{The Only} 5 Things You Can Say to a Mom

I've seen enough witty articles to know a little bit about the so-called "Mommy Wars."
These wars are all about who's better, who's safer, who's more maternal, and at the heart of it all, who is just all around RIGHT. (That's it ladies, let's propagate high school drama well beyond those
traumatic years).
With that said, I've come up with a rebuttal. Here is my list of the safest conversation pieces I could find for one mom to another---regardless of self-applied labels (see disclaimer below).

1. "Gee, the weather looks nice today."
*Note: this may be replaced with a negative statement regarding the weather if the weather deserves it.
This tops our list for one very simple reason. It is a statement that is completely devoid of feeling, and thereby will not be interpreted as "judging" the other mother (even by the most sensitive of mothers).

2. "I remember when I was a baby, in the womb. It was dark!" Ignore for the moment that this is a lie. Lies are ok when we are being social and want to be accepted (and accepting) of others. It is also a nonconfrontational, autobiographical statement that is completely unremarkable as far as personal parenting skills go.

3. "You look beautiful!" Compliments are always acceptable and they are a part of every female friendship. There is a caveat. If this item is chosen, be prepared for varying responses. A person might respond boringly with "Thank you." Or, modestly with, "Me? I just threw these clothes on!"
It is rare, but you might also expect a genuine smile and a returned compliment. This is a good thing, a friendship can be achieved.

4. "Would you like some water?" This appears to be a safe suggestion. Of course, the author of this piece can not be held responsible if this question backfires when a woman suffering PMS misconstrues the meaning and becomes offended-presuming you are implying she watch her calorie intake. In this most unfortunate circumstance, simply explain that water is the only substance you are capable of offering.

5. "May I see pictures of your kid/kids?" Best opening line ever. No mom will fault you for taking an interest in their little protégés. Just make sure you've got some extra time to hear all the explanations of how Little Darling has Daddy's eyes, but Mommy's nose or how Tiny Timmy isn't actually tiny--it's just an endearing nickname.

No matter where you fall on the various issues of Mommy Wars, this list will save you loads of arguments, behind the back grumble, and potential lose of friendships.
In case you can't remember the talking points though, here is a simple list of topics you can easily avoid in order to salvage your relationships with other moms. Let me begin:

NEVER, never, mention Working Mom or Stay at Home Mom. Don't even suggest you belong to one
category or the other.

Also, (in connection) do not mention having more kids, if they are done, if there is a timeline. Basically, stay away from showing any interest in their family and/or size thereof. This is perceived as incredibly rude.

Additionally, don't say anything overly compassionate or sympathetic, like "You must be working hard," or "You probably need a break." These comments construe that (again) you are judging a mom's work ethic, or prioritizing over her children. Tisk-tisk!

Don't ask about eating habits. Do you really want to know if one kid eats from the breast or not? Trust me--don't go here with strangers.

Similarly, you really shouldn't ask about liquids. "Does Sweet Baby ever get juice in a sippy?" BAM! Just like that, you walked into a danger zone. The Dos, Do Nots, and the Only So Often, and the Completely Watered Downs live here.

And then there's the question of organic, co-sleeping, tv watchers, single, swaddlers, moby users, library goers, helicopter type.

You may wander from my 5 talking points, but clearly you'll be doing so at your own risk!
Share wisely!
Jenn
Copyright @jennifercotham 8/12/15

The Pros and Cons of Feminism

After much delay, I am finally going to excavate the masses within my mind, my heart, and my soul and break down, identify, my preconceived notions, my beliefs, and my intuitions regarding feminism. 

I've held onto the belief that I am a modern feminist---but in light of some reading I've been doing recently, I probably need to scrape that label.

On the flip side, I'm definitely not ready to be labeled as a Martha Stewaet or "Suzy the Homemaker."

I'm leaning more towards the simple explanation that in practice, I'm a housewife, but in Spirit, I'm Rosy the Riveter. 

I believe, 100% in a woman's right to work outside the home. I am also 100% thankful I married someone who supports my decision to stay home and raise our children.

And

        Our 

                Road

                       Has

                              Been 

                                       Rough.

It's not like I'm the kind of girl to go, "Hey, I have no other aspirations, so yes let's have some kids and I'll stay home.  I have nothing else I'd rather do."

I also wasn't chomping at the bit to find work once I had my first delivery. I wanted to spend every moment with my son more than anything I've ever wanted. 

So, here I am, struggling with the complexities of my decision.

My husband and I agree. We want one of us to stay with our boys until they're three and/or ready for preschool. I breastfeed and tend to keep the kids close by so it would make sense that I stay here while he goes out. 

And since I'm here, it makes sense that I would cook and I would clean.

And when you're doing something most days of the week, it makes sense that you would get really good at doing those things and that you would be comfortable juggling kids, and chores, and household duties "all in a day's work."

The only problem is the not getting paid part. All this work and nothing material to show for it. Sure, I'm greatly compensated for it in love and affection, but this zero sum makes my philosophy on feminism a bit wobbly. 

At least when women were expected to stay home, they didn't have to try to prove how valuable they were as housewives. People already knew that. That's why there was a designated position for them. 

Now though, it's like staying home is the equivalent of saying I'm a leech. A leper, or a saint. Depending on who you're asking. 

I'm not really asking anymore. I'm not even defending. I'm just trying to come to terms with who I am daily (so NOT a liberal feminist, but oddly close seeing as I breastfeed) and who I have been for so many years---pro rights. Make your own decisions. Go big or go home.

But now I'm all, "it's a baby, not a fetus" and what not. I guess this is really easier said than done. Good luck to you if you're still trying to figure it all out. I'm getting nowhere. 

I'm not poor, I'm just used to working with my hands.

Ever wonder about the difference between poor people and really poor people?
Just me, huh?
Well, lately I've been trying to wrap my mind around the sometimes subtle, other more obvious, divergences of those with wealth and those lacking.

I began my mental foray through poverty and richness with a closer observation of my habits, my preferences, my actions, and lastly, my thought processes.

See, I know realistically I'm not poor. I'm not homeless, I'm never without food, and I always have a bed to sleep in. I have Facebook, a car, and a washer and dryer. As many might say, in comparison to the majority of the world, I'M RICH!!

And yet, I feel unwealthy.
I have wants that go unmet. I have dreams I see as unrealistic in any near, or otherwise, future.
But it's more than that and I persist in this line of thinking not as an ungrateful American, but as one surverying the intricacies of the haves, the have nots, the sometimes we have but we always make do, and the we have so much we hardly know what to do!

I find myself in the "sometimes we have but we always make do" category.
Here are some identifiers if you are wondering if this is your category as well:

1. You enjoy fancy coffee drinks, but make do with a creamer and home made brew most days of the week.

2. You could really use a new wardrobe, but you'll instead choose to ravage your mom's or sister's or best friend's closet for the upcoming social event.

3. You'd love to have a pet, but realistically know you could hardly afford the shots, the food, the toys, etc. so you pacify yourself with weekly or monthly visits to Petco to pretend adoption is an option.

4. You love to eat out! And who doesn't? But you convince yourself that another homemade meal and time around the dinner table far surpasses the joy and excitement or a bustling, over-priced, stuffy, noisy restaurant.
     
 5. Even fast food is too pricey, so you give yourself the consolation prize of having less salt in your homemade French fries.

6. You can't afford the gym, but you'll be darned if you'll let that stop you. You get your leg lifts in while brushing your teeth, you tone your calves while standing on a curb, and you always park a little further from wherever you are because you actually could use the extra walking.

These are fine distinctions that identify the lower middle class from the upper, but I'm happy I'm here.
I feel resourceful, powerful even.
Excuse me as I go and join my husband as we watch some Netflix.
Are you kidding me? Lower middle class cannot afford a regular television provider! Dream on, but remember, at least we don't have commercials we have to fast forward through!!

My Journey through Depression

Pregnancy was emotionally, mentally, and psychologically difficult for me.

Of course, I felt like an idiot when I explained that to my sister-in-law who was on bed rest during her second pregnancy. It's still hard for me to feel legitimate when I examine my situation, since I know it mostly takes place on the inside and leaves scars very few will ever notice.

I found out during my first pregnancy that depression while expecting is called perinatal depression. I had happened to be walking through the mall, feeling more than just bloated, fighting back tears. My husband and I were fighting again and I was mortified to be doing so in public, when we should have been enjoying ourselves. I felt angry, betrayed, and sad. An overwhelming sense of sadness. Why?  I'm not sure exactly, except I know there was a hint of dashed expectations in there, too.

We had married after only 5 months of courtship and I was pregnant less than two months after the honeymoon. With everything happening so quickly, I was just as quick to blame this seemingly consistent numbness and pain on the trials we were facing, rather than to label my illness.

I didn't want to admit the problem. I didn't want to say that word, "Depression."
And not just depression, but perinatal depression. A depression because of raging hormones and God knows what else happens in our bodies the moment we conceive.

I often look back on that first pregnancy and my second and I can see glimpses of moments I am not proud of. Questioning friends who contacted my husband with a fierce sense of obligation and protectiveness. It's embarrassing now and honestly it hurt some of my friendships, but I was just doing what I thought I had to at the time. Call it primal, if you will. I know it to be what happens while I'm pregnant, because as soon as the baby is born, I have an overwhelming sense of relief.

Actually, the first time I was flooded with relief. The second time, I did have lingering feelings of isolation and detachment for about 6 weeks, but I recovered and now those blues are a distant, albeit sometimes painful memory.

The reason I'm writing this is because I don't want other soon to be moms to feel alone in their angst. We all experience different symptoms, to varying degrees. Try to carry on the best you are able and forget all the rest. Just remember, even if no one else can relate and you feel ashamed or unsure of who you can talk to, this too shall pass. It's beyond your control and you need comfort- NOT judgement! Good luck and remember the little life inside of you completely appreciates the sacrifices you are going through to get where you are! Good job, and keep going strong! You're doing a great job and I'm proud of you momma!

Loving the life you live...

Do you ever think about, daydream perhaps, about an alternative universe where everything you ever did was a direct result of good decisions and resulted directly in positive outcomes?

I'm talking about being fulfilled because you know that you've never made a mistake, and therefore have "arrived" at a very beautiful place in life.

It isn't real, this place (or your place, either). Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but none of us live that fantasized existence of perfection. We dream about it sure, but dreams only take us so far. They are lacking the spontaneity of improvisation when we find our selves up "Crap Lake" (most likely due to our own mistakes-but quite as probably due to unforseeable, unfortunate events beyond our control). Either way, there we find ourselves, and we are grumpy at this point, bewildered at how a simply beautiful, impeccable day, had gone so bleak-so quickly.

But then it happens, we make a change. We decide to laugh in the face of this disastrous circumstance and we succeed. We turn the grumpy mood of our child into a game of hysterics as we go on pretending to bump our heads into the wall over and over for the shear joy of watching their distress disappear. We are good people and parents and we want the very best for our children. We might not always live in the ideal land of sweet talk and lively conversation, but when we do get a glimpse of that Heaven, we dwell there- cherishing every last second!

I find myself here today. In solitude, seeking a distraction from the room I desperately need to organize and the bathroom longing to be scoured. I need escape, I need levity, I want FREEDOM. So, I come here. I seek solace in the words I imagine give others comfort. And perhaps I comfort myself with the knowledge that I am not alone in wanting to come away from my real life, to escape the monotony of sleep deprivation and melt-down wails and cries, and be someone assured and comforted by an idealized existence. Maybe some people really are "living the dream," but it seems more like I'm living to dream at this point. I know this is only a season, kids only stay small for so long, and that on the horizon I am there, looking back wondering where all that time had gone.
Someday, I'll look back and think to myself that I wish I could have back one moment, one day, when the kids were so little and we had nothing to do but sit around and take baths and play imaginary games. Someday. Far, far away.

Why Those People are Morons...

I read countless books when I was pregnant with my first son.
Here are a few examples:

What to Expect When Expecting
What to Expect During the First Year
Parenting Your First Child*
How to Raise a Good Kid*
All the Things You HAVE To Do To Be a Good Parent*

(*The names of these books have been changed to represent the only information I remember about them. I'll get into that later.)

Now, into the second month of having my second son, there are some notes I'd like to send to the asterisked books' authors.

"You are idiots."

"Thank you for the undue stress you placed on a pregnant woman (and, I'd wager, countless other emotional wrecking balls) during the most vulnerable state in our lives, particularly those reading during their first pregnancy."

"You have no idea what you are talking about UNLESS a)you never had children so you were guessing or b)you only had one child therefore you think everything you did worked great or c)you are a judge mental therapist with a God complex and would never admit to getting it all wrong!"

Ok, I feel a little better. Well, a little relieved anyway. Not quite better because it pains me (figuratively) to be so snappy.

However, here is what I'd actually say in an effort to not just criticize, but to do so constructively.

"Please stop telling parents to limit their adoration and pleasure in their first born."

I read a book that told me that parents look foolish when praising their child for going pee in the toilet for the first time. Similarly, it sighted our indecency when we dare to play with our children while feeding them ominous vegetables. All of the things that come so naturally as first time parents- hours awake during the night but never enough time to stare at that little face, cuddles among cuddles while just doing the routine diaper and pj swap, bottles or breast offered prematurely "just in case" the little one is hungry. All of these things we do because WE HAVE NO CLUE WHAT ELSE IS GOING ON. And we want to succeed.

Now, introduce baby number two. We KNOW we can succeed. We have successfully birthed, and partially raised a previous child. We are comfortable with swaddling, even if we aren't that good at it,  we can already distinguish between types of cries (oh, that just means he's wet, etc). All of these things we do because we must and we know what produced one other healthy child.

But, had I limited myself to only the needs of my first born. Had I listened to those fools and not let my first son take up all the extra room in my heart, I wouldn't remember what it felt like to be so enamored by a child that I might miss those opportunities to do so with my second born.

I am comfortable with routine. I am secure in repetition. So, when my newest child sits in his swing, it is tempting to think, "Yes, good, his needs are met. Check check." And carry-on with my list a mile long. But when I turn to walk away from my blue-eyed baby to change the laundry or to "use this opportunity" to finish a load of dishes, I remember piles of laundry adding up while I sat and sang and nuzzled and cooed and goo goo ga gaed over my first born. I look back at the fool I was for that first child and I struggle to find the moments now when I have the time to just be me with my youngest son and give him the fullest view of how nuts and wild I am over having his angelic presence in my life. I'll look crazy, stupid, and ignorant every day of my life if it means that my son will feel strengthened to listen to his heart, to know he is completely loved, and that people who get to publish books can be so completely and absolutely wrong.

Love,
Jenn

And then there were four...

It's been an uphill battle, and I'm winded.
Countless times, I've wanted to throw down my sword (and that's not including the times I've cowered behind my shield for protection and cried bitterly like a little girl).
However, I'm not there right now.
In this moment, I'm somewhere in between.
It's not really the eye of the storm because, for now, there is no impeding doom just minutes from my doorstep.
It's more or less like I, and my invisible army, have just defeated our enemy on sacred ground and are in reprieve---until we meet again.
I'm not angry and not sad. I am, as I mentioned, winded.

In this time of catching my breath I have been able to think and here's what I've come up with:

Four is better than three. There is another baby to love and it requires so much more of me to do so.
I am not the only one loving this baby though. In fact, he is getting loved from his father and his brother, too.

I cried rapids a few times over this next one.
I am unable to love my first son the same anymore.
Oh, wait for it, my heart hurt so much over this point I thought I'd never be the same.
But, God intervened graciously on my part and pointed out that the moon and the sun do not revolve around a mother's love. Thankfully, I have a husband who can snuggle and hold our boy while I nurse or change the baby. I saw this, of course. The extra bonding time for Dad and Son, but I still yearned for our time together that was lost.
Until I understood God more clearly. If it were just up to me to make my first son feel forever loved and entirely fulfilled, I would fail and fail miserably. I have a husband who loves me and who I vowed to make number one in my life. I didn't see how easily entangled my heart had become by also loving my first son so much. I could, quite literally, give that little boy everything I have and it would never seem like enough to me. Now, introduce baby number two and I am forced to divide my time even more.
I thought at first I couldn't do it.
I thought at first that I would surely fail.
But, now, I see the bigger picture.
God gave Oliver an older brother to play with, to laugh with, and to love.
They need each other already and it is the relationship they have and the one that will flourish, that will allow me to step aside. Not every day, and certainly not in everything, but little by little, as their needs are more in sync with one another and they can provide the joy that only one little boy can bring to his brother.