X-Rated Arm Fat (Revisited)

Emily and I decided while we were at BlogHer, to choose one of our favorite “oldie but goodie” posts to share. This one was originally published by me on July 6, 2007, about two-and-a-half weeks after we started blogging! It’s still one of my favorite funny moments with my son. Enjoy!

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This morning my three-year-old Joshua and I were sitting on the couch. I was doing my makeup and he was playing with the fat on my upper left arm. Just why was he doing that? I can only guess it is because I am and have always been his favorite toy, jungle gym, and entertainment center.

As I applied foundation, he squeezed some of my arm fat between his hands. “Look Mommy! Your arm looks like private parts!” Hmm, just the words every mother longs to hear her son say. I looked over to see what shape he could possibly be creating with my cellulite when he stopped doing it. Perhaps it was the look on my face that made him drop the fat, but I didn’t get a look. But somehow my jiggle reminded him of some type of nudey parts. Greeeeeaaaat. Here’s the ensuing conversation.

Joshua: I’m going to tell Pop! (My father-in-law, who we are going to see tonight.)

Me: No, honey, it’s not nice to talk about private parts. We only talk about them with Mommy or Daddy. (Translation:Please for the love of God do NOT tell my father-in-law that my arm looks like private parts, or anything else that might cause him to call children’s services.)

Joshua: Right. I can tell Mommy or Daddy. Or Pop.

Me: No, honey, NOT Pop.

Joshua: Ok.

I have to stop writing now, so I can go get my 3 lb. hand weights and get these vagina arms into a more arm-like shape!! Apparently blogging is not giving them the workout they need!

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Information Overload (repost)

Since Jenny and I are on the way to BlogHer (thanks Lands End!), we decided that we’d each pick a post we wrote a long time ago, and repost it today and tomorrow. I originally wrote this on November 9, 2007, but it’s one of my favorites.
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You know, it takes a lot of time and effort to be an informed parent these days. And by parent, I really mean mother, because something tells me that I could count the fathers who scour the internet for the five-point-harness carseat with the highest weight limit on my fingers. But think about it – how often do you make a parenting decision without copious background information? If you’re like me, the answer is “approximately never.”

It’s something we hardly think about anymore. It seems perfectly normal to sit down with our morning coffee, open our “favorites” and click on the Consumer Product Safety Commission website to see what toys we’re going to have to wrestle away from Junior that day… and then we continue on down the list of parenting websites that have become daily must-visits. By the time our kids are toddlers, it’s become a way of life.

The insanity starts about 10 minutes after you pee on a stick. Actually, make that three minutes, because before you’ve even pulled up your pants you’re running to the internet, comparing your urine-soaked specimin to that of the samples on www.peeonastick.com to make sure that a line, no matter how faint, is indeed a line.

Actually, though, unless this pregnancy is a complete surprise, you’ve probably already spent months online talking to perfect strangers about things like ovulation test kits and cervical mucus.

Once you’ve calculated your due date using WebMD, you head right over to iVillage or BabyCenter to find groups of women who are due the same month. You might join right in the fun, or if you’re like me, become a habitual lurker. Or, if you’re somewhat brave and particularly sadistic, you might even venture over to Urban Baby. Regardless, you spend crazy amounts of time reading about other people who are having the same twinges and pains, fears and hopes, nausea and vomitting as you’re experiencing. After all, you’ve got to make sure you’re normal.

As your pregnancy progresses, you really start preparing for the baby. You want only the best of everything, so you memorize Baby Bargains before heading out to complete your gift registry.

Even the process of naming the baby is nuts. Really, did your parents decided what to name you by contacting the social security administration to figure out how many babies had the same name? I don’t think so, Jennifer.

When you start thinking about the parenting styles you’re going to adopt… well, this is where the fun really begins. Will you breastfeed or formula feed? Go back to work or stay home? Practice attachment parenting or not? Co-sleep or put the baby in a crib? Regardless of what you decide on any of these topics, you’ll find many people who have staked their ground on either side of the fence and won’t hesitate to tell you why everything you have decided is completely, utterly wrong. Not only wrong, but your choice is probably going to damage your baby for life. But, hey, if you can live with that…

If anything, the hysteria only increases when the baby’s actually born. You’re at the computer in the middle of the night ordering Happiest Baby on the Block from Amazon because everyone in your MSN Group swears Dr. Karp’s methods will help you soothe your baby and let you both get some precious sleep (which they do, by the way). Kellymom.com is your own personal lactation consultant and Baby 411 has replaced your Bible (or Oprah bookclub book) on your nightstand. You can’t take the baby outside without checking both weather.com and the messageboard of your choice to see what the weather is and what other babies are wearing before you strap the kid into your top-of-the-line magical stroller that pushes itself and doubles as a cappucino maker.

It doesn’t get any better as the baby gets older, either. You have to figure out which sleep guru you’re going to follow, so you look up opinions on Weissbluth and Ferber. Then, just for fun and because it doesn’t take much to amuse you, you start up a good old fashion Babywise debate.

Honestly, I’m not knocking this. I am definintely as guilty (and likely more guilty) as anyone. I have learned a LOT during the weeks/months/years I’ve spent online reading about everything parenting. The advice and knowledge I’ve gained online has helped me decide everything from what kind of baby monitor to buy to how to deal with night terrors. And how else would I have known about the importance of soft-soled shoes?? The vast array of information available at my fingertips has also allowed me to make my own decisions. My favorite example of this was the first time Kate had a stomach bug. The doctor told us not to give her any dairy products, including breastmilk. I then handed him a print-out from Kellymom that said “Breastmilk is NOT considered a dairy or milk product (mom is not a cow!)” and went on nursing my baby.

That said, this information-overload phenomenon has left me with the complete inability to buy so much as a toothbrush without reading user reviews online. And I’m not exaggerating. So my challenge to myself, and to all of you, is to research, research, research. Figure out what’s best for your baby. Read expert opinions and the opinions of moms who have BTDT (been there, done that, for those of you without a complete mom-cabulary of acronyms). By all means, read mom blogs. But let’s not forget to listen to ourselves, as well, to our motherly intuition. Because when it comes down to it, only we know what’s best for our babies.

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Having My Cake

For the past few months I’ve been sharing on and off with you about my struggles with depression and anxiety. And I am happy to say, after months of tweaking meds and what-not, I am a lot better. I’m not totally the carefree girl that I was, I still have issues at certain times of the month, but I am much, much better, and I’ll take it.

One thing that still bugs me about myself – is it my “new normal” self, or did I used to be this way too? I can’t remember – is that I get so exasperated by the little things in life. Bad traffic makes my heart race and my temper flare. It’s all I can do to control myself with the kids in the car, to keep from yelling in frustration. When I am in the shower, and I hear the kids fussing and fighting, my head wants to explode. When Sophie defies me, I take it personally. When Joshua asks me questionafterquestionafterquestion, or asks me to do something when I am clearly already busy, it makes me insane.

But the other day, as I was looking in the bathroom mirror, putting product in my wet hair to try and encourage it’s lazy waves, and Sophie started screaming and fussing in from the other room, mad at her brother about something, and that exasperated vein in my forehead started to throb, I just took a deep breath and realized: I need to put on the big girl panties of motherhood. I have little children. This is what they do. Sure, they are often sweet and funny and they make my heart burst with pride, but they are also messy, tempestuous, and selfish. And every day with them will be exhausting but it will also be beautiful.

So.

I am all for being real. I am all for letting my feelings out – why pretend that something is perfect when it’s not? That would only serve to make me crazier. My kids make me crazy. Several times a day. But they also make me deliriously happy. And if having my cake and eating it too smacks of discontentment with my life, then I’ll just have it. Put it in front of me and I’ll stare at it maybe sniff the icing and take in its sugary scent, but I won’t have a bite. In fact, I’ll take mine without a fork. Just in case.

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