Mommy Bloggers: Mothering a Baby, the Third Time Around

The following essay was written especially for Mommybloggers by Kris of WonderMom.

My oldest child, Ben, turns 6 years old in two weeks. Six! I can't believe how big he's gotten, and how smart. He knows, for instance, that girls wear lipstick but boys don't (usually), the best guns shoot blades (sharp ones), and if he climbs up the shelves to steal candy one more time today, mommy's head will pop off (he's seen it happen).

So what have I learned in the past six years? I've learned that I still have a lot to learn. My youngest, Ava, is 10 month old, so I've got at least 17 more years of hardcore parental schooling ahead of me to figure it all out. For now, though, just as Ben's still a small boy, in many ways, I'm still a green mom.

Except with the baby. This is my third time mothering a baby and I have to say, I have changed a lot in six years. I may not be smarter but, in many situations, I seem to have gained some perspective.

Situation: Sun shines in the baby's face.

Then: Panic. Immediately do anything necessary to stop said sun from accosting my baby's eyeballs further, including throwing myself on top of her; covering her stroller in a large blanket turning it into a traveling, sweltering tent; or pinning blankets over the car windows.
Now: See that she has tightly closed her eyes and feel proud that she's learned to work her eyelids.

Situation: Nap time.

Then: Become a Nap Nazi, ensuring total silence throughout the house and, in fact, the neighborhood. Refuse to close kitchen cabinets, hurl myself on the ringing telephone, contact the neighbor to request that her son not play basketball between 1 and 4 pm, and knock on the window of any parked car playing loud music within 200 yards of my house. (One woman was so mortified that she brought me flowers the next day.)
Now: Find myself putting her clothes away while she sleeps two feet away in her crib. Forget where I am and yell to the boys while still in her room, so that she startles awake and emits screams of sheer terror.

Situation: Fussy baby.

Then: Carry him all over the house, in the sling, on my hip, in the Baby Bjorn, even if that means the laundry doesn't get done and dinner doesn't get cooked.
Now: Well, I still do that. Although I put her down long enough to make PB&Js for the boys and wash a load of urine-soaked bed sheets.

Situation: I'm in the bathroom, and the baby starts crying in the other room.

Then: Wipe as fast as I can and run to her, buttoning my pants on the way.
Now: Finish up, wash my hands, dry them, check myself in the mirror, pull squash out of my eyebrow. Go see why she's crying.

Situation: Mealtime.

Then: Steam and mill each entree by hand. At least three times a day, get down on my hands and knees to clean every crumb off the floor and wipe every speck of sludge off the high chair.
Now: Clean the floor once a day. However, sometimes I forget and realize I could feed a small village, or an army of 12 billion ants, with the contents of my dining room floor. The high chair? When we took it out of the basement for baby No. 3, it had food on it from baby No. 2. What does that tell you about how it looks right this minute?

Situation: Separation anxiety.

Then: Feel happy that my baby loves me the best. Buy into the Dr. Sears' claims and carry him everywhere, leaving him when necessary with my mother. When Brian and I go to the movies, have palpable anxiety over his well-being and struggle to not call my mother for the eighth time in two hours.

Now: Feel a twinge of fear when I see that my baby loves me best. Remember how Dr. Sears' betrayed my trust. Leave the baby with trusted friends and family at every opportunity. Realize six hours into a date with my husband that I forgot to leave any expressed milk behind. Oops!

Situation: Brian and I relax while watching some prime time television. The baby's shrieks come piercing through the monitor.

Then: Feel my blood pressure rise as I climb the stairs. Pick the baby up and pace the floor, singing, rocking and eventually, always, nursing.
Now: Brian's blood pressure rises as he runs upstairs. I get myself a beer and sprawl out on the couch with the newspaper or Tivo remote. Reaching my arm over to the coffee table, I nudge the volume down on the monitor.

I think that last one, especially, shows how much I've grown as a mother. Don't you?

Comments

This was, by far, the most entertaining and relatable post I have read in awhile. I have a son who is also six and a daughter who is 2. Yeah, I've done that with the monitor, I prefer wine to beer though! My floor is NEVER clean either.

My son is more tightly-wound and a worrier. My daughter, I can already tell, is going to be the life-of-the-party type. Doesn't it make you wonder if the more "beaten down" (uh, relaxed) mom might actually be more the way to go?

Thanks for this hilarious post!

Posted by: Stephanie | May 9, 2006 2:43 PM

Very funny and best of all, very true!

Posted by: Mary | May 9, 2006 4:33 PM

Awesome piece, Chris. I'm always wondering how to help myself loosen up when it comes to everyday parenting. I guess having more babies is the key!

Posted by: surcie | May 9, 2006 8:28 PM

whoops! I mean KRis!

Posted by: surcie | May 9, 2006 8:30 PM

A brilliant summation.

Makes me want to have another one.

But not yet.

Posted by: Lucinda | May 9, 2006 9:09 PM