Being Human

I am a creature of habit.  I love routine.  I can eat the same foods every day for weeks on end without getting tired of them.  I have no doubt that one of the comforts of a schedule is my ability to feel in control.  So, it comes as no surprise that, as Lil' Bit gets older and begins to establish something of a routine, I began to feel more comfortable as a mom.  Phil and I have also done fairly well at making sure we each get some time to ourselves for relaxation or catching up on sleep.

However, I have discovered one giant snag in all of our well-laid plans.  Phil's job.  See, back when it was just the two of us, although it was inconvenient for him to be called away for church stuff or a fire page, it was no big deal.  I had things I go do, people I could visit, naps I could take, etc.  It may have crimped our plans on an occasion, or four, but I knew what I was getting into when I married him (with the exception of the fire chaplaincy thing), so I managed to take it all in stride.  Now that Lil' Bit is here, I find myself reacting much worse.  See, today was supposed to be my day to sleep in.  Phil has a busy weekend full of church things, but we had carved out a few hours for me to get some stuff done.  All that ended with the 3:00 a.m. phone call.  Phil was needed.  Did I understand?  Yes.  Not just because it is Phil's job, but because our parishioners are more than that, they are our friends, and I want to be able to help when my friends hurt.  I love that Phil has the ability to be with people and comfort them.  It is a gift, and one that is worth sharing.

I am, nevertheless, human.  I'm going to let you in on a secret.  Neither pastors, nor their spouses, are anything close to perfect.  They have the same problems and feelings you do.  Thus, I get angry and resent that my alone time is gone.  I am frustrated that I now have to figure out how to juggle our morning routine by myself.  I recognize that this is not the first or last time that this will happen, and it's not as though it's some giant surprise.  Phil's job has always been this way.  It's just that I find myself wishing, on occasion, that my husband worked a job with "regular" hours.  One that didn't involve late meetings multiple days of the week, or being on-call, or always working on weekends, thereby preventing quick weekend getaways.  There are many, many days when I feel like a single parent.  Coming home after a day at work, picking up Lil' Bit, feeding her, trying to cram down food for myself at the same time, giving her a bath, a little playtime, and getting her to bed, all (hopefully) in time to pump and head to bed myself.  It is in these glimpses of single-parenthood that I am grateful that I have a spouse who can and does help me.  I just find myself wishing he could help me more.  But, things are what they are.  We get by.  We make do.  We adapt.  And through it all, I learn that I am a stronger, more capable person that I previously thought.  And the truth is, on many other occasions, I wouldn't change Phil's job for anything.  I love the community and the support it provides.  It is a blessing in so many ways.

But I am human.  And no matter how rational I can be about all of this, I will, in all likelihood, still get angry or feel resentful at times.  The trick, I think, is to own it for what it is-grief over my lack of control-honor it, and get on with living life the way it actually is.  After all, I expect Lil' Bit to roll with the curves I toss into her schedule.  Why should I be unwilling to do the same?

Fighting My Nature

As some of you know, I'm a fairly competitive person.  My parents tell me that when I was born, I saw that there were two ahead of me and I needed to catch up, so I was forever doing things well before I was "supposed to."  If people told me I couldn't do something, I would do it just to prove them wrong.  But, only if it was something I wanted to do.  If it held no interest for me, I could not be tricked into doing it by being told I couldn't.  When we moved from Texas to Indianapolis, I was told that I could not be placed in their gifted and talented program, even though I had been in all my schools before, because they didn't know if they were the same.  So, I made it my mission to see how many of the people who were in the program I could graduate ahead of by the time I was out of high school.  (It turned out to be most of them).  When I was in law school, I don't remember what ticked me off, but I made it my mission to graduate ahead of this one girl--I called her my nemesis.  I graduated third--4 people ahead of her.  The funniest example of my competitive nature is when my family came down to Texas for Phil's ordination.  My sister and I managed to create competitive yoga by trying to out yoga the other person, but in a subtle way.  Oh, she can stretch that far?  Well, I'll stretch just a little farther.  Needless to say, we were both sore the next day.

All of this is simply background to help you understand my most recent challenge in raising Lil' Bit.  I had heard about parents being competitive--My Johnny can already roll over.  Oh yea?  My Sally is almost walking.  Well, Johnny has 3 teeth.  Well, Sally has 4.  Etc. etc. etc.  I thought this was all rather silly.  Everyone know that kids develop at their own time, on their own schedule.  As long as they are developing appropriately, what's the use in being competitive about it?  I was sure I was not going to be one of those moms.  Little did I know that my inner competitor was going to try and sabotage me.

See, apparently Lil' Bit was born during the "busy season" last year.  I have three friends, all of them also first-time moms, who all gave birth around the same time I did, with kids Pippa (10 days older), Toby (2 days older), and Jack (12 days younger) [These are all fake names because I don't think it's fair to share their names when I haven't shared Lil' Bit's].  Color me surprised when I discovered that, as their 2-month check-ups rolled around, I was all worked up that they all weighed more than Lil' Bit, but was pleased that Lil' Bit was taller.  Seriously?  Taller?  Yes, I was excited about taller.  Then Pippa got 2 teeth.  And Toby got 3.  Alas, Lil' Bit remained toothless.  Then Pippa could roll over.  Then Toby could rollover.  Lil' Bit showed little interest in rolling over.  The other day, I saw that Jack could sit up.  Lil' Bit is still working on that, but still falls over a lot.  I find myself having to continually remind myself that it is not a race.  Lil' Bit is progressing nicely.  She now has 2 teeth coming in and can roll over both directions.  She's JUST FINE.  Still, I find myself having to tell myself in my head all the time--it's not a race.  It's not a competition.  She's doing JUST FINE.  On the plus side, however, except for my admissions here on the blog, I have managed not to play the competition game out loud.  I have managed to keep my thoughts, concerns, or "wins" to myself.  And hopefully, I can kick myself of this habit before they all start talking.  Oh, who am I kidding.  I'll be lucky to have kicked it by the time she's done with grad school.  :)  Still, it's just another reminder that I got exactly what I asked for--a growth and learning experience.

Parental Hypocrisy

My calendar notification reminded me that I'm going to the dentist this week.  This reminded me that I had not been brushing as often as I should, and so I have been trying to make up for 6 months or so of poor habits in a few weeks in an effort to keep the dentist from knowing I have been bad.  I'm sure everyone does it, and that it never fools them, but it doesn't change the behavior.

Since Lil' Bit has started drooling copious amounts and getting a little fussy, the question of whether she has begun teething has come up.  This got me to thinking about the need to teach her good brushing habits.  Indeed, as parents, we want our children to develop the best habits they can and we endeavor to teach those habits to them.  Whether it's not lying, eating vegetables, good personal hygiene, exercising, not watching too much television, reading, doing homework, doing chores/cleaning house, getting along with others, or myriad other things, we yearn for our children to "do the right thing."  Yet, it's difficult to teach them these lessons when we don't do these things ourselves.

With children, the requirement to "Do as I say, not as I do" rarely seems to work.  They are, by their very nature, imitators.  They do what they see.  They also recognize hypocrisy--even if they don't know that's what it's called.  As the child in my family who as obsessed with fairness, and would shout "n't fair" at the slightest hint of injustice, I have no doubt that Lil' Bit will recognize when I am asking her to do something I am not requiring of myself.  So, since I know I am not currently modeling good behaviors, I figure now is the time to try and get into a routine and do better with them before I have my parental hypocrisy pointed out to me.  And, since I clearly haven't been willing to make these changes for myself up to this point, perhaps I can do it for Lil' Bit.

Regarding Orchids

My dad has an amazing gift with plants and my mom is pretty great with them, too.  My house growing up was filled with all types of flora.  Sadly, I did not inherit this gift.  I used to hate when they would leave me alone for a few days and I had to water them all.  It was a complicated schedule with different things needing to be watered at different times, and some got plant food and some didn't.  I never killed anything, but I probably got close.  Needless to say, I never acquired many plants of my own.  But that didn't mean people didn't give them to me.  The few plants I did receive often died early on, as I forgot to water them.  Those that lasted more than a month were those that could survive a desert climate--days or weeks without watering, followed by tons of overwatering based on guilt for previously forgetting and concern about when the forgetting would happen again.

And so it was with trepidation that I accepted my friend Maria's birthday present four years ago-a phalaenopsis orchid.  I had admired her collection of them and so she gave me one of my own.  It was beautiful, but I was certain I would kill it.  After all, as I understood it, orchids are difficult plants to grow.  Maria assured me that I could do it and, surprisingly, I managed to get it to bloom a second time before the year was over.  That seemed to be the end of my success.  Even though it grew new leaves and appeared healthy, it didn't bloom again.  I was disappointed at the lack of flowers, but hey, at least it was still green and growing.  That was something.  So, I let myself be content with the knowledge I hadn't killed it.  Then, something odd happened.  It sprouted a keiki--another orchid plant.  Apparently, I couldn't make it happy enough to flower, but I could make it happy enough to reproduce.  In fact, over the years, it has sprouted 3 new orchids.

As excited as I was that I had managed to do better than simply not kill the plant, I was not a fan of this whole reproduction thing.  I was now the proud owner of four non-flowering plants that I had to manage not to kill--it had been hard work simply not killing one.  I actually started to get irritated with the plant when I would see it was making another keiki.  I gave one away to my dad, but I still had three.  In an effort to try and force the plant to flower, I didn't remove the last keiki from the original orchid's growing stem.  My reasoning was that at least it couldn't make another one while one was still attached.

Well, color me startled when something odd starting growing out of the keiki.  Not another plant!, I shouted internally.  No, actually, it was a growing stem.  My first!  Not only that, it started to make buds!  And this week, of all the crazy things, the keiki bloomed!  So far only one of the two blooms has opened, but that by itself is crazy good.  I think I can now retire my title as plant-killer.  Yay!

So, what does all of this have to do with children--i.e., why is this story in my blog?  I realized that I can care and nurture living things that are known to be difficult.  And, although I don't necessarily do things the way anyone else would, it doesn't mean I'm not doing a good job or that I won't be successful.  Finally, it's a reminder to take pleasure in small, unexpected things.  So, whether it's orchids, or babies, or something else entirely, I am working on remembering that I can learn new things, accomplish new achievements, and enjoy small victories.  And, hopefully, it's a lesson I can pass on to Lil' Bit.

Relationship Math or How 1+1+1=7

Yesterday was a particularly good day.  What made the day so wonderful, is that all 7 of our family relationships were fed.  But aren't there only 3 members to my family?  Yes.  Then, how do I get seven relationships with 3 people?  It starts with the idea that 1+1=3.  In any relationship between two people, there are actually three entities that must be fed and sustained--each of the two individuals and the unified relationship itself.  Depending on the type of relationship between the two people, it may need lots of time and energy, or very little, but it will always require some of both.  This fuzzy math is best visualized by the unity candle.  Often, the families of the couple light to two smaller candles as a recognition of the families helping create the individual.  Then, the two individuals light a third candle, representing their new partnership.  Note, however, that the two individual candles remain lit.  This is because each individual must remain and sustain him or herself, in addition, to feeding the partnership relationship.

What's interesting about relationship math is that it is exponential in its growth, so that the addition of a child to a family creates 7 relationships to be sustained.  You still have the 3 relationships from before, but now you add 4 more-your child's individual identity, each parent's relationship with the child, and the family unit.  Each additional child adds even more relationships as each child must now develop a relationship with each sibling and the children themselves form a unit separate from the parents.  That's what makes time management so important.  We must carve out time for ourselves as individuals, time for the parents as a couple, and time for the family as a whole, all while giving each child enough parent time to strengthen those relationships as well as build the child's ability to support him or herself as they grow older.

This is no small task.  As parents, we tend to do a good job with our individual relationships with the child as well as the family unit relationship.  We also work hard on helping our children cultivate their own identity, although success in this area is often mixed.  Most of us struggle to find time to rejuvenate ourselves, although we may catch small moments with haircuts, massages, reading a book, or just having a quiet cup of tea before the rest of the house wakes up.  The relationship that often gets forgotten is the parents' relationship.  We tell ourselves that, as adults, we know that the child needs more of our time and that our partner will understand.  And this is true, to a degree.  However, at some point, you must put energy back into that relationship or it will die.

It also does no good to put energy into that relationship, or any of the others, and forget self-care.  The failure to nurture one's self can lead to an over investment in the child or partner.  Thus, the parent who puts all of their energy into the child can lose not only their partner, but him or herself.  This is because over investment in a child often results in the creation of a fused identity with that child, making it difficult for the child to find and create a unique identity because the parent is too invested in each and every decision the child makes--indeed, the parent's own identity depends upon it.  Thus, the failure to create the time for self-care results in a weakening of the relationships with the other members of your family.  By depriving yourself, you deprive your spouse and child(ren), as well.  A prolonged failure in this regard can result in a complete breakdown of the relationship. 

Don't get me wrong.  As a parent of a 2 1/2 month old, I am well acquainted with self-sacrifice and the role it plays in parenting.  I don't have even remotely as much time for self-care as I used to and remembering I am wife as well as mommy can be pretty difficult.  Nevertheless, there are ways to make sure we get the time we need, for ourselves and our partners, so that all of the family relationships remain strong and nurtured.  For example, when one parent needs time for self-care, the other parent can spend that time building their relationship with the child--two relationships are strengthened at the same time.  Taking a family vacation to a place one or both of partners love or always wanted to go can fill up the individual as well as promoting the family unit.  Utilizing friends and family to watch the children in order to take a date night, or just a quiet evening at home can help the partnership relationship as well as provide opportunities for the child to learn more about herself by being away from the parents.

Truth be told, one of the things I love about letting Lil' Bit hang out with other people (friends, relatives, etc.) is that I learn a lot more things I can do as a parent to comfort or entertain her.  Whether it's ways to make her burp, how to sooth her when she cries, or remembering that as she gets older, things she wasn't interested in before may have become fun, new and exciting playthings, I have learned so much from watching other parents care for Lil' Bit because they do things differently.  These experiences also make me more appreciative of my time with her.  When I've had her all day with no breaks, the minute Phil walks in the door, I am ready to hand her over.  But, if I've left to run errands or, say, shovel 15 inches of snow off the sidewalk, when I get back inside the house, I am ready to hold and snuggle my daughter and have a lot more love and energy to offer her.  My self-care rejuvenates me.  That little bit of energy given to my self, recharges me and grows exponentially, giving me an abundance of love and energy that I can give to Lil' Bit.

So, getting back to yesterday, here's why it was such a great day.  Morning playtime was family unit time (1).  Phil got some self-care time while I cared for Lil' Bit, which also provided me with mommy time (2 & 3).  I got self-care time when Gramma Pam and then Phil watched Lil' Bit so I could go to the salon, and Phil got daddy time (4 & 5).  Lil' Bit's godparents took her overnight, so Phil and I got to have partnership time by having a date night (6).  And finally, Lil' Bit got individual identity time by getting cared for by seven different adults, each of whom interacted with and supported her differently (7).  And so it was, that we managed to feed and nourish all 7 of our family relationships.  Not too shabby for a Thursday.

The Power of Permission

I'm the kind of person who doesn't like being told what to do. I like to do things my way, in my own time.  I also like to beat people's expectations.  If someone said I couldn't do something, I would do it, just to prove them wrong.  Unless, of course, I got the feeling that they were challenging me just to get me to do the opposite.  At the same time, I hate giving up. I don't like thinking that something beat me.

Taking all of these traits together, it isn't difficult to imagine the internal connundrum I experienced when breastfeeding wasn't working.  What was worse was that, shortly after my milk came in, the supply was suddenly much reduced.  I panicked.  Both my first and second choice for feeding my daughter seemed to be denied to me.  I was angry.  I wanted to stubborn my way through, but there wasn't much I could do if my body wouldn't cooperate.

One night, after a long pumping session resulted in little milk, I was done.  My hormones were raging and I was sobbing.  I didn't want to have to feed my child formula, but I was short on sleep and the pumping wasn't going any better than the breastfeeding.  In my exhaustion, I went to Phil and asked if we could talk about our options.  I explained that I didn't want to do formula, but the pumping made feedings take twice as long and wasn't producing much for all the effort.  Phil looked at me and gave me the best answer.  He said it was up to me. He would support me if I wanted to keep trying, or he would support switching to formula.  He gave me permission to quit.

Once I had received permission to quit, I wanted to try harder to make it work.  And, as previously noted, pumping ended up working quite well.  But, what I discovered is that granting permission can be an amazing thing.  It makes it easier to do what you know you should, but don't want to.  It's like when I would diet.  If I thought I couldn't have something, it was all I wanted--even if it was something I wouldn't want regularly.  Being allowed to do something made it easier not to do it.  Much like the child who only wants the toy that is being played with by someone else, it is that which we are told we can't have or can't do that motivates us.  Receiving permission can allow us to sit back and evaluate if that is something we really want, or if we were just pushing against being told "no."

I hope to remember this as I raise my daughter, particularly since she already appears to have inherited my stubborn and doesn't like being forced to do anything.  Perhaps a little permission can go a long way.  It certainly works for me.

From Trap to Sieve

I have always prided myself in having a good memory.  I could remember obscure details and useless facts better than most people I knew.  This talent served me well in school.  I could remember not just facts, but generally where they had been located on the page I read them, making open book tests much easier.  Such as, that was in a footnote, so I only need to look at the bottom of the pages.

It turned out that this talent was also useful in law school, as I could remember facts from cases really well.  When I had worked as a legal assistant and accompanied by boss to trial, I could pull relevant exhibits before he requested them, because I knew what was in them all and roughly what they had been numbered.

My boss told me that he had once been that way, but it had changed after taking the bar exam.  This was a refrain I heard from multiple practicing attorneys.  I would listen and nod, but internally I believed myself immune.  They just didn't know how really great my recall was.

Well, lo and behold, after the massive brain dump that is the bar exam, I noticed that I started having problems thinking of specific words.  They were words I knew and should have been able to easily recall, but I would grope for them.  I felt like an idiot.  I also found myself mixing up words when I would speak.  I began to call my cats by the wrong name.  It was bizarre, but mostly a nuisance.

Then came pregnancy.  The memory seemed to get worse.  Phil's cousin Marsha described this to me as the "brain/uterine shunt."  All the brain cells go to the baby, never to return.  Sure enough, more things began to slip past me.  Well, I thought to myself, I'm only pregnant 9 months, then I can recover.

As it turns out, this is not the case.  I now suffer from baby brain.  And, of course, this condition is exacerbated by being tired--the perpetual state of being for parents.  Just this morning, the concept of "guest room" was beyond me as I tried to tell Phil where his laundry was currently located.

So, having watched my brain turn to mush, and my memory slip from trap to sieve, I now understand why adults, particularly parents, always seemed to repeat themselves, tell the same story over and over, misstate or use the wrong word, or have trouble recalling simple words.  I will never again make fun of my parents when they call me by one of my siblings' names or look horrified when an attorney misspeaks during oral argument.  Now that I have joined their ranks.