Godparents

Like many lucky little ducks, my kids have godparents.

These aren't necessarily the humans who promote them most on social media or lug around a showcase full of their most adorable pics. They aren't the ones who sporadically see the kids and gush over how much auntie/uncle ADORES them. They're not the ones who buy the most gifts.

Nah.

When I named godparents for mine, it was a serious choice. These are the people I literally and explicitly trust to care for these kids in the event I die before they're old enough to care for themselves. If something happens to me or Dad, these people are ready to assume legal custody.

Have your babies got godparents?

The Truth About Terrible Two...

Terrible two.

We parents get warned about this as soon as our babies are born, show a hint of personality, or you know, breathe.

I don't find two to be terrible--and I shall expound on exactly why.

At age two, kids are usually full of vim and vigor AND piss and vinegar. If you're wrangling a milder kid, you get more of the former. If not, take heart because it's all just growth and discovery!

Note: I'm not an expert on child development--no degree in that field. I was a kid, and I've raised a few, so I've had time to observe from the trenches. Which I find to be more valuable than observing from the lab.

Our resident "sonshine" is a popular subject for me lately because he's developing at the speed of light! He's talking, doing colors, counting... just EVERYTHING! While I know it didn't happen overnight, and the learning is not a fluke or automatic, I still find it absolutely fascinating that he's grown so much in just 2 years.

As an adult, the only things I've gained in two years are a few pounds of happy weight, a new sprig of grey hair, and some travel experience. That's nothing to shake your fist at, but it's also not like I'm building the foundation of my entire life here. I'm growing but it isn't the same as, say, speaking in clear sentences for the first time or identifying my name, colors, and numbers a few years ahead of the curve. Doesn't even compare!

BUT knowing how much energy and effort it takes to grow and learn even a single thing, it's hard to not be amazed by the sheer amount of things that happen when you're two. You've grown from a cuddly blob to an actual person--where babies have maybe three moods, a toddler juggles the entire emotional spectrum. (Imagine that for a second...you go from feeling either happy or not happy, to feeling ALL the emotions, usually over the course of a few hours?!)

It can be exhausting to navigate my moods over the course of a day and I am 34 years old. I'm not throwing fits or having complete "CRYses" every hour either--the sheer amount of code switching, cue reading, and maturity needed for navigating age and situationally-appropriate responses is daunting, even (or especially?) for an adult! I, with 34 years experience, cannot always control how I react to what I'm feeling. Is it remotely fair to expect a toddler to?

I'm not saying toddlers aren't wholly asshole-ous sometimes. I'd be wholly lying. What I am saying is, if adults are allowed to have and express feelings within their scope of ability, why can't kids?

Speaking of ability--are you not blown away by the physical developments toddlers experience in those two short years of life?! To go from not being able to see clearly or hold their own heads up to literally jumping and running and climbing?! Come on. Like, almost every parent gets the inaugural busted lip and I'm convinced you're not human if your newborns have never head-bonked your face at some point in those first few weeks.

With all that new ability, certainly comes the need to flex it. To a stuffy old adult it looks like the kid is just hyper, but to that kid every jump, skip, and sprint is another milestone, a tangible burst of "Look what I can do now, y'all! I'm big and strong!"

If running and jumping isn't your cup of tea, compare the toddler energy to beating that hard level in your latest video game, closing the deal for that major account at work, or finding out you really can save x-percent on your car insurance. You achieved something or gained a new level, and you want to flex that new chop whenever you can. It's not showing off, it's human nature. Kids are tiny humans, so it should click that they too have that same need.

If the things they do and say don't amaze you, the things your toddler understands will.

Note: And THIS is why I'm fiercely protective of my toddler, possibly more so than a baby even. He can understand a million things, but can maybe only express in his words, about a thousand or so.

Toddlers aren't clueless by a long shot. They can pick up our cues and nuances far more sharply at this age than maybe any other time in life. They're somewhere between an infant's ability to take on the atmosphere they're raised in and a big kid's ability to speak on that atmosphere.

Imagine how frustrating it would be to find yourself in another country, unable to communicate exactly what you need (you don't speak the language quite well enough, but have a decent grasp) and unable to find someone willing to take a moment to listen. You become increasingly upset because you're giving it all you've got, and the person--who can help, by the way, if they take a second to LISTEN versus just hear--simply shushes you or tells you to hush or go away. You've been shut out. You're not being allowed to the simple decency of understanding.

Depending on the need, it might be a minor slight. After all, getting the red sippy cup when you really want the blue one, isn't exactly fatal.

BUT think about what it does to a person when they go unheard for too long, or are constantly thwarted.

Toddlers don't have the reasoning just yet to understand why we adults don't like hearing the same thing 20 times in as many minutes. Toddlers thrive on repetition, and it's soothing to them, so they assume we are the same.

THEY CAN ONLY RELATE LIKE TODDDLERS...NOT MINIATURE ADULTS. No matter how we dress them up like tiny replicas of ourselves or how on point their wit can be, they are still only toddlers. Large infants. Humans who have lived only two or three years.

It's damning to expect too much perfection or maturity from them.

Example? I have a pretty good one this time, an actual "thing" in our family!

My son is pretty big on showing feelings. He feels everything in a big way, and that goes for good and bad. And as his parents we have to help him navigate those big feelings and teach him social cues.

...it comes down to patience. Adults are usually more inclined to be patient with our peers. We can empathize better with them, as their frustrations and aggravation are our own too. We see them and we recognize them. They're only human.

...what, then, is a kid?

My point exactly.

You will never catch me labeling my kid, or any kid, as terrible. Not when they have literally only been alive long enough to START processing everything life throws at them.

You will catch me defending the living heck out of those little monsters, though.

I see you, small fries. I'm on your side, even if I have to be the one thwarting your attempt to fly from the couch to the coffee table. Don't be too mad at me. I just want to make sure your awesome self gets to see the next stage of the game, so I can defend your right to be there too!

If Toddlers Ain't Your Cup of Tea...

Everyone loves babies.

They're sweet, portable, and generally stay exactly where you put them. They're either happy or not, and it takes little more than a feeding, snuggle sesh, or fresh diaper to set them right when they're aggy.

Them toddlers?

Bro.

Toddlers eat, sleep, and breathe chaos. They haven't figured out the world, so they wreck shop until things make sense. (Usually around age 19 or 20?! I don't know, my oldest is only 12 and she's still an adorable little pain in my butt!)

I've yet to meet a person who doesn't like to spend lots of time with babies.

Toddlers don't always stir that kind of admiration.

(Well, I actually dig them--they're hilarious.)

As cute kids go, mine are top notch. Especially my toddler. (Can I say that here? Sure I can.) He's talking now and learning just everything, and he still has the most adorable mixups sometimes. The mispronunciations alone often curry him a fair amount of favor when his antics have been less than adorable. He's a great little kid.

He's also full of questions and energy. The energy doesn't end and the questions play on a 24-hour loop, save the few hours he sleeps or eats. He's a sleep talker as well, so yeah...not a lot of down time.

Dad Namastè is pretty unflappable as long as the kids aren't wasting money or food. If they aren't tossing the family coin out like the prodigal spawn, he's unbothered as heck and doesn't bat an eye. I on the other paw, am not quite so chill but still manage to be pretty damn lax about 90% of their stuff. I'm the disciplinarian and keeper of law, so I can't be totally noodly. They'd take over!

I digress.

One main reason I don't like to leave them with anyone, is people are crappy. My toddler is a handful in that delightfully grey-hair-inducing way that toddlers often are. He's sweet as candy and smart as a whip--but he's still a toddler, which means he's automatically a little bit of an asshole too.

I would hate to have to hurt anyone because they mistreated my kid, y'all, and it would break my heart to know he was somewhere being nagged and harped on just for being a kid! He will ask questions. He will ask them again. He will have his moments and then he'll be fine. None of that makes him bad or unmanageable--it just makes him TWO. Not terrible, not problematic. He's a little person with big feelings and ideas, and he's navigating this world on the best terms he's got.

Note: I'm in favor of discipline, but I also know my son has only been alive for two years. He has NOT had time to master etiquette, nuclear physics, and the finer points of chess. HE IS FLIPPING TWO. I don't let him run amok, but I also know he's got to be allowed some space to be a toddler. You know, wreck shop within safe confines and parameters.

I generally steer clear of any sitters, but especially for him. Because he's at the age where running, jumping, and being loud are the order of the day, I don't like to leave him or have him around anyone who doesn't have patience for this stage, because he's gotta grow through it and I refuse to have him dampened or God forbid hurt because an adult couldn't find their patience.

As such, he's never had an official babysitter. Or even an unofficial one. I'm not prepared for jail time, y'all. The news plus humans in general have me all-too-happy that I don't actually need anyone to watch over him. His sisters either, because one is entering the preteen territory and one will soon be an annoying toddler.

Mom'fessions: Things I'm Tired of That I Smile Thru Anyway

It seems like moms, SAHM/WAHMs in particular, always get the shaft, man.

Now...before I dig in, understand the following:

1. My thoughts might not mirror yours.
2. My experiences might not mirror yours.
3. It takes a dry kind of humor to get me, and it's fine if you don't have it--but there's no need to announce it because just as my humor is dry, my give a flip is busted. *shrugs*

That being cleared...

I don't scoff at the privilege of being a WAHM mom. It's allowed me tge opportunity to be with my kids while still contributing to the household as well as having a corner of the day for just me.

Never underestimate that--you need it like a fish needs gills. That time to yourself is crucial because no matter how much you adore your kids or how "goals" you and your hubby are, it will all drive you batspit insane if you can't have a momentary breather. Don't argue--even June Cleaver and Clair Huxtable had their escapes.

What I do scoff at is the need, or perceived need, to be constantly on. The kids need me. Hubby needs me. The grass needs me. I'm a walking rolodex of appointments, phone numbers, and account stats. I'm the sole finder of things and organizer of lives. I handle, fix, and care for/about EVERYTHING.

I generally dig it.

But because I'm a sparky little human, I still have my moments where I want (read: need) to not be any of those things. Moments where my kids' latest masterpiece isn't even one radar. Moments where if I hear one more "Mom, look!" I'll lose my shkit and refuse to look for it!

In no particular order, here are the the things I'm most aggravated by, that I smile through anyway. *chuckle*

(NO, I don't martyr myself--I just know all of this is fleeting and time waits for no one. In a few years I'll miss having a baby on my lap or a toddler whose world rests on my approval and engagement.)

Anyhoo...

The 500th artistic masterpiece. The previous 499 look exactly the same, dear one. But I love them because I love you.

The 928th attempt at a joke. That fire truck joke is still not funny to me...but I will still listen because you're still my little star.

The fifty-leventh "Look, mom." No, I didn't miss it. How could I? You've only shoved it in my face, obscuring my view of anything else.

The "I can't find its." No, I don't now where your *insert missing item* is. But I do know that standing there in the middle of the room with a contemplative look on your sweet face, won't find it.

Being the sole provider of *insert pressing need* Dad is home too, kiddos, and he's perfectly capable and willing to make your snack/give you juice/play a game or 50. He enjoys it! You should really give him a shot...

...

As families go, mine is pretty cool. My kids aren't nearly as daredevil-y as I was, and they're actually a lot calmer than I ever was also. I enjoy my days with them...

...I just know the value of a little time here or there with myself. That's why I stopped pushing myself to be always on.

Now I'm just as off as everyone else. Makes for some hilarious conversations, memories, and pics which won't ever see the light of day.

My OB Harassed Me About My Weight...

...ugh.

First off, I'll start by saying I've always been a healthy human. I'm 5'4, and I generally stay at between 128 and 138 pounds. Not intentionally, but my activity levels and my food preferences (I like moderation--I eat a bit of everything) keep me at a steady Kiel.

I was outside my normal network last year, thus came the need for a new OB.

So...I packed up my inhibitions and made the drive to the office. I was nervous but eh, whatever. It's always daunting to meet a new doctor, especially when they'll be very acquainted with your nether regions whether they ever learn your favorite color or not.

The nurse took my vitals and had me sit in the waiting area. All normal. Because I'm a shy person by nature, I didn't pay too much attention to the bad vibe I got during triage/intake. I'm not exactly socially awkward, but I'm also not exactly a social butterfly. In order to not misread a vibe, I usually just observe from a safe distance. This vibe didn't let up though.

What vibe?

Oh, the whispers. The raised eyebrow. The double checking of my weight.

Now, I'm not large, but I'm also not unhealthy. I eat well and my appetite is pretty good most of the time. Because I've breastfed and pumped for the last (almost) 3 years, I actually get away with a couple extra snacks a day. I consider myself a normal-sized person, or at least normal for me. Besides, what's normal?!

The bad vibe continued. Got stronger.

I was given tips on healthy eating. I was encouraged to not skip meals. (I generally don't!)

I was give a gentle lead into the discussion about eating disorders.

The only time I've ever not eaten for any notable time frame, was during a struggle with hyperemesis. I didn't eat because eating led to vomiting, which led to a bleeding esophagus and crushing chest pain. And even then, I still made sure I was nourished--I took intravenous nutrition and fluids, and consumed the few foods I could by mouth even though they were just little sips and nibbles.

To be fair, I met this doctor on the tail end of that hyperemesis bout. I was getting used to food not being painful... and enjoying it. So to have this person taking one small thread of my life and measuring my entirety against it felt really bad.

I hadn't thought about being told off for not measuring right on a scale. I was happy to be eating without pain, happy to be nourishing my baby via all that good breastmilk, and happy to see/smell/taste food without being violently ill. In my excitement to finally be feeling normal again, I hadn't given my BMI a second thought... or first.

What did I do?

Nothing at first, admittedly. I wasn't even entirely sure I should be offended at all. I'm not exactly skinny, and it almost felt hypocritical to compare this to skinny shaming. One, I'm not skinny. Two, I'm not ashamed of my weight ever--not at its highest (so far 150) and not at its norm (around 138). You can't be shamed for something you aren't actively or latently self-conscious about.

But to have this doctor actively plucking at me, trying to draw a confession about an issue I don't have, made me feel shame. Not because of weight, but because I didn't stand up for myself as soon as I felt "this isn't ok!" I shouldn't have "respectfully" listened to them drone on about bulimia or anorexia. I should not have gotten on that scale three times. I should NOT have allowed that doctor to press guilt on me for issues I don't even have.

I felt sad, too. If I was feeling this way in the complete absence of a problem, how would a patient feel who NEEDED treatment for those problems?

It made me mad. Mad enough to go do something about it. Mad enough to make sure that doctor didn't treat anyone else to the same shame he attempted to serve me.

I didn't harm his practice. I simply spoke up and out. My only regret is not doing it sooner-- there were two or three appointments of similar ill manner that I shrugged off. As I've emerged from my struggle with PPD, I've been a little more sensitive than normal. So I didn't want to project my malaise onto a situation that didn't warrant it. I didnt speak because I wanted to be sure there was an issue--and there decidedly was.

I wouldn't have been projecting. I WASN'T being hypersensitive.

When a doctor badgers a patient about a treatment they don't want or need, it's wrong. When a doctor uses his position to force a patient to accept an incorrect diagnosis, it's wrong. When a doctor refuses to respect a patient, it's WRONG. When a doctor consistently pushes a patient to accept unneeded intervention, it's WRONG WRONG WRONG.

This doctor wanted me in therapy. For an eating disorder I don't have.

Now.

Imagine walking in that office NEEDING help for an eating disorder.

Would you feel comfortable? Would the doctor even notice you were suffering?

Because he was so focused on the ten pounds I shed after delivery (never mind I was breastfeeding around the clock and enjoying a pretty active stint after being on bed rest for months), he completely missed the opportunity to be a decent human.

I wouldn't darken his doorway again if he were the last OB/GYN in Georgia. Thankfully I won't have to.

Tweens, Chores, and the EVIL Mom...

Insert sarcasm.

Maybe an eyeroll for good measure.

Wait... now I'm acting like my tween. *sighs*

Between about age ten (when they're just getting their big kid bearings) and age  thirteen (when they're officially teens), we have the tweens.

That's where we are now with our princess.

She's a ball of sunshine, and she's extremely sensitive and also very intelligent. This girl amazes us with her wit. She's also super talented and can draw anything.

... but for some reason her hands and feet get sick when it's time to clean her space.

Y'all I'm NOT a neat freak. My home is clean for sure, but it's obvious there are kids here and I don't nag after them to make the house look like a show model. (Although it did before kids...*sighs*)

We travel a whole lot. We are almost constantly on the move, for days or even weeks at a time depending on hubby's schedule and my willingness to go where he does. So I get it-- when we're NOT in a hotel (where we do nothing but tidy the suite) or in transit, everyone wants to decompress and just chill in their space. Something about being on the road makes being home almost inexplicably nice.

Our princess will be twelve in September.

If she had her way, she'd play Minecraft all morning, Legend of Zelda all evening, and text memes to her bestie the rest of the time. She still likes to participate in family activities... but marginally. With no siblings close to her age--she is literally the only child in the house over the age of 3... and we don't live near any relatives now--I definitely understand her boredom. I'm an adult and there's only so much Mickey Mouse I can stand and I'm only able to do Legos for short stretches before my brain shuts down.

When I was her age... *cute the dramatic segue into the Dark Ages*... I had chores. Nothing too crazy, now. I had to clean my room and my bathroom, help tend the pets, and assist with yard work as needed. We cleaned house on Saturdays, which was also my wash day. (By wash, I mean laundry. Baths were daily; we weren't allowed to skip!)

As such, my girl has similar chores. (She doesn't weed flower beds or cut grass though. Pansy.) She's expected to clean her space, clean herself, and basically just not be one more person I have to chase with a baby wipe and strain remover all day. The only chore she has that isn't directly related to her own personal space is the afternoon dishes. The afternoon dishes usually consist of a plate or two, or whatever utensils used after breakfast.  #soMuchWork #meanParents

You'd think she could remember these few honeydos easily, especially since she prefers an organized space and doesn't care for clutter.

... right.

Just look under her bed. *cringe*

Right now I'm in drill sergeant mode. If it's left on the floor, it's taken away. If it's not kept clean enough, it might just be tossed. She loses electronics and screen time when I have to remind her more than once about her laundry or taking the trash out.

I was not quite prepared for the tween lazies, especially from my once-tidy little ladybug. Seriously, when she was a tiny tot, she took great joy in organizing and staging her room. Now she's allergic to the vacuum and making the bed is against her religion. *sighs heavily*

I'm determined to not be that naggy mom, and I prefer not to micromanage too much, but I'm struggling here. I was NOT ready for this part of the game.

My big issue is, not doing it for her. Like, there's something about the way she sweeps a floor that makes my skin crawl. Also I don't understand why she doesn't turn the water off while washing dishes. (I do step in there-- one because WASTEFUL MUCH and two because HEY, WE ONLY PAY FOR THAT!)

Thankfully she's still a very sweet kid. Minimal attitude. Other than her lackadaisical approach to chores, I'm only ever put off by her disinterest in EVERYTHING that isn't directly related to her. She isn't very moody or mean spirited. She's never actually given us back talk. (Best for her, because I don't play that.)

I still feel like I hit the lottery with this kid. She's a treasure. We just have to work on this laziness because it severely irritates me.

The Middler Chronicles

Namasté!

I just enjoyed the sweetest snuggle sesh. My little guy had a bath last night, and his lavender soap and shampoo had time to sorta marinate overnight. When he woke me up this morning, he was like a warm cuddly lavender lovey.

No...I don't exactly relish 3 aye em wakeups. I prefer to only meet 3 o'clock once a day, thank you kindly.

But one of the worries I have as I learn to really balance this mommy'ing thing is, how do I make sure each kid gets enough of me?!

When my little guy was born, my princess was already nine and a half years old. She wasn't entirely over me, but she didn't need my attention nearly as much as our nieces and nephews (four of whom lived with us for months and still frequently visit) and none of them needed my presence nearly as much as the baby.

Fast forward--the baby is now nearly 3, and not exactly the baby anymore. Hubby and I are on our third, which means our son has shifted to the middle.

Ah, the dreaded (?) middle. Not only is he in the throes of preschool-ness, but he's not the baby anymore. He's a big brother, but he isn't even a big kid.

I actually felt a lot of guilt about that for a while. While Princess had nine years to be the star, my Baby Bear only got about 2. *sighs*

See, despite my complicated family dynamic, my birth order during my upbringing was pretty straightforward. I was the youngest child my grandma had actual legal guardianship over.  As other grandkids came and went, my "spot" never changed. She never legally took on another kid, so I was always secure with that at least.

As my guy has shifted, I've become way more keen to allot enough time for him. I don't want him to fall through the cracks and end up relating to those middle child jokes later in life.

There's something about being the middle kid that just, I don't know, this at me. He isn't the oldest, so he isn't really expected to be responsible for much. But he isn't the baby, so he's not afforded quite as many opportunities to vent his frustrations or turn up the cute.

He wakes at 3 aye em most mornings (to see Daddy before he leaves for work), and it's ended up being a really good time for me to get in some time with him as well. After Dad has made his exodus to the salt mines, Baby Bear and I snuggle up with a few hundred pillows and just relax.

There's never much conversation. He's usually half asleep, and I welcome that because so am I. We get amongst those many pillows and curl up. We sleep with classical music playing (and these really cool night lights that cast a soft, color-changing glow on everything) and just stay there.

Eventually an alarm will sound and the Princess will awaken, or a baby will wail her displeasure at early morning hunger pangs. But my Baby Bear (I don't care he's a toddler, he will always be Baby Bear to me!) and I often get at least an hour or two before any of that.

Sometimes we get a muffin and share it. Sometimes we venture to the living room and observe the cars outside as they come and go. But mostly we hang out in the big bed, listening to the sleepy sounds of our neighborhood waking up. It's magical!

During the day I check in often with my Baby Bear, especially in the thick of our usual routine, which includes schoolwork he is too little for and baby work he is too big for, because the middle isn't always fun. Being caught between a big sister who can do everything you can't and a little sister who can do almost nothing you can must be frustrating.

Being reminded that you're too big, only to them be told you're too little?!

We've kinda abolished those phrases from our kids' days, except where clothing or sports equipment is concerned.

No, Baby Bear isn't more coddled because he's the middler. We just make a conscious effort to make sure he isn't less so!

As such, he's a happy kid. He's able to let me play with the baby or do schoolwork and video games with Princess. He's not as prone to tantrums, likely because he is not ignored or shrugged off. Even if I'm engaged in something he can't help with (chopping vegetables, washing the tub), I allow him to be my right hand, very near to me, so he can have a bird's eye view of what's happening.

It's really easy to overlook an easygoing kid, y'all. For a wee stretch of time, we took our son's easy nature for granted. We don't now. Now, we make sure he is getting our time and undivided attention BEFORE he throws a fit.

Note: He was never forgotten or cast aside--it's just very easy to neglect the extra cuddles and reassurances when a child doesn't outwardly demand them. Our son is very mild tempered and generally operates on a very even Kiel, so we were lulled into a false sense of maturity there. He didn't "need less" of us. He needed us, just was less keen to demand it. So we adjusted and made sure to make "a little extra," the norm--for all three but especially our middler.

Namasté!

-- Tayé K. ♡