The Right Stuff

Sometimes it seems like all of life is a quest to acquire and keep the right things. Get the right house, the right commute, the right job, the right shoes to go with that particular dress. Find the right man. Pick the right names for your children. Try to use up or wear out things that you don't especially like, like that hand lotion that smells of irises and chemicals, or the pasta sauce you bought five jars of because it was on sale (that, you discovered the first time you tried it, was on sale for a reason). Try to find clothes that work for you - when your shape, size, and style are a moving target. Try to find a circle of friends who are fun, reliable, share your values, expand your horizons, and enjoy you as much as you enjoy them. Comparison-shop to pick the right appliance. Find a brand of guinea pig pellets the pig likes. Get your money invested in the right funds. Use the right toothbrush. And all the time, figure out what to do when people give you things that don't fit, that you don't like or can't use, that fill up the space you have and make it wrong. I wonder how many more years it's going to take me to finally get it right.

Just Saying

It's 1 am and the apartment is quiet. I can hear the wind rustling leaves outside the living room window, and some kind of night-insect creaking away. It sounds like autumn. A good time to catch up on reading, writing, and blogging, so here I am, typey-typing away. In the bedroom, my husband is curled up on the bed with the baby, giving her a bottle.

After a while, I hear some gentle snores from the bedroom, so I suspect he has fallen asleep on the bed with her. I should go check on them. But I keep typing. Then I hear her making a little noise of wakefulness: "eh, eh" like she's starting to thrash around. I hop up and go into the bedroom - just in time to see her roll off the bed and hit the floor. She lets out a scream of pain and surprise. I scoop her up and rock her as she continues to scream. My husband lifts his head; he was stretched out full-length on the bed, facing away from her, and sound asleep. She was down by his calf when she rolled off.

There are many things in this parenting game that he is better at than I am. He's better at playing with her, making her laugh, giving her baths, and figuring out what she wants to eat when she's in a fussy mood. He's more patient with her and more humorous. He is a wonderful dad who does his share and more.

But. She slept in our bed for the first six weeks of her life, nestled up close to my flank. Each time she woke in the night, I would breast-feed her before she even had a chance to cry. I protected her with my body from my husband's occasional roll-overs. I knew there was no risk that I would roll over on her myself. I was so alert to her that the slightest movement or noise from her would bring me fully awake, instantly. I would never have let her roll out of bed or have fallen asleep with her in a dangerous position. And the very first, only, time he slept next to her, he did. Of course, she wasn't really hurt. I soothed her and put her back in her crib, and she fell asleep immediately.

Just saying.

Tightening My Belt

Everyone is in cutting-back mode. It's tough, after a few flush years there - the economy was booming, I was working full-time, there seemed to be plenty of money to go around. But now I'm reminded daily that I need to be conserving.

I started writing down everything I eat and everything I spend these days, because I read somewhere that this is a proven effective method for reducing such activities. It's supposed to give you the willpower not to reach for that extra cracker or make that impulse purchase, because you know you'll have to write it down later. Alas, it does not seem to be working for me so far. I just gamely list my consumption at the end of the day: "3 handfuls potato chips, 1 slice cheesecake, Heath bar..."

Another strategy is to be willing to put even the smallest bit of food back into the fridge. This is what my parents do (and they're not even trying to cut back). When I visit them, I find things in their fridge that I would never have bothered to put away - like two spoonfuls of pasta sauce in a little Tupperware container, or a slice of apple. I would just scarf that stuff down and wash the pot.

Then there's the strategy of finishing everything in your cupboards and fridge before you go shopping. It's supposed to ensure that you really use what you buy, instead of letting it expire.

Finally, you can always just be too busy/tired to fix something to eat, which is how I am today. And it's only Tuesday.

Mama Bear

Now that my daughter is walking, trips to the playground or around the neighborhood are potentially a lot more exciting for her, because sometimes I let her out of the stroller to walk part of the way. It takes roughly 10 times as long, of course, because she stops to investigate every leaf, crack in the sidewalk, piece of litter, or ant that she sees in her path - and often stops dead in order to point at a dog or squirrel, or turns around and walks the other direction. But she loves it. She'll toddle down the sidewalk doing little shrieking giggles of joy that she can get places under her own power, and is being allowed to do so.

Then we get to the playground. When she was little, the only thing she could really do was sit in the swing while I pushed her. Now she can toddle around in the sandbox, pick up toys, climb the steps on the junglegym, even go down the slide on her belly. All of this stuff is so much fun for her. I stand around watching her with a stupid grin on my face, or sometimes try to make conversation with the other moms there.

The other kids are often a pain though. Part of the reason we go is for her to see some other people her age and get some socialization practice. But there are usually some kids just a little older than her, like 3-year-olds, who are stuck in the "Mine!" phase and aren't much fun to play with. When they see her coming, they immediately grab away all the toys and glare at her. If she does manage to get her hands on a little plastic shovel or something, she generally goes up to the closest other kid and holds it out. She assumes they'll take it and say "thank you" and then hand it back in a minute, the way we do when she gives us stuff. But the kids never hand it back, they just snatch the toy away. She stares at them, then looks up at me in bewilderment, plainly saying, Is that okay, what just happened? Or are you going to do something about it?

I always wonder - am I supposed to step in? Should I pull a toy away from someone else's kid, possibly making them scream or cry, in order to give it back to my kid? Because I'm a nonconfrontational sissy, I usually just smile encouragingly at her, as though nothing happened. Or I try to find something else to give her, but often the older kid immediately snatches that from her too. Grr. I want to kick sand in those kids' eyes.

Then there are the kids in the 5-7 year age range who are roughhousing, who are so busy chasing each other around the playground that they occasionally run right over her, knocking her down. Usually boys. But there was a girl last week who, in a fit of pique, threw a toy at my daughter's head. And there was a kid of unknown gender who threw open a gate, smacking it into her so that she fell to her knees. I rushed to pick her up and comfort her as she sobbed. The kid's mom was right there and I expected her to at least tell her kid "oh be careful honey," but she didn't.

I think I'm so used to being easygoing and letting other people call the shots in social interactions that I'm expecting, all the time, the other parents to do something about their little darlings' behavior. I know if my daughter took a toy away from some other baby, I would take it from her and hand it back. But the other parents never seem to step in. And I just feel weird about disciplining other people's kids. I'm scared that some kid will go running to his mom: "That lady took my shovel!" What's wrong with me, that I'm afraid of 3-year-olds? Where's my fierce mother instinct?