Trust Me, I'm Not an Expert

On the Anal-Retentive Scale of Worry, I typically place myself around a 4. I’m holding steady at this number even during the mass-hysteria of COVID-19 or Coronavirus, if you want to sound cool and casual. I’d say I am mostly concerned over how concerned I should be and my level of worry has more to do with the public’s, shall we say, strong reaction. It’s my belief that if you are buying more than one case of toilet paper from Costco, you are likely overthinking this.

Now, last I checked, an English degree and several teaching credentials, is not the same as a PhD in epidemiology of infectious diseases and yet we seem look for guidance in the most random places.

I like to put my trust in the healthcare professionals, and they recommend a lot of common-sense activities like: washing your hands, vaccinating your children, and staying home when sick.

As we know common sense is not common, but the great thing about America, is we have thousands of people that are well-versed in this field and have been preparing for this much longer than Trump’s last spray tan. So, I feel confident putting my health in the hands of experts.

Speaking of hands, this is right about the time, as Moms, we’ve become acutely aware that our beautiful, radiant, germ-soaked Petri dishes, AKA our children, are pretty gross. If they aren’t actively licking their fingers, it’s likely because they already have one knuckle-deep inside their nose. My greatest fear, is that if we were to get sick, we’d accidentally transmit the illness to a vulnerable member of our family, by sneezing directly into their mouth during a rousing game of peek-a-boo.

If you are like me, a doer, at times like this it’s important to stay productive.

Luckily, I’ve created this short list of recommendations for those just itching to follow my lead:

1). Try not to think about how gross your kids are, or better yet, teach them about germs and make hand-washing epically fun through sing alongs, bribery, or overly graphic visual aids.

2). I’d recommend canceling your cruise, unless you believe a mandatory quarantine is an adventurous way to put the spice back in your marriage.

3). Perhaps give yourself an internet-vacation (immediately following your liking, reading, and sharing of this article).

And for the love of everything, wash your hands. You can trust me, I’m not an expert.

Milestones as Monuments

I’ve watched each child’s various milestones play out very differently both for me and for them. With my first, I watched YouTube videos about what a typical movement looked like each month; should she be able to bend a limb and put weight on it and when? I’d study her sounds and babbling, looking for things to worry about. She would smile at me and I read it as, she will be hungry again soon. Postpartum Depression robbed me of my ability to enjoy being a mother. I saw her as a limitless to-do list and I was a stoic creator of milk, unsure of why I couldn’t feel love the way I was supposed to.

Once I had my second, I recognized what an unreliable place my mind had been. It wasn’t until a window opened and light flooded in, that I was able to understand just how dark it was. Something shifted and I could see my daughters as blessings and the burden of their needs started to feel like ones that I was strong enough to carry; a monumental milestone within myself.

I was so busy with two under two, I had limited time for worry. Milestones were happening left and right and I just stood in the center in awe of all my daughters were capable of. I enjoyed them in the way a sheepdog thrives by managing chaos.

I don’t know if it’s that my third daughter is so full of happiness, or if I’m only now able to appreciate it, having lived through multiple perspectives, where each feel like entirely separate lives. I have even less opportunities for pause than before, but this time I don’t overthink her, I enjoy her.

My favorite milestone with each child, served as monuments, the pillars, of what my kids and I have endured together:

My first, I celebrated her birth as our greatest achievement together. This set the stage for knowing we could both survive what from the outside looked like an insurmountable feat.  

My second, walking. I look back at a completely bald 9-month-old who learned to walk for the sole purpose of wanting to always be next to her older sister. She showed me bonds can be built outside of her and I.

My third, shared joy. It looks like this: something sparks happiness within my baby and her immediate reaction is to see my happiness too.

I cannot think of anything more wonderful. This says so much about the human spirit:

When we feel good feelings, we want to share them with others.

I want to hold onto this idea and keep it just in my eyeline, in case I get so busy with worry that I forget to focus on the fact that my kids will hit marks on their own timetable, just as I have. This makes me feel good, so much so, I want to share it. So let’s share it.

Poker Face

Before a Body Back class last week, one of my friends told me a story about when they arrived to play at the Arboretum, minus a change of clothes, and her 4-year-old son announced he had a poop-nugget in his underwear. Not wanting to go home, she found a tree, opened his pant leg, had him shake it out, buried it with dirt, and they continued on their merry way. My response was to continue stretching, and nod along as if she was sharing about a vacation they had planned for the spring. Moms have been conditioned to be unflappable. We spend some much of our time wading through the trenches of bodily fluids.

It’s hard to horrify us.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good poop story. They are sort of my bread-and-butter as a mommy-writer, but if you are looking for a reaction of anything other than empathetic amusement, I am not your girl.

My pre-kid-self likely would have been horrified by this story. And any friends without kids, likely double up on birth control when you describe how to safely remove snot from your baby’s nose by inserting a tube and sucking it out. You know, “The Snot Sucker”.

Now, every mom has at least one friend where they share the back-and-forth daily mishaps of parenthood (if you don’t, I am happy to be yours—be warned though, you might end up featured here). Something like,

Well I forgot pants again for the baby, and now she’s wrapped in a towel in the shopping cart at Target.

😂

been there

hope you got coffee!

I think we have gotten so good at limiting our reactions, because motherhood requires us to be the queens of the poker face. Like when your sick child sneeze-coughs directly into your mouth and you have to pretend not to be completely disgusted. Or when they deliberately disobey you, we can’t laugh even though they look ridiculous colored from head to toe in washable marker.

The compromising situations I’ve been in myself as the mother of 3 young kids, knows no bounds.

I mean, my minivan doubles as a traveling toilet/changing room with two of the middle seats removed. The problem is, that only works for child-related-emergencies.

Last Tuesday, I had to use a public bathroom, while wearing my 20-pound baby (the alternative was the dirty floor), change a feminine product, keep her little legs out of the action, maintain a baby-weighted squat—as there were no more toilet seat covers, all while having my older two sing out loud the Kidz Bop version of Lizzo because I couldn’t see them and had to keep the door shut.

If you find yourself nodding along in solidarity, congratulations, you must be a mom.