Mom Hat

Rejuvenate   

To make someone or something feel younger, fresher, and more lively.

When I arrived in Punta Cana, I took my “mom hat,” off of my head and threw it in the water.  I stood for a second and watched it drift out to sea.  “See ya later!” Then, head first and feet up in the air, I dug at the bottom of my luggage and got it out…my “Noreen hat.”  I blew off the dust, put it on my head. .and ordered a dirty monkey.  “Keep em coming Leonardo…” I said. And they did.

We need it.  We need to take off that mom hat and be ourselves, even if only for a moment; in my case, a few days.  I got to walk slowly, without purpose.  I got to eat my meals slow, staring out into the water, with the sun on my face.  I got to lie at the beach or by the pool and read.  From Saturday until Wednesday, I got to be me.  I didn’t have to worry about warming bottles or meal time with my 2 ½ year old, or anything.  It has been a while.  And, I’m sorry I didn’t do this sooner.

I was so nervous to go and leave my babies.  So incredibly nervous.  I couldn’t even talk about it. But, once I was there, I trusted the grandparents would watch them well.  I knew that nothing was going to happen, and I relaxed.  Really relaxed.  Even to the point that it made my husband’s eyebrows raise.  “Wow,” he said, “I thought you would be more nervous or talking more about the kids,” I giggled.  This was my time!  My “mom hat,” was off and I enjoyed every minute of my vacation.  And now, I’m better for it.  I’m rejuvenated.  I’m fresher, happier, and more relaxed.  In turn, I know I will be a better mother.

We got home last night, right before bed time.  We took some time and gave our girls their presents.  Then, I brought my 8 month old up to bed.  I rocked her longer than usual.  I lingered with her in my arms.  I smelled her.  Hugged her.  Then, I put her to bed and she rolled over and closed her eyes.  I bathed my 2 ½ year old when I came downstairs.  We played in the tub.  I didn’t rush bed time like I usually do.  We read books with her and played longer than usual.  But more than that; I was calm and relaxed.  Happy.  I gave her big long hugs before we said our prayers.  She lay down and went to sleep without a problem.  Everything was a little easier.  Perhaps because I was more light-hearted?  Maybe, our kids feed off of us?  Maybe, I need to take that “mom hat,” off a little more often?  I think it will make everything a little less complicated and a little more tranquil.  Or maybe; I need to merge my “mom hat,” and “Noreen hat.” But how?  I guess by taking more time for myself.  Because, in the end, I know that “mom hat,” cannot define us as people.  Because then, who are we if not a mom? 

So now, I’m taking off all my hats.  And, I’m not going to define myself as one or the other.  It isn’t going to be all or nothing anymore.  It is going to be some; a little of both. 

I just hope all these things don’t fade as my tan does.    

Grasping at Straws (Part 2)

I lost my baby girl in early April of 2006 at 4 months pregnant.  I’ll never forget how beautiful the day was when I left the hospital.  It was a bright sunny warm day.  Gorgeous.  It completely contrasted my mental state.  My mom drove me home and I called my dad.  He asked me to text him a picture of my face so he could see that I was ok.  It took 10 tries.  I had never been so swollen in my life.  But, I finally sent it with a thumbs up and a fake pasted smile.

After that ordeal, my husband and I decided to take a little time.  We took a vacation.  We tried (me especially), to get through the rain and come out better and brighter.  We decided to hope.  I tried to focus on the positive that came out of it; how strong I was inside.  Because, although I talk about the pain I felt both physically and mentally, I never showed it.  And, I focused on how much closer my husband and I became after going through that together; the trials and tribulations of life.  I tried very hard to see the rainbow through the rain.  And, I did.  Because, 6 months later, I was ready to try again…so we did.   

In October 2006, I found out I was pregnant again.  Nervous is not even the right word for how I felt because it was so so much worse.  Major anxiety coupled with white coat syndrome was not a good combination.  I was experiencing the whole nine.  I just couldn’t relax; understandably so.  I feared another sick baby; another impossible situation.  I tried to tell myself that it would be ok.  But, I just couldn’t convince myself. 

At my first scan, I was 7 weeks and the baby measured right on target.  The doctor came in and looked at my chart.  “You went through a lot, didn’t you?”  Understatement.  “Well,” she said, “don’t you know lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice?!”  I’ll never forget that statement.  I’ll never forget the way she said it.  I’ll never forget how it made me feel.  I will never forget it for the rest of my life.  It gave me the slightest bit of hope.  Tears streamed down my face.  My baby would be ok?   “You have a 95% chance that everything will be ok,” she continued.  Wow.  95%.  That is pretty high.  What are the chances that I’ll be in that 5%?  Well…that doctor didn’t know me and the odds… Over the next few weeks and months and years, I played that statement over and over again in my head.  I still do.  Because even though it wasn’t true for me at that time, it still gave me something to hold on to.   

We decided not to tell anyone this time.  We learned our lesson.  So, we kept it to ourselves, and thankfully so because 3 weeks later, that baby was gone.  As fast as we started hoping was as fast as it slipped away.  It was a Sunday.  I told my husband, “I need to go to the hospital…NOW!”  I knew it was the end.  I didn’t even need to stay overnight because it happened so quick.  I was home by the evening.  It was over, the baby was gone and I was not ok.  How do you get through this sort of pain?  Wanting something so bad that is within reach…but never within grasp.  I didn’t think I would make it. 

After that, my husband and I decided to take another long mental break from the situation.  We were young and needed to enjoy life.  I also made big changes in my life.  I quit my job in Human Resources and found a career helping children with learning disabilities.  I never looked back.  I found comfort in it.  I was good at it.  I loved it.  And, it got me through it.  The people, the children, the work…it made me better.  It helped me become who I was meant to be.  It got me closer to my ultimate goal…happiness.  Working in such a positive atmosphere helped get my mind off everything for a while.  But, it stayed on the back burner.  A baby. I would think about it constantly and would yearn for it every day of my life.

In September 2007, I found out I was pregnant again; but, not for long.  It was a chemical pregnancy and it was gone by the next week.  If I wasn’t trying, I probably wouldn’t even have known it was there.  For some reason though, this one hit me the hardest.  I remember talking to my dad on the phone and asking, “why me? why me?”   A question I asked myself a million times over.  My husband and I were good people and we wanted a baby.  Why couldn’t we have one?  Everyone else at that time was getting pregnant and having babies.  Some of my friends couldn’t even tell me that they were having babies, because they knew the pain was just too much to bear.  But, others rubbed their bellies in front of me.  “Look how big I am,” they would say.  I would never begrudge anyone of their happiness.  But it was hard to see.  Hard to bear. I would cry in the bathroom at dinner.  Or, smile and bring a gift when a baby was born, and then go home to the emptiness I felt inside.  My dad gave me comforting words and comforting love, as I cannot imagine how much it also affected him or my mother; to see their daughter in so much pain.  Or my husband; trying to be the rock but silently wondering why as well?  It must have been hard to see; hard to endure. 

During those years, trying to have a baby was like grasping at straws.  Trying to find a way to succeed when nothing was working. To be so close….reaching, reaching, reaching and failing, failing, failing…

After the third miscarriage, I needed time again to recuperate.  I needed to relax and forget about it.  To truly be able to define myself without a baby in mind.  To focus on something else; the good in my life.  To be ok with the fact that I might never be able to have a baby.  To come to terms with the fact that it might just be me and Chris.  And, that was more than enough.

So, I continued to work hard and I continued to lean on certain people who cared.  But, over time, all of those feelings came tumbling back.  Deep down, I knew it was all I wanted.  So, I took steps to get there.  I saw specialists and found a place that was able to hold my hand through it all.  After extensive testing, the specialist found the cause of my problem…bad luck.  Bad odds.  They told me that I will have a baby one day…and that was all I needed hear.   I was able to mentally relax because I was in good hands.  I pictured the best and found that good place in my heart.  And that is when it happened.  It happened when my heart was ready.

In September 2008, exactly one year later, I got pregnant.   I’ll never forget the phone call from the doctor.  She said, “I have good news.  You are pregnant and your numbers look amazing.”  I’ll never forget how I felt either.  Because, this one felt right; from the very beginning.  The vomiting felt right…even though it wasn’t pretty.  My belly looked normal.  Each scan, I made myself breathe and let go.  Breathe and let go…. I didn’t fear the doctor this time because I knew it would be ok.   I was in the right place.  The right point of my life.  My baby was waiting for me to be ready.  I’m sure of it.

On June 24^th, 2009, my bouncing bundle of baby joy finally graced my presence.  After 4 long years…my angel had come from heaven to save me.  And she did.  She saved me.  She fulfilled every hope and desire that I ever had.  And I held her in the hospital and couldn’t believe she was mine.  This little sweet thing was mine.  Those little hands, those lips, that heart….was mine…and I would never be the same…

Two years after that, my second little angel came out full force with loud fiery cries and big whopping cheeks.  She came from God with a big personality and a blissful disposition.  She would make me a mother of 2; something I never thought could possibly happen. 

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Three weeks ago, I was with my toddler at her school and one of the mom’s was asking me if I had any other children.  I told her I had a 7 month old baby at home.  She asked, “Are you having any more?”  I answered, “I don’t think so.”  She replied, “Oh come on….you are so young…do it.”  I smiled politely, gracefully nodded, and thought to myself.  If you only knew…

If you only knew how far I’ve come.

If you only knew what I went through.

If you only knew how long I waited to become a mom. 

If you only knew how many years I spent grasping at straws.

If you only knew how completely filled up I am inside.

If you only knew how lucky I feel to have 2 little hands to hold through life.

If you only knew…that in my entire life… I will never ever need…another thing more…..

Grasping at Straws (Part 1)

In December 2005, I gave my husband a wonderful, early Christmas present.  He was out playing cards with his friends and got home late, but I stayed up and waited.  When he got home, I set up the video camera to record his reaction.  I was pregnant.  He was ecstatic.  We were starting our family.  We wanted to be young parents and so we couldn’t be happier.  But, deep down something was bothering me.  For some reason, I couldn’t be ecstatic.  I was guarded and a bit worried, which was strange for a first-time pregnant mom.  Shouldn’t I have been excited?  It turns out, my worries were justified.

At my 8 week scan, the baby measured at 5 weeks with no heartbeat.  I had no idea what to look for at my first scan.  The technician didn’t seem happy, but didn’t make me feel nervous all the same.  “That’s weird,” I said, “because I know I must be at least 8 weeks by now.”  She told me not to worry.  We were going to check again in one week.  Looking back now, a red flag should have been thrown.  I mean, when a baby doesn’t measure to size, something is wrong.  But, I didn’t know anything back then.  I was completely and utterly naïve in terms of pregnancy and what to expect being pregnant. 

One week later, we had another scan and the baby grew to size.  It measured 9 weeks with a strong heartbeat.  The technician smiled.  “Things look good,” she said.  We were thrilled and so we told our friends and family.  Early, I know that now, but, we didn’t think anything of it.  We were too excited to hold it in.  Yet, even amongst all of the excitement…deep down…I knew something was wrong.  I felt it in my bones.

Two weeks later, I started to show, but my stomach didn’t look pregnant.  It looked bloated.  Wrong.  I was only 10 weeks pregnant and I had an uncomfortable feeling.  I was puking and sick like a normal pregnant woman, but it didn’t seem right.  I remember my husband rubbing my belly and saying, “Can you believe we are having a baby?”  I skated around that statement.  I changed the subject because I didn’t look or feel right.  I didn’t want to answer him because I didn’t believe it was true.  In fact, I knew it wasn’t true.  We weren’t going to have a baby.  Mother instinct told me so. 

A week later, every gut instinct was warranted and everything we hoped for; came crashing down.  We went in for our 12 week nuchal scan.  The nurse came in with a smile which quickly turned into a frown.  The baby was jumping around…too much, if that makes sense.  How I knew that this baby looked uncomfortable, I’ll never know.  I just did.  “Is that normal,” I asked.  She didn’t answer.  Silence.  “Excuse me,” she said.  “I’m going to get the doctor.”  Here it was.  I knew that something was really, really wrong.  I put my hand over my eyes, but I didn’t cry.  I just listened.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “Things aren’t right.”  The fluid behind the baby’s neck was higher than he had ever seen it.  The organs were growing outside the baby’s body.  Swelling…drowning…dying…were the words I heard.  What on earth is going to happen now?  How is this going to play out?  There were questions after questions that I couldn’t ask. I didn’t have a voice or the energy to ask them.  He continued with these words…”I will be surprised if your baby makes it through the week.” 

But she did.  She held on …

One week later; an extremely early amniocentesis was performed on me.  “I will not be careful, if you know what I mean,” the doctor said.  What was he talking about?  What kind of person would say something like that to me as he stuck a large needle in my belly?  He wasn’t a bad man.  In fact, he was a nice man.  He was understanding and a phenomenal doctor.  I probably could have sued him for malpractice for a statement like that.  Right?  But, there were too many things to worry about.  I couldn’t worry about an unprofessional statement…an insensitive moment.

Two weeks later; the genetic disorder, Turner’s syndrome was confirmed.  They suggested genetic counseling.  What I needed was major counseling.  What is a genetic counselor going to do?  Talk to me about how much this sucks?!  About how the odds just weren’t on my side.  Yes…basically.  She did.  She talked about my odds; how I will more likely have another problem in the future, and how bad this baby’s situation was.  I remember wearing a baseball cap on my head because I didn’t want anyone to see my face; how utterly distraught I was.  The doctor joked that next time I should come in with sunglasses.   Funny.

Three weeks later; my body started to ache and I started to feel amiss. My face and body started to swell.   I needed a second opinion.  So, I went to the hospital to get one.  They didn’t sugar coat it.  It was a very bad situation.  “Decisions need to be made,” they said.  “It isn’t safe for you (the mom) anymore.  This baby needs to come out!!”  But my Riley; she was a fighter.  She wasn’t ready.  No decision for me.  “But, you have to think about her,” my genetic counselor said.  I mean, she was gasping for air.  At this point, I was grasping at straws….hoping to find solace in the fact that my baby was a fighter.  But, I didn’t want to torture the poor baby either.  I didn’t want her to suffer.  I have to think.  It was an impossible decision.  Impossible.  And, I wasn’t ready to make it.  I have to give it another week; just one more.  And I did.  I gave it another week.

Four weeks later; her heart gave out and she was gone.  “Do you want to push her out and have a funeral,” they asked.  I answered, “No.”  I didn’t even have to think about it.  I just couldn’t make that my first experience giving birth.  I just couldn’t.  Two days later, she was out and I felt empty inside.   I’ll never forget what the nurse said as they wheeled me out of the OR.  “I hope the next time I see you, is in labor and delivery.”  Me too, I thought….”with a healthy baby”

For months, I would wake up from nightmares of blackness and screaming babies.  I thought that I would never be the same.   I changed for a while.  I lost hope for a while.  Nobody understood.   Nobody at all.  Not my friends, not my family, nobody.  How could anyone really know what I went through or how I was feeling?  Some friends turned their backs and some friends rose to the occasion. Thank you to them.  But, it was the support of my husband and family that helped me get through it.

Day by day and month by month, I started to heal.  I started to hope.  But, something still ached.  I wanted a baby so badly. 6 months later, we tried again and it worked right away.  I was pregnant.  We would finally get our baby, right? 

It turns out; I would not get my wish…not yet at least…

(To be continued)

Where does the time go?

This afternoon my friends and I were playing at the park with our kids.  My friend held on to my baby girl’s hands, pulled her to a standing position and let go.  My 7 month old baby stood for about 5 seconds; steady.  I was amazed and happy but then I felt a twinge of sadness.  I thought to myself, where does the time go?

Later in the evening, I was dancing with the baby and singing “Pop Goes the Weasel.”  My toddler heard it through 2 times and then sang the whole song with me.  She was able to sing every single word.  I thought back to when she turned 2 and how she couldn’t say much.  For a split second, I missed that time that she said “DaLa” for almost everything.  Where does the time go?

My baby grabbed the bottle to give it to herself last night.  Isn’t she too little for this?  She is no longer an infant.  She has chunky thighs and big round cheeks.  She giggles, has determination, and enjoys the company of others.  She is full of personality.  She is growing so fast….

My toddler read me a book tonight.  “Goodnight Moon.”  I read that to her every single night when she was an infant.  She would kick her little legs and help turn the page.  And now, she turned each page and read the book to me (what she has memorized).  My pride soars but the moments pass quickly….

Where does the time go, I wonder, as I put away the exersaucer because my baby is too big to use it?

Where does the time go, I fret as my toddler takes the toothbrush and brushes her own teeth?

Where does the time go, I think as my toddler goes over to soothe my baby when she is upset?  I feel like it was just yesterday when I was going over to soothe her as a baby.

But, even though I will miss the times that have passed, I smile and enjoy the new ones that occur. 

Every stage brings something new and beautiful to my life.   

I smile as my toddler hugs me and says, “I love you so much mommy.”  I laugh as she makes deals with me at bedtime.  I can’t believe that she has the capability to unlock the IPad and play.   I love when my baby squeals in delight when she notices that her sister is jumping around.  Or, how my baby can stand at the bottom of the steps and then turn around for approval.         

I delight in the old memories and savor the new ones.  I relish in the growth of my children.  And, although I will miss the moments that pass me by, I enjoy the new ones that arrive just in time; to capture my heart all over again.

Second Child Syndrome

My baby girl said “Dadda” today. 

I stopped in my tracks.  Did she just say what I think she said?  I waited.  She said it again.  And, I stood up and jumped up and down for her.  I was genuinely excited for her.  I was sincerely thrilled for my little baby when I heard those first words.  Because, even though I heard it before (when my toddler was a baby)…it was like the first time again.  It was still such a fresh, lovely feeling.

When my second child was born, I already felt bad for her.  The minute she came out of me, I silently suffered for her.  I already missed the time I wouldn’t spend with her, knowing I had to share all of my time and attention.  I also noticed that other people didn’t pick her up as much or play with her as much as my first born.  I did the same thing.  I put her down more (because I had to) and didn’t rock her to sleep (because I didn’t have the time).   I put her on the ground a lot, instead of holding her.  Sometimes I would even forget that she was happily jumping in her jumperoo or playing in her exersaucer.  I would be involved in something else, either getting something set up for my toddler or running quickly to get something else done; and then I would hear whining and look over.  “Oh my god, I have another baby.  There she is…about to cry.  Whoops!”  Poor little thing; I just want the same things for her that my first born received.  The same love.  The same time.  The same attention.  Close bonds.  Songs.  Clapping.  Everything.

So, I make sure to do it all.  I make sure that she is getting the same things my first born received when she was a baby.  When she sat up for the first time, I clapped.  When she crawled for the first time, I got in her face with the biggest smile and applauded.  And, when she lifted herself to a standing position, we lowered the crib…and then we gave her a round of applause.  I snap pictures of her, sing songs, and make sure to give her lots of snuggles throughout the day.  Sometimes I have to thoughtfully do these things, because life can sometimes get crazy and my toddler can take up a lot of time.  So, I will quickly sing “The itsy bitsy spider,” when I have a moment.  Or, I’ll play patty cake when C is playing quietly by herself. 

Other times however, she has a playmate…   

This morning, my toddler went up to her and hugged her so tight and said, “I love my sister soo soo much.  She’s the best!”  My eyes filled with tears.  “She is the best…just like you.”  And, it came to me…

It hit me like a ton of bricks.

My baby has more love and affection showering her every day of her life; because she has a sister.  Every day, when my toddler walks in the room, my little baby lights up with love.  I’ll put my toddler in the baby’s crib with her and they will smile and play.  Sometimes, they roll around the floor hugging and laughing and my worries melt away.  She has it all, that little baby…and that much more. 

So today, when my baby said “Dadda” for the first time, I stood up and clapped for her.  “She said Dadda,” I said aloud.  And then my toddler stood up from what she was doing and clapped as well.  “She said Dadda,” she repeated.  “HOORAY!!!” she screamed.  And our little baby put her fingers in her mouth, crinkled those adorable eyes, and smiled. 

Pancake Chasing

I am having a rough few weeks, to say the least.  Nobody has been sleeping.  Everyone has been sick and/or teething and whining.  Sometimes these things are ok, all by themselves, but all at once??  Lately, I am struggling.  My positive attitude is hiding underneath the covers without me.  Wake up!  I’m fighting these battles without you.  It is one thing to have a few bad nights but it is quite another to have 2 weeks in a row with no relief.  I cannot help but think to myself…. when will it get better?  When will I find some sort of harmony?  When will my heavy heart lighten up? 

It is a Saturday morning and my husband is at basketball with his friends.  Last night, the baby was up at 2:30.  She was back down by 3 but I couldn’t fall back asleep.  I was up until 4:30 and then my toddler cried at 5:30.  At 7:00, everyone woke up crying and my husband was out the door.  Poof!  Lightning struck the house and my mood was on fire.  I want to be able to flip the switch and be happy and positive, but sometimes the snowball affect takes over and it is rolling, rolling, rolling out of control.  Someone stop the dang thing.  It is gaining momentum and I have no way to catch it. 

Breakfast time was crazy; a whiny baby and a cranky toddler, who won’t eat.  My friend and I always say how much we hate mealtime.  She always makes me laugh when she says, “I’m tired of chasing around my son with a pancake.”  Same here!  And that is exactly how the morning went.  Trying and failing; with my hair in a messy bun and batter all over my face and shirt.  Ok, it isn’t working…let’s chalk it up.  Next.

Late in the morning though, I found some sort of stride.  After breakfast, I rallied and got to that first nap.  That is when I found a little calmness.  The baby was sleeping and my toddler was playing quietly.  Things started to settle down a little bit and that is when my husband walked through the door. Thank goodness.  An extra set of hands are now here to help me.  “How was the morning” he asked.  “Madness,” I answered with a half-hearted smile.

Here’s the thing, I want to be able to enjoy every single minute with my children.  I hate to waste minutes and minutes with furrowed brows or useless scolding…or chasing my daughter waving a pancake above my head.   Let it go Noreen and relax.  But, sometimes that seems almost impossible.  I tend to find ways to make a rough day even worse.  And then I reprimand myself for the rest of the day.  When the truth is; I really just need to forgive myself and let it go.  Everything doesn’t always have to be perfect and I don’t have to be so hard on myself when it isn’t.  Right? 

So, we moved on with our day; and later on, as we sat at a table at an outside restaurant watching the trains go by, I would realize what life was all about.  I would forget the morning madness; chasing my daughter with a pancake; those insignificant bad moments and…

I would find that moment of family harmony when all is right in the world again.

Shiny Armor

I took my kids to the park the other day.  It started to get close to the baby’s nap time, so we had to head home.  On the way home, I decided to make a quick pit stop to the food store.  I had to pick up just a few things; 4 to be exact.  I thought, no big deal.  In and out.  It started with my toddler pretty much not moving until I got her the balloon floating above the cupcakes in the bakery section.  I repeat, not moving unless I got that balloon.  Fine.  Take it.  Whatever makes this go easy?!  So, we ran around the store, picking up my 4 miscellaneous items; the balloon string dragging behind us.  Phew, I made it.  The express lane should be short and we will be on our way.    But, I heard it; the sound of God laughing in my face.  Not so fast my dear.  It is never that easy.  When my baby gets tired, she gets tired.  And, she doesn’t take a pacifier so it can either go fine or horribly wrong.  Well, this time, it went horribly wrong.  She started screaming…bloody…murder.  As my toddler is in the middle of the store twirling with her balloon, I am in the express line with a screaming baby waiting in between two people.  Gut instinct…throw the items down and run.  But, I was trapped; in the middle of the lane with nowhere to go.  And I saw it…the judgment on everyone’s faces.  “Get your screaming baby out of here,” they thought.  “Look at that haggard mom who can’t control her kids.”  Yup, those were the looks.  So, I did it.  I raised my head up high and threw on my shiny mommy armor. 

For me, mommy armor is a mental concept; to get in your unbreakable shell.  Let those bullets bounce off you.  Shut everyone out.  Don’t let those judgmental looks let you lose your cool.  If the mom loses her cool…nothing can go right.  It can only get worse; bigger meltdowns and longer cries.  So, I get in my mommy armor and safely get through the mess. I rocked the stroller swiftly and hastily (mentally tuning out my screaming baby), paid for my 4 items, and got the heck out of there as fast as humanly possible.  Minimal damage.  My mommy armor protected me from the old woman with her wrinkly pointed finger or the young employee rolling her eyes.  Mommy armor allowed me to say to myself, “whatever…this is life.  I’m not perfect nor are my children, so deal with it.”   

When my daughter falls to her knees at the mall…in front of Panera bread…during the lunch rush; my mommy armor shields me.   When my baby screams LOUDLY all the way home, with a friend in the car; I wear my mommy armor with pride and in style.  When my toddler is the only one not doing circle time at school or at gym class, my mommy armor gets its wear and tear.   And, when I’m just about to lose my cool and let the judgment affect me, I allow my armor to be resilient and shine all silvery and polished.  It is the only way I can mentally get through it.  So, let’s all wear our mommy armor proudly.  We will say to ourselves, “We are not alone.  This isn’t the only tantrum everyone has ever seen.  And, most of all…it is ok.”  The next time your toddler or baby screams, throws a tantrum, or acts up in public; close those eyes for a second, adjust your mind, and put on that shiny mommy armor.  I hope it protects you well.

Dolly Parton Said What??

Dolly Parton isn’t someone I’m going to tell my girls to look up to.  No way.  No how.  Yes girls, go get yourself some big old fake boobs and perfectly fluffy bleached hair and let that define you.  It just isn’t going to happen.  But, somehow, she has said amazing things in her life; amazing quotes that have made a difference in my life.  These quotes have always struck a chord with me.  And, I will be sure to keep them in mind as I teach my daughters how to be and ultimately how to become.  (I just won’t tell them who said it.)  Ha!

“Find out who you are, and do it on purpose.”

Nice!  Simple.  I heard that quote in my early 20’s and I never looked back.  To be able to find out who you are, and then be that way despite what others may think or say.  That is something I will teach my ladies.  Don’t worry what other people say, my loves.  Be you!  My hope is that they find out who they are early in life and they don’t change for anyone!

I know there will be bumps along the road.  I will tell my girls that it won’t always be easy.  That sometimes you can find out who you are by who you are not.  Making mistakes.  Living a life you shouldn’t be.  Being at the wrong place at the wrong time and knowing you need to make a change.  And, when you make change and it comes together; you become you.  I will tell them that it is ok if it takes time, though.  They will get there.  And, I will be there every step of the way.

I will surround them with positive people who define this quote.  Because, sometimes you can find out who you are by example. Seeing someone truly be themselves in a good way and appreciating the fact that they inspire you to do the same.  I will embrace these people and let my girls watch their actions.  And when they find out who they truly are…well then…the world is theirs.  

“It’s hard to be a diamond in a rhinestone world.”

Sparkle girls.  Sparkle!  In a world full of imitation, I am going to try and teach my girls to be genuine.  And, if they are going to be original, they should be ready for people to copy them.  It won’t affect them though.  It will only show them that they are shinier and more authentic.  It will only make them sparkle more.  No matter what anyone says, you can spot the fake rhinestones amongst the diamonds.  I believe, it is a lesson worth millions.

          “The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain!”                           

Life isn’t always easy, but I will teach my girls that sometimes you have to go through hard times in life to come out stronger.  But, there is always a deeper meaning to it.  There is always a lesson to be learned and there is always something better and brighter that comes out of it.  I will promise my girls that the rainbow will come after and it will be beautiful.  Then they will say, “Wow, I wouldn’t have seen this if I didn’t go through that hard time.”  It will make them stronger, wiser, and happier in the end.  It has to.  Because, everyone has a story but it is how you work through it and what you learn from it; that will define you. 

So….march to the beat of your own drum, little ladies.  I promise to try everyday to teach you to be authentic, beautiful and genuine people who are able to rise above adversity.  And, remember girls, once you find out who you are...do it on purpose. 

Love,

Mom



Mommy Muscles

When my toddler was about 8 months old, I took her to Gymboree classes.  One day, she was playing with another baby, and reached for the other baby’s face.  The mom strongly moved her hand away and said, “that’s not nice little girl.” Hmmm…interesting.  Now normally, in my former life, I would have ignored it and moved on.  Not as a mom.  I rolled up my sleeves and my mommy muscles emerged like 2 large cannon balls.  Boom!  “She is just a baby, do not touch my child again,” I said.  She looked at me, almost said something, but decided to walk away.  Take that!  Nobody messes with my baby!  And that is for sure.  Because, when your first baby is born, so are your Mommy Muscles.

Mommy Muscles can literally obliterate anyone or anything in its path and/or do things that never have been done before. There are no insecurities with mommy muscles.  It is funny how you can be a certain type of person in high school, college, and even after that.  You can be shy and quiet or funny and/or sweet.  But, once you have a child, it doesn’t matter who you are or how you’ve been, because any mom will gladly take on anyone who messes with their child.  Those muscles are there to protect its kin.  Move over Arnold Schwarzenegger; mommy muscles are ready to take you on. 

Mommy muscles can run from one side of the playground to the other to catch their falling child from the back of the slide.  Mommy muscles can carry three kids at one time like it is a piece of paper.  Mommy muscles can catch their child’s vomit in a garbage can while washing the vomit filled sheets with her feet.  Mommy muscles can carry a purse, diaper bag, and baby; while filling a bottle with milk and a sippy cup with juice.  Piece of cake!

And, even though mommy muscles are strong, they can also be used to tell it like it is.  Mommy muscles can tell other mom’s to keep their germy kid away.  Mommy muscles can tell your father-in-law to turn down the TV because your babies are sleeping upstairs….in his own home.  Yikes.  Sorry Poppa!  But, it’s true.  Mommy muscles fear no one. I can also use them to tell someone holding my child, that they are holding them the wrong way.  Or, if I don’t like the way someone is giving my child the bottle, I will take a second, let the mommy muscles grow and expand….and tell them to change positions.  Done.

I have changed becoming a mom.  I used to be such a huge people pleaser, but once I had my children, I tend not to try as hard to please people because; I want to please my family first.  It’s as simple as that.  You want what is best for your children and so, you do what you need to do to keep them happy, healthy, and safe.  And for that, I am happy to say that my mommy muscles are tough, sturdy, and solid.  They will emerge when they need to and they are going nowhere!

Man Up!

My husband had to work last Sunday.  What? He sat in our bed with his laptop on his lap, shut the door, and worked.  So, where did that leave me?  Soothing a teething 7 month old and entertaining a boisterous 2 ½ year old.  You know, the usual.  Monday through Friday, I’m on duty.  It’s my job and I love it.  Thankfully, I am blessed with the ability to take care of my children full-time.  And, I have to say that because it’s true.  I am truly blessed.  We made some sacrifices so that I could do it.  With that said, “what the F*#$?”  Having to do Monday’s work on a Sunday is just plain foul.  I need time away from situation and help.  So, I stomped my feet by the door, lingering and letting the baby’s cries echo in the hallway, and whined and complained to no one, loud enough for him to hear.  Let’s be real, he doesn’t need to hear it.  He is working hard to provide for our family.  But, I felt extremely bitter. In fact, it ruined my Sunday.  Yet, the truth is, I really did just need to… “Man Up!”

I mean, I feel bad for my husband.  He has to deal with the day to day tedious routine of getting up at 5:15, taking the train, working his butt off, and then coming home at 7.  And when he comes home, he has an extension of my day.  Sometimes, he walks into a very calm and playful atmosphere, and other times, well…hell on earth.  His work doesn’t end for him at the door, it begins.  And, as I put the baby to sleep, he has to bathe our toddler and get her into bed.  After a long day, it is the last thing he wants to do, I’m sure.  And so, he has to bite his tongue, find that energy, and… “Man Up!”      

I must say, this isn’t a Noreen vs. Chris thing though; it is a mom vs. dad thing.  It is universal.  So, when I give him crap for working on a Sunday or having to stay late on a weekday, deep down I know I have no place to say these things.  This is life.  It is a job for both of us.  A hard job.  And we both don’t quite understand each other’s realities.  I don’t know what it is like to be a part of a small team-oriented company and then find time for family and balance.  And, he doesn’t understand or know what it is like to take care of 2 children, (girls mind you), 24 hours a day, seven days a week, with no break to mentally decompress.  The truth is we would gladly swap places with each other at times.  He would love to change diapers (he would, he told me) and I would gladly shut the door and sit on the bed with my laptop.  But, it just cannot happen.  And, as we all know, the grass is always greener on the other side.   After all, isn’t this what we signed up for when we decided to have kids?  Isn’t this the American dream; to have a family and children to love?  We know these are the tough years.  And it is true.  Our mothers tell us the same thing.  “You know,” they say, “it gets easier.”  We know.  But for now….

All we have to do is get through it.  Try and keep some sort of balance.  Have fun with it.  Enjoy it. At times, grin and bear it.  And always, “Man up!” 

Admitted

As a mother, you worry about everything.  Most of the time, the worries are just that; worries.  “What if, what if, what if.”  A mantra sang by most parents.  They never amount to anything.  You go about your life and say to yourself, “why did I even worry about that?”  But, then again; there are times when those deepest darkest fears come true and you find yourself at the mercy of prayers.  When my daughter was admitted to the hospital early Thursday morning for dehydration after 3 nights of vomiting and not eating or drinking; I’ll admit, I worried.

We went to the pediatrician and saw a doctor who, I feel, pushes the panic button unnecessarily.  I had a feeling he was going to send us there, and he did.  “She will benefit from IV’s,” he said.  “She looks pale and weak.”  Yes, that was true.  She was acting like a glorified rag doll at the time and I guess I knew he was right. My instincts told me he was right.  And, as a mother, you have to trust those instincts.  But now I was at the mercy of the hospital to get my daughter better and I’ll admit, I was scared. 

I immediately made 2 phone calls and thankfully, I have the best husband and partner in the world.  He was on the scene within an hour. And, my parents are my saviors; in the hospital within 2 hours to check on C (with an hour and a half drive) and home to take care of my 7 month old within 2 1/2.

Being at the hospital is so traumatic for a 2 ½ year old.  When we were trying to get the IV’s in and I was lying on top of her with my head pressed against her head, I had a moment of seeing it from her perspective.  Looking at the 2 nurses dressed all in white, with needles in hand was a scary view.  It looked like a scene from “One flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” No wonder she was absolutely freaking out?!  Anyone with children who have been sick can understand that people poking and prodding your 2 ½ year old will not get a good reception.  I had to lift my head up, hide those tears, and become a warrior. No breathing allowed.  No fear in my eyes.  Ready to rumble.  Let’s get this done.

But, it was hard.  It was one thing after another and it took tons of strength from all of us.  And, I’ll admit: I don’t understand why they have to do the most invasive acts for things that don’t need to be done that way.  Rectal temperature.  Tylenol suppositories.  Why?  Take the damn temperature under her arm and give her liquid Tylenol through her mouth. 

But, I digress; after 5 hours of IV’s, the doctor comes in to tell us that most kids bounce back by now (90% to be exact).  But, C was inconsolable.  Screaming and writhing in pain.  He looked at us and said, “To be frank, I’m a bit concerned.”  Words you, as a mother, never want to hear from a doctor about your child.  EVER!  She had to stay the night, and he recommended a stomach X-ray to see what the cause was.  I’ll admit: A stomach X-Ray makes me nervous.  I feel like the radiation from it will affect my daughter’s ovaries and we will find out that it was a problem during her child-bearing years.  A crazy thought, probably, but I will openly admit it.  And the truth is, I didn’t think it was necessary.  It was a damn virus.  She hadn’t eaten.  She was starving and gassy.  But, you cannot play doctor and believe you know what is best.  It was done and it was clear.  Thank goodness my instincts were right.  It was just a virus that got the best of her.

After a full night in the hospital with IV’s, C started to perk up the next day.  She was, “out of the woods,” as they say and on the mend.  Finally starting to take little bites of food and sip her water and milk.  And, I finally got to take off my mask and break down and cry.  And now, as she is tucked into bed and sleeping peacefully, I can finally admit, I’m relieved. 

Who's Got Your Back?

Two nights ago, my 2 ½ year old daughter woke up puking at 3:30 am.  I was up for the day.  Utter exhaustion.  In the morning, my “mom” friend texted and asked if I wanted her to pick up my 7 month old and bring her to the playgroup I was going to miss; to keep her away from the germs.  She had my back. 

That afternoon, a different “mom” friend called me to give me words of support and encouragement.  “Do you want me to bring over some coffee,” she asked.  I sighed in relief.  She made me laugh and lended a hand; she understands.  She too had been in the same boat a few weeks back.  She had my back.     

When I was pregnant with my second child and put on bed rest, it was my “mom” friends that got my toddler in and out of the car.  They wanted to put together a schedule to get my toddler in and out of her crib.  They had my back.

I’ve seen friends come and go, and that’s been hard; because I’ve so wanted to keep these friendships.  But, if it’s not a two way street, it won’t work.  I’ve been driving along that street, waving down the other person with a big white flag.  “Hi, it’s me!! Can we stay friends?” And they have looked the other way and made the turn.  “Ok,” I think.  If it isn’t reciprocated…it isn’t worth it.  I know that now.  And, I’m completely fine with it.  Two reasons: 1) real friends remain and 2) you make new ones.  New ones that come along right at the time that you need them the most; right time, right place, right stage of your life. And, it all comes together.  

I truly believe that it isn’t about age, it is about stage.  And this stage is called motherhood.  My “mom” friends have my back because they know.  They are in the trenches with me; dirty, bleeding, and looking for light.  They can see eye to eye.  Lift you up.  Understand.  “Mom” friends are the ones who know your children the best.  They love your children.  You love theirs. They “like” every single baby picture you put up that pops up on their facebook news feed.  (Even if it’s everyday) They email funny quotes and jokes to raise your spirits.  They see you at your worst moments and some of your best; and they don’t judge.  They plan ladies nights out, weekends away, dinners, and playgroups.  Excuses to get together; whenever!  And in this time together, you truly get to know each other.

When you become a mom, everything changes.  Your world is thrown upside down and your life becomes your children.  And, if you don’t have or want children, you just cannot empathize with other moms.  Unfortunately, sometimes those friendships may take a back seat for a moment.  But it is ok, because it all comes out in the wash.  Everyone will end up at the same place at some point in time. Thank goodness though for our “mom” friends who reside in our everyday life.  They get it and it becomes imperative to have them with you for the ride. They are in that car, cleaning puke and giving you a thumbs up and a head nod.  I think…they may just be the biggest support system in life.  And, in the end, they are more than just “mom” friends; they are true, inspiring, wonderful… friends, who have each other’s backs!

The Buffer Zone

Last weekend, my husband and I had a late night out with our friends and my parents watched the girls.  When we got home, I went to grab the monitors from their room and found my 2 ½ year old neatly tucked in bed between my mom and dad.  GASP!  Face red, blood pressure raised; I tried to keep myself in check as I got into bed.  It was hard.  I knew in the morning I would have to have an adult conversation with my mommy and daddy about boundaries.  Yikes!  My girls, my rules…right? I mean, she doesn’t even sleep in bed with us unless she is sick.  And, I mean, running to the bathroom vomiting sick.  (Which actually happened last night—Blah!) Anyway, the conversation went a little like this, “we tried, we tried, but….yadda yadda yadda, etc etc etc…  And I think they did try.  But, 2 ½ year olds sure can manipulate a situation and the grandparents are nearly helpless.  Because, when we walk in the door to grandma and grandpa’s house, I know we have entered, “the buffer zone.” 

“The buffer zone” is where grandma and grandpa become buffers between me (the disciplinarian) and my daughter.  Mom grows devil horns and grandma and grandpa grow halos.  I am the fun police, if you will.  I blow that whistle and reign in the fun.  The grandparents, susceptible to my daughter’s baby browns, are unable to use the word, “no.”  The fun begins and ends with them.   Unconditional love runs free at grandma’s house and so does discipline. 

Diaper changes are harder, meal time is challenging, and getting that dang TV off is grueling.    “Eat your dinner,” I say with authority (which usually works).  But not at grandma and grandpa’s house.  “But grandma,” she replies, “I don’t want to.  Help!”  I roll my eyes and I whisper to myself, “F%@$”!!!!!  10 minutes until bedtime turns into 20 then 30 and so on and so forth.  Hugs are hard to come by and when I walk in the room, I know what she sees…trouble!  I am the person who brings her fun to an end with a bath or a nap.  And it seems to be getting worse as she gets older.  Because now, if she doesn’t get her way in the buffer zone; she will most likely throw a fit.  She is smart.  She knows that Grandma and Grandpa will save her.  So, she sees how far she can push the limit.  But, who will save me?  I also feel helpless in the buffer zone.  It is such a fine line to walk.  How do I keep that unconditional love flourishing, but also keep my daughter in line?   How on earth do I teach my daughters to listen to authority when there isn’t any to be seen, in the buffer zone?!

What I have been trying to do is have conversations with her on the way to grandpa and grandma’s house.  She has to know that there are limits and if she doesn’t listen, there will be consequences.  Every single car ride, I talk to her about how she must behave at her grandparents’ houses.  My parents and in-laws also do a good job at supporting my wishes.  Saying things like, “you have to listen to mommy,” is something that goes a long way.  I want her to feel excited to go to grandma’s house but also need her to understand that there are rules, wherever we are.  It is getting better.  I keep trying.  They keep trying.   And one day, “the buffer zone” will successfully be buffed away.