I read an article the other day in Time Magazine.   It spoke about the fact that children in some Middle Eastern countries are no longer getting vaccinated against the polio vaccine.   The reasoning behind this is because these countries feel that the US and other western countries are using the vaccinations as a way to spy on the country.  More specifically, Time Magazine spoke about this with the Taliban in Pakistan.   Of course, these countries have reasons to be skeptical and feel this way.   After all, it was found out that before Osama Bin Laden’s capture and death, the CIA conducted hepatitis vaccinations to obtain DNA samples that could help locate Bin Laden and his family.  

This is the extreme for not getting a child vaccinated, but even civilized, Western states such as the United States have parents who REFUSE to have their child vaccinated.   The reasons can range from religious reasons to just choosing to opt out because technically the vaccines are a version of the disease we’re looking to expunge.   Many parents just don’t feel the need to subject their children to a disease in order to prevent it when it’s possible they may NEVER contract the disease anyway.  

I’ve tossed this around since the birth of my child.   I’ve followed the schedule of vaccines, making sure that Davey has had all of his shots.   Granted, it’s been the most difficult time of my life, watching him in pain and squirm while we pin him down to poke him.    It’s almost torture for me and him, but in the end I firmly believe I am doing the responsible thing as his mother.   I am doing the best thing for my child.  

Initially, I’ve been quick to bash other parents who chose the option to not have their child vaccinated.   For starters, when they go into public school systems (or in public in general) they risk contaminating the population should they contract the disease.   There isn’t just a sense of responsibility with their child, but also the welfare of an entire population.  

Where religion is concerned, we can exactly force parents to vaccinate their children, especially not in this country where freedom of religion, speech, and the separation of church and state are held so highly.  

I’m curious, though, what are the thoughts of all my readers?   Did you vaccinate your children?   If so, why and if not, why not?

For weeks, well maybe months, I’ve toyed around with the idea of buying a new camera.   Since Davey’s birth, my husband and I have used our trusty iPhone’s or our old point and shoot in order to preserve Davey’s events.   It’s been boring and while the photos are easier to share when on our iPhone (text and post to Facebook quickly), they’re not really of the caliber I want especially for my child.

Last month, I decided that I wanted a new camera.   I wanted one that would show all of the little intricacies of my child’s moments.   A camera that would not only enhance the days of excitement, anguish, happiness, and hurt, but also allow us to feel like we were being transported back to the actual time the picture was taken.  I wanted us to be able to look back on these pictures and feel the same emotions we felt at the time the pictures were taken.  

Since buying this camera, I haven’t left the house without it.   I’ve taken it to the grocery store, to the flea market, to the gas station, on airplane rides, everywhere you can possibly imagine.   I have no desire to miss a single moment of my son’s daily growth.   The only problem is that I think Davey could care less if his days are documented.

What was to be a hobby has now become an intrusion in my son’s personal life, or so that’s how I feel he’s seeing it.   Ask me if I’m concerned about his feelings in this regard, especially at 10 months of age.   The answer would be a resounding “no”.   It’s my duty as his mother to be as obnoxious as I can be when it comes to taking his picture.    And I’m even more shameless when it comes to sharing those pictures.   Raise your hand please if you’ve become annoyed with my excessive need to share his photos.  

The past couple of days, I’ve taken a break from forcing my son to endure a camera lens in his face.    I’ve been putting my time to use by researching poses and new adventures.   I almost feel a bit devious, like I’m the mustachioed man drumming his fingers together while concocting an evil scheme.   Oh well.   It comes with the territory…being a mother.  

And I said to Davey the day I bought the camera and I’ll say it again…You’re going to be in pictures, Baby!  Muhahaha!

His eyes light up.   I can even see a twinkle in those bluish green orbs.    A smile quickly spreads across his face, and before I know he is in a full on state of laughter.

He claps his hands quickly.   As I take a seat on the floor, he waddles over to me and wraps one arm around my neck while bouncing up and down with excitement.

I love that he loves this pastime.   It’s one of my favorites and WAS one of my favorites when I was a child.   I don’t know how much my husband enjoyed doing this as a child, but as an adult he’s more voracious that I am.

I have yet to find anything that elicits such excitement from Davey.   I have yet to find something that can keep him so entertained, so enthralled.    And I attribute a lot of this to the fact that I started reading to him when he was just a few weeks old in my womb.

He has these 2 particular books that he loves, one of which I read to him continuously when he was nothing more than my little parasite.    The second book, we picked up after Christmas and he absolutely adores it.   My only concern is that it’s just these two books that seem to get him excited about reading.   He has a whole library full of books, some of which will be better for him as he gets older, but plenty of them that can be read at this age.  Funny thing is that when I try to introduce a new book to him, he seems to get upset with me.   It reminds me of trying to introduce something healthy to a junk food fanatic.

Either way, it’s really of no concern to me.   I’m just tickled pink that my boy loves books (even if it’s only 2 right now) as much as his daddy and I do.   It’s only a matter of time before we’ll be able to expand out.  Right now, I’m going to enjoy his excitement over this little pastime.

My mom was and is Super Mom.  I can remember how she was able to do EVERYTHING.  She worked outside of the home my entire life (and still does).   She was up early every morning, Monday through Friday, to get herself ready before loading up two kids for school and/or daycare and then hitting the corporate world to make a living.   She picked us up after work, brought us home, and cooked dinner.

She wasn’t a single mom and my dad was always in the loop, usually assisting “behind the scenes” either with homework or any sort of school related issues we had, but she seemed to be the one keeping everything flowing.

After dinner, she cleaned house, did laundry, or yard work, pretty much kept up the semblance of a healthy, balanced house and home life.

When we were younger, she gave us our baths, got us into bed (all with the help of my dad) and then would retire for the evening.

As we got older, she was always able to balance home life with work life, especially with all of our after school extracurricular activities that would cut into her nights and weekends.  She was a juggler who was never trained in the sport and not a jack of all trades, but rather THE MASTER.   I admired my mother for her work ethic, her love, her devotion, and her ability to sacrifice every part of herself for me and my brother.   I still admire her at 37 and as a mother myself.  I aspire to be like her as much as possible and if I could be 1/10th as good of a mother as she is, then I will be happy.

This week, I hit a bit of a depression state all triggered by the shattering of our glass top stove.   I had myself second-guessing everything I did as a mother.   I had myself doubting my abilities as a mother.   I actually said things to my husband that gave him reason to pause with worry and looking back on it, I can’t believe I allowed something so tangible and replaceable as a stove, to shatter my confidence and resolve.

I spent the better part of 7 hours crying in front of my son, cuddling him in my arms, rocking him, apologizing to him for having me as a mother.   I can only imagine what he thought of me and the situation.

When I wasn’t crying, and even while I was crying, I compared myself to my mother and the standards she unconsciously set forward as a mother.   What would she think about me and the situation?   So, I called her after the 7 hour crying spell and like always she came through as Super Mom and the river of tears were dammed up.

There’s always an underlying “theme” to a lot of my posts…being a mother is so HARD.   I’m challenged every day with some days feeling like I’ve been knocked down the stairs a few times.   Thankfully for me, I have a tremendously huge support network of friends and family and the best baby in the world.

And in case you’re wondering what sent me on my downward spiral, here’s a picture of it.

I’ve said it before…being a mom is the most difficult job in the world.   You’re always second guessing yourself, operating from time to time off of emotions, stressed over minor injuries, and worried about how you’re doing as a whole in the motherhood department.

Each day I ask myself if I’m doing enough for Davey.   Should I be reading to him more?  Should I be playing with him more?  Should I have him interact with other people more?   Should I be pushing him harder to be everything he can be at this age?   It’s stressful!  

Lately, Davey has become a bit more clingy.   I don’t know if that’s because of his age or if I’m doing the damage by constantly making myself available to him at every whim.  

Davey doesn’t play alone for long.   If I leave the room for more than a few minutes, he starts crying.   I’ve always been quick to come back to him and not because I’m worried about how he is, but more because I don’t like hearing him cry for long.   It tears at my nerves!  

Last week, my husband and I tried to handle an issue with our air conditioning units in the attic.   We put Davey in his room, put the baby gate up (he’s crawling and has started walking) and pulled out all of his toys.  I played with him for a couple of moments as I was hoping that he would continue to play when I walked away.  Not the case.

For a half an hour, he clung to the baby gate and cried.   He screamed.   He grunted and growled, closed his hands up into fists and his face started getting red.   My husband and I actually thought we heard him crying the words, “ma ma” which really tore at my heart.  

So, I’m asking all of you moms out there…is this normal?  Am I doing the damage by constantly being in the same room with him all of his waking hours?   I know he does fine when I leave him with my aunt or my parents, but they have to be in the same room with him otherwise he cries.   What can I do to fix this?   Am I worried for no reason?   Is it too soon, at 9 & 1/2 months, to be concerned about him not being independent enough? 

Please help!

I still have a fear of the water.  I suppose it could be the unknown that really drives my paranoia.  For example, I won’t get too far into the ocean, at least not the Atlantic, because I can’t see what’s in the water.  

I have a hard time sticking my head under the water even in a swimming pool, because I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold my breath and that I’ll drown.   Once my husband and I went snuba-ing in Grand Cayman.   Well, I did more of what’s considered snorkeling.   The instructor had to take the added weights off of me due to my fear of a hole being in my air line and that I wouldn’t be strong enough to swim to the top.   Thanks to the weights, I would drown.  I could actually feel the pressure on my entire body and my anxiety increase.  

Thankfully, my son appears to be just the opposite.

I didn’t learn how to swim until I was 7 years old and my fish in the water routine couldn’t be attributed to swim lessons, but instead to a very devoted uncle who took time out of his evenings to teach me one summer.  

The thought has crossed my mind to put Davey into swimming lessons, but I decided to hold off on that and just spend this summer getting him acclimated to the water. 

Davey has always enjoyed taking a bath but that wasn’t a guarantee that he would appreciate the pool (and we’re still a little over a month away before his first beach trip).   Fortunately, my son has a huge sense of adventure and zero fear.   I say fortunately, although I’m sure at some point in the future that lack of fear and adventurous spirit means he won’t use his head and do something stupid.  We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. 

Two weeks ago, Davey pushed himself free from my grip and went head first into our community pool.  Needless to say he aged me quickly in those few seconds, but when I pulled him up he coughed out some water, laughed at me, and then screamed to go back for seconds!  

This past Saturday we spent the day at my mom and dad’s house.  Davey sat on the porch with my mother and me.   My dad walked out to the garage to get Davey’s float.   The moment he walked out the door and towards the pool, float in hand, Davey’s eyes lit up.   He crawled over to the window, reached out for his Papa (or maybe the float) and even let out a whine.   Within a matter of moments, he was jumping up and down with impatience.   He squirmed little a fish OUT OF water while I tried to change his clothes and put on his swimsuit.  

After a slight wait while I changed my clothes, we were in the pool and my water baby was splashing around and loving every minute of it.  

I look forward to every opportunity to get him in the water, to watch him explore and learn something new.  And I can hardly wait to see his reaction to the ocean.  Stay tuned

 

At last week’s doctor’s appointment, we were told that Davey is about 2-3 months ahead of the game developmentally.   My husband didn’t exactly want me to share this with everyone as he feels it’s a bit rude and that I’m turning the raising of our child into a competition with other mothers.   To that I say, “whatever!”  Very juvenile, I know.   But here’s the thing, I’m not turning it into a competition, I’m just one proud mama!   I mean, after all, everyone else posts reports on Facebook about how well their child is doing in school and what award he/she has won.   Why shouldn’t I be the same way with my 9 month old?

Davey has been crawling since he was approximately 6 months old.   He’s been sitting on his own since he was 4 months old.   He stands by himself and will even walk alongside you while holding one of your hands.   He’s not yet to the point of letting go and trying one foot in front of the other all alone, but he’s getting there and according to our doctor, he’s getting there a lot faster than other kids.

Monday afternoon I discovered another little treat that my son is capable of.   While sitting in our office, filing away the massive amount of paperwork that has accumulated, I caught in my peripheral vision movement on our staircase.   Immediately I looked up to find that my son was already on the 6th step and climbing FAST!

Fortunately, I didn’t do what my instinct was saying, which was to scream STOP!   I’m afraid doing that would have scared him and caused him to somersault backwards right back down those 6 steps.   Instead, I jumped up and immediately ran to a few steps behind him and encouraged him to take a few more steps, while whipping out my iPhone and recording the event.

Davey continued to climb and with such plausible excitement that I couldn’t help but laugh at him.    He giggled with each step, occasionally looking back to make sure that I was watching him.   He made it to the landing before deciding to stop.   Since then, my husband and I now encourage Davey to climb the steps at bedtime.

The past two nights, when I’ve said bedtime, Davey has crawled into the foyer and to the staircase.  I climb a few steps ahead of him, offering my encouragement, the doting cheerleading mother that I am.   My husband stays a few steps behind him, hand at the ready, should Davey happen to fall backwards.   And both nights he’s climbed the stairs and crawled into his bedroom.

Am I really surprised by this?  NOPE.   After all, my son is the product of two over-achieving parents.  It’s only natural that he get the best of both of us!  🙂

 

I love candy coating.   It always makes everything sweeter, but I’ve never been a fan of candy coating feelings or words.   Brutal honesty has always been the best ticket in my book.  Of course, I never thought I would be forced to contend with it on the level of the past couple of weeks.

You can (or at least should) count on your family to be honest.   They love you (or at least should) and only want what’s best for you.   Right?   They’re not interested in embarrassing you (or at least shouldn’t be).   They’re not interested in making you feel bad (or at least shouldn’t).   Right?  Well, for the most part my family meets all four of the above criteria of a good and loving family.   Sometime; however, like this past week, they take the “honesty is the best policy” mantra to a whole new level.

I’m not interested in revealing which family members decided to tell me the truth about my life.   I’m afraid they may be picked on or called out.   Some of you who’ve already heard the story know which family members decided to bring reality home.   And, boy, does reality suck!

Last week, I had a few family members stop by my house for a little visit.   While standing in my kitchen, one family member took it upon themselves to be brutally honest about my appearance.

“You have a gut,” my family member said.

“Well, I had a baby,” I replied while looking down at my belly.   I’m my own worst critic so I’m well aware that before I got pregnant I had a pretty tight set of abs; however, I didn’t think my gut was that noticeable.

“You had that baby 8 months ago,” my family member replied.

“Well, I’m trying to get my body back,” I replied defensively.

“Have you tried sit ups?” my family member asked.   At that I just lowered my head and skulked away.

Fast forward a few days and I’m visiting family.   I prepared two chicken salad croissants for lunch.   Each croissant measures about 3 inches in length, so they are not very large.   As I’m sitting down to eat, another family member decides to pitch out a few “truths” and unfortunately I struck out at each one.

“You know you’re going to end up like your cousin if you continue to eat like that,” my family member pointed out.

“Don’t worry.  I’m not in danger of gaining 400 pounds.   I work out,” I replied defiantly before taking a bite of a croissant.

“Well, take it from me, once you put the weight on it’s hard to get it off and you haven’t exactly gotten your pre-pregnancy body back,” my family member said.   Thank you, Captain Obvious!

I looked down once again at my appearance and took another bite of my croissant as I started to wallow in my own self pity.

“And, I want you to know I respect you for being a stay at home mom,” my family member continued.  “But please don’t let yourself go like other stay at home moms.”

“What are you talking about?” I nearly yelled.

“Well, you just don’t take care of your appearance like you used to.   You’re not wearing make up and you’re letting your hair go natural and I have to say when it’s naturally curly it’s looking like you don’t brush it,” my family member replied while hammering the knife into my heart just a little bit harder.

So, I know that I don’t wear dresses daily and I’m not spending hours working on my hair and make up, but I have an absolutely wonderful son and  husband.  I have a child who doesn’t care if I decide to go sans make up.   He’s just happy that I read him his favorite books, play cars with him, and take him to the pool.   And I have a husband who loves me no matter what.   A man who still thinks I’m as sexy and beautiful today as I was the day he met me.   They don’t seem to be willing to criticize my appearance.

And while honesty may be the best policy, can you at least find a way to not rip a person apart with it?

We are one week and two days away from Davey’s nine month birthday and needless to say trouble is finding him at every corner. 

Davey has been crawling for almost two months now.  He stands on his own, without assistance and without holding onto anything and he’s even managed to take a solo step before falling. 

He walks quickly when holding onto the furniture or even my hands.   He’s eager to get to where he’s going and to get there quickly.   Of course, at times he takes the occasional detour. 

For example, he loves the dog’s water bowl.  If I neglect to close the door to the laundry room, Dixie’s food and water haven, then Davey is in there faster than I can blink my eyes.   He’s pulled himself up to the bowl, which sits on a stand and is splashing around, leaving water stains on my wall and droplets on my floor.  

Other times, I’ve found that he loves to “help” me with the laundry.   As soon as I have the basket sitting in front of me, the little Tasmanian Devil, aka my son, is right alongside me pulling clothes out of the basket.   Naturally, he’s not pulling the clothes out to hand them to me.  Instead they’re tossed behind him, out of my reach.   I can’t get upset with him especially when I hear his giggle and see him laugh with a tongue hanging out of his mouth.   His excitement with the laundry even goes to the point of when the clothes are folded and placed in the basket awaiting their ride upstairs.   If I’m not watching him, Davey quickly unfolds the clothes faster than I can say the word “NO”!  

But nothing can really top the mischief he got into last week, and it was in a place that I purposely placed him so he would stay OUT of trouble.

After changing his dirty diaper, I immediately placed him in his pack and play, someplace I don’t put him that often.   I had to go to the bathroom myself and didn’t want Davey roaming around and getting into his own level of treachery.   I figured the pack and play was a trouble-free zone especially since there are toys in there to occupy him.   

I placed the dirty diaper in one of the cubbies of the diaper caddy at the front of the pack and play and high tailed it into the bathroom.  A few minutes later, I was back in the family room listening to my son as he played.  I walked over to the pack and play and looked in.  The sight I saw elicited a scream out of me at a decibel I never thought possible.   My insides twisted and I nearly cried when I spied the empty diaper sitting behind my son and a large pile of orange/brown poop sitting in front of him while he patted it down like Play Doh!  

My scream startled him, but didn’t deter him from the continuous patting of the poop.   He even laughed at me before holding both pooped cover hands up at me as if to say “Hi, Mommy!  Come play with me.” 

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the morning, sterilizing my son, his clothes, his toys, and even the mat in the pack and play.   Any sort of fun activities or even the park visit I was planning, were quickly tabled thanks in no small part to my lapse in judgement and Davey’s mischievous nature.

I’ve spent the better part of the day replaying the events of our library time over and over in my head.   At first, my blood pressure was boiling to the point of nearly using curse words.   I did my 4 mile run BEFORE our storytime, but perhaps I should have waited until AFTER.   As a matter of fact, I almost wanted to grab a punching bag and release some tension.

And as I continued to replay the antics of a bully child and his irresponsible, dead beat mother, I was reminded of my conversation with my hairdresser last week.   She said that the thing she dislikes about children is not the children themselves, but the parents.   So true!  So true!

Every Wednesday, Davey and I go to the local library for story time.  We’ve gone since my first day of being a stay at home mom and we’ve met some wonderful mothers and children.   We’ve even managed to work out additional playdates with some of these other moms and their babies on a weekly basis.   It’s a great thing and Davey has made so many wonderful friends.  

Now that school is out for the summer, storytime’s audience has grown larger.   There are a lot of new faces and Davey seems to be excited by that as he’s very gregarious.   He’s always smiling, always trying to play with other babies, and eager to give out hugs to the other mommies.   Now that he’s able to crawl around and is actually taking a couple of steps, he can interact with the other babies a lot more.   Given his personality, it’s no surprise for me to see him crawling over to another baby and smiling.   It melts my heart to watch him and I swell with pride knowing how kind and caring my child is at 8 months.

Today, as he crawled over to another baby, he was doing his best to talk and communicate.   As soon as he got to the other baby, who by the way is 6 months older than Davey and nearly twice his size, this other baby punched my child in the face.   Davey sat back, aghast and shocked, but he didn’t cry.  And just as soon as the kid punched Davey in the face, he punched him again.   I was shocked as I caught a look at the other mother watching her child bully mine.  

Immediately I stood up and pulled Davey away, situating him with other babies.   Then I turned my attention to the bully baby and his mother.  The child crawled over to another kid and punched him as well.   This time his mother was too engrossed in socializing with one of the other mothers to pay attention to her own child.   By this point, I was fuming, but figured I would just let it go, since I had already pulled Davey away, but then it got worse. 

While Davey was playing, the bully baby crawled over to my child and pulled his hair this time eliciting a scream from Davey.   I quickly grabbed my child as the other mothers looked to see what was going on and immediately glared at bully baby’s mother.   Davey and I then left storytime a half hour earlier than we normal.  

There was a part of me that wishes I had been more confrontational with the mother.   After all, if she were doing a better job as a parent, her kid wouldn’t be such a pain in the butt.   So, I’ve decided how I will deal with this next week which means I may be kicked out of storytime.  

If this little punk of a kid punches my baby, I’m going to his mother and explaining to her that for every time her kid punches mine, I’m going to punch her.   Does that seem fair?   I think so.   It’s her fault that her kid is a bully.   Ugh!   I just hate the fact that I’ve let this kid ruin my day considering that Davey has bounced back pretty quickly. 

And yes, Merri, I TOTALLY agree with you…it’s not the kids, but the parents.   Especially the self-centered, irresponsible parents.