Parenthood

What they don't tell you about Parenthood is that 99% of the time you will spend it in fear.  You will live in fear and you will love in fear.  It's an awful way to live but that's Parenthood for you.

The Kid was sick last week and, at first, I thought he had gotten what I had which was the flu.  I had to go to the doctor's because I knew I was not going to be able to beat it on my own.  Sure enough, The Kid developed a fever, puked and got a runny nose.  A doctor's visit cleared him of strep throat as well as the flu so yay.  He had the fever for the next few days until Saturday morning when he woke up with a normal temperature.  Sunday morning is when he woke up with a rash on his belly and back.  Our pediatrician indicated that it wasn't measles and it would go away on its own.  What was it?  Roseola.  You would think that it would have calmed me down but in case you haven't figured this out by now, it didn't.  It broke my heart into a billion little pieces watching The Kid smile at me as his belly was all blotchy.  Fear.  Fear, coupled with anxiety, has taken over my life.  Last night, I drifted in and out of sleep as I thought about The Kid and the illness he was going to get as the years went on.  I thought about how much anxiety it was going to give me and how I was going to keep cool hand Luking it all, as I have since his birth, while my insides caved into themselves and I screamed a billion screams while I watch my son, my beautiful son, cough and cough because he didn't know you have to cough it up and spit it out.  Fear.  Mind you, I'm not talking about making sure his new clothes were washed in Dreft and that his water only came from that endless spring in the mountains because I don't do that.  Nah.  The Kid wears new clothes that I didn't wash first, etc.  I'm not trying to raise a child who only drinks Fiji Water. (Unless I had to.)  My fear comes from the fact that I was a sick kid.  I got the flu about every other month.  My bout with chicken pox (where I was covered in it) overlapped with my bout with the measles.  I was THAT kid.  That kid who got a horrible cough because I went out at night without a jacket.  About the few things giving me any kind of comfort are simple facts such as breastfeeding and thus passing on my immunities to The Kid.  But, that is of little comfort because anything can happen.  I'm hoping and praying that he inherited his dad's knack for avoiding illness since he escaped my flu-demic.  Time will tell what side of the coin The Kid will land on.

Despite all the worry and fear consuming my life now, it's that 1% that makes it worth while.  I could have an awful day at work and come home to a baby who is all smiles and laughter and my awful day is immediately forgotten.  He's is a complete joy despite waking up at 3a today and deciding he just wanted to hang out.  That was a first.  At least he wasn't up screaming his head off or sick.  It's the little things.

Welcome to Parenthood.

Genetics

Lately I've begun to think about what The Kid may have inherited from me.  I'm not talking about that dimple he seems to have gotten from me or the gorgeous brown, wavy hair he has, which could have come from either one of us.  I'm more concerned about illnesses.  He's already has diabetes to worry about since I was, after all, diabetic and pregnant with him.  But, I'm more concerned about his mental health.  I've battled depression throughout my life and, after many therapy sessions, felt well enough to stop going.  Then, post partum depression hit and I had to resort to medication because no amount of therapy would have helped with what I was going through.  Recently, I've had a few setbacks that need to be addressed so I will have to make an appointment with my therapist soon.  I'm a huge advocate for mental health because I know having everything doesn't mean happiness.  Depression is awful and it's awful for those around you.  It's perfectly described in those commercials for anti-depressants.  It really does hurt all over.  Struggling to come up with a reason to get out of bed is hard if you, a non-depressive person, can understand.  Even if the only reason you have to get out of bed is to quiet a hungry cat then there is your reason.  There should be no shame in needing therapy and/or anti-depressants.  And all of this makes me think about Noah and what he may have inherited from me in this particular area.  I plan on being honest and open about my history in hopes that should he ever need help, that he can talk to me.  Isn't that every parent's wish?  To have their child feel comfortable enough to talk to them about any problems or issues they have?  I hope and pray that my son can and will.

Humpty Dumpty

That awful anniversary came and went and I forgot all about it.  I guess the trauma is slowly removing itself from the front of my brain.  This is a good thing.  However, when I close my eyes and let my mind wander there, I can still smell that day.  I can still feel the emotions of that day.  I can still feel my heart breaking into a million little pieces again.  My heart managed to piece itself back together again but not like the way it was before.

Still praying for a cure because even though it's pushed back into my head, it doesn't mean it's disappeared.  That CML is still living within my brother.  And unfortunately, anything can happen and that scares the living daylights out of me.

I love you, brother.

Happy Valentine's Day

Several years ago, the BNC and I stopped celebrating Valentine's Day.  It became so stressful trying to find a place to eat, a movie to watch, cards to find and flowers to give.  It felt like a race every year to beat the crowds and try and have a good time just so we could say that we did something on Valentine's Day when people would ask.  Ugh.  Such a chore and not many people enjoy chores.  Slowly, we stopped buying each other cards and started staying in to eat by ordering a pizza.  The flowers stopped and that was a welcome thing because I'm not too fond of flowers.  I have a brown thumb.  I can't even grow mint, the weed of herbs, so taking care of those flowers also became a chore.  Then, one year, it stopped.  We thought, "Who are we competing with to prove our love for one another?  Besides, shouldn't every day be Valentine's Day?"  Suddenly, the pressure fell off.  We lived our lives and all was grand.  And then we had our son.  As today's date crept up, I figured that I would purchase a card for my son's first Valentine's Day.  But, as soon as I thought that, things started churning in my head about this date and what it really meant.  First off, it shouldn't be a competition; it should just be a day to celebrate love of all kinds for your friends and family.  Family.  My son is my family.  And, just like that, I'm back to celebrating today.  I want to celebrate love because my son is love.  He is lucky in love and will never, ever be poor in love.  He may only be 6-months old right now but next Valentine's Day, he will have a pretty good idea of what today means.  So, the BNC and I will celebrate this day once again.  Mostly it will revolve around the love we have for our son in hopes that one day he will return the gesture to all of those who have fallen in love with him at first sight.  Who could not with this face?

So, Happy Valentine's Day, Reader.  I hope your day is full of love.  To my son, Noah, my little nutbrown hare, you are loved beyond measure.

Grown-Up Stuff

I thought I knew what fear was.  It turns out, I didn't even have the slightest of clues.  Losing this little boy, my new favorite person is fear.  I know that it's not just my heart that would be crushed but many others as well.  My son is lucky in love already simply because there are so many people that love him.  As my aunt once said, he will never, ever be poor in love.

What brings all this crazy talk up?  Well, I have to update my life insurance policy as well as create an official will.  You know, grown-up stuff.

Feeding a Baby

Around the 4-month mark is when you can start introducing solid food to a baby.  It's as nerve-racking as it sounds.  What do you feed a baby?  I can split these fries with him?  No, not exactly.

We started off with the traditional rice cereal.  We kept that recipe going until I thought perhaps he was getting too tired of the same old things; formula and rice cereal.

My mom, who watches Noah while I'm at work, started feeding him foods she made.  She made our food growing up so I wasn't too shocked to see her making his foods.  It started off with potatoes, squash and carrots and gradually moved to adding bananas (his favorite), blueberries, strawberries and apples.

I didn't initially start off parenthood with the intent of making my son's meals.  (Well, aside from breastfeeding.)  In all honesty, it was something I hadn't thought too much about.  However, watching my mom make his meals and realizing that Noah had yet to eat some of the jars of Gerber food found in our pantry, that someone had gifted to us, made me stop and think long and hard about it.  What did I want to feed my son?  What would be in his best interests?  How about my own?  A happy, healthy baby is the ultimate goal of any parent so what can I do to achieve that?  My mom, a woman ahead of her time, made most of our meals.  What she didn't make was pizza only because she didn't know how.  She's a Mexican first.  My father's side is Italian and even still, we don't know enough to make our own pizza.  Also, I can honestly say that I have yet to eat a Happy Meal from McDonald's.  My mom never went out and got them for us instead telling us, "Oh, you want a Happy Meal? I'll make it for you."  And suddenly, here I am, making my son's food and I am still alive.  Why didn't I put more thought into this before I decided to have a baby?  Why did I think it was going to be hard?  Why would it have mattered if it was going to be hard?  It's my son's health and well-being.  What the what?

I spent this weekend making my son chicken, squash, pears, plums, peaches and apples.  All of them pureed of course and, according to the BNC, all of them yummy.  I surprised myself very much this weekend not only with the fact that I was able to carve out time to do this, as well as pre-make some dinners for the week four ourselves, but also about how calm I was about it.  I didn't know I had it in me to be a mother who makes her son's meals.  I am that person now and while I was a little ashamed that I didn't put too much thought into this before and after my life as a parent, I'm glad that I snapped to it and did something about it.  My son, who just turned 6 months old, is happy and healthy and just got all good marks from his pediatrician.  And, at the risk of jinxing it, he has yet to get sick.  Keeping him clean must help but there has to be some truth about your immunities being found in breastmilk.  Turns out, there was a payoff to all those times I got sick as a child; they went to my son instead.  Yay!

Look at this face.  How could it not have been worth it?

How Do You Raise a Boy?

How do you raise a boy?

I've struggled with this question since we found out we were having one so many months ago.  How do you raise one?  One that is respectful, kind, generous and loving?  Hmmm...I guess that is how you raise a girl as well.  No difference except for when puberty hits and you have to help them navigate the scary, confusing overload of emotions.

One of my ideas all along was to not push Noah into loving what I love.  I've seen so many parents push their children to love what they love and I refuse to do that to my son.  I would be ecstatic if  my son loves Spider-man as much as I do but, if he doesn't, I'll survive.  I just want to see that smile of his doing exactly what he wants to do.  Also, I didn't want to push him into being a man like John Wayne.  It's hard to be a man just as it's hard to be a woman.  It gets harder when you become a father and/or mother.  The pressure is tremendous.  I want him to be strong and thoughtful and kind and generous and respectful.

This what I want from Noah, and I hope to get to get it.

To Noah, my son...

Love Yourself

I want you to be happy with the person you choose to become and love yourself for it.

Be an optimist 

You will be happier when you look at life as in a positive light rather than a negative one.

Be a survivor and not a victim

God forbid you suffer something horrifying, don't wear it as something  to use to solicit pity or as a crutch or a hindrance preventing your life from moving forward.  The saying is true;  Shit really does happen.  It happens to a lot of people each and every day.  Some overcome them and others don't.  Try your hardest to not let it defeat you.  Don't let it define you.

Ask and/or seek help

Don't be afraid to ask for it as well as looking for help.  This goes with the aforementioned bullet point.  There is no shame in seeking professional help.  I sought professional help and I'm not ashamed to admit that.  I'm glad I did because I feel so much better about myself.

Become a Drummer

March to the beat of your own drum.  It's hard to actually do in this day and age when, sometimes, all you want to do is belong.  It's human nature to want to fit in and while it's normal, I hope you stays true to yourself and do what makes you happy.

Gender Roles

The gender roles have changed.  No longer are women "required" to stay home, raise the kids, make the yums and cater to men.  The same can be said about men.  They are not "required" to change the flat, smell like Old Spice and eat nothing but meat.  Don't ever think it is beneath you to do a load of laundry, make a meal or change a diaper.  In fact, it makes you a pretty remarkable person if you can do things and not be concerned about it being a "woman's job" or a "man's job".

XOXOXO,
Mom

It's quite the conundrum.  How do you raise a son in this world?  It's hard work being a parent when he's 5 months old so imagine trying to parent a boy who is 15?  But, I guess, in the end, we will cross that bridge when we get there.

I really hope and pray he is happy.  In the end, this is what I want.  I want my son to be happy.  If he is happy, then I will take it as a success story.