ATTACHMENT PARENTING

When Jonah was a baby, I read a lot of books on "Attachment Parenting...."

I think I missed the chapter about how to handle a child literally attaching themselves to you... when you're trying to make lunch, or get dressed...

... it was like an appendage... that I had no choice but to drag with me wherever I went....

I missed that part on Attachment Parenting. Especially the part where said child knows it's funny and knows you kind of think it's funny too.

HO, HO, HO: 12 DAYS OF MOMMY

This past week I felt like I was back in college, prepping and cramming at the last minute for finals and term papers. (Sure, one might ask what kind of papers and finals are given when you're majoring in Theater/Acting, but trust me-- It wasn't all cigarettes and jazz hands). Anyway, these past few weeks (entire year, really) have felt like I've been on a spin cycle. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: right now, life is challenging. In. every. way.

Take this picture for example. This is of me trying to get ready for work in the morning and Jonah ready for school. In order to do that, ("that" being trying to pull an elephant out of a worm's asshole), I had to pretend that I was going to leave the house wearing J's clothes and use his shopping cart as my purse.... in order to get him to laugh... in order to get him to relax... in order for me to get ready .... in order for us to JUST get of the door....

(BTW, you can't see it, but my left arm is in his robe).

There are two things these days that I'm missing very much and wishing I could have/ do more of:

-Time with my son. Truly unfettered, slowed down and not rushed time.

-Blogging. I read others blogs all day long. I want to write more on mine. And I don't want to have to think too much about what I write. I just want to post.

So, in an effort to do/have both, I'm taking the next two weeks off of work work, to some home work. Literally.

I've declared now through the end of the year as: The 12 Days of Mommy.

Every day, I'm going to do something different with my son. Whether it's just a long walk to the library, making sugar cookies, or taking him to see a movie in the theater for the first time, I want to spend time creating memories and give him some of the undivided attention that I think he's craving right now....

On the blogging side, I'm going to post about our experiences..... However, I should clarify that a 12 Days of Mommy post may not always be about a Mommy/son day or moment. Oh, no.

A day of Mommy post might be about just ME... working out, hanging pictures, or watching my new favorite show (where has Celebrity Rehab been all my life?!) After all, *I* am Mommy and oh, do I need a day....

Who knows, I might even decide to actually leave the house using a farm house as my purse... And do a Jazz Hand on my way out. The possibilities are endless. Let the fun begin....

MOMMY GUILT

As I get more and more entrenched in the "mom space," I'm starting to wonder if some moms have a stronger genetic predisposition to the "MG" (that's: Mom Guilt) more than others. Is it regional? Is it an age thing? Is it an environmental thing?

Until recently, I would say I was your quintessential Californian/ Westside neurotic mom. Perhaps it was a divorce, a full time job (in said "mom space"), and some personal drama sprinkled here and there that made me loosen the reigns... that made me able to laugh at myself more and truly embrace the "whatever works" attitude that I desperately wished I lived by. Of course, connecting and following other moms online, like our lovely panelists on Momversation, has helped the realization set in too: There is nothing therapy can't fix. No seriously, the realization that no one is perfect and all you can do is your very best... And truly, you'd have to be a pretty bad mom to screw them up pretty bad.

Anyway, someone sent me this video, and I thought it was too funny not to share. Do you have any friends like these? (Please don't say me!)

LIKE A FIDDLE

As mentioned a few weeks ago, I have officially become a single mom. This change in status not only comes with a slew of complex emotions and sadly, hairier legs, but also an onslaught of incessant mommy guilt.... which, as a working parent, who happens to work in the world of parenting, it can feel a little overwhelming. So, with a 2.5 year old little boy, my sensitivity level to what might ultimately eff him up for life (due to said divorce) is at an all time high...

That said, I think it's gone too far and Baby-Ko knows it. The kid is playing me. He hears the guilt in my voice every time I say "no" (and then give in). He senses my worry that he may have issues some day as a result of the divorce every time he begs for "one more minute" (and then I give in). He sees the stress of a difficult year on my face every time he chucks my phone across the room (.... and I do nothing about it).

He's on to me. He's got me hook, line and sinker. Dialed in. Putty in his hands....

And he's starting to take advantage.

Please refer to recent events, if you will:

For a week or so, right before lights out, Baby-Ko would turn over in his bed and say,

"Mommy, I want my dadddddddy."

Gulp. "I'm so sorry. I, I, I--- I know. It's okay," I said trying to hide the knife ripping my aorta. "Okay, my love. Mommy's here. Let me pat your tushy." (Yes, he likes his tushy patted.)

But, one minute turned into 5 minutes. 5 minutes turned in to 10 minutes. And 10 minutes turned in to missing 30 Rock, Lost, and Baby-Ko never having to sit in a shopping cart at the market for the rest of the week.

Surely, you didn't think ME working in the world of parenting meant *I* actually know what I'm doing, did you???

About a week later... before lights out....

"Mommy, I want my daddddddy."

"I know you want your daddy. I'm sorry you have sad feelings. We'll call him in the morning."

"But I sad."

"I'm sorry you're sad," I said trying not to think about the therapy fund that I should have set up for him in utero. "It's time to go night night, Baby-Ko. Go night night..."

...And eventually, with more tushy patting then a Major League Baseball Game, he fell asleep.

It took a few more nights, but then it hit. I got it ....

"Mommy, I just. I just so sad."

"Why are you so sad?"

"Because, because, I just. I just miss my daaaadddy."

"I know you miss your daddy. We'll call him in the morning. It's night night time."

"But, but. I just so sad."

"Why are you so sad?"

"Because, because, I just. I just miss my Mimi." (Mimi is my mom. His grandma. A woman he sees about 4 TIMES a week.)

"Okay, baby. We'll call Mimi in the morning. Go night night."

"But, but, I just so sad, mommy!" He said dramatically.

"Why. Why are you sad, Baby-Ko?" I asked trying to be patient.

"Because, because, I just. I just miss my Ash-a-wee." Um.... (Ash-a-wee is his babysitter. A woman he sees about 5 TIMES a week.... And had left just 2 hours prior.)

"Oooo-kay, Baby-Ko. I know you miss Ash-a-wee. Let's go to bed. Mommy is going out of here now," I said as I turned to the door.

"Mommy! Wait!" He screamed.

"Yes, Baby-Ko."

"I sad!"

"WHY. ARE. YOU. SAD?" I said doing my absolute best to exude patience.

"Because, because, I just. I just miss my sisters...."

"Your SISTERS???"

"Yeah. My sisters. I so sad."

"Good night, Baby-Ko," I said holding in my laugh and patting his tushy one last time before I left the room.

That night my only child slept through the night. And I finally caught on to him AND caught up on Lost.

THIS IS HOW IT STARTS

Every now and again, we, parents, have one of "those" nights.... Those nights that test your patience... Those nights that test your skill... And those nights that tug at your heartstrings...

Last night, I had one of those nights. Yes. All of the above.

At some point in the late afternoon, I got a call from my babysitter "Ash-a-Wee" saying she had an emergency and if it was okay, she needed the evening off. This meant that she wouldn't be able to pick up Baby-Ko from day care at 4:30pm. Just to preface, day care closes at 5:30 on the dot but Ash-a-Wee picks Baby-Ko up M-F at 4:30 or earlier. She's never been a second late and he is usually the first child to leave... In fact, I'm pretty sure he gives a little "see ya suckas" wave when he closes the gate behind him, keeping his little 3 foot friends captive until their peeps come to save them... But I digress....

At 5:20 my cell rang. Shit. I was sitting in traffic and it was day care calling to let me know Baby-Ko was hysterical. I completely forgot to call them to tell them that A-A-Wee wasn't coming (I was). Bad mommy move. BAD. They told me they took him inside the house because watching the other children leave (mind you, it's 5:20pm so it's DARK out and he leaves when it's light) was making him too upset. To make matters even worse, his caretakers Margarita and Dora were leaving for the night too. OMG! Now he's sitting there with A & H (the couple that runs the day care out of their house) as he watches the people that take care of him leave???? Poor baby! He must be so scared.

Panicked and feeling so awful I finally came to a halt in front of their house at 5:40. As I ran up the porch, the front door opened and Baby-Ko came flying out.

"Mommmmmmmmy!!!" He sobbed. He couldn't catch his breath. "Ash-a-wee didn't come. I cryyyyyyyyyyyyyyy."

Gulp.

"I'm soooooo sorry baby," I said hugging him tightly. "Mommy is here now. I'm sooooooooo sorry."

"Dora lef-a-me. I cryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy."

OY.

"Dora went home too? Oh, Baby-Ko. I'm so sorry. These things happen. But mommy always comes back. I ALWAYS come back."

Dagger. Heart.

Clutching him, I picked up his bags and carried him to the car. How in the world can I make this better??? What can I do to let him know it's okay??? WILL HE EVER FORGIVE ME???

A light bulb, that I didn't even know was inside me, went OFF:

"Baby-Ko, do you want to go to McDonalds?" WHAT? Did I just say that?

"Yeaaaaaaaaaah, " he said sniffling. "I want fwench fwies."

"Okay, my love," I said shocked by what I had said. "Let mommy put you in the car and let's go get french fries. And cheeseburgers."

WHO AM I? For those of you that personally know me, you know that I eat fast food (not including Taco Bell... OR the requisite airport Egg McMuffin) like every blue moon. Emotional I am, yes. An eater I am, yes. An EMOTIONAL EATER: I am NOT.

But here I was. Now standing at the counter inside (a very lovely remodeled McDonald's if I do say so myself) redirecting my son from what was clearly an emotionally draining and traumatic experience to a land where feelings are forgotten because the value meals are just too good to pass up.

"One happy meal, please--"

"I crrrrrrrrrrryy," Baby-Ko said. "Mommy was late." GUILT.

"Ooh, how about some ice cream?" BRIBE.

"Yeahhhh, I want it," he said resting his head on my shoulder.

"Okay, one hot fudge sundae please...." I said to the cashier.

"I want a cookie. A COOOOOOOKIEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!" Baby-Ko said practically leaping out of my arms towards the cookie case on the counter.

"Okaaay. One chocolate chip cookie..." SUCKER.

"THAT cookie," Baby-Ko pointed. "DAT ONE."

The cashier smile and obliged. "Okay, that one. Anything else?"

"Um... Yeah.... I'll take a medium french fry...."

AND THERE IT WAS.

THIS IS THE REASON. THIS is how IT starts. THIS is what the "experts" are talking about. (Experts that IIIIIIIIIIIII write about!)

Seriously though, is this how obesity starts for both children and their guilt/ exhaust ridden mommies? If so, someone send me the applications now for Biggest Loser season 46. Baby-Ko and I can be a team...

24 Hours later, Baby-Ko seems to be okay from the entire experience. Me on the other hand... I'm still feeling the trauma of it all.... ANNNNNNND trying to tell myself that at the very least, giving him BROCCOLI with his happy meal was one way to make IT stop....

PARTY'S OVER

As I pushed the stroller past the windows at Trader Joe's today, I caught a reflection of myself and for some reason the reality hit:

It's been 6 Days since I have pumped and 10 days since Baby-Ko has nursed.

I am officially done with breastfeeding.

I pushed Baby-Ko through the doors of the Hawaiian flared market and suddenly all the cheap, non-preservative, goodies it has to offer started to taunt me. "You are not breastfeeding anymore, lady, you do not get to eat me. You will not burn extra calories just by feeding your child. You will not get to have 'just one more cookie' after your midnight pumping session 'just because.' And you will certainly not be able to use the excuse of being exhausted because you are nursing and it's so much pressure, whah whah whah... Face it, THE PARTY IS OVER."

I bee-lined straight to the produce area (despite the fact that Traders is the shittiest place for produce). As I searched for the pre-packaged Country Italian Salad (my fav), a tinge of sadness came over me. For the past 7 months, I haven't looked at one nutrition label, haven't thought about fat, calories, sugar, or sodium. I have eaten to my heart's content AND still managed to lose all my pregnancy weight, and fit (okay, squeeze) back in to my size 27 jeans. Breastfeeding has been like a miracle drug and for selfish reasons only, I will miss it.

Who am I kidding? I tell myself as I ignore the best pita chips known to man. I hated breastfeeding! There were times that I secretly wished my milk would dry up so I would have no excuse but to give Baby-Ko formula. Plus, my chest is a fucking mess. All the stretch marks that should have gone to obvious places like my stomach and ass have ended up creating quite a lovely and astonishing pattern on my breasts. My areolas have gotten so large that one more month of nursing, a spear through my nose and a cloth over my crotch, I'd seriously be mistaken for a feature in National Geographic. Call me Ngudu. No joke.

As I pass all the cases of Two Buck Chuck, I realize something else: MOMMY CAN DRINK AGAIN. And not just a little glass here or there. I can get drunk! Yeehaw! Okay, fine. I probably won't get smashed, at least not while I'm taking care of Baby-Ko, but the point is I can drink and not worry about it affecting the baby-

Oh, the baby... My sweet baby who is staring at the lights and ceiling fans with amazement. What if I cut him off too soon? What if breast milk is so much better for him and the formula is poison? What if I should have tried harder and nursed for a whole year instead of 6 1/2 months? WHAT IF-

I stop myself. Baby-Ko is giggling and flirting with the cashier while trying to put his foot in his mouth. Oh my god, When did he get so big? When did he develop this little personality? When did he get to be so much fun?? My guilt has been diverted. The party is far from over. Clearly, it is just beginning....