Month: December 2011

holiday cheer photobliggy

Posted on by mommyinthemidwest

Somehow, one way or another, we managed to have no plans this weekend.  Nothing but a Saturday morning haircut for Theo.  The only other goal was to see Santa and get the boys their Christmas ornaments.  When I was little I got a new, personalized brass ornament every year with my name engraved on it.  I don’t know where you get those anymore, but I wanted to carry on the tradition in our own way. 

By the way, Theo is so funny with the decorations.  We have the big Christmas tree in the living room.  One little Christmas tree in each of their bedrooms.  A strand of lights on the entertainment center and small paper lanterns hanging beneath the mantle.  We have a lighted ceramic snow house that R’s grandma painted.  A string of snowflake LEDs around the sliding glass door in the kitchen.  When we get home from anywhere…every light must be turned on.  Nothing else can be done until every bulb is glowing. 

Decorations Inspector Theodore, reporting for duty.

We got the presents wrapped and the new ornaments hung.

Apparently everyone Theo sees on a regular basis has been singing Jingle Bells to him.  He’s decided it’s his all-time favorite song, ever, in the history of songs – Christmas or not – and he thinks it’s hilarious when anyone sings those silly words.  He laughs and waits til you finish before shouting “More! Again!” I think this is the first song I have heard him actually sing.  His voice gets so soft and sweet.  Jinkle bells! Jinkle bells! Jinkle bells! Hey!
One other little thing about that boy.  I sing Rock-a-bye Baby to Dexter some times while sitting in the glider with him.  Theo followed me into Dexter’s room Saturday and started pushing the glider back and forth, softly singing Rock, Rock, Rock, baby.  My heart might have turned into goo a little bit right then.   
Alas, despite my very best blackmails and bribes, Dexter just refuses to ssslooow down. 
Hey guys, I’ll just be standing around somewhere if you need me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 Holy crap, I love these kids.  Have I ever mentioned that?
I would say our Santa visit was pretty successful.  I always thought I would make my kids sit on his lap, no matter what, just for the sake of a good funny photo, but I think I had a change of heart.  There was a little girl, maybe six months or a year older than Theo, that was throwing a fit because she was scared.  She was doing that real UGLY cry.  You know the one.  You’ve seen it.  Her mom was trying to put her on Santa’s knee and the poor child must have had mommy magnets on her hands and feet, because none of those appendages would part ways with the mother.  I felt super sorry for her – I don’t think I could make my kid do it if he was that upset.
Theo sank right into Santa’s pillow belly and could have stayed all night.  Dexter did fine at first, then started panicking a little.  Never cried though. 
 Better than last year.  Remember Theo’s blank stare? (Same Santa, did you notice?)
Just a couple more, then I’ll wrap it up.
Finally, it was Sunday afternoon. Dexter was lying across my lap smiling and being silly when, lo and behold, there it was.  The culmination of all that drooling and gnawing and the answer to those poofy swollen gums I had noticed on Friday. 
A line.
(disregard the dried, crusty baby food.  I bet you don’t look so hot in an extreme close-up either)
Little Desser (Theo’s current pronunciation) is getting teeth.  The next few days nights should be hell interesting.  All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth, huh?  Man, I wish I had known.  Wouldn’t have bought you so many presents, kid. (Lies). 
less than a week til Christmas!
~C~

Jack, part 2

Posted on by mommyinthemidwest

When I wrote about my dad back in January, I had so many more thoughts than what I could put into words at the time.  After the post was published, I immediately started this one that I hadn’t been able to finish.  Until now.

****

I was on Spring Break from school in March of 2007, a week or two before he got his diagnosis.  He was on disability leave from work indefinitely so I went down to visit and spend some extra time with him.  We spent most of that week together.  He was feeling pretty good, or at least acted like it.  We went to a nature center and explored it.  We went to a scenic overlook across the river and saw the city from a new perspective.  We took my niece to the park and played with her.  We went to lunch.  We went downtown and pretended we were tourists.  It was the most one on one time I spent with my dad as an adult – I loved it.  At the end of the week, I had packed up to go home and we went to a little Mexican restaurant for lunch before I hit the interstate.  In the parking lot, next to my car, he gave me as big of a hug as a sick, skinny man can give and told me “I’ve really enjoyed our time together this week.”  And he hugged me a little longer than usual.

I said before that my dad wasn’t a touchy feely guy.  He said things like “come back and see us,” rather than “I’ve really enjoyed our time together.”  If not before then, I knew at that moment that he knew he was dying.  I didn’t know that he was dying, but I at least knew that he thought he was.  It was just the little things he did and said all week.  I’m so grateful for that week with him.  If he had gotten his diagnosis before Spring Break, I don’t think we would have had as much fun.

After he died, I felt lost.  Literally.  I had a recurring dream that I was a child standing in a crowded mall, spinning around and around in one spot.  The crowd was a rotating blur and there were loud echoes of people talking and laughing.  I was too scared to move out of that spot, feeling totally helpless and alone while the world just kept moving in circles at an accelerated pace.

I cried sobbed myself to sleep over and over.  It was a gut-wrenching sadness.  I wondered if I was normal and if I should be having this hard of a time adjusting to life after my dad.  No one that had lost a parent ever explained the weight of this grief to me.  Maybe because there is no way to explain it.  I don’t think my husband knew what to do with me, but he did the right thing.  He held me tight and let me cry.

About a week after I returned to “normal” life, I decided to seek help through a grief support group.  I found one that was offered at a church not too far from my home on Friday nights.  We went and were the youngest people there.  One lady was about 10 years older than me and had lost her fiance, but everyone else was elderly.  Like senior citizens.  And they had lost a spouse.  We shared our stories of loss.  One of the older ladies told me that she was really broken-hearted when she lost her father, but I wouldn’t know what grief was unless I lost a spouse, like she had.  Umm.  What? 

I don’t doubt that the pain you feel when your husband of a gobzillion years passes away is intense, but I’m not there.  I’m here.  My dad died two weeks ago and I’m still reeling.  The support group was not helpful.  I think I went back once after that out of guilt for starting something and not finishing it, but I couldn’t bring myself to keep sitting around with these sad old ladies.  I guess I wanted to sit around with sad 27 year olds.

I experienced a lot of jealousy.  I was so envious of anyone and everyone who still had both of their parents.  And you know who was included in that list?  My mom…whose parents are now in their late 70s.  MY MOM, of all people.  She just lost her husband of 35+ years and the love of her life.  My mom, who was 53 at the time and still had both of her parents.  I was jealous of my mom.  I felt guilty about that, but I guess I somehow separated the loss of her husband from the fact that she still had both parents.  I thought I’d have my parents until I was in my 50s too.  When my dad was dying, I told my mom that she better plan on living to be about 150 to make up for my dad dying so young.  He was only 55.

At times, I was suprised at what friends were there for me.  Some friends that I hadn’t even heard from for months or years came out of the woodwork while many whom I expected to be there unconditionally were the ones that let me down.  I get it.  No one wants to reopen the wound.  No one wants to bring it up if you seem happy because they don’t want to make you sad.  People don’t know what to say.  It made me feel like people forgot about my dad.  Or forgot that I was in pain.  Or didn’t care?  Looking back, I don’t think that people didn’t care, I just think that they were scared I would cry.  What’s so scary about crying, anyway? 

Right after my dad died, I had a lot of anxiety about what would happen to him.  Not him, physically, but the things that made him him.  His thoughts.  Fears.  Talents.  His personality and character.  The sound of his voice.  The sound of his laughter.  The memory of his face and his smile.  The sparkle in his eye.  I was afraid I would forget everything.  I was afraid people would never think about him.  Downright anxious that everything would disappear.  I can look at pictures of him, but they are flat…physical and spiritually flat.  It’s not like being with him or feeling his presence.  I usually drive by his grave when I go home.  It’s the only place I can go where I feel just a little bit closer to him.  I know that none of those things are there, but at least what’s left of his body is there.  I know that he doesn’t know that I’m there, but it makes me feel better, knowing that I at least tried to visit the place he is.

I wonder what he would think and say about the way his girls are turning out.  I’d like to think that he’d be so proud of us both, for different reasons.  I’d like to think he would have a great relationship with my boys.  That he’d take them fishing or toss a football with them.  That he’d play HORSE in the driveway with them and sneak them candy and dollar bills when I wasn’t looking. 

****

This will be the 5th Christmas without my dad.  It’s hard to believe almost 4 1/2 years have passed since he died.  Being in the midst of that grief and watching the rest of the world carry on as usual was hard.  I felt like because my world stopped, the rest of the world should too.  Now I know that the world doesn’t stop for one woman’s heartache, and I can say that I’m happy.  I think about him and miss him every single day, but I’m happy.  I try to focus on the wonderful things he brought to my life and not the emptiness his absence has created.  I continue doing the things that I hope would make him proud.  I’m going to raise my boys to know their Gramps, even though they will never meet him. 

getting it all off my chest,
~C~

Posted in dad

breastfeeding an 8 year old

Posted on by mommyinthemidwest

My friend texted me this link to a YouTube video about a mother who nursed her first child until age 5 and the second child is still nursing at age 8 (as of 2007).  She also sent with it words like “nasty,” “creeptastic,” “sick,” and “serious mental health issues.”  That’s the typical perception, I suppose. Maybe I’m strange.

When I responded “I guess I don’t see it the same way.  I think it is bizarre, weird, not my choice, etc. but I don’t think it is gross,” she reiterated that the video showed the girls drawing pictures of their mom’s boobs, touching their mom’s boobs, and that they had named mom’s boobs.  Then she said “we’ll have to agree to disagree on this one,” without asking or waiting to see what else I had to say about it.

Hmm.  Okay.

The family in the video has (what sounds like) a British accent.  My understanding is that in lots of countries, it is not uncommon to nurse a toddler or even a preschooler (also known as extended breastfeeding).  The World Health Organization recommends nursing children to age 2 and beyond.  The American Academy of Pediatrics supports nursing for as long and the mother and child both desire: “There is no upper limit to the duration of breastfeeding and no evidence of psychologic or developmental harm from breastfeeding into the third year of life or longer.”

For sure, nursing an 8 year old is not the norm. 

My point?  I didn’t pick up on any sexual undertones from the video.  Yeah, it’s weird that the girls draw pictures and name their mom’s boobs, but they are still little kids and I guess if that is a normal part of their lives, it will be a topic of conversation and whatnot.  The video didn’t say the girls ONLY draw pictures of their mom’s boobs.  It didn’t say they grope their mom’s boobs.  It didn’t indicate that they were obsessed with their mom’s boobs.  No one was forcing anyone to do anything they didn’t want to do.  I dunno.  The video was about the extended breastfeeding, so mom’s boobs were the only topic discussed during the interview.  Something tells me they don’t just sit around and focus on nothing but mom’s boobs, day in and day out. They seemed like happy, healthy girls and I doubt they will need therapy because of extended, extended breastfeeding.  If anything, they might be embarrassed that this video is circulating on the internet. 

And, no.  I don’t plan on breastfeeding Dexter until he has zits. Here is an interesting article by Mayim Bialik (remember Blossom!?) about nursing her toddler.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sexual.  That’s what boobs are to us Americans.  Sexual things.  Private parts that should be covered up and not discussed or looked at or respected for what they were intended to do.  They exist to serve a purpose and it isn’t just to make other people horny.  They are there to feed babies, plain and simple.     

This video and brief text exchange got me thinking.  I don’t want this post to ramble on and on, but this is where the going-off-on-a-tangent thing happens.  I want to change the subject a bit and focus on the sexualization of female breasts and what that has done to our society. 

I shouldn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed to feed my baby in public, but I do.  IF it is necessary, then I do it discreetly and I bet no one even knows what is happening except for the people I’m with.  I typically try to wait until we get to the car.  No, I will not nurse my baby in the bathroom, because that is disgusting.  Who wants to hear and smell other people taking a dump while they are eating?  Not my baby.

In many other countries, no discretion is expected or required when a mother nurses her baby.  Because of the culture I was raised in, I wouldn’t feel comfortable whipping a boob out to feed a baby while I finish up my grocery shopping.  But it’s not because I think there’s anything wrong with that.  It’s just not accepted in the society I live in.  I have read a dozen or more articles about nursing mamas being told to do this or go there when they are seen breastfeeding in public because it is “indecent.”  Other moms said they didn’t want their children around that.  They didn’t want to have to explain that to their kids’ virgin eyes.  Explain what?  That mothers feed their babies?  How would you explain the way a dog or cat nurses their puppies or kittens?  Would you say that they are indecent and disgusting?  It’s the exact same freakin’ thing. 

I get passionate about a few things and I guess this is one of them.  If I had never nursed a baby, I might have a different view.  Something as wonderful as breastfeeding your baby should not be a source of shame or stress for the mother or the child.

That’s how I see it, and to be honest, I don’t care one bit if people agree or disagree with me.  I say if you wanna breastfeed your 8 year old, more power to ya.  I would love to hear what other people, mamas or not, think about this.  Am I totally alone here?

~C~

P.S.  I have had a handful of people tell me that they can’t or have had trouble commenting on my blog.  If you are one of those people or if you have ever had trouble commenting on my blog, please try the new format.  If you still have trouble, please email me and let me know.  I’d hate to think people aren’t commenting because they can’t!  Your comments make my day.