I can do it all myself!

From the day a woman sees the two pink lines on a positive pregnancy test, it starts. Unsolicited advice. Also known as “assvice” (a personal favorite description of mine). For some odd reason, everyone from the grocery store clerk, the mailman, the strange old lady gassing up her car to your Aunt Edna will give you any and all advice they can come up with on how to raise your own child.

“Don’t hold them too much. You’ll spoil them.”

“Make sure to start feeding them rice cereal in the bottle when they are born so they start sleeping through the night.”

“Put some socks on that baby! It’s 80 degrees out and his feet will get cold!”

Then there’s the parenting choice debates: Formula feeding versus breast feeding, to cry it out or not, to vaccinate or not, to sleep on their back or their stomach – really, the list is almost endless.

I never understood why everyone else cared so much about how I (or any other mother for that matter) took care of my children. Why was it anyone else’s business? Why did people think I was so incapable of figuring it out on my own? This was the aspect that bothered me the most. I am a figure-it-out-on-my-own kind of person. I have always been that way and I will be this way forever. I readily admit that Google is one my life essentials next to air, food and coffee. I hate to ask for help and you know if I do ask, then I must really need it. I think most everyone that I associate with knows this about me and while they still offer help, they are not offended when I turn it down. Well, most of them anyway. Everyone with the exception of my Mother-in-law.

Mothering techniques have evolved over the years. When my husband and I were babies, there were no such things as car seats, outlet covers or properly spaced crib slats and nobody dared to question the advice of their pediatrician. Everyone just did as they were told, no ifs, ands or buts. New mothers depended heavily on their own mothers, their mother-in-laws and their grandmothers (if they were still alive). The “it takes a village” philosophy was strong. And then? We entered the age of information.

Technology changed everything, even motherhood. We became connected to medical websites, parenting circles grew and we found mothers all over the world experiencing the same challenges with their children of the same age. We are able to find the most up-to-date information on how to raise our children at the click of the mouse and the old child-rearing advice passed down from generation to generation fell by the wayside (like giving a baby Karo syrup for constipation). I think technological evolution has hurt some feelings. At least it has in our family, anyway.

While the “assvice” still comes from random people and I just blankly smile and nod while trying my best not to blurt out “mind your own business” (which has actually happened before – another story for another time), the fact that I don’t follow what has been done for generations, or acted like a helpless child when trying to care for my babies has ruffled some feathers. My “I can do it on my own” (or “I can do it all myself!” as my older son likes to say) attitude combined with being born in the age of information has not been the ideal combo for those who expected to be apart of the “information from the village”. I think a lot of moms in this generation may be in the same situation. Technology has changed not only the way we mother, but the way we relate to older generations in regard to parenting.

Kristen

When does motherhood get easy?

Years ago, when I was pregnant with my first child, I didn’t have the ability to comprehend what lay ahead. I was completely focused on my pregnancy and the new addition to the family. In the early years, it’s easy to get caught up in the “baby-ness” of it all. There is such excitement about the cute little clothes, decorating the nursery, and picking out the perfect name. Of course, these things are great fun and they should be! Having a baby is truly the greatest life transforming event that we experience in our lives, but it is not as easy as I once thought it would be.

The baby years are all-consuming. Every ounce of energy is directed toward this tiny helpless being. I remember thinking that this is probably the hardest stage of motherhood and that my life would surely get easier as my babies grew up. They would become more independent and when they could do things for themselves, I would have my freedom back. There would be no more crying and screaming in public and no more toting a suitcase of baby paraphernalia with me at all times. What I failed to comprehend at the time is that it never gets easier.

The years passed and my kids became a little bit older and a little more independent. Surely this was the time when it would get easier. My kids could get their own food from the fridge, were potty trained, and were somewhat rational. I saw a vision of myself in a lounge chair in the backyard, sipping a drink and reading, while my little darlings frolicked happily in the backyard sprinkler. Unfortunately, my imagination and reality did not align as I had planned. Yes, I have sat outside while my kids played. But, instead of the calm and relaxing scene I envisioned, a more typical day went very differently. One kid pushes the other, at which time the pushed one falls into a pile of dog poop and screams. The youngest one, oblivious to his sisters’ fight, wanders towards to the far edges of the yard in pursuit of the dog. It’s hard to comprehend what you are reading when you are constantly monitoring the perimeter of the yard with quick glances and refereeing fights. I put my book down and repeat to myself, when my kids get a little older, this will be easier.

Now my kids are older. One is in college, one is in high school, and one is entering middle school. Years ago this is when I thought it was all going to get real easy. How wrong I was! When they are little, at least they are within your control and influence.

We now have meaningful adult conversations. However, I never realized that the meaningful conversations would revolve around topics such as drugs, alcohol, and premarital sex. I never imagined this, but this is what we as mothers must do these days.

I once again lose sleep at night, but it’s not due to a crying baby. It’s due to the anxiety caused by a teenage daughter who has just gotten her driver’s license and doesn’t come home on time. It is the fear that if the phone rings at night and the kids are out with their friends, that it is going to bring tragic news.

My kids are my life and my soul. I worry about them all of the time.

Being a mom never gets easy. It just changes.

Peggy McNeal

Things change and stay the same

My mother was complicated, but our relationship was not. In retrospect, I realize that it never changed or evolved the way that I would have wanted or even expected it to. It has always been the same and it has always revolved around her. Even when things change, they stay the same.

My mother was diagnosed as a manic depressive in her late teens. It was called bipolar disease later. Whatever the term, no one ever talked to me or my brother about that disease or what it meant to our lives. No one ever asked if we were OK, or scared, or angry. Everyone acted like she was perfectly normal and the crazy things that happened from time to time were not to be discussed among outsiders. When she would have an "episode" when I was a young child, my grandmother and grandfather would do their best to take care of everything and then when I became older I inherited that task. During these times I learned to watch out for her.

My mother was beautiful, intelligent, and talented. But she always felt that she was better than she was, better
than us or the rest of the world. It was her disease that gave her this confidence but at the same time it made it impossible for her to realize her potential. Throughout most of my childhood she alternated between depression, laying on the couch watching TV day and night, and intermittent episodes of mania during which we all lived in a state of unreality. There was a constant battle between realities - hers and the rest of ours.

I loved my mother and I have always felt that she did her best to love me. Like all children, I always tried to gain her love - whether by "being good" or getting good grades or keeping my room clean. It was not until I had a daughter of my own that I fully realized all that was missing. It happened when my daughter had just came home from the hospital after she was born. I was feeling insecure and tired and asked my mom to help give me her first bath. I thought that maybe this would be the moment - three generations of women - making a memory. I would tell my daughter the story when she was grown. In her usual form she just told me that you just give her a bath - you're a smart girl, figure it out. And that's when I finally did. There would never be any hallmark card moments between me and my mom and I would just have to accept things the way they were. I made a peace within myself - this is how it is and I didn't want to live without her, so I would try to believe that this was the best she could do and that it wasn't her fault. And I always knew that things would be the same until she died. That I would have to tip toe around her and her moods. That I would not be the center of attention. That my true feelings would not be heard. That I would never hear that she loved me or was proud of me and I would have to be all right in just knowing that she was.

Then one day she called to tell me that she felt a mass in her rectum. She hadn't even gone to the doctor yet. I felt nauseated but knew that it was probably real. I made plans to visit, once again putting my own needs and now the needs of my own children on the back burner to look after her.

I arrived at her apartment to find a thin, frail, sick woman. The house was in disarray and it smelled. She could barely walk. She hadn't made any appointments. When I saw her I started to cry and told her that she looked terrible and why hadn't she called be earlier. To that she responded that it wasn't nice to say that she looked terrible. Still living in her bipolar world. For the rest of the week I took care of her - not trying to keep her from sleeping with the milkman and trashing the house, but trying to keep the house from burning down when she dropped her cigarette, cleaning up after she went to the bathroom, and making doctor's appointments that she refused to keep. The whole time all I could think was this really happening, just as when she was manic and did crazy things. Will I forever question the reality of a situation? When she died, what I knew would happen did. She just slipped away without any words of wisdom, goodbyes, or even a will for that matter.

Now that she is dead, I miss her terribly. I want to call and tell he what happened. I can't erase her cell phone number from my phone. I want to feel like I still have a chance to change things between us and to be closer. But now that will never happen. Just as I knew before that it would never happen.

Elisabeth

April 18th Meeting

Thanks to everyone who came to today's meeting.

Special Thanks to Laura Bridgwater - we really appreciate you taking the time to speak with us!

Our next meeting will be May 7th at 7:30 pm at Cafe Vino on College Avenue. The topic is FEAR.

Next Meeting!

Hi all!

The next meeting is Saturday, April 18th at 9am at the Bean Cycle. Hope to see all of you there!

Elisabeth