Sharing Is Caring and Much More

This weekend a good friend forwarded me the link to an article about teaching your toddler to share...or not. The thesis of the article was something like: There's an overemphasis on teaching kids to share because, in the real world, sharing ain't all that relevant. If you don't want to click over to the article and read it in full (here), I'll give you the highlights. The author's child goes to a school where the policy is that a child uses a toy until she is finished and does not have to prematurely give up said toy just for the sake of sharing. The author likes this policy and believes it accurately reflects life. An example that she gives: you can't just walk up to a stranger and take their sunglasses or phone because it's your turn.

Well, I firmly disagree with the thesis (though I agree that you can't nab a strangers sunglasses, no matter how much you want them and feel truly deserving of them). The premise that sharing isn't a practical skill is hogwash. I share all day, every day, every minute, constantly. We all do. We share offices and time with the barrista at Starbucks and space in the elevator and books at the library. People job share and carpool. When it comes to friends and family, I share dresses and punch bowls and bicycles and wallpaper steamers. Sharing is fantastic (and environmentally friendly).

But the real point, which is why I think the article kinda sucks (there I said it), is that sharing teaches patience. Sharing is a vehicle for the lesson rather than the lesson itself. By asking your child to use a toy and then share it, you're asking her to be patient, fight the instinct of "ME, NOW" and wait her turn. While you may not agree with my characterization of waiting to order your Starbucks latte as "sharing", you can certainly agree with my assertion that patience is possibly the most important lesson of all. It's not just a virtue, it's life. And whether your little one is patient, or not, she will be required to wait on a daily basis from now until infinite. 

So, back to the toy policy at the author's school (which I kind of like by the way), whether the author believes it or not, this policy requires sharing. At some point, all toys are put down, if only because school is over. And you can damn well bet that if Timmy made Tommy wait all afternoon to use the ball on Monday that Tommy is beating Timmy to the ball on Tuesday and making him wait all afternoon. So whether it's in five minute intervals or alternating afternoons, sharing is happening at her child's school and it's a good thing because it teaches patience.

Surfs Up, (with your) Baby!

I hope your Memorial Day weekend was long and wonderful. Mine was spent in a beach town, but not at the beach...not much. The weather wasn't all that conducive to bathing suits and barefoot walks through lapping ocean water. But, we did take advantage of a few hours of sunshine on Sunday.

Last summer, my daughter wasn't mobile. Beach trips consisted of playing with stacking cups under the umbrella and pointing at seagulls. This past weekend was our first time at the beach with a walking toddler. And wow was she walking...and running. She stumbled across the dunes, shouted at the ocean, genuinely blown away by the foaming waves, she picked up shells, put down shells and barrel rolled on the sand. She was so happy and it was wonderful to watch.

At some point during her backward crab crawl across the beach, as sand caked into her pupils, I was brought back to a Caribbean vacation I took pre-baby. I remembered my childless self, sipping a tropical cocktail and reading a book under a tiki umbrella with my husband basking in the sun next to me, an hour into the worst sunburn of his life. Next to us were a couple with an adorable 6 month old. I was thoroughly impressed, and slightly confused, as to why this adventurous couple decided to bring their infant to the far off island of our destination. It seemed an impossible feat. Were they actually having a nice, relaxing vacation? I didn't ask, but I desperately wanted to.

Flash forward to my sand covered babe who is gleefully rolling across the wet beach like a frolicking seal lion. The beach is so different now. Life is so different now. And, I can't compare my two hour beach trip to a week long tropical vacation, but I can make an educated guess at what those parents were thinking - they couldn't bare to do anything without their tiny man. They derived such joy from watching him experience life that it almost didn't matter where they were. They weren't there for the drinks or the sunburns, they were there to have an adventure as a family. Of course (of course), there will be future vacations when my little one stays at grandma's house while my husband and I sip cocktails under a tiki umbrella. And I'll sleep late and read a book more than one chapter at a time and sun bathe in silence, which will be amazing, but I'll miss my daughter more than a little. I'll miss her sea lion impression.

How adorable is this little seal lion pup? My daughter has the same form.
(image source)

Just Wait Until...

Something super duper annoying that people say about parenting: "Just wait until...fill in the phrase". Just wait until she starts to crawl. Just wait until he turns two. Just wait until she starts preschool. Just wait until you have two kids. Just wait until you have three kids. Just wait until you have a dozen tantruming, psychotic kids.

It's typically used in response to another parent venting about the challenges of a new stage in her child's development. Exhibit A:

Mom 1 - Jane started to crawl. She gets into everything now. I can't take my eyes off her.
Mom 2 - Just wait until she starts to walk.

They are such competitive words. Oh, you think you have it hard? You think juggling twenty things at once is tricky, do ya? Mom 2 might as well say, I have it harder and I juggle more. Or even, your parenting is pie, I do the real thing. Those are the indisputable implications and they're all really frustrating.

I can't tell you how many times I've heard this sentence from another parent because it happens all the freaking time. You might even know a perpetual offender. I typically respond by affirming the assertion with "I can't imagine!" or "Yeah, that's gonna be hard." I'm a pretty non-confrontational person and I'm very non-confrontational when it comes to parenting. I try to live by the rule that most parents are just trying to survive, just trying to get it done without anyone losing limbs or eyeballs. And so, I bite my tongue and play along.

But, it's not cool. And, maybe more importantly, it's not true. Who's to say that it is more difficult to parent a walker than it is to parent a crawler. There are harder aspects and easier aspects to both stages. A walker has farther to fall to the ground and is, thus, more prone to injury. A walker is also more self-sufficient. It's impossible and short-sighted to characterize any stage as more difficult than another. Each stage of life, and of parenting, has unique challenges.

So, maybe I'll never be able to (or want) to say it in the moment, but I'll say it here - the parenting that I'm doing right now is pretty damn legit and I plan to continue being a rockstar, just wait.

It's Not All About the Benjamins

How much does it cost to have a second child?

I googled that phrase and came up with a couple helpful, though slightly dated, articles (here and here).  The bad news, which you may have suspected, is that it does in fact cost more to have a second child.  Hopefully, this doesn't blow your mind.  You'll spend more on childcare, clothing, gear, diapers, food, college savings and health insurance, to name the obvious ones.

My original intent for this post was to delve into each considerations in some detail.  How much does childcare go up?  Answer - Not double, but a bunch more.  Can you reuse baby number one's clothes for baby number two?  Answer - Depends on the physical similarities of your kids (weight and height) and the similarity of the seasons (winter baby versus summer baby) and their gender (some people don't want to dress their boys in pink Bambi pajamas).

Speaking of pink Bambi pajamas...the above are currently on sale at Baby Cottons, hence the blue sale sign

I quickly realized that too many financial considerations will differ on a family-by-family basis.  Not everyone uses childcare and some first borns will be out of diapers by the time their sibling is born.  I also quickly realized that this subject is a tad depressing and could, potentially, scare a type A person like myself away from having a second child.  I mean, not really.  But it could add an unnecessary level of stress to the whole thing.

Being pregnant while caring for a toddler is something I have not experienced, but I can imagine that it's tricky and a bit intense.  Just being pregnant was tricky and a bit intense at times.  Preparing yourself and your family for the new member is a huge job.  There are a lot balls to juggle with money being one of many.

While I'm not suggesting to stick your head in the sand and ignore the financial implications of a second child, I do think that money is just a piece of the puzzle.  And, perhaps, not the most important piece.  Moreover, no amount of Excel spreadsheeting is going to give you a precise dollar amount because for all the tangible considerations there are at least as many intangible considerations that you can't even predict.  You might end up having a boy in July and your cousin had a boy in July two years ago.  Bam, full wardrobe immediately accomplished.  Your co-worker ends up getting pregnant around the same time as you and wants to go in on a nanny share when the babies are born.  It will cost you half as much as the daycare you had been using for your first born.  You might get ballsy and give cloth diapers a whirl.

I envisioned myself using gDiapers with my daughter.
My mother even gifted me the washable outers and some inserts at my baby shower.
Never happened.  Not once.

Thinking about how much money your second child is going to set you back is responsible.  It's good parenting.  But, plotting it out to the penny, stressing out, preemptively selling your second car, is probably not productive.  It might actually be more harmful than helpful.   So, think about the money, but not too much and not too hard.

Meaty Discussion Time

Let's start our week with a nice, meaty discussion.  Do you get a little uncomfortable when someone says 'meaty discussion'?  I do.  Meaty discussion.  Meaty.  Gross.

I found the following article through a link on my Facebook newsfeed the other day: So, You Would Like to Have Three Children?  The title is relatively benign.  The content is relatively alarming (and a bit annoying).  Basically, author Laura Garwood Meehan is giving you reason upon reason upon reason to not have three children.  She lays it on thick like buttah.  I stopped reading halfway through because it was getting repetitive and unnecessarily dramatic, so I may have missed the happy conclusion. If you get through the whole thing, please let me know how it ends.

Here's the thing - a lot of families have three kids.  And some families have more than three kids.  GASP.  People of all kinds, all financial means, all over the world have three kids.  I'm not trying to downplay what it must be like or what it must require to be a parent of three.  My world was rocked with the addition of one child, so I have no doubt that the impact of two would be exponential, much less three.  But, I still wasn't buying what this article was selling.  Maybe it was the article's tone?  It felt like a warning: Do Not Under Any Circumstances Think That You Are Capable of Handling Three Children.  You Aren't and You Can't.

It reminded me of that crazy annoying phrase, "you wouldn't understand because you don't have kids".  When I was not a mother and a mother would say this to me, I would cringe and viciously bite my tongue.  Adding the word "three" into that statement doesn't make it any less patronizing and misguided.  How many kids does one have to have in order to "understand" whatever there is to understand?

However, my point is not simply to criticize the article or the author (too late).  My point is this: If you have any pearls of wisdom to bestow upon those embarking on a journey you've already taken, keep in mind that no two people and no two journeys are alike.  So, typically, generalizations are stupid.  And, typically, generalizations about parenting are wicked stupid.

When I make my transition from a single serving to batch, I will certainly be asking for advice.  But, hopefully, the advice I receive will be slightly more positive and balanced.  Namaste.

Update (1/23/14) - Thank you Time Magazine for your (slightly dated) article on something positive to consider about adding a third child to your family: finances.  The money it takes to raise a second child is far less than the cost of the first, and the third child is down right cheap.

A Difficult Dilemma Between Friends

There is a clear difference between baby crazed individuals and non-baby crazed individuals.  The more crazy the former gets, the more glaring the difference.  Being a baby crazed individual, I must consciously simmer myself around non-baby crazed friends.  I intentionally guide my conversational instincts toward movies, work, and noteworthy happenings on my commute (versus names, baby shower tales and family planning discussions).  Sometimes I slip up, but that usually only happens when I'm around other baby crazed individuals.  The joining forces of multiple baby crazed ladies can be explosive...and super annoying...to the non-baby crazed.  But, all-in-all, controlling the baby talk is doable.

It's two baby crazed individuals (Tori Spelling and Dean McDermott) 

with their crew of babies.  There's actually one missing, their new son Finn.  

Side note: healthy wishes to Tori, who was recently hospitalized 

due to complications from her c-section with Finn.  

Let's up the stakes from a conversation between a baby crazed and non-baby crazed lady to a conversation between a pregnant woman and a woman who has been desperately trying to get pregnant for some time.  You just cringed when you read that, right?  The contrast here is far more glaring.  The mama-to-be can't very well deny her state of being, especially if her bump is in full effect.  The non-pregnant lady can't very well deny her desire to be pregnant, especially if it was well known before Miss Preggers found herself knocked up.

Simmering baby talk to a non-baby crazed friend is easy enough.  Simmering baby talk to a non-pregnant lady (or anyone), when your bump is touching your bowl of soup, is not so easy.  So, what does a pregnant lady do?  Not talk about babies at all and ignore her twitching belly?  Meanwhile, what does a non-pregnant-and-desperate-to-be lady do?  Not ask the courteous, obvious questions?  Avoid pregnant people altogether? 

Italian wedding soup.  My favorite.

It's a difficult dilemma requiring some serious sensitivities.  With so many of my friends having babies, being pregnant, being baby crazed and wanting to become parents, this difficult dilemma has popped up on more than one occasion.  It's never easy to manage - not from inside the dilemma or even as an onlooker.  But, the one thing I have learned is to let the non-pregnant lady guide the way.  If she wants to avoid all contact for a while, let her, and if she doesn't want to ask the courteous, obvious questions, let her.  She's not trying to offend or be selfish, she's just coping.

When wedding season is over, there is a ranging spectrum of interests and desires when it comes to being baby crazy and starting a family.  Be conscious of that range.  No matter where you fall on the spectrum, it's healthy for you and important for friendships to avoid tunnel vision.  Be the change you wish to see in the world...okay, that's totally unrelated, but it felt like a natural conclusion to this deep-ish thoughts post.

Name Haters

True - I'm obsessed with baby names.  I love listing them, researching them, discussing them and generally pondering them for minutes hours at a time.  I've written about them more times then I care to count (check out the long list of name posts here).

I can't explain my obsession, but I do know that others share it, which is comforting.  I so appreciate a friend who's willing to discuss name meanings and origins with me, repeatedly, because she's equally as passionate about the subject.  I'm a name lover and I know it.  What I don't appreciate is those passionate individuals who claim to be name lovers, but are really name haters. 

Haters gonna hate...

Name haters love talking about names, but their side of the conversation is about how much they hate most names.  The joyful brainstorming session of a name lover is quickly smothered by a laundry list of bad associations and inexplicable distaste from a name hater.  Here a few short scripts to better exemplify:

Name Lover: "I'm really into modern names lately, like Mulligan and Gem".
Name Hater: "Seriously?!  Yuck.  Those aren't even names, they're a golfing reference and the centerpiece of jewelry."

Name Lover: "I'll never stop loving those turn of the century, antique names like Wyatt and Coralie."
Name Hater: "I'll never understand why people like those names.  If you're gonna name your son Wyatt, you have to hope that he's good looking kid because teasing will pick on him like crazy."

Name Lover: "I just met a little girl named Vera, I love it.  Thoughts?"
Name Hater: "It's not horrible, it's just that I had a really annoying coworker named Vera at my last job.  It makes me think of coffee breath and a nasal voice."

GROSS.

There is nothing that will invoke a pleasant reaction from a name hater, except if you reference one of the tiny handful of names that she happens to love.  It's a disastrous conversation when the lover and the hater come together on their favorite topic.  Well, disastrous for the lover.  And yet, a name lover can't easily avoid the conversation because the worst part of name haters is, again, that they think they're name lovers and genuinely love talking about names.

The thing is, name haters aren't always haters across the board.  Some of the nicest people I know are name haters.  It's weird.  I think because it's not necessarily rude to give a blunt opinion on a movie or restaurant, people think the same rules apply to names.  But that's not true.  Name opinions are personal and much more akin to fashion choices or haircuts.  The love of a name speaks to personality and taste.

I love shopping at JCrew (online sales), wearing my hair in a ponytail and classic, but less popular, names.  I get a bit peeved when someone disses any of these things.  So, if you're suddenly self identifying as a hater - quit it!




   

I Didn't Understand

I once wrote that one of the more frustrating phrases for a non-mother to hear is "you wouldn't understand because you don't have children".  It's a pet peeve of mine.  It's patronizing and not always accurate.  Ironically, I recently found myself saying those words...to myself...in my head.  

It all took place on the subway, where everything blog-worthy in my life seems to occur.  I was happily sitting for my commute home.  Unlike most evening commutes, there were plenty of open seats.  A mother and her toddler walked onto the subway.  The toddler was relatively sturdy on her feet with the curliest brown hair I have ever seen.  My first inner thought was - what a cutie.  

Remember Curly Sue?  Another cutie with curly hair.
She's all growns up and recently had a baby.

Upon entering the subway car, the mother immediately asked her mini me to sit in an empty seat between me and another woman.  The toddler partly refused and partly ignored the request.  Unphased, the mother then asked the toddler to sit in different empty seat.  Again, the toddler refused and this time walked away from the mother.  My interest perked.  How was the mother going to handle this blatant disobedience in such a public forum?  Plus, the train was about to start moving, safety was becoming an issue.  

The mother calmly followed the toddler's path, asking her to sit in yet another seat.  No dice.  The train started to move.  Ultimately the toddler didn't sit.  Instead, she placed her small hands on a pole and spun.  She spun and spun and spun as the train moved and shook and wobbled to its next stop.  And as the whirling dervish made circles, the mother turned to a nearby stranger and said "she's just crazy!" in a genuinely tickled, proud tone.

FYI - These are whirling dervishes.

I already told you my first, distinct inner thought.  Here was my second: she's crazy because you let her be crazy.  I didn't understand how this mother let her two-year-old so blatantly defy her.  I didn't understand how this mother let her two-year-old behave objectively dangerous.  No one should be spinning around those subway poles while the train is moving regardless of age.  Those sort of antics are reserved for drunk college kids who typically crack open their heads at the end of the show.  More than anything, I didn't understand how this mother was seemingly pleased with her defiant child and neither embarrassed nor fuming.  

Before I accidentally made a sour face to match my sour thoughts, I reminded myself that the hellion wasn't mine.  And, more importantly, who knows how I will eventually act and feel when it is my hellion.  So, truth be told, I didn't understand.  

I'm Afraid of Holding Babies

No, the title of this post isn't a phrase from Stuff People Google (though it certainly sounds like it is).  Rather, it's an accurate description of how I feel when a new parent excitedly hands me her teeny tiny bundle of joy.  I sometimes decline.  Not outright decline, but sort of blow it off.  No, no, no...she's so comfortable we don't have to move her around, you hold onto her or I have to run to the bathroom, I'll hold him when I get back.


Truthfully, I'm not afraid of all babies.  I'm cool with the 6+ month olds.  It's the newborns that freak me out.  They're just so small.  Who's seen a newborn lately?  I've recently been in the company a two day old baby who was, actually, on the big side (over 8 lbs).  Even her tiny big self scared the BaJesus out of me.  Thankfully she was fast asleep and there was no offer to transfer her to my sweaty palms.  Even so, I positioned myself at a safe distance across the room.  

You would think that a baby crazy lady like myself would be overly eager to grab whatever babies I was offered.  I think it's far more common to squeal and reach out at the sight of one.  But I don't.  I wish I did.  Instead, I get scared and force myself to sit down on the nearest surface (floor included) like a 4th grader who's holding a baby for the first time under strict parental supervision.

Why?  The obvious answer: I'm afraid of dropping, crushing, bending, breaking and/or upsetting the tiny person.  I'm afraid of being bad at it.  Because if I accidentally hurt or upset the baby or if I'm randomly bad at it, that could reflect on my ability as a future mother.  If I don't shine at baby holding, the parent could think I'm non-maternal and, worse, I could feel non-maternal.

Unlike me, Michael Jackson had absolutely no fear of holding his baby...over a balcony.

There's not a happy ending to this post.  I didn't have a break through last week with an exceptionally easy infant.  I didn't discovery a zen trick to calm me down at the sight of a newborn.  But that's okay.  If I'm awkward as hell with everyone else's baby, I have faith that I'll be natural with my own...not because I'm an eternal optimist but because that's what I've been told.  Plus, practice makes perfect and when it's your own baby there's a lot of practice.

Po-TAY-to versus Po-TAH-to

Baby craziness is so fun, when you're in it and ready to go.  When you're not in it and SO not ready to go, it's really annoying.

When a single friend is surrounded by a crop of coupled up friends, slight tensions may arise.  The single friend wants to frequent bars, guzzle red wine and mingle with co-eds.  The coupled friend wants to order take out, play Apples to Apples and be in bed at a reasonable hour.  Okay, those are extreme stereotypes, but the truth isn't far off.  Single friends are typically driven by the desire to find partners in crime.  Coupled friends are typically driven by the desire to maintain relationships with their partners in crime.  When two good friends find themselves on differing sides of this dividing line it can be a game changer.

Apples to Apples is THE best game.
You know what side of the divide I stand on...

When a friend who is NOT baby crazy is surrounded by a crop of baby crazy friends, serious tensions regularly arise.  The baby crazy friend is trying to get pregnant or already pregnant or already a parent.  Her entire life revolves around wanting a baby and/or adoring the baby she has.  The non-baby crazy friend (coupled or single) is fully content without adding a baby to the mix.  Her entire life revolves around everything but baby stuff.  Much like the single versus coupled friend, the interests of the baby crazy versus the non-baby crazy friend differ.  But, when it comes to baby crazy differences, it's not just interests that differ it's full fledged lifestyles.

Tori Spelling is definitely baby crazy.
She's pregnant with her 4th!  

With pregnancy and babies come physical limitations and non-negotiable responsibilities.  Being baby crazy is an all encompassing state of being - in part because it's exciting and in part because it's actually life changing.  It's impossible hard to consider, think about, discuss and behave in a way that doesn't revolve around a baby.  Meanwhile, for the non-baby crazed individual it's excruciating to not be able to talk about or do anything that isn't directly or indirectly affected by a baby.  

I'm not suggesting that the baby crazy and the non-baby crazy folk can't get along.  They certainly can and do.  All the time.  But, it's important to recognize these major differences and be sensitive to them.  It's not about feeling sorry for lifelong bridesmaids or hopelessly baby crazed ladies.  Rather, it's about understanding the seriousness of these differences in terms of the way they affect interests and day-to-day life.  And, it's about respecting friends accordingly, just like you would with any other difference.

You say poTAYto, I say poTAHto.  You say I'm not ready for kids, I say I've been ready for kids since I was twelve.  Let's NOT call the whole thing off.      

Feeling Like Fergie

Stacy Ferguson (aka Fergie) (aka Fergie Ferg) is well known for many fabulous things.  She sings, she dances and she's even acted (check out her IMDB page here).  She's also known for some not so fabulous things.  She used crystal meth on the regular back in the early 90s and she once peed her pants while on stage during a concert....

I was gonna draw an arrow to 
highlight the evidence...
but it seemed unnecessary
(image here)

When one feels like Fergie that could mean many things, good and bad.  It could mean feeling embarrassed after doing something supremely humiliating.  It could mean feeling extra glamorous and ready to rock out sequin unitard.  It could also mean feeling pissed off because everyone thinks you're pregnant, but you're not.  Poor Fergie is constantly being mistaken as pregnant.  CONSTANTLY.  It's  the result of an unflattering angle, an unflattering outfit and sometimes both.  She's the subject of pregnancy speculation just as often as she's the subject of recognition for her career.

Here are some exhibits to prove my point:

Exhibit A: Fergie wears a flowing blue shirt,
X17Online.com thinks she's pregnant

Exhibit B: Fergie is photographed leaving dinner
 (maybe too much sushi? white rice can bloat....) 
in an empire waist dress and
JustJared.com thinks she's pregnant

Exhibit C: This is just a bad angle 
and an ugly shirt, but Babble.com 
thought it was the look of pregnancy

Exhibit D: Here, Babble.com called 
Fergie "thick" (how friggin cruel), 
which was a supposed sign of pregnancy

Ever mistaken someone as pregnant?  It's hurtful.  Ever been mistaken as pregnant?  It sucks.  First, it automatically brings about self image issues.  It makes you feel fat or unfashionable or both.  Second, it brings about privacy issues.  These issues are best explained through some exhibits, much like Fergie's pregnancy rumors.  

Exhibit A: Your friend calls you out for being pregnant because you're not drinking alcohol.  What she doesn't know is that you're taking medication for a medical condition that you don't want to talk about.  It's something you wanted to keep between you and your doctor.  

Exhibit B: Your friend calls you out for being pregnant because your boobs are looking particularly large.  What she doesn't know is that you're wearing a pair of chicken cutlets because you wanted to look amazing in a strapless dress for the first time in you life.  It's your best friend's wedding and you wanted some keepsake photos in which you look more shapely than a 12-year-old boy. 

Exhibit C: Your friend calls you out for being pregnant because you're constantly talking about babies.  What she doesn't know is that talking about babies doesn't mean wanting babies. 

In all of these exhibits, you have the option of evading the question (and probably perpetuating suspicion), straight up lying, or revealing embarrassing information.  Three bad choices.  So, here's my firm advice to nosy friends:  Don't be so nosy.  Be a friend and not a private investigator.  If you are truly friends with someone, she will tell you she's pregnant when she's ready.  Forcing someone to admit she's pregnant or defend her non-pregnant status isn't very friendly.

Don't make your friend feel like Fergie.

Equally Awful

Did you hear that Leah Messer had a miscarriage?  UGH.  Here is the full story from OK! Magazine.

When I heard the sad news I had been ironically working on a post about the fact that Leah Messer was pregnant again.  A cheeky post that went something like this:

If you know I love Teen Mom, you also know that I have mixed opinions about it's overall worth to society.  I've asked the question before (here) and I'll ask it again: is Teen Mom teaching teens about how truly difficult it is to be a teenage mother or is it glamorizing teen pregnancy?  I think, and I could certainly be wrong, that the founding idea behind Teen Mom was to encourage the use of birth control (and celibacy).  I haven't come across any statistics on whether this principal has in fact affected the general teenage population, but when it comes to a specific teenage individual, Leah Messer, we can now say with certainty that the whole importance of birth control message didn't resonate.  She's nineteen and recently announced that she's pregnant, again.

I was actually inspired to write a post about Leah's Messer's pregnancy by one of my favorite NSB followers who emailed this question: why haven't you covered the Leah Messer pregnancy?!  A solid question given my juvenile obsession with the Teen Mom franchise.  Of course it was blog worthy news, but I was biding my time as I searched for my angle.  So, I started the post (above) but couldn't figure out where to take it.  Then, news of the miscarriage hit the internet and my angle found me.

Pregnancy is major.  It can be major good or major...not good.  That's because not all pregnancies occur under ideal terms.  It's easy to think of the married couple in their thirties who get pregnant after thoughtful consideration, financial planning and a month of hot, unprotected sex.  Of course that's not always the case.  Pregnancy can also be the result of a couple teenagers having a one-night, supremely awkward romp session after drinking far too many Natty Ices.

aka Natty Ice

Miscarriage, on the other hand, is pretty much always awful - whether you're sixteen or fifty, a billionaire or poor as hell, ready or not ready.  There is no upside to discovering a pregnancy and then losing that pregnancy.  For a woman whose discovery of pregnancy is major good, loss of that pregnancy is awful.  Totally and utterly devastating.  For a woman whose discovery of pregnancy is major not good, loss of that pregnancy is still awful.  Losing a pregnancy won't erase the emotional turmoil that occurred while the pregnancy existed.  And, even in major not good cases, unexpectedly losing a pregnancy may still provoke sadness.  A loss is still a loss, even if it's accompanied by a sense of relief.

Upon hearing news of the miscarriage, my heart hurt for Ms. Messer, even if she did ignore the good word of Dr. Drew.

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

Tom Petty and those Heartbreakers said it best:

Making the decision to try to get pregnant is HUGE.  For some, it's a decision that was made a long time ago, but other factors (and parties) had to get on board.  For others, it's a decision that came after a lot of thinking and waiting and considering and waiting and more thinking.  In either case, once this HUGE decision is made it's then time to go ahead and get pregnant.

Whether trying to get pregnant means casually pulling the goalie or purchasing an ovulation test kit and creating spreadsheets, it's impossible to know when it actually happens.  The word "it" in that prior sentence does not stand for "sex"...you know when sex happens.  Rather, it stands for moment that one actually becomes pregnant (fertilization then implantation... look it up), which is impossible to determine without some sophisticated medical equipment.  And so, whether your approach is laid back or full throttle, there will be a period of waiting to see whether you get your period, or not.

When you've made that decision that it's go time, that you're ready to get pregnant, that you're as ready as you'll ever be to become a parent...waiting can be hard.  It can be excruciating.  Typically it's two weeks between the day that a woman can get pregnant (ovulation) and the day that a woman should get her period (menstruation...I had to write it).  Even if a woman's cycle is a little unpredictable, it's still about two weeks before most pregnancy tests will give an accurate reading.

Thank you Wikipedia for this helpful chart.  

Taking a pregnancy test before the two week mark, while tempting, isn't a great option.  The results are not necessarily accurate, which will lead to waiting another few days to retest while coping with potentially false information in the meantime.  So, if you have to wait, how can you make it a little less hard?  In true Family Feud style, I've polled a bunch of ladies and the number one answer on the board is "Stay Busy".  Fill your social calendar.  Start (and finish?) a new TV series, I recommend Homeland.  Bake yourself, your friends, your co-workers some cookies.  Learn to knit.  Do anything that will take your mind off waiting and do it constantly until the waiting is over.  An idle mind is the devil's workshop (it's a proverb of some sort), so keep your mind full of thoughts other than "how much longer do I have to wait?!".

The Cutest Kid

I see kids every day.  Adorable, oozing with cuteness kids.  Once in a while I see an especially adorable one.  The type of child who you stare at, like a creep.  You try to resist commenting on the cuteness, but can't help yourself, "She is just so precious, I can't take it!  I had to say something!!!"  You go home thinking that you need a baby, stat.  That's not the type of kid I saw last week.  I saw the opposite type of kid.  He was a mess.  Just a friggin mess.

I was on my evening commute home via the notorious NYC subway.  The train car was stupidly packed, which somehow didn't stop a mother from pushing herself and a stroller into the crowd.  We, the commuters who can't stand mothers with their strollers, sighed loudly and blatantly rolled our eyes.  Why can't mothers with strollers choose non-commuter hours to travel on public transportation!? A question that I've asked before (here).

I was the lucky winner who was wedged between a metal pole and the stroller.  So, naturally, I checked out the little bugger who was making my trip home that much more aggravating.  He was not cute.  First, his outfit was a disaster and not in the mismatched-because-he-dressed-himself way.  More in the I-didn't-know-kids-clothes-could-be-so-ugly way and the that-shade-of-teal-is-making-me-nauseous way.  Next, he had thick pen marks all over one of his cheeks.  Shouldn't he be drawing with a Crayola marker and not a Papermate ballpoint?  Next, his hands were purple.  But it wasn't just the color that was a problem.  There was sticky, thick, crumbly, purple stuff caked all under his finger nails and in every wrinkle and crevice of his little hand.  Next, he was using these grubby, purple paws to eat cheddar bunnies.  There were cheddar bunnies everywhere - on his coat, on his teal sweatpants, in his mouth and nose, smeared on his chin...just everywhere.  The fluorescent orange of the bunny crumbs was mixing with the purple mystery goo to create a sticky rainbow nightmare.  Finally, he started to scream.

This doesn't really cover it.  There was PURPLE and so many bunny crumbs.
(images found here, here, here, here and here)

Go ahead, judge me.  Comment that I'm a total asshole for thinking the baby was an uncute mess and sharing that opinion with you.  I would too.

Thankfully I reached my stop before my ear drums suffered permanent damage.  As I walked down the platform and through the turnstile, I got a little sad.  It seemed clear to me that my guttural reaction to the purple-handed little boy was a sign that I'm probably not ready to have kids.  I mean, who thinks toddlers are gross?  As baby crazy as I may be, it seemed that the messy reality was not jiving with my parenthood aspirations.  Humph.

But the story doesn't end there because it was THEN that I saw the cutest kid.  She was probably 6-years-old, wearing a pink winter coat and sporting some lop-sided pigtails.  She was holding her mother's hand and vehemently yelling.  It was a mother/daughter battle for the ages.  And here's how it went:

Mother - "I told you to get yourself ready, but you continued to dawdle."
Daughter - "That's not true."
Mother - "That is true.  I saw you.  You were dawdling and you were supposed to be getting ready."
Daughter - "You don't know what I was doing!  Only I know what I was doing!  Only I am me!  ONLY I AM ME!!!"

I don't know that everyone would have loved that exchange, but I did.  I thought it was just the cutest response and that she was just the cutest kid.  I followed the pair down the sidewalk, holding back giggles and desperately wanting to interject and side with the pint-sized Johnny Cochran.

Cuteness is in the eye of the beholder.  My baby craze lives on...

2012 New Year Resolutions

It's time to consider, reconsider and commit to a few resolutions for the new year.  The magical year of 2012 is almost upon us (in 2.5 days) and no time is better than RIGHT NOW to figure out the changes you'll make, bad habits you'll break and goals you'll achieve in the next 365 days. 

Before you do so, let me tell you a little about 2012.  I'm not psychic, just quick with my Wikipedia research.

• The Year of the Dragon - According to the Chinese Zodiac, 2012 is the Year of the Dragon.  It will be a year marked by intensity and enthusiasm.  Contrast that with 2011, the Year of the Rabbit, which is was marked by serenity and tranquility.  For those of you who just thought, "yeah right...serenity and tranquility my ass....", this first point might not impact your resolution making.
• Leap Year - February 29th exists in 2012.
• The Hunger Games - I couldn't end the year without another reference to this book and the entire trilogy.  For those keeping track, I will now reveal that I've finished all three books.  While I'm tempted to share my thoughts, they're not really "Next Stop Baby" relevant....though I could be persuaded.  The first movie, The Hunger Games, is due out in May 2012. 
• Summer Olympics - London will host the 2012 summer olympics, from July 27 to August 12, making it the first city to host three olympic games.
• Presidential Election - On November 6, 2012, the good folk of United States will elect a new (or the same) president.

Let's make some resolutions.

For the Baby Crazed individual, trying to simmer down in 2012 probably won't work.  You're baby CRAZY (not baby happy) and it's the Year of the Dragon.  Maybe resolve to put your energy toward something that will benefit your future offspring - learn to knit baby booties? 

For me, the relatively new blogger (it's been almost a year!), I've resolved to write at least two posts a week that are focused on story telling, quirky observations and deep thoughts.  Through the process of writing for Next Stop Baby, I've also become a blog follower.  In part, I wanted to see how other people did this blogging thing and, in part, I was genuinely interested in the subjects.  Blogs that post often have a certain appeal because you can count on a daily (or near daily) fix.  But, I'm a bigger fan of blogs that post quality content.  As an avid follower, it's easy to tell when a blogger publishes a cop-out post...I'm sure you've been able to spot my cop-out posts over the last 11 months.  So, I'm vowing to write quality posts only.  This will inevitably mean that I will post less often, but I'm cool with that.  I hope you are too.

What are your 2012 resolutions?

Your Baby Looks Like....

Your baby looks like David Letterman. 

Ever met a baby that looked so much like David Letterman that you absolutely needed to make the comment?  Thankfully, I haven't.  Not exactly.  I have wanted to say: your baby looks like an old man.  The baby was a little girl and I did actually say it.  Outloud.  But, I was alone on my couch perusing through Facebook photos so it didn't much matter.

I try to keep these type observations to myself.  Or, to the empty rooms of my apartment.  I've decided that any reference to a baby looking older than 6 months should be avoided.  Even if the baby looks like an adorable senior citizen, even if you mean it in the kindest way possible, it might not be perceived as a compliment.  I get offended when strangers comment on my dog's appearance.  Just last week, a youngish, hipsterish fellow told me that my dog looked like Baxter from Anchor Man.  I was pissed, though I thanked him.  Baxter's a fine looking dog, but he is a HE and my dog is a SHE.  And, my dog's looks far exceed fine.

Keeping it classy.

Consider this scenario: a baby who looks EXACTLY like one parent.  This little bundle defines the gross term "spitting image".  Do you comment about the obvious likeness? It seems like a no brainer - Yes.  It makes sense (genetically) and what parent doesn't want there child to look like them (or their spouse)?  Think again.  There are parents out there that don't appreciate your opinion that the baby looks like anyone other than them, the other parent included.

One final, even trickier, scenario: a baby who looks like no one.  Your brown hair, brown eyed friend and her brown hair, brown eyed husband introduce you to their blond hair, blue eyed baby.  The baby's nose is an original and her mouth is somehow the exact opposite of both parents' mouths.  There's a slight similarity between the shape of her eyes and the shape of one parent's eyes, kind of...not really.  Overall, this baby may have been switched at birth because the resemblance is shockingly absent.  Do you comment - where did this blond beauty come from?  Do you make a joke of it - someone was sleeping with the mailman.  Do you throw the question back at the parents - who do you think she looks like?  Do you ignore it altogether?

I've encountered all three of these scenarios at one time or another.  I've met the baby who looks like George Bush Sr.  I've met the mother who doesn't like people commenting that her baby looks like her husband.  I've met the baby who looks like neither of his parents.  Being that I'm not typically quick on my feet in the face of potentially awkward conversation, I've managed to say the wrong thing in all situations.  The lesson that I've learned and the most simplified rule of thumb is to always choose the path of least resistance.  When it comes to babies, even a slight bobble of words can create a highly offended parent.  It's a sensitive subject and understandably so.  What is this non-resistant path?  Just say "she/he is a combination of both parents."  If this is a complete lie and you're not comfortable with that (by the way, paaaaalease, it's so not a big deal), then just don't make any look-a-like comment.  Stick with general terms like "cute" and "adorable" and "perfect". 

Ever been in one of these situations?  Have any words of wisdom to share?  Moms (and dads...if you read...) how do you feel when someone makes a comment about your baby's appearance or resemblance to someone else?

Look, DON'T Touch

Today's post was inspired by a good friend's awkward encounter with a rude person.  This good friend, also a good mom, read last week's post (Rude People and Socks) and immediately emailed me the following story:

My friend (Mom) is in the grocery store with her tiny, beautiful, perfect baby girl.  Baby Girl is happily hanging out in a baby carrier, checking out the tomatoes along with mom.  A woman unknown to Mom and Baby Girl approaches them in a tizzy.  Mom assumes she's overtaken by Baby Girl's adorableness (you would be, I swear she's just the cutest baby ever) and must comment.  Not so.  Woman proceeds to berate Mom for letting Baby Girl be in the grocery store without warmer clothing.  Mom isn't too ruffled, she's become familiar with aggressive advice from strangers, but it's still pretty annoying.  Then Woman grabs Baby Girl's shirt sleeves and tugs them down and around Baby Girl's fingers.  Strange, rude Woman is apparently trying to shield Baby Girl's hands from the brutal cold of the produce section.  

This may be two too many stories about rude people in the last couple weeks, but I had to share because there is a bigger story here.  Rude people will be rude people.  This is true no matter how much I complain about it (here, here and here).  New and old moms alike can learn to deal with nosy questions and inappropriate comments.  Everyone can (and must) learn to deal with social ineptness in general, because it's inescapable.  But, touching a baby without permission or touching someone else without permission (i.e. a pregnant belly) is unacceptable.

If some stranger put her paws on my non-pregnant belly I'd call her an asshole and judo chop her jugular.  I shouldn't have to explain this point, but I will: people are entitled to privacy of their person.  This is a social rule and I'm pretty sure a legal one too.  Meaning, touching a stranger's baby bump without permission is wicked rude and illegal (or should be).  The same goes for touching a baby without permission.  Just because babies are non-verbal and therefore unable to enforce their own privacy rights, doesn't mean you may take their silence as a "Sure, make my sleeves into makeshift mittens."  Unless you ask and mom gives you the green light, keep your mittens to yourself.  Period.

Speaking of mittens - I love these (by Birda, $38)

Rude People and Socks

I've previously written about my astonishment at how rude people can be to pregnant women (read about that here).  By "people" I mean strangers, acquaintances, co-workers, neighbors friends and family alike.  By "rude" I mean everything from critiquing dietary choices to admonishing birthing plans.  It seems that being visibly pregnant gives others a ticket to judge.

But the rudeness doesn't end with the baby's birth.  My formerly pregnant friends are currently new mothers (no shock there).  With this transition, I've quickly learned that the ticket to judge pregnant women becomes a season pass to humiliate and belittle new moms.  It's awful.

My quick letter to all the judging, belittling, humiliators that are so rude to pregnant ladies and new moms:

Dear Everyone, what are you thinking?!!!  As Teresa Guidice and Melissa Gorga say (to at each other) - ZIP IT!

Teresa Guidice versus Melissa Gorga
Who's already excited for Season 4 of RHONJ?!!

And now, a short(ish) narrative of some unsolicited advice from a rude, rude lady.

A young mother is walking down the sidewalk on a warm fall day.  Her 3-month-old son is happily strapped into a baby bjorn, facing his mothers chest.  His chubby little legs are kicking and he's doing that adorable drool/gurgle thing, which is only adorable because he's a baby and not a 40-year-old man.  A woman and her husband approach the new mom and baby.  The couple is visibly older than the new mom, by several decades.  

The older woman says, "I just have to say something..."  

The new mom readies herself for a sweet compliment about her son's perfectly rosy and round cheeks.  "Those socks are much too small on his feet," says the older woman as she shakes her head in scorn.   

Record scratch.

The older woman continues, "They just are.  I had to say something.  Look at the color of that baby's legs!"  

The new mom's eyes dart to her son's legs in a moment of genuine concern.  They appear just as chubby and cream-colored as they were that morning, when he was sockless.  Nothing concerning.  Nothing concerning at all.  The new mom stares at the older woman, desperate to end the awful exchange.  

The older woman turns to the older man and repeats, "I had to say something, just look at those socks." 

The new mom walks away.  Pissed.

Shame on this older woman (also something Melissa Gorga would say). 

Socks and sandals - a true crime. 
(image here)

In case this older woman happens to be an avid reader of Next Stop Baby, let me offer some advice of my own: When you see a mother doing something that you don't agree with, STOP.  Take a moment.  Would you verbalize this same concern if the situation wasn't between a mother and a child?  Would you tell a grown man that he was wearing his socks too tight?  Probably not.  You probably wouldn't have even noticed the grown man's socks in the first place.  You're not the mommy police, so stop sniffing out non-issues and harassing people.

Have you ever witnessed one of these awkward exchanges?  When, if ever, is it okay to say something about someone else's mothering skills?

A Miracle Baby

The birth of a healthy baby is a miracle.

This is something that one of my most favorite, most adored, most wisest people told me a long time ago.  Yes, I'm well aware that "most wisest" has several grammatical issues, but it doesn't make it an untrue statement.  This absurdly awesome person, in addition to being absurdly awesome, was and is an obstetrician/gynecologist.  He bestowed these great words of wisdom upon me a long while back.  I was a child or maybe a preteen.  Parenthood wasn't a distant thought because it wasn't a thought at all.  Yet, even being light years away from my current baby crazed self, I remember his exact words:

The birth of a healthy baby is a miracle. 

A MIRACLE.

He said it just like that, repeating "a miracle" in a loud, serious voice.  I thought that this was a silly thing to say.  I found the emphasis on "miracle" to be overly dramatic, unrealistic and cliche.  Or, as my youthful mind characterized it - yeah right.  How miraculous could it be?  I saw healthy babies everywhere everyday.  I was a healthy baby only a decade earlier.

For a reason I'll never know the words stayed with me.  Decades later I think of them often.  Nowadays, it seems I think of them almost daily.  Babies are on my brain and the subject of conversation with so many of my friends who are trying to have them or already do.  With each casual chat and heartfelt discussion, these words weave through my thoughts without choice.

Each friend's pregnancy announcement has been a rush of excitement and each chubby cheeked baby face is breathtaking.  The joys of this time in my life, the baby crazed time, have been immense.  They have also been miraculous.  What I didn't know as a young girl, is that it can be difficult to become pregnant, not every baby survives the first trimester much less the entire gestational period, babies that are carried to full term and their mothers alike can suffer medical complications along the way and not every baby is born healthy.  There are an infinite number of obstacles and hurdles when it comes to pregnancy and babies.  I didn't know about these worrisome, painful, devastating realities.

While I'd much rather focus on the chubby cheeks than the possible difficulties, I can now appreciate the true miraculousness of it all.  I have even repeated the phrase on more than one occasion.  You've read it twice just in this post.

Wise people say the most wisest things.

A Moment for Giuliana

Today is something different.  It's not an anecdote about why babies scare me or something gross I learned about childbirth.  It's not a baby shower theme or gift idea.  It's not about nursery decor or trendy baby clothes.  And it's not a weird phrase that someone googled.

Today is my non-witty, non-fluffy, non-weird post for Giuliana Rancic.  While I don't believe Mrs. Rancic is a follower of Next Stop Baby, Next Stop Baby is a follower of hers and I was very touched as I watched her on yesterday's Today Show.  I (and everyone else) was expecting her to announce that she was pregnant with her first and long-awaited baby.  Instead, she told Ann Curry that she has been diagnosed with breast cancer and won't be able to pursue her dream of motherhood until she undergoes 6 weeks of radiation therapy and recovery.

You know I'm obsessed with reality television and all things celebrity gossip, so it should be no surprise that I'm a big fan of Giuliana's reporting on E! News, her Fashion Police quips and her reality show on The Style Network.  She's a class act.  As she navigates the less than exciting adventures of IVF and the more than annoying monologues of Ryan Seacrest, she always remains spirited and endearing.  I have no doubt that she'll maintain that poise through this new challenge and find her way to a speedy recovery.  I wish her all the best as she does.

Did you see the announcement?  What did you think?  Click HERE for a link to the 6 minute clip of her interview with Ann Curry.