BrooklynGirl

Gone to the Dogs

I have come to the realization that I am not a dog person.  In particular, I am not a city dog person.  There is a woman who lives across the street from us who, several times a day, walks her dog across the street so it can pee on the sidewalk in front of our apartment.  Then she walks  back across the street where she lives and goes inside. 

There's no question that dog pee is less disgusting than dog poo, but still.  Ewww.  The sidewalk smells like dog pee when it's hot or when it rains, and when you have a toddler who loves, loves, loves to color with chalk on the sidewalk in front of his apartment (even if that is a crime), well, there's not enough Purell in the world to make you feel clean.

And, of course, there are the charming individuals who won't deign to clean up their dogs' shit.   May they be sentenced to a Dantesque hell in which they spend eternity covered in the droppings they leave behind.

Nonetheless, the Boy, has all the makings of being a dog person.  He loves them.  Or is at the very least dog curious:  he likes to look at them and excitedly yell, "Dog! Dog! Dog!" while wrapped tightly around the leg of a parent.  One of his favorite things to do is visit a spot in the park known as Dog Beach, where dogs can swim in a little man-made lake and children can watch them and/or feed  the ducks.  Last week sometime after we left that area, a large dog attacked and nearly killed a small dog. 

We have not been back.

But dogs are everywhere, and it doesn't really matter to me whether they're small balls of fluff or large masses of sinew--I tense whenever we get close.   And I'm not sure whether it's the dogs I mistrust or their owners because, really, if you think  it's a reasonable thing to let your dog pee in front of your neighbor's house every damn day,  how rational a person can you be?

A Little More About Me

Where was I?  Ah yes, asking for help.  I did call my friend and she did come over, and it was helpful, but also hard.  She is a mom albeit with a younger child so she still has notions--the very notions I had once upon a time--that good parents don't let their kids watch TV or fingerpaint with their applesauce or jump off the coffee table.

And I should admit, the person I do not have difficulty asking  for help is my poor husband.  Somehow it's easier to be a basket case in front of him.

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And now, an interview courtesy of Cat:

Now that you have The Boy and The Girl, are you leaving the possibility of more kids to chance, or are you definitively finished building your family?

This should be easier to answer, but when I had the opportunity to decide definitively and get my tubes tied, I couldn't do it.  Realistically, practically, we are done: taking care of the kids we have is challenging enough, but that baby lust is a powerful thing.

Do you have plans to go back to teaching?

Yes.  Right now, I’m not ready to commit to the inflexible schedule and time away from my family. Plus, my salary (as a new teacher) wouldn't cover the cost of childcare…which is appalling on so many fronts.  Right now my plan is to try to find some freelance editorial work (I did this in a previous professional life) until I can find a way to make teaching work.

As a second-time mom, was there anything you expected to be able to manage easily with The Girl that turned out to be just as hard (or harder, or hard in a different way) as the first time around? And was there anything you were dreading that turned out to be much easier than the first time?

Harder than expected: giving formula without feeling guilty.  I thought I had made my peace with this, but apparently I was wrong. Easier than expected: co-sleeping.  God, I was terrified of squishing The Boy for the longest time, but The Girl just seems to sleep better in our bed. When she sleeps at all, that is.

What is the craziest, most out-of-character thing you've done? Would you do it again?

After I got laid-off from my job in 2001, I used some of  my severance to go to Ireland by myself for two weeks. Looking  back, it makes me wish I had traveled more--although not always alone.

How did you and BrooklynBoy meet?

Our eyes met over a keg at a college party nineteen years ago.  Yes, nineteen years (we had our eighth wedding anniversary last week).  He was cute in a bad boy way that was irresistible.  Now, he's irresistible in ways it didn't occur to me to think of at the time.

Anyone else there dying to reveal their secret self?  If so, email me or post below.

On (Not) Asking for Help

I have never been very good at asking for help with anything.  If I don't know how to do something and I can't figure it out on my own, I generally skip it.   This is not my finest quality:  it makes me ornery and complicates things more than they need to be  (which only makes me ornerier).

For example, this week my husband is away for business.  It's not so bad, really, except for the hours between 6 and 8 pm, when The Girl is fussing and The Boy needs to be fed, bathed, and put to bed.   A friend--really more of an acquaintance--has offered to stop by tonight and help with bedtime.  Ordinarily, I would just say no thank you and move on, but tonight, I'd really, really like to say yes.  It would make those two hours so much easier.

But...it's hard to invite someone into my dubious parenting.   She  may see that the only thing The Boy eats for dinner is crackers and apple sauce* or that his splashing in the bath nearly floods the bathroom every night or that sometimes the only way I can calm The Girl is to park her on the boob for hours at a time.  It's not all bad, I guess, but it doesn't feel that it's the way it's supposed to be. 

What parenting tasks do YOU feel you need help with?  And do you ask for it?

*Obviously, this is not the meal I lead with.

Four Months

The Girl clocks in at a gargantuan 15 lbs, 15 oz and 25.25 inches--almost a full pound more than her brother was at this age (!)--and he was a pound heavier to begin with.  So yeah, The Girl is not starving.

She suffered through her shots and then surprised me with her longest consecutive sleep to date: 9 pm to 3:30 am.*  Bliss.

Last night, however, she was back to her old tricks: down from 10 pm to 1 am, and then up every 1.5 hours until morning.  It's as bad as it was with The Boy and that was awful, even without having a toddler to chase around.

So, as before, I'm thinking about CIO.  There are still some things I want to try so I'm not quite there yet, but I'm almost there.  Almost.

*When I mentioned this to a friend, she asked, "Anything else you can vaccinate her for?" 

The Dream of a Common Language

As predicted, The Boy has become an A at school drop off.  I have been going in with him to read stories or get him started playing with trains, and he usually dismisses me with a "Bye Mom!" and a wave, but the last few times, his eyes have gotten wet as soon as I make noises about leaving.  Once those fat tears start rolling down his cheeks, I am utterly powerless.  They're toddler kryptonite.

Looking for a little support, I called my mother to mention this new development.  "You're just an old softie" she said and started talking about the weather.

Almost all of my parenting discussions with my mother have wound up like this (here's another example):  I bring up a topic  expecting some sort of commiseration (after all, she raised two kids), but I get nothing back.  Maybe less than nothing. 

The sad truth is that my mother remains a cypher to me:  I thought parenting might give us a common language, but it hasn't.  Instead of feeling bonded in the experience of motherhood, I find myself feeling even more distant. 

When she dropped us off at pre-school, did we cry?  Did she?  Was she relieved to have a few hours of relative peace?  Did she spend the time watching the clock waiting to pick us up?  These questions  feel unwelcome.

When the time comes, will I be more forthcoming with my children?

The Strength to Keep Going

In the morning, my husband gets up with The Boy so The Girl and I can nap until he has to leave for work at 8.

This morning, when he opened the door, The Boy came  barreling over to the bed and clambered in next to me (The Girl was  asleep in her bassinet).

"Poor Mom, all alone," he said. "Gonna give her a hug."  And he did.

I am rejuvenated.

This Week in Child Rearing

Is it possible for a 4 month old to spontaneously develop colic?  I swear that's what it feels like around here these days, especially around 4 am when The Girl won't sleep for more than 20 minutes at a time and each of those minutes must be spent swaying from one foot to another.  Honestly, it's killing me.

In my saner moments, I flip through Weissbluth for advice, but I'm stymied by these facts: 1) 3 days a week, The Girl and I are walking The Boy to and from school smack in the middle of Weissbluth's recommended nap times; 2) The Girl is still "sleeping" in her bassinet, which she's all but outgrown, but I can't move her to her crib in The Boy's room because he's a light sleeper and she's still up all the time; 3) I'm too damn wasted to try anything rash.

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I've been writing grandparent posts in my head, but my feelings are so ugly and uncharitable that I can't commit them to print.   Suffice it to say, the last week included a lot of experiences like this one. It's really disappointing.

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The Boy continues to charge enthusiastically into school with nary a separation issue.  Last week, his teachers assured me that this was a sign of how happy and well adjusted he was.  This week, they told me that there's  usually one kid who seems to be fine but starts flipping out a couple of weeks into the school year and their money's on The Boy.  Does that negate happy and well adjusted?