OMG!!! :) :)

As a new mom, all I ever hear and read is other moms bragging about how cute/smart/advanced their child is.

“Johnny started crawling today! He’s only two months old!”

“Jane smiled at me this morning! She was born last night!”

“Jack made the sign for milk today! I just showed him how to do it yesterday!”

Ok, so maybe that’s not entirely accurate. Their names are more likely to be Jayden, Brooklynn, and Donut, but you get the picture.

After reading something like this, I often pause and look down at my own daughter’s angelic face as she’s nursing. As she looks back up at me with those big eyes in a shade that closely matches my own, I wonder what the hell I’m doing wrong. Because lurking beneath that sweet face and long those long lashes is Satan’s mistress. Of course, that’s only sometimes. Mostly I think she just channels Satan directly.

“Lilith screamed at me for three hours and nothing could stop her and now I’m locked in the bathroom, my sobbing drowned by the sound of the running tap! How cute is that?!”

“Day 78 of signing! It’s going AWESOME! Still no sign of recognition and no reciprocation, but I think that there’s a remote possibility that we’re getting there! YAY!”

“OMG!!! :) :) Another scream-fest, but she stopped as soon as Daddy walked in the door and gave him the biggest smile! I totally felt like a failure! :) :)”

I must be the only one. I never hear anything the likes of which I myself would say. Or maybe there are others. Others locked behind bathroom doors. Others sobbing as their munchkin demands to be worn so that they can bite and pinch them endlessly, giggling all the while.

Come out of your hiding places, my tortured comrades! Let’s show those braggart bitches and starry-eyed mothers-to-be what motherhood is really about! At the very least, we can let some other poor, weeping soul know that they are not alone.

Mommies and Mean Girls

So, it pains me a little to admit this, but I need mommy friends. It’s true. My single and/or childless friends don’t understand that I can’t drop everything for a concert and that my mental agility is now concentrated on caring for my child and running my house and I can no longer keep straight the details of their sordid social lives. Tales of drunken exploits bore me to tears. I want to talk about babywearing, losing that baby weight, starting solids, the latest episode of Supernatural, and that great new recipe I tried last night! But where do I find these domestically minded women and do I even want to?

Seeking the company of women frightens me on a level so deep it would take years of therapy to address. I’ve been broken by the mean girls of years past. Even now the thought of attending a high school reunion will leave me rocking myself in a corner for days… well, mentally, at least. I’ve built a rather tough skin to protect myself and subsequently become a hard person to know, if I even let you in that far. This life strategy is now proving problematic as I find myself in need of mommy companionship.

I’ve tried. A little. But every time I find myself getting a little too close, a little too invested, I throw on the breaks and let it pass me by. I tell myself that I really don’t need mommy friends and that Immy really doesn’t need baby socialization, but then reality creeps in and the cycle repeats. Time for the big girl panties, I guess.

So, how do I drop my guard and find new mommy friends? Meetup? Library story time? Babywearing meetings? Can I be myself? Will they like me? How will I be able to discern the sleep-deprived from the bitchy? I’m (gulp) 30 years old and tired of mean girls and their drama. I’m not in it for the mompetion. I just want some equally exhausted, goop stained, pony tailed, mommy friends. It may be time to leap off the bridge, seek them out, and leave my anxiety at home.

Right to Breastfeed Act... maybe someone should tell the Govies...

Families First.  It’s the first thing that jumped out at me on the website for Picerne housing at Ft Bragg. It’s even trademarked. This only adds to my confusion regarding an incident involving a breastfeeding mother in their offices today. The woman in question belongs to my birth club in the online forum BabyCenter. She posted the following in an open forum:

“While at Bragg Picerne Military Housing today, I was asked to leave the office and feed Zoey in the restroom. But it's all good cause there was a chair in there. Now, I had waited several hours to get all my paperwork. It was pouring rain, I had the little kids with me. We were in a private office at the end of a hall. I had Zoey in a sling, wearing   a button down shirt, tank and had the sling end over my shoulder when I   was asked to leave. Because they needed to maintain a "business  atmosphere". I argued with the woman for a few minutes, but she refused   to do my paperwork unless we left or I stopped nursing. I pull Zoey off,  take her out of the sling and bounce her until our paperwork is  done.  Ironic thing was the WIC office was two doors down. So, you can   breastfeed there, but not in the housing office.

“So happy my husband is fighting for our freedom in Afghansitan, but I can't even breastfeed my child on an Army base.”

After being informed and encouraged by several members, including myself, that her right to breastfeed is protected under federal law and that a complaint should be filed, she provided the following update:

“UPDATE! I called housing. 910-495-0878. Told them I needed to speak with the director to file a complaint. They said their main office is on Pope AFB and I needed to call there. 910-764-4500. I speak with Aleena Hardin who not only doesn't apologize, she actually asked me if I had cleavage showing. So, I got nowhere. Except I got the woman's name. NuQuisha Montglier. Don't know if I spelled it right.

“If anyone wants to help me contact places, I'm all for it. With two special needs kids and a business, I'm struggling to find time to deal with this, but I don't want to let it go. The channel 11 news has been contacted and I filed a formal complaint.”

I’m personally unsure which is worse: the offense itself or the laissez-faire attitude of Ms. Hardin. A mother’s right to breastfeed is protected under federal law. This law states: “a woman may breastfeed her child at any location in a Federal building or on Federal property, if the woman and her child are otherwise authorized to be present at the location.” Thanks to this law, it is immaterial if this woman was “showing cleavage” as she breastfed her child. It’s her right to breastfeed topless on federal property if she so chooses. The bill can be read in its entirety here:

http://www.govtrack.us/congress/billtext.xpd?bill=h106-2490

I would hope that this woman’s complaint is heard and she is issued a formal apology. Furthermore, I would hope that the personnel at the offending offices are made to undergo educational training in regards to the Right to Breastfeed Act, as it specifically applies to their workplace and no woman should be made to feed her child while crouching over a toilet when her right to breastfeed is so clearly protected. In the meantime, maybe they should rethink their trademarked motto.

Damn You, Chuck Norris!

When my father remarried and started family 2.0, I knew I’d never get the adult relationship with him that I wanted. I never imagined I wouldn’t get one at all. My dad has let some major things pass him by, most recently the birth of his granddaughter, my daughter.

Over the years, my sister, who is twenty years younger than me, has ruled the roost.  My dad and step mom have yet to realize that they are, in fact, the parents. They seem incapable of telling her ‘no’. Because of this oversight, neither one of them came to see my daughter when she was born. Or when she was two months old and started smiling. Now she’s five months old and growing up fast. They told me the soonest they would be able to come out is August, when they only have a week and a half window, because God forbid they come out without my sister or each other. Imogen will be ten months old.

But here’s the catch. My sister may or may not get invited to a taekwondo tournament in Las Vegas. If that happens, they wont be coming here. Sister trumps granddaughter. Taekwondo trumps granddaughter. Chuck Norris trumps granddaughter. I have no words.

There are certain moments in life that you never get back. Sharing in the birth of a grandchild is one of them, and my dad was lucky enough to get invited to share that with us, and trust me, that list was small and exclusive. So, I’ve told myself that he’s just not that into me, or my little family, and I will try to move on from that. I’m mourning the loss of the man I thought hung the moon and stars and trying to accept this new man, this stranger.

It’s of some comfort that my little girl won’t remember any of this. She won’t remember the rejection or the tears. I’m just not sure what I will say when she asks, years from now, why there are no pictures of her with her grandparents. I hardly know what to tell myself.

Go F*ck Yourself

It seems like every time you reach a major milestone, people have a million questions to ask.  When you graduate from high school, they want to know about your college plans and future goals.  When you get married, they want to know when you are buying a house and having kids.  I never used to mind the games of 20 Questions my friends and family subjected me to, though I will say the "when are you having kids" version got a little old after seven years of marriage.  No, the worst round of questions comes after you have the first kid.  It's suddenly personal in a way it wasn't before.  Every question is an invasion of privacy and an attack on your parenting and family philosophy.  Every response is immediately followed by an obnoxious opinion or observation.  Observe:

Q: "When are you having the next one?"
A: "We're not.  We've decided one is the perfect number for us."
OO: "She HAS to have a brother or sister/Who will she play with/Who will help her care for you when you're older/That's so unfair to her/I want another graaaaaandchiiiiiiild"

Q: "Have you started solids yet?"
A: "No, we're waiting until she's six months old."
OO:  "Why would you wait so long/we didn't and you're fine/But maybe she WANTS it/Well, I started my child at 4 months/3 months/two weeks and he/she is fine" and the ever popular week later follow-up: "Have you started solids yet?"

Q: "How does she sleep?"
A: "Fine once we get her down."
OO: "You should just let her cry it out/Well she wants to be close to you/You need to teach her to put herself to sleep."

I have now decided that there can only be one way to put and end to these games of 20 Questions.  It's time to pull the mommy card.  Let it henceforth be known that because she resided in my uterus for 41 weeks and one day, I get to make the decisions in regards to my daughter.  Perhaps shattering the illusion that people other than my husband and I have a say in these matters will halt the obnoxious opinions and observations, or at the very least cause them to whisper amongst themselves and leave it at that.  If all else fails, there's my old stand-by:

Q: "When are you having the next one?"
A: "Go fuck yourself."

Mean?  Perhaps.  But concise, perfectly expressive, and universal.  It's my second favorite three word phrase.  Not very mommy-ish, but maybe I'm a new type of mommy.  One that breastfeeds and bakes cookies and also happens to say things like "go fuck yourself".  I'm going to take my new strategy and test drive it out in the world.  Will it work?  God, I hope so.  Because if it doesn't, nothing will.

Becoming Mommy: A Brave New World

So, here I am.  Sitting awkwardly on my couch, typing with one hand, my sleeping four-month old daughter strapped to my chest, the sound of classical music coming from my kitchen, trying to wrangle all of the thoughts that are swirling in my head.  It's been like this for four months and one day.  I'm the willing captive of my daughter.  Is it love?  Most definitely.  Is it Stockholm Syndrome?  Some days, yes.

How did I get here?  Truthfully, I'm not sure.  It's certainly not where I expected to be.  It wasn't that long ago that I imagined myself crusading for the environment, saving the world one species, one natural resource, one ecosystem at a time.  As my new reality creeps in, I'm pondering a new type of existence.  My Google search history used to be full of science topics, graduate programs, and exotic locales.  I now spend my days researching early childhood education, baby wearing, and jogging strollers.  My quiet moments consist of breastfeeding instead of bubble baths.  Just this morning I chose to watch the now frightening and personally relevant "Waiting for 'Superman'" over the assuredly mind-numbing "Burlesque".  It's finally sunk in that I am, in fact, mortal.  No amount of research could have prepared me for the roller coaster ride I'm on.

So, this is my journey.  I'm on a new path.  One that is both wonderful and terrifying.  My life is in flux.  I am, in short, becoming Mommy.