Happy Mother’s Day Mom.

I’ve spent my entire 35 years trying to please my very intense, Marine father.  However, I have not once felt the need to “try” to make my mother proud.  She just always is proud of me and has always made me feel very secure in her love.

I call her every day, with no particular topic or question at hand-just because I enjoy hearing her voice.  We are very different people.  My daughter is much more like her than I was, am, or ever can aspire to be.  They are both people-pleasers, always concerned about others, always trying to make people happy.  They have a genuine empathy that is instilled in their hearts and could not be faked.  They can both be very affected by things people say or do, albeit unintentional or just an offhand comment.  I am much more nonchalant and things roll off my back much more quickly and I am definitely not all sweetness and goodness as those two are.

My mother has set the bar so high for parenting it is almost impossible to attain.  She worked full time my entire childhood, cooked meals every single day, packed lunches, did all the laundry, sewed, quilted, gardened, painted and built…she is more Martha Stewart than Martha Stewart.  To this day, I ask her to hem pants or fix a pillow or any other chore that to her is routine, but to me a major undertaking.  Just recently, she revamped a too-large tablecloth into the right size, making the excess material into matching napkins and pillows for my sun porch.  Over the past 15 years she has taken care of her two elderly parents, her aging mother-in-law and helped all of them to die with dignity.  She has watched her children have children and has become the role model my daughter so desperately emulates.  She is the “fun” Nana who takes B hiking and playing outside and yes, shopping too!  She is a fitness fanatic and has instilled that love of the outdoors and exercise in both me and my daughter.

We are so different I sometimes have trouble understanding her reasons and her upsets.  When she is stressed out, I have a hard time being compassionate, as that’s not something I “get”.  I often say that I won’t allow stress in my life…I feel it is a choice and drama that I don’t have time to allow in.  She doesn’t understand the bittersweet feelings of remarriage and divorce and single parenting.  She’s been with the same man since she was 19.  (She conceived ME on her wedding night)!

Yet, sometimes, she still surprises me with a bout of open-mindedness.  Recently I told her the Twilight books were incredibly good and since I don’t usually love fiction and especially not popular fiction, she listened.  She’s now on the third book and surprisingly completely addicted!  My daughter and I adore movie nights at her house, where we snuggle up and eat junk food.

She is passionate and strong and hopelessly in love with my father.  She’s curious and loyal and always there.  Getting angry with her can upset me like nothing else can.  She’s ridiculously wrapped around my 9 year-olds finger and it both makes me envious and warm inside, all at the same time.  I can’t begin to imagine a day when she is not there.  I’m not sure I would be able to go on, without her in this world.  It gives me hope that my daughter too, might feel I am necessary, needed…long after she actually needs my physical presence every day.

Thank you Mom…I love you.  You have done the most exceptional job of mothering I have ever seen.  Thank you for giving me everything and then some.  For traveling to stores far away so I could have those Guess jeans back in 10th grade.  For allowing me all the sports and clubs and activites that kept you running for all my teenage years.  For hunting down a Cabbage Patch kid when I was crying each night because I wanted one so badly. For making every Christmas, Easter and even St. Patrick’s Day magical.  For gifting me with the most idyllic childhood imaginable.  For lying in bed with me, spooning behind me and holding me as I cried myself to sleep, the night my first husband left our home and I drove to your house, 7 months pregnant.  For supporting me as I stubbornly held onto my home for three years after leaving my husband.  For helping me when I bought a house in a more convenient location.  For being so happy when I remarried and built a new family.  For….just being.  I love you more than you can ever know.  And I appreciate it.  Every last thing…every day of the last 35 years, and 4 months.  There is no other you.  How lucky am I?

Happy 35th Mother’s Day Mom.

Ok, so I know this is going to generate some serious controversy, but that is not at all what I’m trying to do.  I’m just genuinely confused by something, and have been confused by it in the past, so I’m thinking my online blogger support team might be able to help me understand the rationale behind something.

Look at the photo contained in the link below and think for a moment, I mean really reflect, on the feelings it evokes. (I can’t link in or post the actual picture here right now, because of the ridiculous blocks this place has on my Internet-good thing I only have 26 days left here).

Anyway, for now, just click on it-the article is interesting too:

http://img.timeinc.net/time/daily/2007/0709/breastfeeding_0911.jpg

The reason this comes to mind yet again, is because someone I know just had their second child.  This person did not breastfeed the first daughter.  Now that in my mind is fine, it is one’s OWN choice after all, I’m not about requiring it to be mandatory.  But my question is about the fact that this person chose this option before ever even trying it ONCE.  As both an immunologist and a mother, I can’t understand it.  Maybe you can.  And you’ll help me to get it too.

First of all, I would not have been able to withstand the unending curiosity of what the whole process would BE like.  Second of all, in this era of all the moms who try to “one up” each other with all the advantages they give their child, it’s hard to believe that one would not at least give a little attempt…even a couple days of trying…  Trust me, it wasn’t a breeze for me.  Not by a long shot.  I had a hearty little eater in Miss B.  She latched on very easily, and she had an easy time of it.  However, I went through several rounds of infections, a few rounds of really embarrassing moments and one really, really gross incident that my ex-husband recalls all too well, where he came home from work to find me pumping bloody milk into a bottle while our daughter slept.  He asked me what I was doing and I said through clenched teeth “This little girl WILL be breast-fed for AT LEAST ONE  YEAR!”.  I threw out that milk by the way-I just wanted to keep pumping until I healed so that my milk would not dry up.  Ok, so even the ex will attest to my stubborn streak-which is even stronger when it comes to my little girl.  But it wasn’t just my obstinance that made me keep going this time.  I could not, in my right mind, give her that nasty tasting formula.  I tasted it out of that unending curiosity that I am made of and I nearly vomited.  For real  It.  Was.  Disgusting.  And yeppers, I tasted my milk and I’ll be damned if it wasn’t some really good stuff.  And I don’t even like milk!  It tasted like the milk at the bottom of a bowl of Lucky Charms!

And also, as mentioned before, I’m a scientist who once planned on going to med school.  All those hours spent poring over medical books and studying MCAT study guides affected me in many ways and I’m just a tiny bit passionate about the health and well-being of our children.  I get why women stop after awhile.  It’s not convenient I know.  I leaked all over my best friends bachelorette party when B was just days old.  I then proceeded to bust out of the dress for her wedding a few days later and wound up pumping in a janitors closet.  Yes. I leaked all over that dress too.  (Laughing as I type this).  There were times I wanted to quit and it was certainly bittersweet when B was done and started to walk up to me to get her milk (happy to be “free” of that, but sad to be “free” of that)-but I couldn’t have imagined it any other way.  I want the best for her.  Always.  And that won’t always be convenient for me.  So when you have a baby, don’t you feel that you should TRY to breastfeed, unless it’s medically not possible or there is some substantial reason not to?  I guess I just can’t understand why you wouldn’t even try it ONCE?  I’m going to censor myself now and cut this post off…because I’m sure someone will be offended.  But I just really want to know a legitimate reason that will make me understand why a mother wouldn’t just try it.  Once.  That’s all.

For me

It’s amazing how in a relationship we change and adapt to each other.  New Husband and I were talking last night (while loading the dishwasher) about the positive effects each of us has had on the other.  Inadvertently, he has influenced me into being more of a homebody than ever before (maybe by making our home so happy and appealing to be in) and I’ve influenced him to be more technologically inclined, and hopefully, a bit more tolerant of others choices.

We joked about how, if I had gone on to med school as I’d wanted to, how things would have changed and if we would have eventually met each other.  I told him, that if I had went to a bigger college in NYC, I’m sure I would have been completely a different person.  Our environment really shapes who we are and who we become.  This really shows me how critical it is for all of us to have our children in positive environments that adequately reflect the values we want them to have.  THAT would be why, even on the evening when I’m dead exhausted and already went running, and B comes up to me and really wants to go for a rollerblade before bed…I hesitate (but only for a millisecond) and go grab our skates and helmets.  I want her to choose exercise and a healthy lifestyle because it’s fun and not because of any of the plethora of reasons other people choose it.  I also go along with her plans to “make a difference” because those are the values I want to embody for her.

Embracing the changes in your life, creates the new you, the one that you haven’t even dreamt about yet.

Our neighborhood is fabulous for a growing 9 year old girl!  We stayed home for spring break, since we usually travel during February break, when it’s just dreadful here in NY.  Spring break is sunny and smells good and fun for bike riding and rollerblading and yes…trampolining!  I love that we have little girls B’s age next door, but I hardly see her anymore!  It shows me what its going to be like as she gets older and has this “life of her own”.  I know its the point of parenting to raise independent children who make the right choices on their own, but does anyone else feel a bit sad too?  I don’t feel quite as needed.  I think B feels it too…she pops her head in periodically and yells, “Mom???  I LOVE you!”.  Here we go-the beginning of her taking care of me.

So I woke up this morning and guess what?  You grew up.  Overnight.  You still snuggle me and give me kisses, but they are the kisses of an older child, who does it more to placate the parent, than for their own comfort.  I go into your room at night and smell your breath, still childlike and sweet and look at the length of you tangled up in the Hello Kitty sheets you still adore.  (Just last weekend, before leaving for your Dad’s, you said, “So Mom, if you wash my sheets, can you just put the same ones back on?  They don’t NEED to be washed, but if you do, can you just make sure you put them back on before I get home?  The same ones?  Ok?  Mom…the Hello Kitty ones you know?”.  Got it princess…got it).

I love how mature you have become and how enjoyable you are.  The things you require from me are no longer any sort of obligation or work, but fun!  We have such a great time together.  I drag you everywhere I have to go, because I so love your company!  Not all your friends are like this-their parents don’t love all their moments with them, but I cherish them.  I know you are the only baby I’ll ever have…and the days are just running right out of your childhood.

You are 9.  When I was 9, I was in 4th grade and had my first boyfriend.  We are still friends to this day.  I cared about what people thought.  I started to develop my own interests and opinions.  I know where you are at and I love how you are growing up.  But how I wish you would stay who you are now.  The girl who still loves when we go to Nana and Poppa’s and we get to sleep in the same bed and wake up together.  I dread the day that our relationship becomes “grown-up”.  Who will keep me young then?

Disciplining you, when I have to do it, albeit rarely, is tough.  I don’t like to see you sad, but I want you to be a good person.  So I do it.  And then I run in and hug you when you are sleeping and whisper in your ear, “I love you.  You are my favorite person EVER.  You are amazing and I adore you”.  then I sneak out, only to check on you several other times in the night (and tuck in that leg that inevitably pops out of the covers two seconds after I leave the room).  But it makes me tear up a little…to know you aren’t a baby anymore.  And you never will be again.  I blinked and it was gone. I won’t have a baby again.  Ok, now I might cry in studyhall…the students would love that right?

You now are a whole shoe size larger than me.  Shopping in stores that teenagers shop in.  Doing your homework because you CARE, not because I force you.  Talking about your dream jobs and what college will be like someday.  College???  Seriously?  Sweetie, make sure it’s someplace warm, because I know I’m going to have to be close by.

So I’m leaving teaching.  I do not like it.  I’m not going to finish up the certification to finish out my Masters in the content (it’s pricey and involves lots of jumping through ridiculous hoops, as NYS is prone to require of it’s working people).  I will not do this job again.  I don’t like it…it’s boring and my brain needs some intellectual stimulation.  And crap.  I feel like I’ve been off half the year.  I thought I had minimal social interaction as a scientist, but there is even less as a teacher.  Unless you count my silly teenage Chemistry students.  Teaching college was fun…this, well I don’t even know what I would categorize this as.

I’m going back to my old job.  I had an “interview” on Monday.  It went remarkably well.  It was to work for two new investigators coming in…on a new system, a parasite that is a tremendous problem for developing countries.  And to be their lab manager for both labs.  It sounded like such a good fit and I even broached the whole possiblity of working part-time status, with 3 ten hour days and it was not dismissed…even stated as a very likely possiblity.  Also, it wouldn’t need me on regular schedule until some point in August, so I could still have this summer off with my girl.  It all sounds so good…the three days a week I work, B will have to get a sitter who can pick her up from school and stay with her for an hour or two.  And she’ll have to get up for school and get dressed, since I’ll leave before she’s up, three days a week.  We talked about it and she’s fine, since I’ll be home two more days a week now.  She’s going to be ten when this all happens and my husband will make sure she’s up and fed for school.  He already drops her at her Daddy’s house so he can bring her to school each day.  Hopefully this all falls into place as nicely as it sounds.  I’m so excited to get back to work.  And very grateful to all the people who are helping to make that happen.

And hopefully, I’ll have lots more time to blog!

BsDaddy is present in her life.  Physically.  Financially.  Not really emotionally and certainly not spiritually.  The first two being the least important of the four in my eyes.  But not necessarily in hers.  Not yet anyway.  I make sure she knows that although he isn’t buying her material items as often as Mommy does, he is giving money to Mommy which allows me that extra spending ability.  And for her to be in expensive sports and activities.  She knows we both contribute financially to her lifestyle.  And she’s grateful.  Yes, even at nine.  That’s just how my girl rolls.

So, although he isn’t what I want him to be in her life-he’s there.  It seems to be enough for her-for now.  And I’m not going to rock that boat.

Although he could have been a bit more excited about her choice yesterday to do this to her hair:

And, as I keep reiterating to NewHusband, we can’t control what goes on in the other parent’s household.  Just like we wouldn’t love if they tried telling US what to do.  (But that’s hard advice to swallow when B tells me she tried to call me Friday night because she couldn’t sleep and she was alone downstairs at Daddy’s house and she worked herself into such a frenzy she had to go be sick in the bathroom.  And I didn’t get the call because I was on the lake where service is in and out, and she didn’t leave a message.  Although now, she knows to next time-TEXT your momma silly girly!).

This is much easier now that she’s nine and understands things better, than it was when she was three.  I used to cry my eyes out when she left for her Daddy’s. 

This post reminds me of that quote:  ”Just because someone doesn’t love you like you want them to, doesn’t mean they don’t love you with all they have”.  So maybe, he’s loving her the best he can.