Mama Musings

I devoured the second book of Kevin Kwan's Rich Asians trilogy. While on the waitlist for a copy of the third book, I'm reading about toddlers. Max turned two a couple of months ago and has been pushing boundaries more often and throwing dramatic tantrums more than ever.

A friend of mine warned me about hitting. Max hitting me; not me hitting him. 

In the past week, the hitting and throwing things at mama began. It's playful, not malicious, but hurts just the same especially when aimed at my head. We put him in timeout when he does it. Max protests and cries but, thankfully, still stays in the corner until we call him over to explain why we was put there in the first place. No hitting. He apologizes - sorry, mama - and goes back to play only to run back towards me arms ready to throw a toy at me a few minutes later... and the cycle of timeout starts again. It's sucks for all of us.

On the other hand, Max greets us with good morning, mama/daddy with a big smile when he wakes up and is quick to give us hugs and kisses throughout the day. He can play on his own and shares toys when playing with others. A few months ago, he finally started sleeping through the night consisently (I know!) and wakes up at a reasonable hour - around 6am instead of four - these days. He's happy, healthy and super sweet. Other than the apparently normal tantrums and hitting/throwing, Max is easy and, as a result, Fraser and I are fairly hands off.

Other than putting him in timeout when he's crossed a boundary, Max runs around, dances and plays freely. Early on, we made a choice not to run to Max whenever he ran into something or lost his balance. Fraser and I would acknowledge the incident, tell Max he was okay and watch him pick himself up; obviously, we scooped him up in our arms and helped him up when he actually hurt himself a bit or was completely surprised by a run in with a wall or fall. We're not heartless. Quite the opposite really. It took a lot of self control for me not to run to Max and comfort him every single time he lost his balance or got frustrated with something, but it was important for him to learn to self-soothe. To figure out the difference between a small physical/emotional discomfort and one that needed more attention. 

Many times, Max has tripped and fallen while walking in front of me and a friend, who instinctively crouch down to help him the moment it happens while, after a quick assessment of the situation, I assure both Max and my friend that he's okay. I've been told a number of times that I'm such an easygoing mom, which I don't think is true but take as a huge compliment. It all comes down to our ultimate goal as parents: we want Max to leave.

You read that right. 

When the time comes, we want Max to leave with the knowledge that he can properly take care of himself and can always come home if he needs to. 

As a mother, I want to protect Max from everything because the world can be cruel, ugly and unforgiving. The best way for me - for us - to protect him is to give him the tools to deal with the world. To love him with all we have, teach him to appreciate people and the infinite beauty of the world while acknowledging that things will not always go his way. Yes. You are loved by many. No. You can't hit mama or throw things at her head. Yes. You have to share that. No. You are not allowed to have more than one piece of chocolate. Yes. Mama/daddy will be back.

The freedom to pursue my dreams and live my life, and my siblings are the best gifts my parents have ever and will ever give me. We are still not sure if Max will have a sibling (that's a blog  post on its own); sibling or no sibling, Max will hopefully grow up confident, in touch with his feelings, strong, compassionate and with love and respect for other people and, more importantly, himself... Yes. We love and support you. Yes. Of course, you can! Yes. Mama wants you to stay with her forever. No. You can't actually do that.  

Honestly, I have no idea what I'm doing as a mother. There are days I feel like I'm not doing enough and days when it feels like everything I'm doing revolves around him. Both are true. It's different every day. The only thing that stays the same is the desire to raise a boy into a man who will make the world better than he found it.

For now, while that boy is happily in daycare, I'm finishing a cup of coffee, writing for a bit then working out before meeting a friend. 

Breastfeeding No More

Four weeks ago, I breastfed Max for the last time. Admittedly, I’d been putting it off for a myriad of reasons but knew that afternoon that it’d be one of last times we’d be connected that way. We’d just had family in town to visit and they, along with Fraser, wondered how much longer I’d planned on breastfeeding.

Let me back up.

Neither of my sisters produced much milk and, therefore, didn’t breastfeed very long. I was as surprised as they were when my milk came in and soaked my shirts until I bought breast pads (wasn’t sure I’d need them so buying them was not a priority... until it was). We were all thrilled and I set a goal to breastfeed Max for a full year.

I’d read somewhere that it’s important to check in with yourself and your baby every few months to make sure you’re both still on board with the boob, so I was very conscious of doing so at six and nine months. Several of my friends had a mutual breakup between their babes and their boobs around that age; some mamas stopped producing milk, some babies stopped being interested and variations between the two. My milk production was solid and Max showed no signs of slowing down in spite getting his first teeth at four months and happily eating solids.

As his first birthday approached, the idea of no longer connecting with, calming and comforting him by breastfeeding made me sad, so I decided to give it a couple more months. Then my schedule changed over the summer and the next thing I know it’s Thanksgiving, Max is 18mos and still full on breastfeeding.

I weaned him down to twice a day (once in the morning and another as part of his bedtime routine at night) between Thanksgiving and Christmas only to fly to Wisconsin for the New Year. He caught a cold and ended up breastfeeding on demand again by the time we flew back to LA. I blinked and my family was here for a visit and Max three months shy of his second birthday.

So yeah. He was a 21mos and a few days that Tuesday afternoon as I held him, telling myself I need to wean him cold turkey like Fraser had been saying for months. I didn’t want to hear it because Max is growing so quickly, I can barely wrap my mind around all of the phases he’s gone through already. Breastfeeding was something special to just us. I had no idea how much I would cherish that bond with my child and am so grateful my body was able to sustain it for as long as it did.

Baby number two is not completely off the table but Max may very well be an only child. Letting go is hard, beauties. I want to freeze time (when he’s not throwing a tantrum) and hold on to various phases of his all too short time as our baby. (I know. I know. Toddler. He's technically a toddler.) He’ll always be our baby, but he’s not even two yet and has had so many incarnations of himself already. His laugh, his voice, what he gets excited about, his face... his limbs no longer have baby fat on them! And while it’s such a gift to watch him grow, it is also heartbreaking to know we’ll never be as important to him as we are now. We recognize that his world revolves around us being around, so Fraser and I take him in as much as we can as he moves from yet another phase he'll never go through again.

It took him six days to stop crying when we walked him over to day care. In fact, on day seven, he waltzed straight to the table with his friends, took off his sweater (I helped), handed it to me, said bye! and turned his back to me to face his friends. When I asked him to give me a hug, he half turned in my direction, gave me a half hug and repeated bye!; I was so proud of him for having the confidence to own that room and know that we’d be back to get him. That said, I also cried as I walked away knowing he’ll continue to open his wings and, if we raise him right, take flight sooner than I’d be ready for it.

Okay. Back to four weeks ago.

I’m having this beautiful, sad mama moment breastfeeding my baby when Max utters mmm the way he does when enjoying a cookie he'd dipped in milk. Whoa! I’m literally food. Don’t get me wrong, I know my breastmilk is nourishment but that “mmm" sounded like that’s delicious, which weirded me out. I knew it was over and immediately felt sad then, eventually, relieved that the time had come. Max threw full on tantrums the first couple days when I gently told him we don’t do that anymore and offered him something else: milk, juice, a cookie, to be held, to play, to go outside... Within a few days, the tantrums became whimpers then a look of disappointment and, finally, a mere change of direction as if to say oh, well; he took it better than I did.

I was super sad for a solid week and talked about weaning Max to anyone who’d listen. It was rough.We live in a one bedroom apartment, so I slept on the couch for a week. Don’t feel bad. Max was still waking up in the middle of the night regularly at 21mos, so I hadn’t slept through the night for about two years. I slept a solid 6-7 hours a night that week, which was heaven. We all did.

When I went back to sleep I our room, none of us slept with Max waking up to talk, play and try to get in my shirt from 2-4am. Once until 6am... back to the couch I went. We all slept well for another week before I snuck back into our room to with my boys. It took several days for him to sleep in his crib again (he'd gotten used to sleeping next to daddy and having all that space), and as much as I enjoyed getting a full night’s sleep, I savor his sweet voice saying hi, mama! and telling me stories for a bit before drifting back to sleep in between us. I'm happy he's now back in his crib, which we push against my side of the bed at night. If he awakens in the middle of the night, I slip a hand through the bars for him to hold until he falls back to sleep, a trick Fraser uses to get put him to sleep in the first place... Another beautiful phase for us to cherish.

Motherhood, man. Greatest gift I’ve ever been given. Complicated terms. Never a dull moment and some of the best, smallest, most authentic moments of joy. I wish this type of happiness (whatever it looks like: the dream job, perfect vacation, delicious cup of coffee, a parking spot at Costco...) for all of you.

Then, just to keep it real, your toddler will dump all of his toys out of their bins and throw himself on the floor screaming bloody murder because the broken hot wheel truck you set aside to glue back together is nowhere to be found.

Daycare: Day One

Hello, 2018.

It's Max's first day at daycare and I have to consciously stop myself from picking him up now that I'm home from teaching private Pilates at the studio and my first audition of the year. He was actually registered to start a couple of days ago, but I kept him home because he was just getting over a fever and had cold from ten days of traveling over the holidays.

I know it's silly. I've thought and written about wanting time for myself again for many months and, now that it's here, I don't know what to do with myself. It's so calm and quiet here without Max. It's weird... and sad.

Of course, Fraser is totally fine about it. In fact, he dropped him off this morning because we decided it would be harder for Max if we were both there (and he's more attached to me). Fraser sent me a picture of Max at the table with other kids, looking like he'd been hanging out with them forever. Max cried when Fraser said bye but not for long (I called to ask). I reached out to Bells this morning and she reassured me, along with my amazing mama tribe, that Max is fine. 

Both of my boys are fine.

Why am I sad? 

That is a loaded question and one that I want to answer. I think it all starts with motherhood being all shades of gray, never black and white. For me, the fact that he may be our only one adds a layer of bittersweetness to every phase he grows into. While I don't want to be a helicopter parent, I have to admit I can understand why it happens. They grow so fast and you want to hang on to every stage of their development for just a little longer.

Max doesn't enthusiastically run to the door when I come home anymore nor does he cry when I leave. It's as if every stage is around just long enough for us to get used to it before he moves on to something else. Even his laugh is different. 

I am so glad he's independent and very social, and there are days I wish he was more so then he's in daycare and I want him back in my arms all the live long day. What kind of crap are you trying to pull, motherhood? You surprise and humble me every step of the way.

The sadness is recognizing the change and not being quite ready for it. I'll probably never be ready for all the growth Max will go through by the time he is, and I have to be okay with that. 

In my early twenties, I told my parents that I was moving in with my college boyfriend and asked them to trust me because they've taught me right from wrong and I didn't want to lie to them. How foolish of me to think my parents could simply trust me and be okay with my very adult decision. I have tears in my eyes thinking about Max saying those very words to me because I finally get it now. I will always be a little girl to my parents just as Max will always be my baby.

This is a new chapter for all of us. Fraser is going back to the gym; I'm happily auditioning again and have time for yoga, coffee with friends and writing; Max will make friends and thrive in daycare. I can get on board with all of that. 

What a way to start the year. Happy happy, beauties.