Mom Poetry

I've never posted a poem here, try to keep that side of me separate, and in fact have trouble accessing that side of me post-motherhood, but I just came across something I must have written when my oldest was 2, which I will now share with you. Until I can manage the time to finish all the other half-done things I've been working on...

A Joke About Your Feet

Our daughter, age 2, moves

through our bedroom self-propelled,

her ideas moving her, ideas all her own,

a smooth motion like a crashing

ocean within her, soft and fierce and invisible

like all the parts I built for her

and when she makes a joke

—Out of nowhere!—

(the joke:

‘I didn’t steal your feet, I borrowed them,’

in response to my husband’s

‘You have my feet!’)

it’s nothing

we ever considered, nothing we created,

nothing of the parts of parenting we try

in futility to imagine before they happen,

it’s nothing but we look at each other

quickly and then our eyes quickly back

to her, to see what’s next.

100 Different Thoughts on Being a Stay-at-home Mom But I Only Have Time to Write 46

As I head back to the world of gainful employment and go through some sort of mid-mom-life identity crisis, I need to get a few things off my no-longer-nursing chest. Some of these thoughts are about all of the times I’ve felt like I had a chip on my shoulder about something but didn’t say anything because I’m not a mommy warrior. Plus, five and a half years and two kids later, I may have actually learned a few things. Maybe one or two. The other 44 are just filler.

1. Fact: “What do you do all day?” is the dumbest question you can ask a stay-at-home parent. 

2. “What "else" do you do?” Also a rude question. Do you ask your working friends what they do other than their job? And if they’re not in a band or writing a novel do you assume they’re wasting their life away?

3. A little advice: Before you ask any question of a stay at home parent, ask yourself if you would ask the same of someone who works? Any question you would not ask your friends with 40-hour jobs is probably rude or intrusive or both.

4. You know how lawyers have to account for all their time in 15 minute increments to prove that they were doing something worthwhile with their time? It’s kinda like that, except people who expect a full report are not your boss.

5. Your “boss” can be a real jerk and it’s ok to think that, but when you think it too often, find a way to get away.

6. Find a moms group. Or other moms. More than one. If you don’t, you’ll never last at home.

7. You need time alone, away from the baby. You may not understand why at first, but you just do. Trust. Plan.

8. Truth: There are other ways of finding out what stay at home moms do all day. Try: Do you take any classes with your kid? Have you found a moms group? How was your week? 

9. There are good days and bad days and that is not different than any other job.

10. Hours pass by when I couldn’t say what I did. It’s called mothering.

11. Sometimes I can do more in one hour than you did all week. Sometimes I don’t get that hour.

12. Don't tell me you could never do what I do. It's condescending. Cleary what you mean to but wouldn’t say is: I would never do what you do.

13. Truth: If you have any reason to believe the SAHM considers herself a feminist, she will be defensive about everything all the time. Deal with it.

14. I hate the acronym “SAHM” but I also think all acronyms are simultaneously stupid and elitest.

15. It’s such total crap that in the Era of Choice Feminism there is any judgment at all about whether working or taking care of your kids during the day is feminist or not feminist. 

16. If you know one stay-at-home mom or dad, you can pretty much extrapolate what they’re all like. Right? And then definitely, please, we would love for you to share your wild generalizations with the world. Preferably in the comments section of a website meant to be supportive of new mothers.

17. What gives my life meaning, what “else” I do, what is still mine alone… None of these things are any of your business if we are not friends.

18. If you are not offering to watch my kids, don’t tell me I look tired.

19. Truth: The annoying part of pregnancy where everyone suddenly thinks your body is public property and acquaintances expect answers to intimate questions? Yeah, that keeps happening. 

20. Don't make assumptions about how much or how little money my family must have because I’m staying at home.

21. Don’t assume I’m happy all the time. Or expect that I should be.

22. Don’t assume that I think I love my kids more than a mom who chooses to or needs to work. I don’t think your choice is bad, just because I made a different one. Some days I’d swap.

23. Some days I wouldn’t, not for anything. Picnics and sunny days and other clichés are usually involved. 

24. If you didn’t know me before I was a mom, I must not have done anything with my life except wait to become a mom. Obviously.

25. Don't assume I will never work again. Lots of moms stay at home for 2 months, 1 year, 3 years, until kindergarten… Most of us don’t know our path back until it’s there.

26. Once you admit that you’re looking for paid work again, you become an unemployed person who cares for the kids during the day. Lots of people think of all stay-at-home dads this way from day 1. That seems fair, right?

27. If you stay a home after all of your kids are school age, are you a stay-at-home mom or do you suddenly turn into a housewife? Maybe. But it’s no one’s business beyond your family walls. 

28. Some kids need more of their mothers than others. Some mothers are built differently than other mothers. If being at home works for you and your kids and your family, rage on. 

29. Stay-at-home parents shouldn’t feel like they have to do anything more than be with their kids. But that’s really hard.

30. If you’re not paying attention, you’d be surprised how many things would grind to a halt without the unpaid labor of women, including stay-at-home moms.

31. If most women today take some amount of time away from a job when they have a baby and most women head back to work at some point later, it shouldn’t be so scary to have a “gap” on a resume. But it totally is.

32. Even if you think you’ won’t end up doing more chores because your job is supposed to be daytime parenting and your spouse’s job is what it is and everything else should remain the same, you will and it doesn’t.

33. The primary caregiver is stressed. The primary breadwinner is stressed. Try to hold hands and walk across the bridge to each other’s island now and again.

34. I never felt like it was his money. It was always our money. Just not my money.

35. Laundry used to be this kind of romantic thing we did together. There was nothing about laundry in our wedding vows. Yet hours have been lost sorting socks. Hours, people.

36. We are not all Mary Poppins.

37. The ones who look like Mary Poppins—which by the way, is the best movie I’ve ever watched with my kids—also sometimes cry to themselves while their husbands sleep by their side. 

38. It’s hard. It’s lonely. It’s freaking amazing.

39. If you never tell another stay-at-home parent that you’re struggling, they won’t tell you either and you’ll both think everyone else has it all together all the time and you’re a big mess.

40. Staying at home can be made to seem just as romantic as working. And just as unromantic.

41. You do not need to work harder on tummy time because your kid had better be ahead of the curve if you’re home with them every day. 

42. To stay-at-home, you don’t have to be the sort of parent that gets down on the floor and plays with your kids all day. If they lay on a blanket and watch you fold the aforementioned laundry or help unload the dishwasher, they’re good. Kids who help with errands and chores are happy kids. You don’t even have to do Gymboree.

43. It’s ok to drink in the afternoon if you invite another mom and call it a playdate.

44. I am a whole person. I am not my kid. I don’t take my identity from being a mom and it doesn’t take my identity from me. At least not forever.

45. Everything is half done all the time and you have to let it go. If you have a daughter and she’s old enough ask her to sing you the song. She’ll be happy to oblige.

46. I’m really glad I did it and I’m really glad I’m done.

What do you think? Any stay-at-home mom thoughts to share?

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Top Ten Lies Parents Tell (Ourselves)

A kids' version of lying to themselves: "You can't see me!" 

10.  I just turned around for a second!

9. (Fill in the blank)... shouldn't take too long.

8. Yelling "Stop yelling!" will get them to stop yelling.

7. Crawling/talking/walking/reading/writing early = Ive League future! (Aka, it's ok we haven't started saving for college, our kid is a genius.)

6.  It hasn't been *that* long since... (fill in the blank).

5.  I don't smell anything. 

4. Falling asleep while watching Bones on the DVR is just as romantic as going out to see a movie.

3. What's one more kid?

2. Going to bed early is the new sleeping in.

1. Our kids won't be like that. 

Risky Business, This Parenting Gig

“Making the decision to have a child—it’s momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”            - Elizabeth Stone

A few months ago, we went on a walk in our nice, quiet neighborhood. My husband and I, both kids, and two out-of-town friends with their kid, just strolling along on a warm summer evening. My husband had our son on his shoulders and was chatting with the other husband, also with kid on shoulders.

I remember feeling free and happy, walking a little ahead of the rest to try to keep up with my daughter. She had a ton of energy and was—after asking permission, as she does for everything—running ahead of us. Since it was something I’d been working on, I was marveling at how ok I was with how far away I was allowing my daughter to be. She’s good about stopping at driveways, never heads for the street, so what could go wrong?

Doing their own risk-assessment, while I stand back.

For whatever reason, after watching her a bit, I decided to run up and chase her. I had almost caught up with her when, seemingly out of nowhere, but actually from the other side of a parked car, a uniformed police officer appeared. He was crouching down, so as to not be seen, and had a very big gun in his hands as if he might need to fire at any minute. He held his hand up and then waved his arm, signaling “be quiet” and then “get the hell out of here.” On the other side of the car, in the street, was a man in plain clothes—the person he was after? Another cop in plain clothes? I had no idea. They were both looking across the street at something, but I didn’t stick around to get a good look.

My heart beating through my sundress now, I grabbed my daughter and ran-walked back to the rest of our group, who were caught up in conversation and hadn’t yet seen what was happening ahead. We got ourselves back to our house, only half a block away, as fast as we could without seeming too panicked to the kids. Surely, our out-of-town guests, who live in a rural area out west, were wondering exactly what kind of neighborhood this was.

Not knowing what was happening just down the street from our home, we decided to get in the car and take the kids for an impromptu, pre-dinner ice cream, to distract from any questions. About two hours later, after calling the police, who initially couldn’t discuss an “ongoing situation,” I got a call back explaining the “situation.” Apparently, they had been responding to a call from a neighbor who thought they had heard someone trying to break into their house, but it turned out to be nothing.

I want to let my kids run ahead of me. I really do. Even after that and the hundred other things that make me hold my breath. But it’s so hard not to think constantly about how quickly, from where they are right at this moment, I could gather them back into my arms and safety.

When you become a parent, the idea of risk takes on a whole new meaning—evidenced by a sudden need for guardianship paperwork and real life insurance and all of those grown-up things that my husband and I really mean to keep getting around to doing. It’s one thing to think about risk management in your own life in a whole new way.  It’s a whole other thing to teach it to your children, but it’s surely one of the most important lessons there is.

Tree-climbing, an excellent way to teach risk-assessment, and something my kids almost never get to do.

My daughter falls a lot, sometimes while standing perfectly still. Sometimes while sitting in a chair, she’ll just fall to the floor. It’s baffling. Over the years, I have developed the bad habit of constantly reminding her to “be careful,” even though she’s a risk-averse kid. But inevitably, when I don’t, she gets lost in her busy mind, and, often, gets hurt. Judge all you want—if I can avoid a crying episode or five, it’s often way too tempting to utter those words: be careful.

With my youngest, I have had to shift into a different gear. He almost never falls, as in I can’t even think of a time. He takes more risks, but I work to stop myself from saying anything. It seems like absurd helicoptering to say “be careful” to him and it’s relatively easy to let go of it.

The other day, he carried a big plastic tub full of art supplies up and down a full flight of stairs. He’s two. And he was fine, so I’m glad I didn’t notice until it was done. If my daughter, three years older, had attempted such a feat, what would I have said to her? And if I managed to keep my “be careful” inside, would she have been able to do it? Or would she have fallen? I wish I knew.

One of my greatest goals as a parent is to try not to pass along my anxieties to my children. But, oh, this world, with it’s violence and horribleness everywhere! Every time there’s another shooting—today at a children’s hospital—I can feel the worry seep under my skin. And I know already where it will make itself visible—anywhere I can control.

They need to learn. They need to fall. They need to run ahead. They need to learn how to manage risk—to see if they can carry a heavy thing up the stairs, to learn to look both ways on their own. Of course, they do.

But still—up ahead, running farther and faster every day, is my heart outside my body. And damn, it’s terrifying.

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Sick Kids Are The Worst

If there is anything in the world harder than watching your child in pain, I hope to never know.

I thank my lucky stars that the sick and hurt kids I've had to comfort and care for have had nothing worse than broken bones, pneumonia and coxsackie virus. There are certainly worse cosmic fates. And I tried to remember that as I was up half the night, for a second night, with my two year old, who cried in pain and just wanted to sleep.

A pile of fussy cuddles. 

Having a sick kid is the worst. Except being sick while having a sick kid you have to take care of and no one is taking care of you. That's really the worst.

I was less prepared for dealing with sick kids than for anything else parenting has thrown my way.

One of the worst weeks of my life was during the winter my first baby was six months old. It was the first time she really got sick, and it was the kind of sick that involved constant holding and endless crying. I was sick, too, and my husband was at work. We don't have family nearby, and no one wants to come over to help you when your kid is sick (not even a babysitter, I discovered somewhat later). I cried on the floor of the baby's room—I was alone and no one was coming to save me. It felt like that for a week.

Since that day, I've gotten smarter. For better or worse, I no longer lose 5 pounds every time a kid gets sick, because I'm only eating instant oatmeal. Once cold season hits, my freezer and cabinets are stocked with easy food, because there is no warning. One day, you’re going about your business, and the next day, you have a fussy kid and only one hand.

One of the biggest fights my husband and I have had was about sick days. As in: he gets them and I don't.

When I'm sick, I'm still home caring for kids—and it's debatable whether it's better when they're also sick or when they're still running around full-force. When my husband is sick, he's in bed all day. Of course, he's gotta work when he's well and can't always take time to be where (I hope) he would want to be. He's lucky enough to have paid sick days, but there’s still work that can't just be abandoned without warning. I got so upset about it that things changed. Now, whenever he can, he stays home or comes home early if I'm sick or the kids are especially miserable.

My number one priority in returning to the workforce is landing a job that allows for being at home with a sick kid. I know that would put me in the minority in this country, but I'd rather take a lesser job than face the ugly reality of working parents without that benefit. The world of sick-child care is one I don’t want to have to investigate. Mommy-track, anyone?

As miserable as it is to be stuck at home taking care of a sick child, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I'd be a lot more miserable being stuck at work while my kids were sick in someone else's care. It may sound crazy, but it’s definitely one of the reasons I stay at home, and I know from friends that I’m not alone.

If I've learned anything from taking care of sick kids, it's to dig deeper. When you don't think you can handle any more, you find it in yourself to do it anyway. Because you have to. Because no one else will. And deeper is there. At least for a day or two.

Just when I feel like I'm about to lose it, up to my armpits in dirty tissues and sick-kid-food, a kind of parenting zen washes over me. I imagine what it must feel like to be two or five and be sick and just want to be held by a loving parent. So that's what I do.

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Confession: The Annoying Thing My Husband Does To Be Nice

I live near DC, where a lot of people’s spouses travel for work. Some are gone for weeks or months at a time or a few days every week. I really have nothing to complain about, but what fun would that be?

During my husband’s last trip, longer than most, I had to admit something to myself—it’s just not fun when he calls home.

I get that his job involves social events—dinners, drinks. But calling to say good night for bedtime inevitably involves him not being able to hear us and me only hearing the sound of grown-up revelry. The kids at this point aren’t hearing anything, because when things aren’t fun, they just walk away.

Or when we talk in the morning, he’s just rolling out of bed after a lovely night of sleeping in a room alone, knowing no one was going wake him. If he’s tired, it’s because he was out late. Poor thing. Meanwhile, I’m trying to wrangle unbrushed teeth, grab a to-go breakfast, and get kids out the door, which is basically the least fun thing parenting has to offer.

Adding a phone call to our bedtime routine isn’t exactly seamless. It just gives me another to-do. Brush teeth, wash everyone’s face, and don’t forget to call daddy to say good night.

The kids really do miss him when he’s gone—they tell me so several times a day. And they even think they want to call him on the phone, but it’s “Hi, Daddy!” and then they’re out. It’s not fun—it’s annoying.

It’s not that I don’t think he should call. He should. In fact, if he didn’t, I’d be pissed. So it is a bit unfair to say that it sucks, but it does suck.

Single-parenting (and I use the term loosely, in the temporary, it’s a verb not a noun kind of way) while a spouse is gone is the kind of thing for which one should earn bonus points. To be cashed in for a day off or a night away. I know. Keeping score is petty. Oh well. I earned those points with hard work and phone calls home do not subtract some because you’re helping out via conference call. Not until there’s technology for brushing kids teeth via Skype.

No phone call is going to make it easier. In fact, every phone call makes it a little harder. With each call, he reinserts himself back into the world he’s left behind, and the kids are reminded that their daddy is gone. So when they’re not distracted and paying no attention, they’re start whining about how much they miss him.

If I was the one away, I’d probably want to say good-night, too. There’s no perfect answer here. I realize he can’t win.

But I do think that traveling parents should disabuse themselves of the notion that they’re doing anyone a favor with those phone calls.

Of course, I will always pick up the phone and say, “I miss you. I love you. The kids miss you. They love you.” It’s all true. But what I really want to say is, “You know what? I’m doing this. I got it. I can handle things without you. So don’t try to make yourself feel better by keeping us on the phone.”

It’s a lot easier to just be in an on-my-own mode, enjoying any benefits that come with making all of the decisions and doing whatever we want. Like not having anyone annoyed if bedtime is late or dinner was lame or the kids aren’t bathed or whatever else having your co-parent around reminds you that you’re not doing quite right.

A military-wife friend, whose husband went on long deployments for much of their marriage, told me that there are three phases with every absence—before, during and after. For me, it’s “I’m hunkering down so leave me alone,” “Wow—this is actually manageable and I’m totally doing it so I rock,” and “Now it’s your turn, cuz that was exhausting.” The easiest time is the actual time away. Totally unfair, I know.

I love my husband, but nowhere is it written that I have to love the calls home. And now it’s written that I don’t. But, dear husband, don’t think this means you’re not calling home anyway. Because we love you, dammit.

And we will be really happy when we see you again.

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What to Expect When You’re Expecting Baby #2

“When you have your first baby, you worry about everything. When you have your second baby… you worry about the first baby.”

I don’t know where I first heard that, but I was pregnant with my second and there was a constant hum about how different everything is with baby number two.

If the cliché of becoming a parent is, “It changes everthing.” The cliché of having a second baby is closer to, “It ain’t nothing but a thang.”

In those early days of life as a mother of two, I remember feeling intensely worried about my first baby. And I definitely worried very little about the new baby. I had done the baby thing already, so no problem, but the sibling adjustment thing was all new.

I can still see myself sitting on the couch nursing my son and watching my daughter play on the floor, looking so sad and lonely, and thinking, “Why is this strange baby keeping me away from my real kid?”

As the first child and grandchild on both sides, my daughter had been getting too much attention and I looked forward to her sharing the (sometimes literal) stage with a sibling. But watching the withdraw of that attention after my son was born was physically painful for me.

The transition from one kid to two was, for me, as big a life-changing event as the change from pregnancy to parenthood. If not bigger. Seriously.

Two kids is no joke.

Of course, as with all things parenthood, it depends on what you get. I got a very flexible, social first kid who I could take anywhere and a second who wouldn’t let me sleep and had a special knack for finding knives in unexpected places.

Maybe it would be different if I hadn't struggled with post-partum depression after our second was born. But that's the thing about parenting. Once you’re pregnant, you don’t get to choose much of anything. You don't know what you're gonna get.

It took me longer to bond with my second baby. I caught myself feeling reluctant to focus on him too much, so as not to hurt my daughter’s feelings. Until I realized how important it is for her to see how much we love him, to watch us loving him. How would she learn to love him if we were holding back? And how long would it last anyway, this pretending the new baby doesn’t change anything?

One day I remember, when my son was still new, I was pissed at my husband and not dealing well with my daughter. So I left them at home and went out alone with my son for the first time.

We went to Nordstrom, which was my happy place as a new mom. It may sounds odd, but they have this lovely ladies room (yes, bathroom) with a comfortable changing and nursing room and another room with cozy couches. There are other moms there, too, and everyone is really sweet and friendly, as if it’s in the air when you enter the room. And when you’re hungry, the in-store restaurant is full of older ladies unfazed by screaming babies. An odd oasis, to be sure, but it was mine.

Changing my son’s diaper in that happy bathroom, looking down at him, feeling free for the first time to be openly affectionate with him, without any worry about anyone else, was one of the first times I felt a strong bond with him. I was just his mom, just changing him and looking at him, and he was so easy to love.

Before I joined their ranks, I remember looking at those cool cucumber moms of two and wondering what happens with the second baby that makes everything look easier than it feels for first time moms.

But, starting with pregnancy, it wasn’t easier for me than the first time. There are all sorts of body parts that are a whole lot stronger with a first pregnancy. I had more aches and pains and what are euphemistically called “symptoms” the second time around. Why does no one tell you these things? Or do we not hear it until we’re there?

Expect... it's not all very sweet kisses.

There are some things that are much easier the second time around—labor, for instance. I actually felt like I knew what I was doing! And I bounced back from the delivery so much faster. Instead of feeling like it was hard just to walk for weeks, I had to stop myself from doing too much after day two. I felt great, but I had been warned to put a lock on those first few weeks. I thought of it as the “Don’t do dishes!” rule. You think you can do anything, but as much as you can, take that time to rest, because whatever help you have immediately after will disappear soon enough.

After the first few weeks of feeling surprisingly good, I began to crash. Parenting, especially parenting two, is cumulatively exhausting. I’ve written before about the Fifth Trimester. The hardest time I’ve ever had with kids was during that time with the second baby.

I often hesitate to say anything about that to moms expecting number two or moms with two kids around those ages. I always start with a “maybe it’s just me…” But when I do confess, other moms have been grateful to hear it. I’ve found that moms who struggle with adjusting to mothering two babies (and many other things) often think it’s just them. When actually, it’s just a hard time. It’s just not discussed.

So… Pregnancy? Harder. Labor? Easier. The first year? Harder!!! And the second year…? It does finally get easier.

I don’t know why, except to say that time is a tricky magician. It changes things when you’re not looking. The first birthday of your last kid is a big parental milestone. Not that anything changes on that exact date. For me, it happened in fits and starts until, one day—one of those good days—I looked around and realized that the crazy hard part was just somehow over.

When I had one baby, watching just one kid more was stressful and required careful strategizing. Now? Need me to watch your two kids along with both of mine on no notice? Bring ‘em over. Easy peasy.

I’m no superstar, but these days, I can do some of those things that make second moms look like they can handle anything. I can change a diaper in pretty much any condition in 30 seconds flat. I can (sometimes) keep them both happy. I can shop with two kids, even at Target. And often do. Even if I do tell my self “This is the last time!” every time, we all seem to make it home somehow.

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