She has a good job and one daughter. I live in a small rural town. I’m married with three children. Obviously, we’ve ended up in very different places. Somehow we got onto the topic of how often we socialize without our children.
I told her that I really didn’t. I work two jobs and any free time I have I spend with my kids. She mentioned to me that she tries to go out with friends (to bars or a concert) as much as possible. “I have a good life,” she said. “I make good money, and I have a good sitter. I try to make sure I have a balance, so that I can keep sane.”
I read that text and felt like such a loser. I hadn’t gone out with friends in, well, months? A year? Both of us were in our mid 30s, and it’s not that I don’t have friends. I do. They just seemed really far down on my priority list, and I wondered if they should be a bit higher. Should I be spending more time with my friends? (And less time with my family?)
This isn’t to say that either of us were doing anything wrong. From everything I can tell, my friend is a great parent. But at the same time, I couldn’t understand how she did it. How she found the time to juggle her daughter’s extracurricular activities, run a household, work a high-stakes job, and still manage to have an active social life.
But the more I thought about how I could manage to find time for my friends, and what that would look like for my family, the more I felt like I wasn’t really missing out. It was around this time that an article by Joelle Wisler came across my newsfeed, titled "I Cherish My Friendships, But I’d Rather Spend Time With My Family Than Anyone Else" where she discussed this very subject, listing out all the times that she will choose her family over brunch with friends or a girls’ vacation because she only has a short window of time when they will choose her first.
And I think to anyone who really values socializing, this all sounds very suffocating. But for me, as a father working 50-plus hours a week, it makes perfect sense. It isn’t uncommon for me to leave before the kids are up, and get home once they are in bed. It isn’t uncommon for me to be sent to some conference, or meeting, or whatever in another city, far from the people I love the most, where the only interactions I have with my family for four or five days are choppy phone conversations and grainy images through Skype.
Every time I travel for work, I sleep through the night which, I admit, is awesome. I make a couple new friends from different places whom I will probably never see again. I learn a few things, but most of all, I miss my family. I miss their snuggles. I miss holding their small hands. I miss kisses from my wife.
And I miss being there for her. I hate hearing about how overwhelmed she is caring for three small kids, not because I think she can’t handle it, but because I know how demanding our children can be, and I like being her partner. I like being able to help. I like being a father and husband, and I enjoy everything that goes with it, even the frustrating parts.
So much of this comes down to the fact that, as a working parent, I spend a lot of time away from my family trying to support them, and so when I get home, I want to feel like I’m doing more than simply bringing in a paycheck.
This isn’t to say that my kids don’t frustrate me. This isn’t to say that I don’t sometimes come home to half-naked kids and a frustrated wife and think about how peaceful it was at work. But when I’m at work, I think about my kids and smile. I long for them in my arms. I look forward to watching them play soccer or practice gymnastics. I think about how amazing it feels to help my daughter figure out a math problem.
I have this deep longing to help them become something special. And I feel a deep connection to my wife that has evolved over the years from one of romance to one of partnership. It’s not that we don’t still have romance — we do. But we have grown to work well as a team. I get her, and she gets me, and together we are ready to take on any stain, sticky face, or poopy butt. I love her company more than I love the company of anyone else. And I feel very at peace when we are together.
Just last week, we watched Trolls as a family, and with each song, everyone but my too-cool-tween son had a dance party in the living room. My youngest shook her pigtails and stomped her feet, while my middle daughter pulled some seriously impressive ballerina moves. My wife and I bumped hips, and my son looked at it all with a red-faced, dimpled grin. It was better than any other dance party or concert I’ve ever been to.
Honestly, it’s hard to give that up.
Furthermore, it’s hard to spend so much time away, and then spend more time socializing with others, when all you really want to do is spend time with your wife and kids. I don’t think that makes me boring or uncool at all. I think it means I’m really digging this stage of my children’s lives, and I know that it will end sooner than I’d like.
Like Joelle said in her article, “So I’m sorry to anyone out there if I miss some stuff. I will probably miss a lot of stuff. You see, I only have this short amount of time to choose these little people because soon they aren’t going to choose me. I’m really going to try not to miss a single moment of it.”
I feel exactly the same.
Friday, March 3, 2017
Sunday, February 19, 2017
Best Days
This is a good reminder to cherish the kids still needing me now, even though everyday I wish I have some 'me' time. In a few years time, we will probably have a role reversal for sure. They will have their own minds and will probably have (or want) nothing to do with me, while I will desperately bug them. Haha!
Seriously it is my wish I will have a close bond with them when they are old. I will be happiest (and luckiest) when they will love me and still look for me as much as they do now.
'I Love Being Your Mom Because Even The Hardest Days Are The Best Days'
by: Jennifer White
I remember the day I gave birth to you like it was yesterday. But it wasn’t. It was two years ago.
I remember the second night with you in the hospital. Your dad had gone home to help your older sister get to sleep. He’d stayed as late as he could. My mom came in his place and slept on the hard, fake leather sofa in our room. She slept, but I didn’t. You didn’t. (You were a newborn baby after all — who would expect you to?)
I lay there on the uncomfortable bed, slightly tilted into a half-reclined, half-upright position, wondering if I’d made a mistake.
Could I handle more years of sleepless nights?
Could I handle two small children by myself when your dad went back to work?
Could I be a good enough mother?
The answer to all of these questions was “no.”
The truth was it would be hard. The reality is I called your dad at work several times a day crying. The brutal fact is I’m so flawed, as a person and as a mom.
But I didn’t make a mistake.
And now you’re 2, and I already know why they say things like, “It won’t last forever,” or “Don’t be the first to let go when your child hugs you.” I understand, too, that I’m not a good enough mother, but I’m what you’ve got.
I’m not in awe of you enough. I’m not always happy just sitting together and reading books. Sometimes I want to read on my phone instead. Sometimes I do.
But these days with tiny-you — even our hardest ones — are always my best.
Still, it hits me every night as bedtime approaches. Waves of our day’s moments when I could have been more present — when I should have reacted differently, when I needed to stop my own thoughts and be more available for yours — crash into me, and it hurts. It hurts because I’m not sorry.
I’m not sorry for sometimes wishing bedtime would come sooner. I’m not sorry for wanting desperately to just sit on the couch, alone. But what hurts is knowing each of these moments quickly add up, as I see your tiny face grow into more of a little girl and so much less of a toddler.
What hurts is witnessing how each day you need me less and less, and each day I have to let go a little bit more.
What hurts is knowing these minutes of you clinging to me and needing me for nearly everything are becoming fewer and fewer, until one day you’ll be left to choose how much of your time is spent with me.
What hurts is wondering if you’ll feel how infinitely I love you despite my marred humanness.
I remember the day I had you like it was yesterday. But it wasn’t. It was two years ago. Before I know it, it will be 20.
Before I know it, I won’t remember it as clearly.
Before I know it, I’ll be an older, wiser mother annoying new mothers with “how fast it goes.”
Before I know it, my memories of your babyhood will be what I hold closely instead of your tiny hand.
Being your mother is the hardest, best thing I’ve ever done. Being your mother is the hardest, best thing I’ll ever do.
I lay there on the uncomfortable bed, slightly tilted into a half-reclined, half-upright position, wondering if I’d made a mistake.
I didn’t. You remind me of this every day.
Every time your shining blue eyes twinkle at mine in a giggle, or your angry brow furrows in my direction, I see who I’ve made, and I know of the many, many mistakes I have and will make, their best correction will always be you.
Seriously it is my wish I will have a close bond with them when they are old. I will be happiest (and luckiest) when they will love me and still look for me as much as they do now.
'I Love Being Your Mom Because Even The Hardest Days Are The Best Days'
by: Jennifer White
I remember the day I gave birth to you like it was yesterday. But it wasn’t. It was two years ago.
I remember the second night with you in the hospital. Your dad had gone home to help your older sister get to sleep. He’d stayed as late as he could. My mom came in his place and slept on the hard, fake leather sofa in our room. She slept, but I didn’t. You didn’t. (You were a newborn baby after all — who would expect you to?)
I lay there on the uncomfortable bed, slightly tilted into a half-reclined, half-upright position, wondering if I’d made a mistake.
Could I handle more years of sleepless nights?
Could I handle two small children by myself when your dad went back to work?
Could I be a good enough mother?
The answer to all of these questions was “no.”
The truth was it would be hard. The reality is I called your dad at work several times a day crying. The brutal fact is I’m so flawed, as a person and as a mom.
But I didn’t make a mistake.
And now you’re 2, and I already know why they say things like, “It won’t last forever,” or “Don’t be the first to let go when your child hugs you.” I understand, too, that I’m not a good enough mother, but I’m what you’ve got.
I’m not in awe of you enough. I’m not always happy just sitting together and reading books. Sometimes I want to read on my phone instead. Sometimes I do.
But these days with tiny-you — even our hardest ones — are always my best.
Still, it hits me every night as bedtime approaches. Waves of our day’s moments when I could have been more present — when I should have reacted differently, when I needed to stop my own thoughts and be more available for yours — crash into me, and it hurts. It hurts because I’m not sorry.
I’m not sorry for sometimes wishing bedtime would come sooner. I’m not sorry for wanting desperately to just sit on the couch, alone. But what hurts is knowing each of these moments quickly add up, as I see your tiny face grow into more of a little girl and so much less of a toddler.
What hurts is witnessing how each day you need me less and less, and each day I have to let go a little bit more.
What hurts is knowing these minutes of you clinging to me and needing me for nearly everything are becoming fewer and fewer, until one day you’ll be left to choose how much of your time is spent with me.
What hurts is wondering if you’ll feel how infinitely I love you despite my marred humanness.
I remember the day I had you like it was yesterday. But it wasn’t. It was two years ago. Before I know it, it will be 20.
Before I know it, I won’t remember it as clearly.
Before I know it, I’ll be an older, wiser mother annoying new mothers with “how fast it goes.”
Before I know it, my memories of your babyhood will be what I hold closely instead of your tiny hand.
Being your mother is the hardest, best thing I’ve ever done. Being your mother is the hardest, best thing I’ll ever do.
I lay there on the uncomfortable bed, slightly tilted into a half-reclined, half-upright position, wondering if I’d made a mistake.
I didn’t. You remind me of this every day.
Every time your shining blue eyes twinkle at mine in a giggle, or your angry brow furrows in my direction, I see who I’ve made, and I know of the many, many mistakes I have and will make, their best correction will always be you.
Monday, February 13, 2017
Routines
I am a strong advocate of routines when it comes to the kids. I always stick close to our routines. My dad told me once I sounded like a drill sergeant. Hehe! My mom in law also didn't understood at first why we had to let the kids have strict nap times. My husband also gets frustrated at times when I had to rush home, just so we could let the kids sleep on time. Other family members probably thought I was crazy. Good thing I stumbled upon these articles from Janet Lansbury and Maga Gerber, which validated how routines can help kids with their development. Phew! I was starting to doubt myself already if we were doing the right approach (but really, there isn't any right or wrong approach when it comes to parenting. Whatever suits the family.).
Now that the kids are older, we still try to follow a consistent routine as much as possible. But we also try to be more flexible with it. I'm okay with skipping naps sometimes. I'm okay with Rafa napping in the car instead or Claire having her lunch a bit later than usual. Unlike before, I try not to stress too much anymore if we don't get to follow our routine on some days. I just adjust accordingly.
'Empowering Our Babies With Rituals'
by: Janet Lansbury
Bore that I am, I do the exact same thing every morning. Up before my family, I turn on the tea kettle and walk to the street with Dulce (our Ridgeback- Pitbull-whatever rescue dog) to collect the LA Times. (Yes, I still read hard copy sometimes.) Then I make a smoothie with vitamin powder, soy milk and frozen fruit while I steep green tea. Alternate sips of hot tea and cold smoothie miraculously transform the beast. As Lumière, the candlestick in the Disney musical sang, “…I’m human again. Only human again. Poised and polished and gleaming with charm…”
I like to break out and do different things once in awhile, but one of the many things I have in common with babies (arrested development?) is my attraction to routine. My habits have shifted over the years, and some have been healthier than others, but they’ve always given me comfort. I look forward to these rituals and really like knowing I can depend on them.
Imagine what it’s like to be an infant. The world is all brand new — a fascinating, stimulating sensory delight — but the constant transitions, surprises and novelty can be intense and overwhelming. Combine that with the fact that we are growing, changing more rapidly than we ever will, so even what we know can feel different the next day. (Like the way my adolescent daughter feels when she wakes at noon and thinks the kitchen table and her mom have shrunk because she’s grown a half inch.)
We need responsive, reliable parents and caregivers to feel secure, but wouldn’t it also be nice to depend on some daily experiences? To be able to predict, for example, that after our morning meal and diaper change we’ll go to a familiar place to play. Or know that after our dinner and evening bath we will enjoy a book, close the shades, hear a lullaby we’ve begun to recognize and be gently placed in a cozy bed to sleep.
In a life full of changes we cannot control, creating routines and rituals is one of the most respectful and empowering things we can do for our babies.
Infant expert Magda Gerber emphasized the importance of establishing a daily sequence of events — not arbitrarily imposed, inflexible, or on the clock, but formed together with our babies in response to their individual needs. “In a predictable environment, and with regular, dependable schedules, they feel comfortable, cry less, and life is easier for both infant and parents. Infants who do not need to adjust to too much unnecessary stimulation will eventually regulate their sleeping and eating patterns. This regularity will, in turn, give parents some predictable time for their own needs and interests.”
It takes a little time to find a rhythm with our babies. Even in the giddy, chaotic, sleepless first days with a newborn, we can begin by getting into the habit of telling our infant what will happen next. “I’m going to carry you to the diaper table. Then we will unsnap your pajamas.” Soon our baby learns what he can expect. He feels more participatory in experiences he can predict and anticipate for himself. “After I drink milk in the morning, we usually go outside to my playpen under the tree.”
As our infants become toddlers, it’s easy to recognize that even the simplest rituals empower them. And when children know what to expect, they are inspired to immerse themselves in an experience and gain more pleasure from it. If I had any doubt about babies loving rituals, it would be shattered by the way the children in my life have always enjoyed creating them on their own.
One example of this began spontaneously. Snack time in my weekly Parent – Toddler Classes is all about ritual. Each ceremonial step is anticipated and relished by the children, and as they get older they gradually help and participate more, physically, communicatively, and then verbally. First we place the mat on the floor, or the deck outside if it’s nice weather. Then we bring out the table and stools. The children who want to participate sit, and we take turns washing hands with a wet cloth. Then each child chooses a bib. Next they get a turn to help peel the first banana, and are then are offered pieces to eat. After eating some banana we bring out the glasses (yes, glasses!) and little glass carafes from which the toddlers learn to pour water into their glasses…and boy, do they love that part.
One day, a 17 month old boy choked a little and coughed when he drank a sip of water, so I patted him gently on the back. He then coughed again, and I repeated the patting. Then a girl at the table coughed. When I responded with a pat, she grinned. Before long others tried it too, and we all laughed uproariously. Predictably, fake coughing, patting and laughing became a reliable and highly anticipated addition to our snack ritual each week.
Some believe that our babies will learn to be more adaptable if we expose them to our hectic lives. They argue that the parent’s constant presence and responsive care is the only consistency a baby needs to feel secure. The years Magda Gerber spent studying infants led her to disagree. “Being exposed to circumstances we cannot anticipate nor understand, and in which we cannot actively participate, makes us feel helpless, like riding on a perpetual merry-go-round. Anticipating a change, on the other hand, gives us a feeling of being prepared, of being in control,” she wrote in Dear Parent – Caring For Infants With Respect.
Magda believed that a secure, self-confident baby who has had the opportunity to build trust in his environment is more flexible and amenable to changes in his routine, and I’ve found this to be true with my children. They have quite different personalities, but all three are amazingly secure, self-confident, independent and much more adaptable to change than I ever was…or probably ever will be.
*Adding this article I read from Magda Gerber's website,
The easiest way to develop good habits in general is to have a predictable daily life. Young babies thrive on routine. Ideally, daily events of eating, sleeping, bathing, outdoor play, etc., happen around the same time and in the same sequence each day. As the baby is learning to anticipate the next event, many conflicts are eliminated. A mutual adaptation of the biological rhythm of your baby and your family schedule develops. It also enables you, the parent, to plan ahead for those blocks of rime when your baby is usually napping or playing peacefully.
Now that the kids are older, we still try to follow a consistent routine as much as possible. But we also try to be more flexible with it. I'm okay with skipping naps sometimes. I'm okay with Rafa napping in the car instead or Claire having her lunch a bit later than usual. Unlike before, I try not to stress too much anymore if we don't get to follow our routine on some days. I just adjust accordingly.
'Empowering Our Babies With Rituals'
by: Janet Lansbury
Bore that I am, I do the exact same thing every morning. Up before my family, I turn on the tea kettle and walk to the street with Dulce (our Ridgeback- Pitbull-whatever rescue dog) to collect the LA Times. (Yes, I still read hard copy sometimes.) Then I make a smoothie with vitamin powder, soy milk and frozen fruit while I steep green tea. Alternate sips of hot tea and cold smoothie miraculously transform the beast. As Lumière, the candlestick in the Disney musical sang, “…I’m human again. Only human again. Poised and polished and gleaming with charm…”
I like to break out and do different things once in awhile, but one of the many things I have in common with babies (arrested development?) is my attraction to routine. My habits have shifted over the years, and some have been healthier than others, but they’ve always given me comfort. I look forward to these rituals and really like knowing I can depend on them.
Imagine what it’s like to be an infant. The world is all brand new — a fascinating, stimulating sensory delight — but the constant transitions, surprises and novelty can be intense and overwhelming. Combine that with the fact that we are growing, changing more rapidly than we ever will, so even what we know can feel different the next day. (Like the way my adolescent daughter feels when she wakes at noon and thinks the kitchen table and her mom have shrunk because she’s grown a half inch.)
We need responsive, reliable parents and caregivers to feel secure, but wouldn’t it also be nice to depend on some daily experiences? To be able to predict, for example, that after our morning meal and diaper change we’ll go to a familiar place to play. Or know that after our dinner and evening bath we will enjoy a book, close the shades, hear a lullaby we’ve begun to recognize and be gently placed in a cozy bed to sleep.
In a life full of changes we cannot control, creating routines and rituals is one of the most respectful and empowering things we can do for our babies.
Infant expert Magda Gerber emphasized the importance of establishing a daily sequence of events — not arbitrarily imposed, inflexible, or on the clock, but formed together with our babies in response to their individual needs. “In a predictable environment, and with regular, dependable schedules, they feel comfortable, cry less, and life is easier for both infant and parents. Infants who do not need to adjust to too much unnecessary stimulation will eventually regulate their sleeping and eating patterns. This regularity will, in turn, give parents some predictable time for their own needs and interests.”
It takes a little time to find a rhythm with our babies. Even in the giddy, chaotic, sleepless first days with a newborn, we can begin by getting into the habit of telling our infant what will happen next. “I’m going to carry you to the diaper table. Then we will unsnap your pajamas.” Soon our baby learns what he can expect. He feels more participatory in experiences he can predict and anticipate for himself. “After I drink milk in the morning, we usually go outside to my playpen under the tree.”
As our infants become toddlers, it’s easy to recognize that even the simplest rituals empower them. And when children know what to expect, they are inspired to immerse themselves in an experience and gain more pleasure from it. If I had any doubt about babies loving rituals, it would be shattered by the way the children in my life have always enjoyed creating them on their own.
One example of this began spontaneously. Snack time in my weekly Parent – Toddler Classes is all about ritual. Each ceremonial step is anticipated and relished by the children, and as they get older they gradually help and participate more, physically, communicatively, and then verbally. First we place the mat on the floor, or the deck outside if it’s nice weather. Then we bring out the table and stools. The children who want to participate sit, and we take turns washing hands with a wet cloth. Then each child chooses a bib. Next they get a turn to help peel the first banana, and are then are offered pieces to eat. After eating some banana we bring out the glasses (yes, glasses!) and little glass carafes from which the toddlers learn to pour water into their glasses…and boy, do they love that part.
One day, a 17 month old boy choked a little and coughed when he drank a sip of water, so I patted him gently on the back. He then coughed again, and I repeated the patting. Then a girl at the table coughed. When I responded with a pat, she grinned. Before long others tried it too, and we all laughed uproariously. Predictably, fake coughing, patting and laughing became a reliable and highly anticipated addition to our snack ritual each week.
Some believe that our babies will learn to be more adaptable if we expose them to our hectic lives. They argue that the parent’s constant presence and responsive care is the only consistency a baby needs to feel secure. The years Magda Gerber spent studying infants led her to disagree. “Being exposed to circumstances we cannot anticipate nor understand, and in which we cannot actively participate, makes us feel helpless, like riding on a perpetual merry-go-round. Anticipating a change, on the other hand, gives us a feeling of being prepared, of being in control,” she wrote in Dear Parent – Caring For Infants With Respect.
Magda believed that a secure, self-confident baby who has had the opportunity to build trust in his environment is more flexible and amenable to changes in his routine, and I’ve found this to be true with my children. They have quite different personalities, but all three are amazingly secure, self-confident, independent and much more adaptable to change than I ever was…or probably ever will be.
*Adding this article I read from Magda Gerber's website,
The easiest way to develop good habits in general is to have a predictable daily life. Young babies thrive on routine. Ideally, daily events of eating, sleeping, bathing, outdoor play, etc., happen around the same time and in the same sequence each day. As the baby is learning to anticipate the next event, many conflicts are eliminated. A mutual adaptation of the biological rhythm of your baby and your family schedule develops. It also enables you, the parent, to plan ahead for those blocks of rime when your baby is usually napping or playing peacefully.
Monday, February 6, 2017
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Stop and Pause
While Rafa is only 5 years old now, I'll probably have the same feelings like the author below, when the time comes that he will not be needing me (as much) anymore. I can already see it coming, as he is slowly becoming his own independent person. While there are days that I wish he would grow up fast, this article is a good reminder that I should savor each moment (good and bad) he calls for me, no matter how kulit he is sometimes. I'm happy I still have 2 years before he officially turns into a big boy...until then, he is still (and will always be) my baby boy.
'What Lies On The Other Side of Six'
by: KLeClair
After tucking my 7-year-old boy into bed, after the noise of the day has turned into silence and my thoughts are the loudest sound in the room. After I’ve collapsed onto the couch from another dizzying day of parenting, this low and dull ache begins to form in my chest. Seizing my breath and gripping my heart until I have no choice but to focus in and acknowledge the rapid speed with which time is passing.
I instantly feel panic and my mind is scattered as I try to remember the last time I really looked at my boy, the last time I really held onto him, the last time he really needed me. He’s growing older with every blink of my eyes and becoming who he’s meant to be faster than I ever thought possible.
Gone is the baby whose survival depended on me. Gone is the little boy who constantly looked to me for guidance and approval. Arrived is this now 7-year-old boy who has unwavering confidence in his choices, thoughts disconnected from my own and a deep desire for independence. In some ways, it feels as though this metamorphosis happened overnight. But the time that’s passed tells a different story. We’ve spent the last seven years building up to this. I just didn’t know it was coming so quickly. I didn’t know by seven he’d already be racing towards what lies on the other side of my four walls.
Back in what now feels like the distant past when it was just my sweet baby and I caught in the crossfire of endless feedings, diaper changes and sleep training, time seemed to stretch out in front of us for what felt like an infinite period. In those early years of being a first-time mom life is such a blur of meeting milestones that you’re completely unaware of the significant and precious time that’s slipping right through your exhausted fingertips. You are merely surviving. Employing massive amounts of caffeine to see you through the fog. During that phase you’re physically unable to imagine how quickly you and your child will progress from each stage of life to the next as you rush along, rarely pausing to breathe in the very moment where you stand. No one tells you that one day you’ll turn to look at your baby and that baby will be gone.
The reality is, this boy, my first born, was never meant to be mine forever. Contrary to what my heart tells me each time I see him take another step towards the outside world. I want to shout out, “Hey, where are you going? You belong to me.” But he was always meant to move on and make his own mark. Just like his time in the womb couldn’t be forever, his time in my home won’t be forever. He will be here just long enough to gain his footing, mature, and then move on to his next phase.
When he turned seven, this realization kind of came out of nowhere and hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt stunned. Like the wind had been knocked out of me. Of course this was always going to happen. Seasons change, time silently ticks from one minute to the next and children inevitably grow up. I know this. It just hadn’t occurred to me until we hit seven. I guess my head was down and I wasn’t paying attention. And now, here we are.
I’ve been making a deliberate effort to stand in the moment more. Feel the weight of his growing body as he crashes into me for a hug, the sloppy kisses that he still doles out lovingly, at bedtime only, of course. The look of his face each day as it gradually morphs and shapes into that of a mature boy and less of my little boy.
I’ve tried to put the pause button on more and consciously reflect on the seven years of hugs, kisses and love that we’ve shared. And while the ache for my baby doesn’t immediately subside, it slowly turns into gratitude for the time we’ve had. I finally take that much needed breath while my slumbering child is still safely in a place where I can see him and gaze for just a moment longer before the next phase unexpectedly comes along.
'What Lies On The Other Side of Six'
by: KLeClair
After tucking my 7-year-old boy into bed, after the noise of the day has turned into silence and my thoughts are the loudest sound in the room. After I’ve collapsed onto the couch from another dizzying day of parenting, this low and dull ache begins to form in my chest. Seizing my breath and gripping my heart until I have no choice but to focus in and acknowledge the rapid speed with which time is passing.
I instantly feel panic and my mind is scattered as I try to remember the last time I really looked at my boy, the last time I really held onto him, the last time he really needed me. He’s growing older with every blink of my eyes and becoming who he’s meant to be faster than I ever thought possible.
Gone is the baby whose survival depended on me. Gone is the little boy who constantly looked to me for guidance and approval. Arrived is this now 7-year-old boy who has unwavering confidence in his choices, thoughts disconnected from my own and a deep desire for independence. In some ways, it feels as though this metamorphosis happened overnight. But the time that’s passed tells a different story. We’ve spent the last seven years building up to this. I just didn’t know it was coming so quickly. I didn’t know by seven he’d already be racing towards what lies on the other side of my four walls.
Back in what now feels like the distant past when it was just my sweet baby and I caught in the crossfire of endless feedings, diaper changes and sleep training, time seemed to stretch out in front of us for what felt like an infinite period. In those early years of being a first-time mom life is such a blur of meeting milestones that you’re completely unaware of the significant and precious time that’s slipping right through your exhausted fingertips. You are merely surviving. Employing massive amounts of caffeine to see you through the fog. During that phase you’re physically unable to imagine how quickly you and your child will progress from each stage of life to the next as you rush along, rarely pausing to breathe in the very moment where you stand. No one tells you that one day you’ll turn to look at your baby and that baby will be gone.
The reality is, this boy, my first born, was never meant to be mine forever. Contrary to what my heart tells me each time I see him take another step towards the outside world. I want to shout out, “Hey, where are you going? You belong to me.” But he was always meant to move on and make his own mark. Just like his time in the womb couldn’t be forever, his time in my home won’t be forever. He will be here just long enough to gain his footing, mature, and then move on to his next phase.
When he turned seven, this realization kind of came out of nowhere and hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt stunned. Like the wind had been knocked out of me. Of course this was always going to happen. Seasons change, time silently ticks from one minute to the next and children inevitably grow up. I know this. It just hadn’t occurred to me until we hit seven. I guess my head was down and I wasn’t paying attention. And now, here we are.
I’ve been making a deliberate effort to stand in the moment more. Feel the weight of his growing body as he crashes into me for a hug, the sloppy kisses that he still doles out lovingly, at bedtime only, of course. The look of his face each day as it gradually morphs and shapes into that of a mature boy and less of my little boy.
I’ve tried to put the pause button on more and consciously reflect on the seven years of hugs, kisses and love that we’ve shared. And while the ache for my baby doesn’t immediately subside, it slowly turns into gratitude for the time we’ve had. I finally take that much needed breath while my slumbering child is still safely in a place where I can see him and gaze for just a moment longer before the next phase unexpectedly comes along.
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