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Baby Rabies

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letter to myself

25 Year Old Me Was Dumb, Part 2
BabiesGreen LivingParenthoodPregnancySchool Age DaysToddlers

25 Year Old Me Was Dumb, Part 2

by Jill June 23, 2015
written by Jill

Did you read Part 1? 

Dear pregnant me,

I know you think you have this figured out. You did your research, read the websites, the forums, the books. You have a plan.

You’ve pledged to a brand of parenting that you believe will provide you with all the answers. You will be an attachment parent who cloth diapers, breastfeeds, and has a med-free birth with a midwife. Your research tells you this is the BEST kind of parent to be, so naturally you could choose no other method.

You plan to fill your baby’s room with a few carefully chosen wooden toys. He will sleep on an organic sheet. You will wrap him tight to you and wear him all day.

This will make him a kind, obedient, well-mannered and confident child. And you will be zen and bonded.

Because you think you have the answers. 

Oh, sweetie. KARMA IS COMING.

F_JillMaternity2008_044

Dear new mom me,

I see you awkwardly wearing this role, struggling to ace your first performance review. There are a lot of emotions.

Of course, you expected to feel exhausted and overwhelmed with love. You didn’t expect to feel just plain overwhelmed all. the. time.

He never stops crying. He is literally sucking chunks of flesh off your nipples. You HATE breastfeeding him.

You don’t look at him lovingly while he nurses. Instead, you throw tubes of lanolin across the room, dropping f-bombs and tears on the top of his head.

 

You wrap him tightly and wear him because that is SUPPOSED to calm him. But he only sleeps if you are constantly walking AND jumping at the same time.

Sometimes… a lot of times, you are so over holding him that you want to put him down, walk away, and let him cry.

You are drowning in guilt… because you are mad at him, because your plan isn’t working, because you think you are failing your job.

crawling

Somehow – you really don’t know how because you block it from your memory – you make it through colic.

Your nipples heal, breastfeeding becomes almost enjoyable, you make your first batch of baby food, and sign up for Gymboree classes.

You feel like you’re beginning to ace this gig, with the exception of one small detail.

He. Never. Sleeps. You breastfeed him almost every hour at night. You run to his every cry. He is your entire world, and he is sucking the life out of you.

And you’re beyond exhausted, you’ve been sick for 3 months, but you push through because good moms must always be exhausted, you think.

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He grows into toddlerhood, and you struggle with discipline. Mostly because it seems you can’t MAKE him do anything, no matter what you try.

You are torn between being the gentle parent you pledged to be, and the parent with a kid who behaves perfectly.

Why isn’t this approach working? Isn’t he supposed to trust me? To feel bonded to me? Isn’t he supposed to be calm and sweet?

Would it be different if I spanked him? Would he listen better? Would he sit still at restaurants? Stop throwing forks from the table and crying for cookies in the grocery store?

You feel judged, and get hot and angry, hovering over him in public to be sure he doesn’t annoy others with his behavior.

You are quick to correct him, scold him, you are ALWAYS telling him no.

Don’t these people understand I’m TRYING? Why are they looking at me? Don’t they understand timeouts don’t work? Nothing works.

Hang in there, momma.

With a 2nd baby comes a little wisdom… an epiphany.

Other people aren’t judging you. Well, maybe they are, but their voices aren’t the ones in your head telling you you’re a bad mother.

That? Would be YOU – 25 year old you.

Sure, other people shoot you a look when your toddler throws himself to the ground in a parking lot while you’re struggling to get your baby into your Ergo, but who wouldn’t look at that scene?

They’re probably just glad it’s not them…. this time.

YOUR voice is the one in your head, hours later, mocking your parenting in-abilities. YOUR voice is the one that needs to be silenced- your 25 year old voice.

And not only do you need to tell her to shut the eff up, but you need to give yourself permission to stray from the rigid standards you pledged yourself to.

 

ONE of the smartest things you do is reclassify yourself as a hybrid parent, which is really just a way of saying you’re the kind of parent who’s going to do whatever works- gently sleep training your one year old, breastfeeding your toddler, and buying them chicken nuggets.

THE smartest thing you do is get help for postpartum anxiety and OCD. Because all these feelings you’ve been struggling with for 3 years of impending doom, anger, and the idea you were never meant to have children?

They didn’t bubble up because you’re a bad mom. They were symptoms of being sick.

In so many ways you’ve become the mother you never thought you’d be.

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Your 25 year old self would die if she got a whiff of your SUV (though she would be quite happy you haven’t given into the minivan).

She would definitely judge you if she saw you with all 3 kids at Target.

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Your 7 year old would be running down the aisles, like an animal off his leash.
Your 4 year old would look like her hair had never been brushed, and she’d be carrying some hideous plastic toy.
Your toddler would be wearing a Thomas the Train shirt and no shoes.
Your cart would be full of organic milk, cheese puffs, and chicken nuggets. (And wine because somethings never change.)

She would side eye you, and go down the next aisle to avoid your traveling circus.

But don’t you worry. She is the dumbest, and she would make a TERRIBLE mother.

Rock on, me. You’ve got this.

Love,
You

June 23, 2015 5 comments
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A Letter To My 51 Year Old Self
ParenthoodPopular PostsThe Story

A Letter To My 51 Year Old Self

by Jill July 6, 2012
written by Jill

Dear Me 20 Years From Now,

I wonder if you’ve become one of those women who briefly lingers around, a safe distance behind, young moms carting their babies and toddlers through the grocery store with that far-off look in your eyes. If you gently smile at the mom when she looks up and catches your glance, obviously frazzled by how challenging taking 2 kids grocery shopping is, as if to tell her it’s going to be okay. If you look at her and miss that time, want so badly to trade 5 minutes of the independence you have now that your kids are much older so that you can rest a toddler’s head on your shoulder, or buckle a baby in their car seat, mindful not to pinch any belly chub in the harness.

I have a feeling that you might be, and there are some things I want you to know, some things I’m willing you to remember.

I want you to remember that they were the hardest thing you’d ever done. They challenged you, and they kept you up at night. They pushed your buttons, and they were never, ever quiet… unless they were in trouble. I want you to remember that you loved them the hardest you’ve ever loved anything, from day one, and every day after that.

I want you to know that you were completely overwhelmed nearly all the time. The thought of taking them anywhere by yourself made you want to hide in bed all day. You were overwhelmed by the responsibility. You had NO clue what you were doing. You were overwhelmed by how much they trusted you and how much they needed you. You were overwhelmed by how much you needed and loved them.

I want you to remember how it felt to lay side by side next to your 4-year-old before he drifted off to sleep. How you talked face to face, nose to nose, about his day. How you told him you were excited to see how much he would grow by the morning, and how in the morning you’d lay in bed next to him and stretch his arms and legs out, exclaiming, “LOOK HOW MUCH YOU GREW LAST NIGHT!” How that put the biggest smile on his face.

I want you to remember what it felt like to hold your 18 month old on your lap, wrapping your arms around her and laying them on her bulging tummy. How the back of her head and the handful of baby curls at the nape of her neck felt and smelled when you rested your head atop hers.

I want you to know that you were acutely aware of how fast they were growing. Even though many days would pass in the blink of an eye, there would always be a moment when your world would snap to a halt, and you would look at them while they were doing something mundane and normal, and you would be painfully conscious that they were no longer the size they were last week, and that they would never be the size they are at that moment again.

I want you to know that you went to bed every night with one simple wish for the next day. To just do better.

Even though you were tired and challenged, exasperated and overwhelmed, you knew then that you would miss these days…most of them, at least. It was a truth that was hard to live with, and most of the time you ignored it because there was nothing you could do about the passing of time. If you spent your days mourning the ones that had gone by, you’d miss out on the days you were living in.

You knew you were on a light rail, moving at speeds you couldn’t comprehend. You had no control over the ride that brought you to where you are today, but believe me when I say you searched so very hard to find the emergency brake.

Please know, please remember that you tried to savor that time. Be at peace, knowing you spent late afternoons curled up with them on the couch, that sometimes you just sat and watched them move and run, that occasionally you took inventory of all the things they’d learned in the last week, and that you appreciated your time with them the best you knew how. Know that despite your very best efforts, there was no way to freeze time.

I promise you, you tried.

Love,
you

July 6, 2012 127 comments
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ParenthoodPopular PostsThe Story

A Letter to My 25 Year Old Self

by Jill July 1, 2010
written by Jill

Last week on Twitter Joanna at Raising Madison mentioned her plan to write a letter to her younger self and invited other bloggers to join in. I’ve been feeling rather introspective lately and jumped at the opportunity. I decided to focus specifically on my 25 year old self because I recall that being a time in my life that I felt the most unsure of myself and the direction my life was going. When I left the University of Missouri at the age of 22 with a Bachelors of Journalism and a dream to become the next Katie Couric,  I never dreamed that I *wouldn’t* be a television news reporter by the time I turned 25. Hell, in my mind I would be an anchor in a medium sized market by then. From the time I can remember, I’ve always been the kind of person who sets big goals and accomplishes every one of them. This, to me, was no exception. So why, then, could I NOT achieve this? Why was I such a failure? Looking back, I’m thrilled with the path my life took, happier today (at 29) than I can ever remember being.

Dear 25 year old Jill,

First, let’s get this straight. Those capri pants? The ones with the enormous pink and yellow paisley print all over them? Take them off right now. Run, don’t walk, to the nearest dumpster. Don’t even donate them. No homeless person deserves to be subjected to that atrocity. Listen to your husband when he says they are the ugliest pants he’s ever seen. LET HIM BURN THEM. I don’t care if they are from the latest line at NY & Co. I don’t care if they perfectly match your hot pink Banana Republic trench coat. And for the love of Sephora, stop letting people photograph you in them!

That marathon you just finished? It opened a new chapter in your life. Believe it or not, 3 years from now you WILL run another. Yes, on your own free will. No, not at gun point. But don’t even get me started on all the things that are going to happen in the next 4 years that you won’t even consider right now…

You’re wedding? Relax. It will be perfect. Okay, so maybe it won’t *actually* be perfect, but it’s totally possible to erase the memories of the not so perfect parts, leading your 29 year old self to believe that it went off without a hitch. And speaking of your wedding, you don’t even know how lucky you are to be marrying Scott. You haven’t even seen him at his best yet. Just you wait until he becomes a father. I know, I know! 5 more years, right? Riiiiiiight ; )

25 year old Jill, please believe me when I tell you that you *are* making the right decisions. You are not a failure. Repeat after me. “I AM NOT A FAILURE.” You have a successful career. No, it may not be the career you dreamed of since you were 17, it’s more than you could have dreamed of. You are helping people. You are learning that’s a part of you that really comes alive. You are finding out how good it feels to raise money to help people who truly need the support. It’s a part of you that will only continue to grow, and you may have never been able to discover it if you didn’t have to “settle” for this full time fundraising/event planning gig.

And beyond that? I can’t even tell you how valuable those cocktail mixer networking skills can be, and you really don’t know how great it is to get paid to drink beer with firefighters. I promise, there will be days when you miss this job… parts of it… not the part where you’re sitting in a dusty old restaurant in a small Virginia town asking “jailbirds” to make calls to raise their “parole.” No, you will never miss that part, and I’m sorry you have another one to deal with next week.

Your confidence is shaky these days. You worry if you’re living up to what others expect of you. You wonder if you’ll ever “be” somebody. What I’m about to tell you is going to blow your freaking mind. When you become a mother soon (yes,soon), that tiny little person will do more for you than a 4 year college degree ever did. He will help you find yourself. Your confidence will grow, not because you will be a perfect mother (you really won’t even be able to figure out how to pee without putting him down the first month), but because you will be amazed at your own strength. Your priorities will fall in line, and you’ll know that happiness isn’t about becoming who you wanted to be when you were 17, but about allowing yourself to give up a little control and seeing where life takes you.

You’re going to learn to truly appreciate the moment you’re in, instead of constantly yearning for the next big thing. It will continually be a battle to live in the moment, but you’ll work harder to stay there. Success won’t be measured by the size of your paycheck or the make and model of your car, but by the number of nights you get your infant to sleep longer than 5 hours and by the joy that fills your heart the first time he belly laughs at you. Sure, that may sound like a drag now, but I promise it’s a ton of fun… most of the time. (For now, ENJOY YOUR SLEEP AND YOUR CLEAN CARS!)

I can’t promise that at 29 you’ll have all the answers or that you’ll feel 100% confident in the direction you’re headed. You’ll wonder often if you’ve made the right choice to stay home, if life would be easier on all of you if you went back to work. You’ll question if you’re cut out for this stay at home mom bit or if your son would be better off spending his days with people who actually *enjoy* painting and rolling Playdoh with toddlers. There will be some days when it hits you like a ton of bricks that now, more than ever, you are miles away from your what you paid tens of thousands of dollars on a 4 year degree to become.  But what you will have learned by now, Jill, is that the best gift only you can ever give yourself is permission to change- to change your mind, to change your views, to change your opinions, to change your goals.

Oh, and there’s this thing that you’re going to do on the internet. It’s called a blog. You’re going to become a complete geek who knows way too much about HTML and feeds and Facebook (yup, you’re GOING to join Facebook… seriously, just leave MySpace now… it will make you feel dirty looking back) and this odd thing called Twitter. You’re going to tell entirely too many internet strangers and your whole family way too much about your vagina and your breasts and crazy visions you have of your baby falling off the indoor balcony at the Embassy Suites and this one time you ate 50 Tums at once and had to call poison control. Simply put, it will change your life in a really cool way.

You’re on the right path, Jill. Enjoy happy hour while you can, and purchase clothes that are quality enough and classic enough to still look good in 4 years because you will STILL be wearing them. Now, I want you to put on your best bra and low cut shirt and go out and celebrate the glory that is your breasts before pregnancy. Please, do this for me. Tell them I miss them.

Love,
29 year old Jill
(mother to a 2 year old and 15 weeks pregnant with her second – CRAZY, right?!)

What would you say to your 25 year old self?

July 1, 2010 14 comments
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