Yesterday, out at dinner:

Happy Fun Baby: (Pokes finger into ketchup and pulls out big dollop, which he then squishes in his other hand, regarding it thoughtfully)

Me: Please don’t dip your finger in the ketchup. Dip your french fry in the ketchup. Okay?

Happy Fun Baby: (Dips french fry in ketchup)

Us: Good job!

Happy Fun Baby: (pulls out big dollop of ketchup on french fry, which he then squishes in his other hand, regarding it thoughtfully)

Me: (Headtable)

I started this post with the words “I’m a good mom” and then spent the next ten minutes qualifying that. I’m a good mom, except for the letting the kid stay up too late. And I let him eat french fries and now they’re all he’ll eat. My child is entirely composed of potato and oil. And I can’t be bothered to craft his meals out of organic, unprocessed foodstuffs, obviously. He has consumed both “meat product” and “cheese product,” as well as the unspeakable contents of the humble McDonald’s Happy Meal (mostly the french fries, but still). I completely failed at sleep training; he still wakes up five or six times every night, demanding to be nursed. And have I mentioned that I’m still nursing? Don’t know whether to file that under “good mom” or “bad mom” but I do know that I do not dig nursing, no I do not. I don’t mind it, but I’m not all bliss and bonding. It’s a chore, and I wish that when he reached for me it was because he wanted a snuggle, not because he’s hungry. And I shout. I do. I’m a shouting mom. I swear, and I make inappropriate comments which are sure to bite me in the ass once he starts talking, and he’s not talking yet, and clearly this is because I am failing to adequately stimulate and nurture him. I spend way too much time working and not nearly enough time hanging out on the floor with my kid or taking him for walks or reading to him. We do not do enriching things like Music Together or story time at the library or baby yoga. I am a terrible mother.

Do we all do this? Is our sense of self so skewed by our (real or perceived) ideal of the “perfect mother” that our imperfections are all we see? I didn’t do this in my professional life (although, truth be told, I do now – I’m constantly worrying that I’m not working hard enough/networking enough/knowledgable enough to impress my clients, even though I’m putting in something like 16 hours of work every day including weekends – since it’s interspersed with childcare and housework I feel like it’s clearly not enough, because at any given moment I’m not devoting my full attention to work, but that’s a whole different rant). I’m insanely proud of my kid, but I feel like all his positive traits are a result of his innate self-being, while the negative ones are so obviously mirror images of my negative traits that it’s kind of spooky. He’s impatient, and he shouts, and if something isn’t going his way it is THE END OF THE WORLD OMG. Which, if you’ve ever met me? Is pretty much my modus operandi.

How do you decide what makes a good mother? Is it a matter of fitting into a certain mold? Because I don’t fit. I’m not crunchy, but I wear my kid pretty often and I do own a pair of Danskos. I’m not a hipster parent, but I do dress my kid in all black whenever I can, and he never, ever wears things involving teddy bears and/or sports motifs. We listen to Dan Zanes, but we also rock out to the Fratellis and Christina Aguilera. I’m not completely AP but I’m not not AP. We all sleep in the same bed, but he’s a bed hog. Also, he kicks.

But, you know, if the measure of a good mother is how happy her kid is? I totally win the Mama of the Year award. He wakes up every morning and literally tackles us with his affection. He spends at least ten minutes hugging us and snuggling before he’ll even consider getting out of bed. He smiles more than any kid I know. He wanders around singing all the time, runs over for hugs, runs off by himself. He’s fearless and strong and self-assured. He’s curious about everything, and strongly believes that if he can figure out a way to get at something, he must be allowed to have it. He wants to do everything himself, but he also wants to be snuggled and held. When he falls down, he gets right back up. He’s very serious about dancing. He loves the hell out of us.

I’m a good mom because I love my kid. I’m a good mom because my kid loves me. Everything else is just window dressing.

technorati tags:mothers day, motherhood, good mom, bad mom

I took Happy Fun Baby to his first Itsy Bitsy Tots yoga class on Wednesday. Itsy Bitsy Yoga, in case you don’t know, is yoga for babies: interactive classes in which babies are encouraged to try out various poses, the names of which are chanted in a singsong voice by the parents and instructor, in order to sort of imprint the idea of yoga on the child’s brain and form a foundation for later practice.

Yes, crunchy granola parenting, here I come. I’ve already got the shoes, right?

The class was somewhat less dynamic than I’d hoped. Happy Fun Baby is a really active kid, and the gentle, non-demanding tone of the class didn’t hold his attention for very long. Er – at all. He did think it was pretty cool to run around with the other kids, though. I thought maybe there would be a bit more grown-up yoga along with the baby-centric stuff, but no, we didn’t even really get to stretch. That was disappointing.

The instructor clearly expected the parents (and by “parents” I really mean “moms,” because although the class description was careful to use inclusive and non-gendered language, it was all mamas who showed up) to bond instantly over their shared desires to instill their offspring with inner peace, but we all just sort of milled around trying to corral our children and only spoke when asked questions. Pretty reasonable, as far as I’m concerned, but the instructor seemed a bit at a loss as to why we were not all suddenly BFF – perhaps because our lack of interaction underscored the fact that this was less a thrilling yogic expedition and more a glorified play-date.

We’re signed up for three more classes in the series, and part of me sort of wants to bow out. I mean, whatever, it’s an excuse to get out of the house, right? But it’s an hour and a half out there and an hour and a half back, all for a one-hour class that isn’t particularly stimulating. Is a three-hour round-trip reasonable? I ask you, internets: would you go to so much effort? Or would you just sleep in?

I do sort of wonder if taking all four classes will help Happy Fun Baby find some balance, though. He’s such a physical kid that classes of some sort seem like a good idea. I suspect that he needs something a little more high-energy, but he’s too little for almost everything that comes to mind. What’s out there for a 16-month-old that isn’t Music Together or Itsy Bitsy Yoga?

technorati tags:itsy bitsy yoga

(Last night’s scattered post, brought to you by the letter B.)

Can’t connect to internet and am feeling v. sorry for self. Baby is sleeping, finally, but I’m going stir crazy. I haven’t had a break all day. I’ve either been wresting with a whiny baby or pointedly not wrestling with a whiny baby or trying to no avail to get whiny baby to take a nap, since it’s clear he desperately needed one. Then there was the incident with the Chex Mix, which is currently all over our living room floor (after having been stomped into a fine grit by one Whiny Baby, Esq.). At that point, I didn’t even care anymore. “Apparently he’s having some Chex Mix,” I deadpanned as my child began tossing it by the handful. “At least he’s not screaming,” added Not So. And that’s my parenting story for the day.

Oh, waah, poor me. I’m just glad he’s finally down. He’s very tired, and tired babies are not happy babies. He’s been sleeping abominably, which is to say better than when he was cutting molars but not anything resembling “well.” I’ve been staying up much too late because when he finally does go down I’m a) jangled and b) jonesing to get some work done. Which I’d be doing right now, but the laptop and the internet have not been on speaking terms since we hooked up the Apple TV downstairs. (Love the lovely Apple TV, but that’s another story.)

I’d like to work. I’d like to take a bath, maybe change out of the sweats I’ve been wearing all day and into some fresh sweats, for some variety. I’d like to eat some more M&Ms and not think about the baby for a little while. Don’t get me wrong. I like the baby. I like thinking about the baby, talking about the baby, talking TO the baby. But he’s really been relentless today, what with the screaming fits and the whining and the demanding to be held (and then demanding to be put down) and refusing to nap. I get that this is hard for him, this almost-but-not-quite talking, but it’s hard for me, too. He tries to communicate, fails, gets frustrated and screams. I try to understand him, fail, get screamed at. This, my friends? This is a no-win situation.

He’s snuggled up in bed now, all long eyelashes and soft baby-snores. I know the minute I get up and, say, run a bath, he’ll stir, realize I’m not there, and start freaking out. Even if I run back in, he’ll be all overwrought and inconsolable and the only way I’ll be able to get him down again is to nurse and then physically wrap myself around him until he falls back asleep. Even if I stay in bed, the odds that he’ll stay sound asleep are pretty slim. He always, every single night, wakes up at 10:30-11 and freaks out for a while. Some nights the nursing thing works; some nights it doesn’t. But he never skips his 11pm wakeup.

The nursing thing is getting to me, too. Something about being always on. Last night, after Happy Fun Baby’s fifth or sixth wakeup (during which he would not be comforted by anything except the Magic Boob) I actually told him “You don’t need to nurse every freaking hour! You can just sleep!” Naturally the baby ignored me, but I felt somewhat like the Bad Mama you read about on the internet, chastising her child for unreasonable things. The Magic Boobs, though, they are getting mighty sick of being the end-all, be-all source of comfort, food, entertainment and sleep. The Magic Boobs want to stay inside their tee-shirt for one night and not have to work for a living. The Magic Boobs, they are tired.

You’d think that after a beastly pregnancy, a crushing case of PPD and a schedule so full I always burst out laughing when I try to describe it, I’d have given up on the idea of gestating again. I mean, we won the Baby Lottery with Happy Fun Baby – I found out I was pregnant right about the time we got the results of Not So’s sperm tests, which said, basically, that there was a chance in hell that we could conceive without medical intervention, but only just. And let’s take a moment and think about my schedule, which currently involves two businesses, school, full-time mothering and a vast and endless supply of dirty dishes, all of which I am staying on top of by sheer force of I don’t know what. Not So and I sat down the other day and discussed the pros and cons of having another kid, and what it came down to is that we wouldn’t be able to maintain the same quality of life if we were to add to our family. Right now, we have the best of both worlds: an amazing kid who we adore, and career opportunities we used to only dream of. It’s a delicate balance, and another baby would send it toppling.

Does that stop me from wanting one so badly I could cry? It does not.

I always wanted a big family, and though the definition of big has changed since I was younger (I no longer want enough children to start my own circus troupe, although if Happy Fun Baby decides to be a contortionist I am so all over that) my idea of family still involves children, plural. More than one, fewer than three. Kids. Of course, I also thought I’d be a schoolteacher and have really great hair, so we’ve obviously got a bit of a reality disconnect here. Still. I find myself oddly reticent to get rid of Happy Fun Baby’s more memorable bits of baby gear, and every time I see a newborn I feel my ovaries twanging in a decidedly un-pc way.

Having an only child has its benefits, though. Besides the obvious perk of not having to go through the whole pregnancy thing again, our little family is uniquely suited to the type of lifestyle we lead. We love our little two-bedroom condo; a bigger family would need a bigger house, and more stuff to put in it. We don’t own a car and don’t want to. How would I wrangle a baby and a toddler on public transportation? People do it, but it looks very hard and I do not like things that are hard. We like the fact that we can strap the baby into the Ergo and go out into the world with only minimal additional baby-related gear. I’m terrible about keeping a schedule, and Happy Fun Baby is accommodating enough to let me wing it most days. I can’t imagine how I’d get a day’s work in with an infant and a toddler. And I like being able to be completely there for my kid. I don’t necessarily want to divide my attention, even if Happy Fun Baby would be getting a different sort of family experience from his theoretical sibling.

Only children have gotten a bad rap; most people think of them as spoiled, difficult, selfish. I’ve known only children who fit that mold, but I’ve known people with siblings who fit it, too. One of the moms on a bulletin board hit it on the head when she said “No kid of mine will be spoiled–just because we CAN give her something doesn’t mean we always will.” Happy Fun Baby won’t be an only child so that we can lavish him with stuff. He’ll be an only child because we made a choice about our quality of life. He’ll have parents who love him, and aunts and uncles who love him, and cousins, and friends. He doesn’t need a sibling to be a whole person.

Now, if I can just sell that pitch to my ovaries…

technorati tags:only child, quality of life, siblings

Look at this picture. Do you see me smiling? I am smiling because we finally have office furniture. More than one person can sit down at the same time. And no one has to sit on the floor! This, my friends, is progress. Also progressive: baby, sleeping. He really needed a nap. Really.

Now that there is a place I can park Happy Fun Baby while he sleeps, I can actually do things in the office. Things like work. I know! Crazy talk. Today, for example, I have checked my e-mail, read my rss feeds, set up the wee little TV/DVD combo, and rearranged the desk. Not work in the classic sense of the word, perhaps, but still nice.

Currently I am somewhat less than thrilled with the speed of our internet, but since I left my phone at home I can’t call and sweetly request that I get some sort of boost. Yes, you read that right: I left my phone at home. My lovely Blackberry Pearl is sitting on the charger even as we speak, lonely, abandoned. I will be back for you, phone! I have not forgotten you! (Except that I did, obviously.) I feel so…disconnected. And somewhat naked. You know that feeling when you realize you’ve left the house without a bra? Only none of my bras can check my e-mail, and maybe that’s the crux of the problem right there.

I had some high hopes for this afternoon, many of which involved going to Shoefly and seeing if they had any cute clearance shoes in my size, but instead I am browsing the interwebs while my kid sleeps. It works.

technorati tags:blackberry pearl, couldbe studios, office furniture

(Or, How I Got To Blog While My Kid Watched A DVD)

Today I need to disconnect and return the DVR (only, what, three weeks after we got rid of the cable? Go me), clean the house (since I appear to have volunteered to possibly host a get-together this weekend, maybe), do some homework, crochet, pick up my holds at the library, sign for the package containing the new potty seat (whee!), send back the Netflix, buy some yarn, put away my crafting supplies, e-mail a client, update our business website, drop off a check at the bank, and make some lunch. Note that several of these things involve me being in two places at once. Good thing I discovered time travel!

Naturally I am going to take this time to recap my awesome Crafty Mamas Bazaar experience and wax lyrical about my upcoming Cranky Pals newsletter, whichisreallycoolandyoushouldsignup.

So in case the “awesome” wasn’t hint enough, the Crafty Mamas Bazaar? Awesome. I had a great time, sold some toys, chatted with some moms…bought an Ergo…all in all, a very fruitful experience and one I will most likely repeat next month (sans Ergo purchase, of course).

The folks at Milagros are wonderful, and it’s so great of them to host this thing and make everyone feel so welcome. Plus they have one of the coolest local baby shops this side of LilyToad. Speaking of, that’s another thing I should add to my list: drop off unsold toys at LilyToad.

All the new designs are up at the Cranky Pals website, by the way, including Happy Fun Baby’s new favorite, Lulu Heartbreak. She has a detachable heart! Detachable! This causes me joy.

Another thing that causes me joy? The brand spankin‘ new Cranky Pals newsletter! I spent the better part of Sunday designing it (what? I was on a roll) and I’m so pleased with it I could just burst. And it’s messy, the bursting, so why not sign up and see for yourself? Every name on the subscription list makes me feel that much more validated, and isn’t that what the internet is all about?

technorati tags:cranky pals, crafty mamas bazaar, milagros, lilytoad, lulu heartbreak, ergo