Gearing Up for Baby

The first time we went into a store to look at baby gear I hyperventilated in the car seat aisle. Well, not really, but I did stand there frozen like an idiot while my husband picked things up and read tags. I promptly wandered over to look at cute baby clothes.

It’s funny how some baby gear seems complicated (car seats, strollers, carriers) and other stuff doesn’t (sleepers). So in absence of any ability to make a decision about a car seat you buy a really cute sleeper and then when your baby is born you learn the sleepers that snap all the way down both legs — as opposed to the full zip ones — are easier to use (and don’t freeze your baby’s tummy in the middle of the night). I think most people just look at how cute the Winnie the Pooh sleepers are and don’t realize it matters how the darn things do up.

Just me? [Read more…]

Exercise 30 Days Straight: An Update

January 1st came and I started this whole 30-days-of-exercise, life-list thing with enthusiasm. I went for a run and felt alive. And I kept going day after day – I ran, I walked hard, I did yoga. I boot camped. And not once, for nine days straight, did I feel like I didn’t want to get some exercise. I wanted to get out there.

Then came day 10. On that day I was aware of the required exercise, not as a weight or an obligation but a question. What should I do? By all rights that day should have been a day for a “proper” workout, but I wasn’t feeling it. It didn’t happen during the day, and by 9:30 I was sitting down with a cup of tea, having almost forgotten that I still needed to do something. I certainly wasn’t going to break the streak after getting a third of the way through the 30 days, so I put the tea down and chose yoga. Jillian Michaels would have to wait for the next day.

It felt like a bit of a cop out, to be honest. And if I had planned it better I probably would have done some cardio or strength training. But maybe what my body needed — what I needed — was a day of being kind to myself. My hamstrings were still complaining loudly after boot camp on Day 7, and my back has been bothering me. (It’s a recurring thing unrelated to my recent bout of exercise.) I want to make yoga more of a regular practice and not something I just do when I’m signed up for a class, and it’s what felt doable that night. So that’s what I did.

And that’s what this whole thing is really about. It’s not about going hard core and busting my butt for 30 days in a row. It’s about getting out there. It’s about moving. It doesn’t matter how, necessarily. What matters is that I listen to myself.

Compilation of photos from workouts

Compilation of photos I’ve taken during or after workouts

For me, going for a walk every day wouldn’t feel like exercise, but to another it might. I already know I need the harder stuff – the stuff that really makes me sweat. I need to feel the sore muscles and chug the water to feel like I’m really doing something for my body. But I also need the balance. I need a walk in the sunshine, at a quick pace, to get some fresh air and appreciate my surroundings. That’s when I soak in the view. It’s when I really catch the rays of the sunset.

And I need the gentleness of yoga and the mindfulness it brings too. During my Day 10 session I felt my sore muscles giving, just a little. I felt the tension — brought both by boot camp and by life — starting to ease. But, even so, when I got to Shavasana, I felt myself wanting to get up. My tea called, mere seconds away from being warm again, and the quietness of the house suggested bedtime. But I didn’t listen.

Instead I listened to my shoulders and my back. I stayed on the floor and I let go. It was only for a few minutes, but that’s all that mattered.

Sometimes you just have to do it.

On Day 11 I fulfilled my promise to sweat with Jillian.

And so it continues.

 

***
Speaking of goals, one of the things I’m working on this year is getting more writing opportunities. (Related aside: Did you see that I’m now blogging for Huffington Post? SO excited about that.) In exchange for telling you about it, I was given a trial membership to Wealthy Web Writer, which is described as “the writer’s roadmap to making money online.” I’ve explored a few different writers’ sites like this, and the thing I like about this one is that, in addition to the usual tips and job listings, it features some very specific training (like the 3-Minute Guru videos that cover all sorts of things you might want to know how to do) and resources (like a Building Your Business section that addresses the things writers need to know but may not be instinctively good at). There’s a community aspect and they take suggestions for training. They also accept submissions (so, hey, another place you might be able to get paid for your writing).

Overall, I quite like this site and the people behind it seem genuinely helpful. That said, I’m hopeless at using things like this and tend to look for resources as I need them. If I were throwing myself 100% into freelance writing, though, this might be a very handy option.

 

Connorisms

Yes, four is a very special age. It’s in-your-face hard and great at inducing mama guilt. But it’s also precious, funny, and so worth remembering.

I’ve had several very earnest thank-yous from Connor since Ethan was born. Many, in fact. He waited a long time for this baby, and he loves his little brother more than I could have anticipated.

“Thank you for laying a baby,” he told me one day. (If only it were that easy.)

“Mama, I love you,” he said on another. “I love you too, buddy,” I said, but he was not to be outdone. “I love you MORE, because you made me a baby.”

What can you do but laugh? And hug him, of course.

Connor-Ethan-bottle

He’s not lacking in confidence. Not about most things anyway.

“I know all about babies and you don’t.” (All righty, then.)

“I’m going to keep working on [his LEGO creation] because big boys like me NEVER give up.” (It’s true – he doesn’t.)

He did not get his skill with LEGO from me. He can play with it for HOURS, and he’s putting together things way beyond what he should be able to do at his age. And if you give him the LEGO he wants for Christmas, you’ll be rewarded with this.

Connor_Christmas-Lego

Pure joy.

But, oh, he’s a mischief maker too. You can see it in his four-year-old face, can’t you?

Connor-snowman

If we nail him for something and he doesn’t like it, the admonishment will ring throughout the house: “Bad parenting!” he’ll say, sounding very much like he means it. (Again, we laugh. But not where he can see us.)

His sass comes through in his language and the requests we can’t refuse.

“Can I get a little help here?”

At times he seems much older than he is.

At others, he’s very much a little boy.

“Mama, can I have some time with you?”

Connor-polar-bears

These polar bears are a Christmas art installation at a local mall. Except Connor calls them, “snowlar bears.”
I think that makes more sense, don’t you?

And he likes to wear his clothes backwards.

backwards-clothes

Because he’s four.

Four

I’m too sharp with him sometimes. Too impatient.

“Mama?”

“Yes, love?”

He’s talkative lately.

“Mama?”

“Yes?”

Especially early in the day.

“Mama?”

By the eighth time on a too-early morning, I’ve moved on to “hmm?” And after two days, during which he has called for my attention countless times, I resort to a curt, “What?!”

Just say it, my duck. I’m listening to you, so just say it. I don’t want to have to acknowledge you every single time you want to say something to me when I’m sitting right there.

He deserves more from me. He’s four, and sometimes I forget that. And then I get frustrated and impatient and I don’t pay attention enough and he tries harder and I snap at him. And all of a sudden there he is in front of me – my boy who’s only four, which really isn’t very big at all.

Bartering Sleep


Moms complain about not getting enough sleep. It’s just what we do. I don’t know even one mother who isn’t tired at least some of the time – either tired from months (or years) of sleep deprivation, tired from trying to keep up with her kids and their energy, or just plain tired of not having more than a few minutes to herself here and there.

It’s that last one that fuels the rest of it.

asleep in the car seat

Duh, mom. When you’re tired, sleep.

The someecards collection is full of pithy quips for moms about how solo grocery shopping counts as “me” time and peace and quiet is only found in the bathroom (and often not even then). So we take those moments when we find them, even if we have to lock the door to keep our beloved children out to do it, and continue our pursuit of time to ourselves by sacrificing that most cherished of commodities: sleep.

I know some parents who can function on very little sleep and so can quite handily go to bed late and still be fine when their offspring disturb their slumber. I’m not one of them. I need sleep – the undisturbed, drool-on-the-pillow-and-wake-up-when-I’m-damn-well-ready kind. And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that I haven’t had enough of that in the last four-and-a-half years.

Unfortunately, this need for quality sleep is at odds with another one of my primary requirements for sanity, which is to have a decent amount of time to myself. And so, like so many other mothers, I sacrifice one for the other.

sleeping baby with owl hat

Even little night owls need to sleep sometimes.

Even now, with a three-month-old baby I have to get up with at least two or three times a night, I often choose me time after bedtime. Before Ethan was born — before I was pregnant with him, even — I was the type who called it a day somewhere around 10 p.m. My routine usually included a good stretch of time reading in bed but, even so, if I saw the clock click over to 11 it was a rare thing indeed. Now, despite having both a preschooler who gets up early and the aforementioned night-waking infant, I have to force myself to go to bed at 11 or live with the regret in the morning.

And it’s still not enough. It’s not enough sleep and it’s not enough time to do my own thing. But I’m not alone in my pursuit of the elusive balance.

Judging only by the number of pithy, sleep-related jokes I see shared on Facebook I would know I’m not the only mom making the choice to stay up past my bedtime. But I’ve also had this conversation with several friends, all of whom bemoan the fact that they need more sleep than they get while admitting they stay up too late just to have the time to themselves.

Sure, sleep begets sanity, but what good is sanity if you’re not awake to appreciate it?