Conscious Mothering

There is an internal war that rages within mothers around the world. We battle each other, ourselves and strangers to compete for the ability to have it all while simultaneously doing it the best. An impossible standard that reflects the perfect balance between not just one or two things, but everything. It is not enough to just be a mom, but we need to work, run marathons, clean/cook--all while maintaining an image of sanity and happiness with the perfect caption and filter for social media. In my husband and I’s decision to trade in our family-four-pack for an uneven, out-numbered party of five, I felt myself give way to an internal shift. For some of you this may have happened with your first, second or fifth child-- or you could completely disagree and choose a different way. But in my experience, today, I have consciously decided to go all in and wear my mom hat and fanny pack proudly as my main identity.

Somewhere in between one and two kids I became obsessed with the idea that my strong, independent, feminist-self was being suffocated by motherhood. I will never be the person I was before I became a mom. What a terrifying concept that I am not myself anymore. I had so many tiny hands pulling me every which way, I was scared I wouldn’t be strong enough to balance the weight of it all.

If I put my life into acts like a play, one would assume that I’d always be in the starring role. But this is not the case right now. It is not about me, it is about them and the little life inside I am growing. And the most important thing I’ve learned is that is ok. This act is theirs and mine will come later. I enjoy holding them up to the light so they can shine, in fact, it makes me the happiest I have ever been. Of course, I carve out pieces of time for me, my husband, my friends and extended family all of which makes my heart even fuller. But I am consciously choosing to put all my chips on motherhood. I will happily succumb to the minivan, softball practice, and bedtime stories because these are purposeful choices I am making. Motherhood doesn’t have to be like gravity where it exists simply because it does. How easy it is to take for granted these everyday motions and look around to watch every other mom somehow doing it all with more grace and a cleaner house. I now see that my kids were never pulling me down, but rather helping me step into the role I was meant to play.

From the second your child enters your life an internal alarm is triggered that ignites guilt, pressure, self-doubt and seems to magnify our inadequacies-- the results cannot leave any sane woman unscathed. We are never doing enough, being enough, giving enough. To which I say enough now. Enough. I have decided to let it all go and embrace my new mantra that in motherhood I may have lost my sanity, but I have found my soul.

More than Spit-Up

It’s been a long time my friends! I wish I could tell you that I took a 6-week vacation to Hawaii and now I’m tropically tan, rested and ready to conquer the world. Instead, we are gratefully pregnant with baby girl number three— but sadly, with my third round of Hyperemesis Gravidarm (HG). For those of you unfamiliar with this medical condition that sounds like I only have months to live, it is a complication of pregnancy characterized by intractable nausea, vomiting, and dehydration that affects about .5-2% of pregnant women.  This condition was made famous by Kate Middleton, who despite this horrific ordeal is still managing to pop out little royals like they alone are in charge of repopulating the Earth. It’s really only a ailment fit for a princess because then at least you have dozens of nanny’s, special cooks etc. to help with your existing children and ridiculous food cravings like caprese salad at 9am or a peanut butter smoothie for dinner.

All of my efforts this past 14 weeks have been put towards barely surviving mothering my daughters and running to and from every toilet, sink, and garbage can in a 50-mile radius. Don’t let slap-stick comedy fool you; throw up in real life, is not a lot of thing-- including funny. 

It is not morning sickness.

Almost all pregnant women get some form of morning sickness and it not just limited to the AM hours. Really it should be renamed mourning sickness where you mourn your new normal of feeling like you simultaneously want to nap while murdering your co-worker who ate tuna for lunch and hasn’t showered since Tuesday. It is around 3 or 4 weeks of queasiness with occasional vomiting. Compared to what I have; that sounds like a Hawaiian vacation.

It is not a time for suggestions or comments.

Have you tried motion sickness bands, morning sickness lozenges, vitamin B6, acupuncture? 

When you are sick over a dozen times in a day, yes I have tried absolutely everything. You’d be amazed how many people have used these last 3 months to tell me just how much they personally hate vomiting.

It is my least favorite sickness to have. Ugh, I just hate it.

You are not an anomaly. With the exception of professional hot dog eaters, absolutely everyone, including me, hates throwing up.

It is not a time to tell your vomiting stories.

Please don’t tell me about that one time you tried the fish tacos out of a food truck in Fort Lauderdale and got food poisoning from both ends for 2 days. Not only does the idea of fish tacos actively bring my breakfast up into my mouth, but now I can’t stop picturing you on the toilet.

The irony is not lost on me that the title of my blog is Wit and Spit-Up and I’ve accepted that bodily fluids are simply a part of my everyday life. I knew the gamble we were taking purposefully wanting a third when I’ve had this condition with my past two-- however this is simply how my body creates the world's most wonderful daughters. And so, I look forward to the days when we are back to the wit and done with the spit-up.

Two Rhymes with Poo

An unexpected perk of having my children 20 months apart was recently my 4-year-old, taught my 2-year-old how to use the potty. In fact, they both taught each other something new. Let me start from the beginning.

I fully intended, in my life before kids, that I would be a research-based parent. I’d join support groups, read self-help books with titles like “Harmonizing with your Child through Love and Understanding”. I’d pull lessons from Free Range Parenting, Helicopter, and whatever magical pressure/love combo that turns so many Asian children into concert violinists and mathematicians. Turns out I’m so busy being a parent every minute of every day that I don’t have the energy to research theories on child-rearing. I simply show them love and teach compassion and cross my fingers that no body asks me to fly to Mexico for a Spring Break wedding on their high school Senior trip. 

Several months ago, I tried 2 days of undies-only for Maddie, and during that time she demonstrated her non-readiness by upping my laundry loads by 200%. That was my one-and-only-potty-training move I used with Charlotte—so I decided to turn to my 4-year-old for guidance. During the next few weeks my girls became fascinating by the bathroom.

What are you doing in there, Mom? Are you pooping? Can I see? Can I sit on your lap?

Sigh. I look forward to the day where I can instill a closed-door bathroom policy, with assurance that my kids won’t use that time to baby powder the dogs.  

On the plus side, Maddie was gaining interest and so I capitalized on this by overly rewarding and praising Charlotte. Charlotte at this point still struggled to consistently go #2 in the potty. Then one day, Maddie went #2 in the potty and my excitement was shockingly close to how I felt at my college graduation. Except I had done nothing. Then this happened: 

               “Look Mommy, I showed Maddie how to pee in the potty!”

               “Look Mommy, now Charlotte does poopy like me!”

               Somehow, in a weekend, they solved each other’s bathroom dilemmas all while I did very little besides cheerlead and provided toilet paper from the sidelines. Not that it isn’t work—I’ve never "mommied" harder than the 5am wakeup call, to my pantless children each carrying their full potties, while I feigned Disneyland excitement levels, as they present me with their morning duties.