Why Can’t I Look At My Kids’ Baby Pictures Without Crying?

Look at these photos.  Adorable, right?  How do they make you feel?  Warm and fuzzy maybe?  Wistful?  Well, they kill me.  Send me into a tailspin of tears, and no, I am not PMS-ing.

It all started a few days ago, innocently enough, to show McLean some videos of when he was a baby.  I had been dreading dragging them out of the hard drive and putting them in the new photo system on the laptop we got forever ago because I knew what was going to happen.  Even Derek saw the videos coming out while he was making dinner and quietly uttered an “uh-oh.”  He knew I would be binge-watching videos of both kids being babies; they would be laughing hysterically at themselves and I would be crying hysterically.  At they baby-ness.

I don’t even remember recording them.  Any of them.  I don’t even recognize my own voice.  I had a different Baby Mama Voice.  It was soft and encouraging and amused:  “Hey, big fella!  Whatchoo doin’?  You sure are working those muscles for tummy time.  Look at you go!” over the soft little be-boop-de-boop-de-boop sounds their cute little toys made.  Breastfeeding pillow ever-present like a third pet.

Those videos are nothing like the Naggy Bitch Voice I constantly engage these days whilst shouting to be heard over the Warriors game or Teen Titans Go:  “You forgot to put the toilet seat down!  Close your mouth when you chew!  We’re leaving in TWO MINUTES WHY ARE YOU STILL NOT DRESSED?  Don’t wipe your nose on the couch, ew!  I have enough to do around here without picking up your scrillions of Legos!” etc., etc.

The thing is, back then, I can only recall a feeling of being overwhelmed, not the peaceful serene little snippets I see in the videos.  The first one overwhelmed me with how much sheer heartbreaking love I felt for him that seemed to engulf my very soul.  Took over my being completely.  The long hours.  The lack of sleep.  The confusion of constantly feeling lonely but never being alone.  And the ever-present mother’s love that everyone tells you about but you are never prepared for just how earth-shattering and deep it really is.

Then the second one came and I cried constantly because I loved him just as much as his brother, but was also reminiscing about the first one being a baby, and all those profound emotions.  My strongest memory of that time is McLean loving the show Yo Gabba Gabba, and the episode about babies was his favorite.  Every time I heard the songs on that episode I just broke down into tears.  It was like a Pavlovian response.  And dealing with even less sleep, more work, less time for myself.  These videos are my only real link to that time, to that person I was, to the eyes I saw my little world through.

I also didn’t realize it at the time, but I was really unhappy with where we lived.  Now we live somewhere else, and though I didn’t think I had any attachment to the house we left, I realize now in looking at it in the photos and videos that I do.  It was the first home my babies knew, and there are things about it that I really miss now:  the huge backyard, the master suite, the old bathroom tile.  Things we did to make it cute and make it ours that we can’t do in a 100 year old rental home that is quite literally crumbling at the edges due to lack of TLC.  I really wished we could have picked up our house and dropped it here in SLO.  But at the time, I lumped the house in with all the other things I had grown disenfranchised with about living in the area and I just wanted a new beginning.

I love where we live now, so much.  It was the best decision for our family and I would do it all again.  But I feel a little sad now about the skid marks I left driving away from my kids’ first home.

What is the point of this post?  I don’t know.  Does missing your children as babies ever go away?  I hope so.  Because eventually I will have to make a baby photo album, right?

Poor Big Brown Dog

He’s the only dog in the house now, and thus, the only object of McLean’s tight little grabby fist.  Feel for him, people.  He is showing so much tolerance and patience.  It’s not easy being constantly squealed at and tugged at by a tiny little person with Larry David hair.

I call this one the "Chuck Norris thigh-choke-you" maneuver:

A Christmas Wrapping Story

It’s not even Christmas yet and I find myself getting all emotional about Baby’s First Christmas -- an event McLean is not old enough to even appreciate or remember.  It’s way too late for me to be up and I’m sitting on the floor of the office, wrapping the toys and books and toy keys we got for him (he always goes after mine so I figured he should have his own set, like a mini-janitor).  Why I bother wrapping them, I have no idea, but it seems anti-climactic not to do so, and hey, the little guy can grab and rip, so why not add an element of mystery?

The Christmas Story marathon is on, a movie I so love.  It seems like the last couple of times I’ve caught it on TV in the background of my life, it always lands on that part when Ralphie is kicking the crap out of the bully kid, and his mama shows up to break it up and she pulls Ralphie off the kid and turns him to face her and he just looks up at her and starts crying.  Something about seeing his mama just turns the rage into tears, and then she takes him home and splashes water on his face and the back of his neck to cool him off even though it’s snowing outside and tells him to go lie down and calm down, and damn if that whole exchange doesn’t just kill me EVERY SINGLE TIME I see it.  It’s just so tender and an honest little moment of life and how a mother and son would interact in a situation like that.  It makes me wonder if the director or writer of the film had just such a moment as a little kid because the scene is handled with such sensitivity and beauty. 

It made me think about my little boy, how there will be similar times in his life when it just gets to be too much, and the anger will turn to tears.  And I will have to hold it together for him and calm him down so that he can learn to one day calm himself down and regain control of his emotions.  How do mothers do this?  Is there a book on how to do it?  I’m sure the mother’s first instinct would be to get in there and pound on the bully kid yourself because he dared to attack your baby.  But that’s not the right thing to do.  And I need to be an example of the right thing to do, difficult as that may be.

So I sit, wrapping his presents with cheap paper and tears, anticipating the good, the bad, and the ugly of parenthood that is yet to come.

Happy Holidays, dear ones.  I hope your holidays are filled with peace and love and the Air Rider Range Rifle you always wanted.

Baby, Interrupted

I feel like teething has taken over my life.  The first two bottom chompers are busting their way into the world, and poor little feller has been pretty miserable.  He gets fevers, drools a lot, and his booger production has launched into overdrive.  This makes it hard for him to nap, and the only thing that comforts him is nursing.  So needless to say, I pretty much nurse all day.  And he doesn't just pacify -- he consumes.  The boy is becoming a little tank.  My biceps are ripped from hoisting his sturdy little butt up.

The thing that kills me is that he is in pain, and all the goofy little remedies I try don't really do much.  He still looks at me pleadingly with big, fat tears coming out of his eyes -- Make it stop, Mama! -- chomping down mercilessly on his own fingers.  When I take him out in public and people come up to admire him and fawn over his cuteness, even though he is tired from lack of nappage and his gums are on fire, he will still smile at them like they just made his little day.

I remarked the other day that the teething would be much easier on me if he would just act like an asshole once in awhile.  But so far, he is just being his usual Golden Child self.

Heaven

Dear McLean,

Some days you are just hungrier than others.  About once a week or so, there is a 48-hour period during which you must eat every hour and a half and you let it be known with your newfound strong lungs if the grace period for the current feeding has expired.  I suppose it takes a lot of food to maintain the title of Longest Baby In The World, which is why I don’t complain about it.  Somebody’s got to empty these giant milk jugs and it might as well be you.

But something sounded different when I put you down for your nap today.  You had already eaten and been changed.  You made this pleading cry that I hadn’t really heard before, and it wasn’t just naptime fussing.  You had just eaten, so it couldn’t be that.  I had just changed your diaper due to a huge assex (that would be ass explosion for those of you not familiar with my vernacular), so it couldn’t be that.  You were so very tired from being up half the night eating, but you just couldn’t sleep.  You can’t talk yet, but you kept repeating “ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma. . . “  I went in and picked you up and held you against my chest and sat in the easy chair.  You wrapped your long little arms around my neck and lay your head on my breast and promptly fell asleep.  You just wanted Mama, and that was all.

A few silent minutes went by and then suddenly Uncle Rufus came running in from the living room, whining anxiously like he always does when you cry.  Only this time he wasn’t whining at you.  He was whining at me.  “WHAT IS WRONG????” his wrinkled up brow and concerned eyes pleaded.  Your mama was crying like a baby.

I have long believed that we create our own heaven or hell right here on earth.  A shift in attitude can bring the greatest joy into the most hellish of circumstances.  And likewise, all the money and fame and accomplishment in the world cannot bring true happiness to anyone.  It’s an inside job.  This is something I want to teach you as you grow up.  You are not responsible for my happiness, but in that moment that you slept on me, I felt heaven on earth in the very depths of my soul.  The only other moment that came close was the day I married your father.  And as I sat there with you, I thought how incredibly fortunate I am.  I am the richest woman in the world.  I’ve been through some heavy times in my life and had terrible moments of despair.  But they were all like cobblestones paving the way for me to have you enter my life. 

When we made the decision to have a baby, I didn’t know at the time that I needed you, specifically you, one in a billion you.  But here you are.  To say “I love you” just seems so very inadequate, but it’s all I have.  I love you.

Of course, I couldn’t very well explain this to Uncle Rufus, so I just told him it was okay and, believing me, he curled up on the monkey rug and the three of us stayed that way for at least an hour until you woke up, ready to eat again.  Ready to hang out in our little slice of heaven.

Love,

Mama

Well You Took My Heart, And You Stomped That Sucker Flat

This is a line from an old country song my dad always used to sing.  And I am convinced it was originally written by a mother. 

I know you’re not supposed to run to rescue your kid after every little peep he makes, but it is SO HARD not to sometimes.  Our little guy doesn’t cry much, so when he does, it just kills me.  And when he does cry, it’s not the annoying, bitchy sound you would expect.  Imagine a little puppy who is heart-liquifyingly adorable, who never pees on anything he’s not supposed to, doesn’t chew your shoes, and loves to cuddle and make you happy.  Now imagine that puppy, singing the blues.  It’s kind of a sad, howling, heartbreaking kind of sound.  How long could you stand it?  And then to see his face while he’s making that sound, with these sad, pleading eyes.  I can’t take it.  If he makes that face while he is supposed to be napping, I have to hold him and make that face go away or I will die.

It is breaking my heart enough that he is growing up so fast already.  This past Sunday while I was sleeping in and Daddy was manning Tummy Time, McLean rolled over for the first time on his own.  I heard about it later, and was sad I missed it, but happy that Daddy got to have the first big milestone since he doesn’t get to spend much time with the little guy during the week.  

But then relaying the event to Jen on the phone the next day reduced me to sputtering tears.  It’s like, you want your baby to grow big and strong and develop and gain independence, but why does it hurt so much when it happens?

WAAAAHHHHH!!!!

The Agony And The Ecstacy

So I took Little Man to his 2-month check-up at the pediatrician the other day.  The agony over whether or not to vaccinate, and when and which ones to use, rages on.  I had hoped by now I would have a much clearer opinion on the subject, but basically have narrowed it down to this:  I know there are a few nasty things out there that my child could actually still contract and I am okay with giving him vaccines for those specific diseases, in two-month intervals, and in mercury-free, single-dose injections.  I just don’t want him injected with anything just yet.  He is so young, and the first two years are when so much brain development takes place.  I’m just not okay with it.  Add to that the thought of someone taking a needle to my precious little baby’s skin and the thought just makes me want to fly into a Mama-Bear hysterical fit. 

But my pediatrician, God bless her, has been really helpful in grappling with the indecision.  Not one to take the “I am Doctor and know best” approach, something I really hate, she explains the risks and benefits of everything thoroughly without the hard sell and adds a good dose of sympathy:  she, too, is a mother, and has had to wrestle with the same issue and feels my pain.  She also relays the information in a mother-to-mother respectful way, which I reciprocate to her.  I am quick to tell her I am not some shithead who reads a few things on the internet and suddenly thinks they have a medical degree.  I take my opinions from several sources, keep an open mind, and settle on whatever makes the most sense for me.  But this issue is really making me nuts and I would appreciate any feedback from others who have also struggled with this.

Meanwhile, our little boy is doing great.  He is now up to 11.1 lbs and 24.5 inches long.  He is a tall boy!  He still breastfeeds with gusto and is having more awake time during the day where he smiles and kinda does this little giggle thing.  It kills me, it’s so cute.  He sleeps about 12 hours per night, except for two feedings, after which he conks right out again.  So I get a good deal of sleep, it’s just broken up into three and four hour sessions.

And now for the hard stuff.  It’s hard for me to even talk about it because I will break down into tears like some deranged mushmonger (yes, I did just invent that term).  I love him so much, it nearly breaks my heart, every minute of every day.  There is no respite from the pain of loving him – it is always there.  I remember reading a quote from Erma Bombeck that said something like deciding to have children was like deciding to have your heart go permanently walking around outside of your body.  And now I understand what that means.  And he is so sweet and loving and trusting that the rare occasions he actually cries feel devastating to me.  This part of motherhood is something I never could have prepared for, and is something I struggle with every day.  I’m not used to that weight on my heart yet, and don’t imagine I ever will be.

It is also heartbreaking how fast it all goes.  When friends who have children see my son, they remark how tiny he is and how it seems like just yesterday that their son/daughter was that little, while I am thinking holy crap!  He is two months old already and is HUGE compared to when he was born and has changed so much in so many big and little ways.  My days are full of nothing but feeding him, feeding myself, and getting a shower and maybe a walk in there, but they seem to be rocketing toward unpacking his college dorm room with lightning speed.  Every morning when we get up, it seems he has grown taller, has a new facial expression, makes a new cooing sound, has more hair on his head, has a different color eyes.  It just happens so fast and you want to have the presence of mind to savor every single minute.

Uncle Rufus also loves the baby, and as I expected, has not demonstrated an ounce of jealousy over being unseated as the #1 baby of the house.  He whines painfully whenever McLean cries, he gives him a good sniffing-over every time I set him down between boobs during feedings, he parks himself in McLean’s room for most of the day and considers himself to be a vital part of the McLean Care Team.  It’s really cute.

The pug, on the other hand, just can’t be bothered.  But she’s old, and is far more concerned with the timely delivery of her chicken leg in the morning.

I would have to say that all around, we are one happy little family, and I thank God profusely every day for all that I have.  I have finally found an occupation that I really and truly love.  Mommy.  It suits me.

Baby Boy Arrives!

Finally! I know, this post is SO three weeks late, but to say I have been busy would be such a ridiculous understatement. First, the details:

Our boy McLean, a whole ten days late, finally decided to vacate the McLean Condo in his own sweet time without being induced. It was the classic scenario: Got up to pee at 2:30 in the morning and my water broke and contractions started almost immediately after. I got to have the “Honey, it’s time!” moment, and in retrospect, I am SO HAPPY we waited for him to come out when he was ready. Even my doctor at my post-partum check-up said that he was happy I listened to my body and we didn’t induce. He said he now brags about me to his other patients and how it has taught him to step back a bit in certain circumstances, rather than intervene – something that is “scary and humbling” – his words -- for a doctor to do. It was cool knowing I had some influence on this man’s 25+ years of doing this job. Anyhoo….

Turns out the boy wasn’t as big as had been predicted. He was 8 lbs., 3 oz. – WAY smaller than we had been told, but my va-jay-jay was not complaining. He was 21 ¾ inches long, didn’t cry much when he came out, and bravely tolerated all the poking and prodding a newborn endures when they first come on the scene.

The days that followed at home are now a blur. I was one of the lucky 1 in 100 women who suffers severe headaches from the epidural. I’m talking such intense throbbing, not even Motrin makes a dent. The only thing that helped even slightly was lying down with a cold compress to the head, but that was not possible to do most of the time with breastfeeding every two hours. And the headaches lasted for the first week. It was like the pain I didn’t have to suffer from contractions showed up to torment me later in a different part of my body. Plus my back and neck were killing me from the pushing, so being comfortable was not happening. So while my baby was sleeping, well, like a baby, I was not. I had to wake him for feedings to keep up my milk supply. He is VERY much my boy – he sleeps like he is in a coma, and waking him would just break my heart because I know how he feels. Waking up sucks.

On top of this going on, there was the crying. Not him – me. He never cries unless he has a poopy diaper or is too hot in his snuggy-wrap. But his mama on the other hand, oh boy. I would stare at him and start crying because he is so beautiful. I would be overcome with love that is so intense and excruciating, I would burst into tears over dinner (mid-forkful – I’m serious!) I would start thinking about his delivery and that last push right before he came through my body and into the world, how light and relieved I suddenly became physically, but how emotionally flipped out I was that this little person I have been so connected to and close to and safeguarding all these nine months is now out of my body and loose in the world. It is a moment I will never, ever get over as long as I live. And they wiped him off and put him on my stomach and he was looking at me all quiet and I was looking at him and saying through my tears, “Hi. Hi. I’m your mommy.” And I would think of the way he looked at me and start crying all over again. I would look at myself in the mirror, dirty hair, dark circles, bloodshot eyes. But because my baby looks like me, this has made me see myself as beautiful, and this makes me cry too.

Eventually, the crying settled down (until now, writing about it) just in time for me to get the awful cold that everybody and their dog has had, which turned into bronchitis, so I’ve been sick and gross for the past week and a half. Again, sleeping doesn’t happen when you’re breastfeeding and then coughing while trying to sleep, so getting well is a slow-going process. But I’m feeling better now and cough less every day, just in time for Father’s Day, which brings me to….

Friggin’ Dad and Husband of the Year. I don’t know how I would have survived any of it without him. He took care of me and handled everything that I couldn’t cope with (and I couldn’t cope with anything, people), he held me when I cried and didn’t make me feel stupid, he changed a bajillion diapers and just clicked into fatherhood so easily and with such a good attitude. It has made all the difference in the world. I am a very lucky woman. A family woman. And I couldn’t possibly be happier. In spite of the bumps and challenges along the way with everything that has happened, we have this incredible little son who is part of our family now. I love spending my day with him and caring for him. He is such good company. Such a sweet little fella who smiles at me with his whole face and just makes me glow inside.

Coming up in future installments: Uncle Rufus and his reaction to the new family addition. Here is a visual teaser for you: Imagine a Big Brown Dog trying to inhale a baby through his nose and you have a pretty good idea.