Noise with Dirt

When I was pregnant with my son, someone sent me a picture on Facebook that was captioned, "Boy: noise with dirt on it." Ohhhhh how true it is!

My son is just shy of 11 months old and doesn't walk unassisted yet, although he crawls at about 100 mph. He doesn't play outside much yet, and he has a bath every night after dinner. You wouldn't think he'd have many opportunities to get dirty, but somehow he winds up with dirt under his nails and sometimes he looks like Leonardo diCaprio's character from What's Eating Gilbert Grape? As we were snuggling for his morning nap today, I noticed he had blueberries in his ear. How did he manage that? So many times a random piece of cheese or a raisin has fallen out of his clothes.

And noise? He says several words already and picks one or two that he repeats for a few weeks. Right now he asks, "Dat?" and says, "good" several million times a day. He babbles to himself constantly. He squeals and shrieks and giggles and claps his hands and bangs his blocks together and then turns on all of his toys at the same time, for good measure.

And I, of course, love every minute of my dirty noise. 

The "Mom Diet"

Several years ago, my mom and I were talking, joking around, and she said that when she was going through her divorce from her first husband, her "divorce diet" was white zinfandel and Marlboro lights. 

Well, my smoking days were when I was in college and grad school, and fortunately I haven't smoked in over 6 years, but I realized tonight that I have a "mom diet" - coffee, wine, and animal crackers. 

Oh, and lots and lots of grilled cheese sandwiches. 

That, and the daily frappuccinos from Starbucks, might explain the weight gain, huh?

Warmth

You have changed me in so many ways, my son. Made me softer, less rigid, more willing to trust my feelings. I never planned to bed share. But we all need human touch sometimes, don't we, love? When you wake at night in your crib, uncomfortable in a way that ibuprofen can't fix, and you reach for me, unable to say in any other way that you need me, then yes, son, you may find comfort in snuggling down between the two people who love you most. When the world seems scary because your awareness of it is changing, then yes, my child, you may sleep in our bed, and reach out to feel the rise and fall of daddy's chest instead of the cold slats of your crib or even the soft warmth of your blanket. When you need to know that you are safe and secure and loved, then yes, I will wrap you in my arms and hold you tight. All too soon you will be too big to hold, you will want your independence, and daddy and I will have the bed to ourselves again. Until then, when you need us, we are here.

Beauty

Well, it has happened yet again. My heart has grown. You'd think I'd be used to that breath-catching twinge in my chest by now, but it never fails to catch me off guard. It never fails to bring a prayer to my lips - "Thank you, God, for my precious boy." I would admit that it also never fails to bring a tear to my eye, but that would just make me sound like way too much of a sap.

Elijah has been fighting sleep lately, both at night and for his naps. (Eight month sleep regression?) At night we start him out in his crib, but inevitably he will wake up and won't go back to sleep unless we bring him into bed with us. I know, you're either thinking I'm awful for cosleeping, or else that I'm awful for not cosleeping at the beginning of the night. Either way, this is what we've decided to do, and we're all happy with it. Anyway, for naps, most days he won't nap at all unless it's with me. So, as I'm typing this, I am in my bed with a happily snoozing 9-month-old.

This morning, he was curled in my arms, then shifted onto his back, his arm stretched out with his hand resting in my outstretched hand. Then, he whimpered in his sleep and instinctively turned toward me, his legs curled up against my belly and his arm against my chest. As I wrapped my arms back around him and he relaxed, my breath caught, my chest tightened, and I marveled, "who knew how much joy there is in comforting your child? How much beauty there is being the one your child seeks, even in sleep, to receive that comfort?"

I hope that I will be able to teach my son as much as he has already taught me. I hope that he will always know what a blessing he is.

32

Today is my birthday - my first one as a mom. And, for the first time, I completely understand what it means to say, "There's nothing I want for my birthday." It's true. I have absolutely everything I want. I really didn't even think much about my birthday this year. In the past, I've done that when I didn't want to acknowledge that I was getting older - usually because I didn't like where I was in life. But this year, it's because I am so content with my life that I'm not holding onto hope that this year "will be even better".

I am happy! I have a husband who loves me more than I probably even realize. My stepchildren love me and respect me. I have a beautiful, perfect little boy who makes my entire world light up. What more could a woman want? I honestly wouldn't have been disappointed if I'd received no phone calls, no cards, no gifts this year. The fact that I have received a lot of cards, birthday wishes, a sweet gift from my stepdaughter and an absolutely gorgeous necklace from my husband is just so much icing on already fabulous (birthday?) cake.

That doesn't mean, of course, that would I turn down Starbucks gift cards. ;-) I have been blessed with lots of those this year, too! Life is truly good.

Oh boy!

I have three sisters and two nieces (by blood). I wasn't raised around boys, although I had several guy friends while growing up. My stepson was 13 when my husband and I got married, so given his age, the fact that I was the stepmom and not the mom, and that he was only with us on the weekends until he was 16 (when my husband got custody of his kids), I wasn't exactly an active participant in raising him. So, life hasn't exactly prepared me to be the mom of a boy.

When I first got pregnant, I was positive that I was having a girl. I referred to the baby as "she", Jack and I bought a pink PJ set as one of our first baby purchases, and I point-blank refused to acknowledge the possibility that I could be carrying a boy.

About a month before our anatomy scan, though, I started feeling like "maybe" I "might" be having a boy. As the time for our anatomy scan drew nearer, I became positive I was having a boy. My inner monologue started referring to the baby as "he". I told my mom to buy gender-neutral things because I was no longer certain I was having a girl.

And, on November 4, 2011, at our anatomy scan, when I was not quite 18 weeks pregnant, the ultrasound technician confirmed that, indeed, I was carrying Elijah and not Grace.

My mother was stunned. She thought that there surely must be some mistake. "Are they sure? I mean, really SURE that it's a boy?? That can't be right! I don't know anything about boys!" I assured her that I was there and saw exactly what the tech saw, and yes, he was indeed a boy, and I didn't know anything about boys, either, but since I was his mom, this was a bit more problematic for me than it was for her.

I was slightly disappointed for a week or two (maybe less; I really don't remember) but then I got excited and just fell in love with my Elijah. Now, I can't imagine having had a girl. I love my baby boy SO MUCH more than I ever thought it was possible to love another human being. He is so much fun, and so sweet, and so laidback, and just so all around perfect that I can't picture my life any other way.

However, I have always been prone to pre-emptive worrying, and ever since I saw that anatomy scan (and all the subsequent ones that confirmed that the original "diagnosis" of boy was correct), I have already been dreading the teenage years. You know, because boys are weird and they do strange things that make no sense to people who don't have a Y chromosome. Not to mention..... puberty. And hormones. And girls. And temptation. And who knows what technology will be around in another decade or so that will make all that temptation easily accessible. Not that technology is needed (as all the previous generations of men can attest), but it certainly makes it easier. Cell phones with cameras and texting capabilities are bad enough. The internet is even worse. And girls are just so... aggressive, it seems. I'm already burying my head in the sand.

But I know I can't do that. I have a responsibility to my son to raise him to be the kind of man that some future girl's parents won't dread meeting. I am fortunate that I am married to a wonderful man and that, barring unforeseen circumstances, I won't have to raise my son alone. But still - I can't leave the raising of our son solely to my husband, either. Nor do I want to.

But I'm dreading it. It will be hard. It might possibly be embarrassing for someone as prudish as I am. I want my son to feel comfortable talking to me, I want him to be able to ask me questions and I want to be able to answer them without blushing or without making things a bigger deal than they need to be. But I get embarrassed so easily, so that will be hard enough. But it also seems to me that our culture has such a warped view of masculinity (and femininity, too, for that matter) that stereotypically masculine traits are either idolized, or else scorned to the point that even healthy manifestations of masculinity are met with derision. In that kind of environment, how can a boy be raised to have a healthy image of who HE is, as a boy becoming a man? I don't want him to be ashamed of being male. I also don't want him to be overly proud of being male. I want him to be confident but not arrogant, strong but not dominating, masculine but soft-hearted. A "tender warrior," as I've heard it described. I want him to know how to change the oil in his car and how to fix a toilet, but also how to cook dinner and how to change a diaper. I want him to love deeply and faithfully, to have a strong work ethic, and a desire to provide. I want him to be playful and to have fun but also to have a sharp mind. I don't want him to be lazy, boastful, rude, lustful, prideful, or incompetent.

How do you do that? I know that children learn a lot by observing their world, and my son is fortunate to have an excellent role model as his daddy. His big brother Sean is also a man I am proud to know. But what can mothers do to encourage healthy masculinity in their sons? I feel like I can't wait until his "tween" years to start thinking about this. I feel like I need to figure this out now so I can start doing what needs to be done even now, because children learn so much more so much earlier than we think.

So... moms of boys... advice? What are you and your husband (or child's father) doing to ensure your son grows to have a healthy view of himself? Of women?

Snuggles

If I had to think of something that I enjoy more than holding a sleepy baby, I'm not sure I could come up with anything. Something about the weight of a contented baby in your arms, with a sweet little cheek snuggled up to your chest, and hearing sleepy baby sighs just makes everything in the world seem better.

When Elijah was a few weeks old, I started to try to get him used to going to sleep at around the same time each night, which originally was around 9, right after he ate for the last time. I'd put him in his jammies, swaddle him, give him his paci, turn on Jewel's "Lullaby" CD, turn out the lights, and we'd rock. At first we'd rock and rock and rock, sometimes for an hour or two, before he'd finally nod off. I'd catch myself nearly dozing off and would jerk my head up, certain that I'd dropped him or something equally catastrophic, to find his sweet face staring up at me, eyes wide open, pacifier moving up and down (much like Maggie Simpson's), with no sign that he would fall asleep any time soon. Sometimes I'd be so exhausted that Jack would have to take over. Eventually, though, he caught on and got used to sleeping at night and started taking less and less time to fall asleep. I would hold him and rock him even after he slept, just listening to his breathing, watching his facial expressions change in his sleep, smelling his sweet baby smell, kissing his perfect little forehead, until finally I would lay him down in his crib and watch him snuggle up to his lovey (or, as Jack insists on calling it, his "blanky bear").

Then, of course, I read all the books about sleep that say not to rock your baby to sleep, that they need to fall asleep where they will wake up so that when they cycle into lighter sleep states and briefly awaken, they won't freak out but will instead drift peacefully back to sleep (assuming they're not uncomfortable from teething, don't have a dirty diaper, are not hungry, and are not working on crawling, pulling up, etc.). I was not very happy when I read that. Who were these "sleep experts" to tell me that I can't rock my baby?!

So I did what any overly analytical, stubborn redhead would do. I obeyed the letter of the law. I didn't rock him to sleep. I started rocking him until he was just barely still awake and then would lay him down in his crib so he could fall asleep in his crib. Since he was falling asleep much more quickly, this often meant that I was only rocking him for about 5 minutes, but still, it was better than nothing. I got to rock my baby and help him learn to fall asleep in his crib. And so far, it's worked.

I can't honestly say that I miss our hours-long marathon rocking sessions, especially since those occurred when he was still waking up every 2-3 hours to eat at night, but I do wish some nights that he would take a bit longer to get drowsy. He knows the routine now and doesn't fight sleep. We say prayers and read a story, then turn off the light and turn on the music and rock. Some nights he'll look around until he's sleepy, then he'll sigh and tuck his head against my chest and close his eyes. After that, we'll rock for another minute or two then he'll lay down. My baby won't be a baby forever and the time will come that he won't want to rock. I'm not going to rush that. Rocking my son at bedtime is my favorite time of day because it's when he wants to be close to his mommy. He'll gaze up at me and smile around his paci, sometimes pat my face or touch my hair, look at the shadows on the walls, then snuggle up against me. Seeing how much my son trusts me, how secure he feels when I rock him, makes me feel like maybe I'm not totally screwing up this whole "mom" thing. Plus, as he's gotten more interested in exploring and getting into everything he can, he's less interested in being held during the day. So, I'll rock my son for as long as he'll let me, and treasure up our snuggly times, because I know that all too soon, he'll be too cool to hug me in front of his friends and too grown to need mama snuggles. For now, he wants his mommy at night, and I'm perfectly okay with that.