Excuse You? Mind Your Face!

As you know, my tumbly toddler tiny tot is a big brother.

He isn't quite three yet, so we haven't taken away his toys and sentenced him to hard labor in the rock yard.

Nah.

Our little guy still gets his juice in his preferred cup. He gets snuggles and bedtime stories. It isn't uncommon to find him curled up with his blankie and his Baboochi, either resting from his usual toddler rush or simply recharging his little spirits by way of his loveys.

If he falls asleep in the car, we carry him into the house just as we always have. (Yes, he'll outgrow it eventually--but he's every bit of two years old and if it pleases the jury, we will take what fleeting time we can; it all passes too swiftly.) The double stroller awaits if his little legs get tired while we are zipping about the mall or he needs a break from walking during one of our city explorations.

He isn't expected to behave like an adult or even an older child.

One, because he's two.

Two...well, he's TWO.

There are actual adults, people eighteen and up, who need more support and concessions than my toddler. They have the right to it!

What irks me is when people see our son indulging (I can't think of the exact word I need here--how is he being spoiled when it's our job to nurture and protect him?!) in our good parenting and feel the need to point out X-Y-Z. 

We are perfectly capable of nurturing his emotional needs without handicapping him. Having a younger sibling does not negate the fact that he himself is still a younger sibling!

The key word is, we do it without handicapping him. He is a sensitive child, but he is not being held back or overly-coddled. His cognitive and developmental leaps attest to that...

He dresses himself--fully! Underwear (because at age 2, he is completely potty trained INCLUDING nights, and he can clean himself up too), shirts, pants, AND shoes. He knows his colors and numbers, and is beginning to recognize some words. He speaks two languages (he's GOOD in Tamil and developing in Hindi) in addition to English. Speaking of speaking--he speaks in full sentences. While he still has what I call the toddler accent, there's usually very little confusion when he's telling us something.

Emotionally, he's fairly even-kieled to only be two. He will actually tell you if he is mad, sad, sleepy, or hungry. He's still prone to the same fits and fury as any other toddler, mind you, but he is not bratty. He still has some separation anxiety, but most kids his age do--the world is big, probably more so when you're coming into the realization that it's not only bigger than you, but also Mom and Dad. He sleeps best with mom and dad (we cosleep and you're welcome to not join us!), and he's got a blankie and a couple plushies for comfort when he sleeps in his own space.

Even though he is well loved and gets all the cuddles he can handle, he's still a wild man. He climbs, ribs and makes all kinds of crazy games with his little squad. He's even beginning to recreate adventures from his books and current favorite show The Lion Guard.

His days are just as full of active play and exploration as they are of reading and cuddling with us. He's attached to us, but we are his safe spot--we aren't a ball and chain, we are his base. When the adventures get scary, he knows we are here to comfort him and build him up, a solid recharge for the next round.

He's petty well-rounded. Turns out, we've done a decent job with him. Didn't snuggle the smart out of him at all!

...that being clarified, YES. YES WE DO. We still coddle him a bit. We still snuggle him. We still hold him. We still consider his comfort. We still make an effort to address things he cannot quite articulate yet, to make him content. We teach him empathy and compassion by modeling it.

We aren't sending a hard ass into the world. He won't bear the toxins of being forced to stifle his needs or feelings simply because he's of a certain age or because he's a boy. We have enough kindness and affection to go around (more than enough times) and we try to give each of our kids exactly what they need, whether it's a little more one on one time with mom or dad, or more time to figure it out on their own. Right now our son flourishes under a more attached approach.

All 3 do, and while it's exhausting at times,  we're up for it.

So yeah. He IS a big brother. He IS almost 3.

He IS our son, and he IS going to get as much affection and attention as he's willing to receive. Being his (and his sisters') mom and dad is our best and most rewarding work, so we don't mind putting in work.

You're welcome to not worry about how much we coddle him. Cordially invited, even!

Doula Me, Baby!

...mommy'ing is done hard work.

Delivery is the toughest of the preliminaries.

I have yet to experience an "easy" delivery. While my babies have always been healthy, they've never been in any hurry to turn themselves the right way (ahem, dear Brother Bear), slow their progress so my body could adjust (Hi, Tiger Lily), or even be born at all (what's up, Princess?).

What made me crazy enough to go through it three times, besides the face that hubby and I make beautiful little people? Why do I know I'm willing to do it again in a couple years?

Doula me, baby...

A doula is a pregnant mom's best friend.

While the medical team is there for the technical aspects of a delivery, the doula is there specifically to comfort and help advocate for the mother. She does not provide actual medical care, only support.

Support is freaking crucial.

Your doula will be the one helping make your birth plan a reality, or as close to it at possible. She will be the one to soothe you. She'll help push you to your goal of a natural delivery, or she'll advocate for swift relief if you want meds. She comes bearing ice chips, warm towels for massage, and a soothing aura.

She's your voice. She's your eyes and ears. She supports you and baby, and her interests lie only in making sure you and baby are as comfortable and happy as possible.

Giving birth is not an easy task, even in the most ideal circumstances.

My Tiger Lily was my easiest delivery, but also my most painful. Because I knew my OB was all about extra interventions and didn't exactly support my desire to go as natural (read: intervention free) as possible, I decided to labor as long as I could at home.

Home became even moreso my happy place after battling hyperemesis as an inpatient--I was beyond elated to have gotten a reprieve from my doctor, because the last week or so of my pregnancy, I saw no doctors, only my midwife and doula. I was able to relax as much as I could in my own bed, with my own linens and pillows. I had birthing ball available. My doula was my support person along with Hubby Namastè, and my midwife was on-call for me, for when we headed in to deliver. (As badly as I wanted a home birth, I would end up going in anyway because I had to address my hip--pregnancy and degenerative joint disorder aren't really good together.)

As apprehensive as I was about the hospital, having my midwife and doula there made it all much easier to handle. My midwife did everything she could to make sure baby and I were safe, and my doula made sure my wishes were acknowledged.

I didn't have an elaborate birth plan though. I just wanted minimal intervention, NO obstetrician interference unless we absolutely needed it (my OB would not have "allowed" me to labor naturally, and it would be purely for convenience on his part because there was never an indication of need for a cesarean), and an uninterrupted golden hour. Because we knew Tiger Lily was healthy, we wanted as little poking and prodding as possible during that first hour--all she needed was to have skin to skin and breastfeed, and anyone would have to fight me tooth and nail to interrupt that time with her.

Postpartum anxiety often manifests itself antepartum, before the baby arrives. In my case, it definitely did. I desperately needed the golden hour, actually the whole period immediately after delivery, to sort of ground myself and bond with my baby. I needed to hold her and stare at her, feed her and snuggle her, so I could really get in sync with her. I was absolutely convinced I would not be able to bond with her because the whole pregnancy was so tough.

My doula made sure we had that time, and it was pretty amazing. It was love at first sight (and confidence eventually showed itself). My baby had a beautiful latch with no coaching! She looked right at me with those big Karunanithy eyes like, "I know you. You will take care of me."

I probably would have missed that if my OB had gotten his way. I would've been sedated and the baby would have spent that crucial time in the nursery with strangers.

The baby was definitely right, by the way. I definitely would take care of her. I was able to, part by instinct, part by desire, and part because my doula gave me little comforts that led to a big boost of confidence.

Even though Tiger Lily is our third baby, every delivery experience has brought its own challenges and circumstances. I didn't have a doula before, so I didn't understand just how important having your person could be. Because she was there specifically to comfort me, my husband was able to focus on the baby. (He was a huge comfort to me as well, but while I focused on our delivery, he could make sure everything else was in order--he could advocate for the baby too, which gave her a team of 3 right off the bat!)

Tiger Lily came into this crazy world almost exactly as we wanted: peacefully, without unnecessary interventions like excessive meds (I didn't have any) or an unwarranted interruption of bonding.

I can definitely say having that bit of extra during delivery helped pave the way for good bonding. Tiger Lily and I had a wild road, but there isn't a sweeter baby girl to be found. She looks at me with those big Karunanithy eyes and I just melt.

Thanks to my doula, I didn't worry during labor and delivery. No more than the typical stuff. Because I knew this person was here specifically for and about me, without any responsibility the other things my Hubby had to take care of, I felt like I had an ally.

Note: Again, I stress that my husband was there every step, from me peeing on the stick to us leaving the hospital together as parents of three instead of two! It's just that he had to be responsible for me, our older kids, the paperwork, and of course the new baby too. My doula literally only had to be concerned with me, my comfort, and making sure I was okay every step of our delivery. The difference is clear: hubby took care of the family, but Doula Wonderful took care of me.

As a woman who lives largely without women (my mother-in-love and sisters-in-love live too far to have been available without some heavy planning), my doula was as necessary as air to breathe or food to eat. I needed that connection. I needed to be mother ed as I became a mother, if that makes sense. Doula Wonderful provided that,  and if I had to do it all again and pay her triple, I wouldn't hesitate.

...

I believe doulas should be standard for women giving birth.

Heal YOURSELF.

This parenting journey--WHEW!

It's really wild. You go from being responsible for yourself only, to being at the helm of an entirely separate person's development.

As moms and dads, we are responsible for how our spawn view the world. Their first impressions depend largely on how we present situations, people, and assorted things. Their interpretations are peppered with remnants of our own. They inherit our fears, anxieties, and prejudices right along with our hair color, nose shapes, and eye color.

This is why is absolutely imperative to make sure we address our own personal traumas, ideally before we bring kids into the mix but definitely as soon as those traumas become an issue.

For me, this had meant healing the divide with my biological family. While it's still quite a work in progress, and I admittedly have way more "WTF" moments than AHA moments or affectionate moments regarding them, I am reaching a point where I'm not silently--or loudly--grieving it.

I was not raised by my biological parents. That was a conscious decision they made, that had very little to do with new and everything to do with them simply not wanting to raise a kid at that point in their lives. They were stable enough. They weren't strung out. They just didn't feel up to the task.

As I got older and realized how different my household was (I had Grandma while other kids had Mom and Dad), I was curious about it. The situation was never sugar-coated or brushed under the rug. While she couldn't really pretend my parents were some unfortunate fairy tale type tragedies, she did level with me: They were not ready to care for you properly, so Grandma did.

She also let me know she would never have chosen anything different. While I'm sure she would have preferred enjoying her retirement or perhaps not having to navigate PTA meetings and extracurricular activities at a time when she should have been doing whatever it is grandmas do, she never made me feel like anything other than a regular, cherished kid.

Turns out, that didn't stop those feelings of abandoned from creeping in sometimes. I in particular hate Mother's Day and Father's Day. I don't really care for any holidays, actually. (I observe and participate for the kids' sake--they don't have the same issue as me so they aren't subjected to the effects of it!)

Perhaps because I'm naturally kinda reserved anyway, and shy, I never exactly acted out. I was never that kid who screamed or cried over it. I didn't cut up in school. I didn't develop any self-harm temdencies. For all practical intents and purposes, I was a normal kid. Possibly more bookish than most, and definitely more introverted, but nothing about me stood out as, "Hey, I'm hurting."

It did and does manifest though. I have been an overachiever since I was born--if I do it, I have to do it beyond my best or I'm not satisfied. I'm very slow to bond with anyone; I make friends easily enough but I always expect that they'll leave. (I'm not entirely unbothered, but because I expect it, I don't get flustered.) I guard my heart fiercely. I go above and beyond as a parent, perhaps as a way to prove that broken things can work just fine.

Know what, though? I proved to myself that I could be the mom I didn't quite have. I made it! It was scary, but I did (and do) it. My babies are my world. Because I've also addressed my issue, I won't pass it on in the form of a generational curse. They won't bear my cross.

I'm very careful about negatives. I don't label anything or make excuses for things that I know are manifestations of Little Tayè not having. Because I got some good old counseling, and eventually began applying the principles and working through the steps said counseling, I've been handling it all a bit better.

It's painful and uncomfortable, but I had to address it head on. I have to, still, as it doesn't go away. The...I don't know, itch? The itch to have that closeness with them still lingers sometimes. I have siblings. Nieces and nephews. I don't know these siblings as adults, because I'm only familiar with them as children. We didn't and still don't spend a ton of time together so it's awkward. We share the water of the womb but not necessarily the blood of the covenant.

I'm, in effect, an only child, because I don't fit in and I don't exactly desire to anymore. I needed to address the chapter and I did. I try not to put more into it than that, because they don't. They don't miss me, nor do they pine for my presence. They lead their lives and I lead mine, two paths that rarely meet. There isn't any ill will, just a disconnect none of us can fix. I imagine we don't really try!

We've reached a comfortable if not ideal spot, and that's enough.

This is why I say, healing must occur. It isn't just for your children, at first. It's for you. You cannot foster healthy relationships, self-image, and coping tactics in your kids if you don't possess these same tools yourself. You can't guide them through their own experiences if you're still lugging around baggage from your own unresolved messes. You'll poison them.

Don't pass along generational curses. Don't force your kids to bear and dwell in the same stuff that stunts you. Get healing--counseling, therapy, a hobby? Address it.

OHIO it. (Only handle it once.)

Dealing with the Elephant OUTSIDE the Room...

Namastè!

Holidays mean family.

Family means no one gets left behind.

While the second statement is true, it doesn't cover those who willingly walk away. Family means no one gets left behind, but it's not a hostage situation. Those who choose an exit, can typically go without much ado.

As you probably know, Dad Namastè is actually not Princess Namastè's biological father. He stepped up to the plate when she was pretty young, and never wavered, so make no mistake: HE IS HER FATHER. Appa. Dad. Pops.

He's the real McCoy and honestly, it's better that way.

While I won't go on a bashing spree here, I will admit that over the years I've sometimes grappled with how to navigate this blended family of ours. I certainly and wholeheartedly encourage the bond between Hubs and Princess, and that bond is incredible. (It's everything I wish I'd had with my own biological parents...another post, another day.) He teaches her. He cares for her. He disciplines her. He supports her. He spoils her. He will be there to walk her out for debutante and also to cheer at her graduation(s)!

...her biological father has (and will likely never) taken the time to do any of those things, at least not consistently. Because we had a difficult journey to this point, we did not master effective coparenting. Due to the absence of an actual relationship, we never set our own lives apart to create a space of "wr" where raising her was concerned. He went about his bachelorhood and I endeavored to raise her. There was no drastic breakup or even break down.

I don't paint him as a bad guy. She's always known who he is. We've never given her any false hope that someday she would have both biological parents under one roof or even in the same city. Perhaps at too early an age, she knew her other parent had a life that she would not be a big part of, and she adjusted.

As such, I have never pushed for visitation or financial support. Before my marriage, I managed on my own. I missed a lot--preschool programs, milestones, et cetera. In the name of providing for her, I reasoned it all out as minor sacrifice. Because her biological father was not around, and I was doing the parenting thing solo, I kept at the grindstone. Overcompensated like hell at times, but what can we do? *shrugs*

Her biological father always had access. He was welcome to visit, provided he respected the structure of our home and didn't sow discord or bad vibes. Up til mid-2015, he was a fairly present part of her world. He didn't visit often, but he did call and text. (I gave her a phone line when she was 4, so it could never be said that I was impeding his contact.)

The first few months after he stopped dealing with her at all, were a nightmare. Hubby and I were preparing to welcome Brother Bear, and a proverbial and very sudden shit storm took us through the wringer. Hubby lost his brother. We became caregivers to four other kids in the wake of that. We lost our home (fire) and had to adjust to a new and very odd normal. Princess was only 9 years old, and it shook her core.

She acted out that year. Sure, she was still a darling girl, and she still had Hubs there supporting and loving her without ever mentioning step--there was literally never any separation, she was and is simply his kid, just like Brother Bear and Tiger Lily. She didn't have that connection to her biological father though  and it bothered her. Understandably so, because I've been through the same. I was raised by wonderful people and enjoyed an incredible closeness to my grandmother, but I always kinda craved the love and I don't know, approval? I wanted my biological parents to see me and be proud, but I never felt like they did and I never felt like they were. As great as my life is, that shadow still looms sometimes--along with the guilt that crops up because it seems ungrateful to wish for a connection to people who did not want to raise me when I had most of my life with ones who did! I know she had to work through that.

Coming to the present moment, when she's thriving under the care of two parents who have made a definite, irreplaceable spot for her at the center of their life, I feel we made the right choices. While we still don't press for support or even involvement, we leave the decision of keeping the door open, to Princess. It is her decision as to if she allows those people in her life. She decides if they get to be part of her world. She decides how she feels about them.

We don't influence it. We only talk about it is she brings it up. While we are honest, we don't bash them or speak ill of them. At no point is she allowed to be disrespectful to them, but she is allowed to decide when she speaks with them (or attempts to) and if she visits them (so far she has not, although we would pay for it) or not. She is 12 now. Not a baby, not a toddler.

There are still no visits, and only sporadic contact. Hubs and I still maintain that separate phone line for Princess so it can never be said that we don't allow a connection between her and that part of her family. (They are her family, even if only by blood.) We don't speak of them at all. What would we say? We don't hate them or harbor any ill will. His refusal to participate in her upbringing has left us free to enjoy every bit of it. We get all the hugs, smiles, and AHA moments as she learns to navigate this life. We get to cheer her on as she wins. We get to comfort her as she learns to take her Ls. We get to watch proudly as she becomes herself instead of just our baby girl. We get to guide her! While none of that is all rainbows and butterflies (spoiler alert: the preteen years can absolutely BLOW), the rewards are still the same: immeasurable joy.

In our case, the blended family just means keeping an olive branch. Not necessarily extending it, but having it at the ready in case things ever reach a point where we can extend said branch without looking stupid or bringing undue pain to our first girl! Our only concern is making sure she is balanced, supported, and loved properly, not just as it is convenient...which is the same thing we do for our other two littles. We are only here for what provides the greatest benefit to them, and perpetuating discord and unrest doesn't factor.

She is definitely kept. Not kept away from them, or denied a meaningful connection, but decidedly away from the typical daddy issues. We won't let her feel like she has to beg for a relationship with them. We won't ever let her think any of his refusal to be her father, is her fault.

We also don't shield the truth. We just make sure she receives it in manageable bits.

That's what parenting is--PREPARING FOR the world but PROTECTING FROM the bullshit.

The Line

Namastè!

I have had some interesting discussions about being a mom blogger since I jumped in the ring. While it's generally pleasant discourse, there are so many incorrect, inaccurate, and flat out wrong impressions of what it is that I do.

Because I like to shed light, I'll crack the surface here.

Note: I can only speak for myself. Please bear in mind that I can only speak from my own experience. There's no "industry" expose here, just me. The WE comes in because I hate too many "I" statements--that's self-absorbed and I'm not that girl.

1. We aren't all fame hungry.

I like recognition sometimes--who doesn't! But I blog for self first, not the Machine. I don't martyr myself for ugly cry points and I refuse to humiliate myself or my family for squints and giggles. I'm too reserved for the typical viral stunts and too much of a dork to suss out how to balance fame with going to Target undetected.

2. We aren't "the next" anyone.

I'm Tayè. First, last, and only. Period.

3. Not every blogger is the tell and show all type.

I personally am not, nor do I see myself becoming, the tell-all type. I'm not ashamed of anything. I'm ridiculously proud of my family. My kids are amazing, beautiful little people!

4. I don't do everything.

Blogging is my little baby. I keep it sheltered, separate from the regular thrive drive. I am not juggling the hats of being a crafter/chef/model/singer/dancer/spokesperson/photographer. I can do all these things, but my main purpose for creating this space is to have an outlet. While it is shared, and I do promote it to my readers, it is not a job. (That'd be exhausting, trying to squeeze all that in, or manage the logistics of each thing while still keeping my blog as an outlet!) Nor do I want it to be.

5. It isn't as easy or as hard as you think.

Only when one delves into the corporately-manufactured side of blogging does it become difficult--when it is your job versus your passion. (This is why I personally cannot operate on the fame/money/sponsored content alone--even the very companies who pay for those posts, get weary of seeing a blog that reads like a long-running commercial.) Only when you find your niche and plug into it, can blogging be truly easy.

When I sit down to the computer and the words don't flow freely, I get my butt up.

6. We aren't a clique.

While some of us are really adamant about only connecting with equally *insert adjective* bloggers,  a lot of us are just moms in yoga pants, hoping to connect to like minds. Naturally people with similar interests tend to bond, but there's no rule.

7. We aren't all trying to tell you how to live your life.

I can't wear the life coach crown, bruh. I can teach you about breastfeeding, make you laugh, and share a funny or sweet anecdote two. I can definitely share my slice of the woman's experience! But I won't even take my hat near the ring of the actual life coach.

That Grass

Namastè!

The grass is greener on the other side.

Or is it?

I'm a married, work at home mom. (WAHM) I homeschool. I don't have a babysitter. I don't have nannies. (Yet.)

Because my husband's got the goofiest to schedule known to man (it is not uncommon for him to work many 16-hour days straight without an off day), I'm often responsible for entertaining the kids as well as myself. I get cabin fever easily, so it's imperative I have at least one or two outings a week.

I get my fresh air fix in the form of Mamastè, my mommy group.

We are basically just a group of moms (and dads too--our dorkiness is available for all to enjoy) who want a little socializing with their playground workouts. While the kids run around and learn to climb the big slide or absorb sunshine in their strollers, we wrangle the attempted escapes and dish on life, "off the clock."

Because we've all got a similar lot, we're used to fielding jabs and questions from "outsiders." (In this sense I mean, people who aren't a part of our group outing.)

The grass for WAHM/SAHM isn't greener. It's just the way the light hits it, I promise.

While we don't necessarily have to leave the house to contribute, our sacrifices are worth noting.

We Out of Towners Want You To Know...

Namastè!

Do you have out of towners in your family?

Sure you do.

The holiday festival season is upon us. Actually it's sitting its spice-scented buns right on our kitchen counters whispering wonderful phrases like "cake," "pie," and "gift cards for Targetttttt."

It also comes with that bevy of invites.

You know the ones.

"Join us for dinner!"
"Y'all should swing by!"
"Bring those babies to see us!"

I cringe.

Not because I don't want to spend time with the ones I love, but because I am an OOT. Out of Towner. As in, I didn't just leave the nest--I left the nest, jumped about six point two trees over that way, and built my own nest. I do travel often enough to other trees, because all work and no play makes Tayè a dull bird, but I also really dig plucking around and tweaking at the nest we bust our tailfeathers to have and keep.

After all my tree hopping and forest ambassador'ing, I usually want to corral the hubby and kids and relax. We've created or own traditions while still managing to participate and inculcate those of our families.

But it's not reciprocated.

As such, this year we won't be the OOTs--because we're staying in our own nest.

The biggest issue with OOT life is that people will travel and go as they see fit, up until it's time to visit the OOTs. We don't get visits. We get guilt trips about how if we can go to New York for a birthday, we can spare a day or two for visiting the family!

We don't deny this.

It's just, because no one in our family is bed bound or unable to travel, we have stopped running delivery. We explained this once.

• "I don't have a car."

Ok, cool. However! When we offer to pick you up or provide transit, you find 50 excuses why you can't come.

• *insert impossible travel stipulations*

You live more than two hours away--you seriously want us to come get you, clock watch all day, and bring you back before dark?! It gets dark at 5 pm!

• "You need to come get me."

Not a problem. However...I need you to not wait until I'm halfway there, as in, I've already crosses the state line and am making pretty good time, to call me and cancel.

• *turn the journey into an errands blitz*

I'm a helpful so and so. I'm absolutely cool with making a run or two before we hit the road back toward my abode. However! We won't be doing a million honey-dos. Let's get the holidays out the way and then I'll make a day for you.

• "Y'all live too far out!"

Okay, fair enough. But that same "too far" applies to you now, too! Do you not realize we don't have a time warp? We feel the same constraints as you when we travel.

...

In my family (it would be the Tayès, *smirk*), it's just excuses. The same people who travel as much, if not more, than I do, suddenly develop the "can't-moves" around this time of year. I'm not sure if it's because they want to be "that house" in my grandma's absence, or if they really truly don't mess with my branch of the family tree like that.

I just know this OOT won't be bending any highways this season for anyone who hasn't made that effort for me.