Sure, as a new mom, I have given a lot of thought to baby poop. I’m not gonna lie. Before Ivy, I dreaded the dirty diaper.  Still do. But, it’s a daily occurrence. Sometimes, it’s a multiple day occurrence. We’ve had pebbles, soft wedges, and full-on blowouts. And never in my life have I had more discussions about poo. Not even in Jr. High.  

Still, I anticipated a lot of poop talks in as a new mom. What I didn’t anticipate, however, was a full-blown poop bombing in the bathtub.

But sure as you-know-what, tonight as Ivy was splish-splashing this evening, we noticed a grimace, then a scowl, then a red face. And then all of a sudden, seven floaters are floating in the tub, among the little fishies and the rubber ducky, as if they belonged. Like they were part of the party.

Faster than you can say rub-a-dub-dub, I grabbed a towel, grabbed Ivy, and handed her to Mike so I could go grab the bathroom cleaner.

The damage was minimal. Just a few little skids easily cleaned up with Comet. I have to say, though,  I’ve cleaned up a lot of crap in my day, more figuratively than literally. But never, ever, in a million years, did I think I would be scooping those little floaters from the tub. That’s just not something they tell you about in the baby books.

Aunt B is trying to get me to walk. No thanks.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had a post. Four months, actually. And in the past four months, Ivy has blown me away. Not only with how much she has grown, but how quickly she is becoming more of a little girl and far less of a little baby. She’s eating real food, drinking from a sippy cup, communicating with Mike and me, and exhibiting far more independence at this age than I ever would have imagined.

Over the  past several weeks, as her first birthday loomed ahead, the subject of walking came up more and more. “Is she walking yet?” quickly became a question I anticipated each time I talked to someone new. I am very aware that all children develop different skills at different ages. Still, it bugs me a little. It’s not so much that I worry about when she walks. I know she will walk when she’s ready. But it’s the responses I get when I say that she’s not walking that bother me just a little.

 “Oh, she will soon.”

““I’m sure she’s close.”
“Don’t worry. She’ll be walking any day now.”

The fact is, I haven’t been worried, until we reached the one year mark and all of a sudden everyone was assuring me that I shouldn’t worry. And it’s not even that I’m worried, but that I feel like I have to defend the fact she’s not walking.  First of all, the kid is very verbal. She has several words and phrases in the vault already. Such as, “Mama”, “Dada”, “Hi Papa”, “Hi ki-ki” (hi kitty kitty),  “Okay”,  “Mai” (Macie),  “clock”, “light”, “miill” (milk) and “baaaa” (bath). This morning she added “poo poo” to her growing vocabulary. How proud am I?

 Secondly, as with all other milestones, I know she will get there when she’s ready. It seems like everything else in on her terms lately; so why would walking be any different? But still, if I’m completely honest, there is just the tiniest bit of competitiveness that puts me on the defensive just the slightest bit when I’m asked.

 Okay. So I’m that mom. But I’m also the mom who realizes the importance of letting your child develop on their terms, pursue their own interests, be themselves, and walk to the beat of a different drum, if that is what makes them happy. Not to get all “psycho-therapy”, but I was not allowed that luxury as a child. And let me tell you, it can cause some issues. So even if her preferred method of motoring is still crawling when she’s three, well then, that’s just going to have to be okay.  As my dear friend “J” said just the other day, “they develop at their own pace, and you need to remember they are blessings.” And she is so right. If I can keep that perspective for the next 18 years, then my relationship with my daughter will be even better than I have been hoping for.

“Yeah. I know. I know,” I sighed.

Just blog. Easier said than done. It’s not that I don’t have things to say. Believe me. I have things to say. But I’m tired. So tired.

I was prepared to be exhausted as a new mom. But I was not prepared to be exhausted eight months in. And yet, I am. Honestly, it’s not the duties of motherhood that wear me down to dog-tiredness by nine ‘o clock every night.

It’s my job. My job, although a good one, is an an emotional vacuum that sucks the life right out of me. And at the end of the day, it’s Ivy’s time. Time for play, time for feeding, time for bath, then time for reading. I love every minute of it. And then, when Ivy is sleeping peacefully in her crib, it’s time for Mike and I to try and catch up, or to tidy up the kithen, throw in a load of laundry, or pick up the house.

I won’t lie. I tend to get sucked into Facebook at bit as well. But it’s the one thing I can go to and catch up on what my friends are up to. I don’t have to spend hours on the phone. (And besides, who has time for that?) I can just pick and choose who I want to catch up with, drop them a line, comment on a post, and I’m up to speed and still connected.

And if I do manage to carve out a few minutes to blog, then suddenly I’m at a loss for words. And that is weird. Because words flow easily through my mind when I’m running through Walmart for formula and Nursery Water. They drift in and out of my mind effortlessly as I’m manuevering through traffic or changing a diaper. It’s the quiet moments when I actually have time to write, that I struggle to find something to say.

I really believe it is because after a long day of reviewing media and marketing, and debating burgers and breakfast burritos, I’m just spent, mentally and intellectually.  Balance has always been my biggest challenge. And I don’t see that changing any time soon. But I will keep trying to blog more. To be a writer, you need to write consistently, and even blah blogging is better than no blogging, right?

Admittedly, I can understand this scenario that occurred in Super Target just a few weeks ago while standing in line with Ivy.

A grandmotherly lady approached the cart where Ivy sat, happily slobbering on her latest chew toy.

“He is so cute!” the lady said as she squeezed Ivy’s arm. “How old is he?”

“She is six months old.” I replied, thinking she would pick up the hint.

“Oh he is just so active, kicking his legs like that!”

I grimaced a little and replied “Yes, she keeps me on my toes.”

“What is his name?” she asked me.

God, at this point I felt it would be really awkward to blurt out “It’s a girl!”

“Her name is Ivy,” I said, emphasizing ‘Ivy’.

The light bult came on. “Oh, it’s a girl!” she said surprisedly.

The reason I can understand somewhat, is because Mike had dressed Ivy in a red onsie that day. But it was her red Nebraska Princess onsie, and it had a big yellow crown on the front. Still, if ‘ol grandma wasn’t looking closely, I could see why she would assume Ivy was a boy.

But the other day, in Dillards, Ivy was wearing a aqua blue onesie with flowers all over it. Aqua blue and flowers, I tell  you. And yet as we  walked passed the perfume counter, one of the employees smiled at us and said “What a cute little boy.”

Good grief. Yes, we have twenty-five hair bows and a collection of elastic hair bands in every color of the rainbow. I adorn her little head in flowers and bows about seventy percent of the time. I guess I should put them on her more often. But I didn’t want to be the mom who puts the hair ornament in just to go to the grocery store.

At first, I thought I would be that mom. But within the first few months, I realized that sometimes, just getting us both out the door completely dressed and clean was the best I could do.

But I guess my best isn’t good enough, and I’m going to have to step up my game. Because I don’t plan to spend the next twelve  months awkwardly correcting everyone with the phrase “It’s a girl!’

I’m a pleaser by nature, due to a childhood and adolescence spent trying to please my impossible-to-satisfy mother, so my tendency is to just go along with what others want and not rock the boat too much. Case in point, I am always the one that has no opinion about where the group should go to eat. And even when someone suggests a place I don’t particularly care for, I will say “okay.”

Why? Because, what if I pick a place that someone doesn’t like? That would make me “wrong.” (Again, please note there are childhood issues contributing to this). And why push back on something as insignificant as a restaurant, anyway? Pick your battles, I always say. The problem is, I don’t even pick the battles that I should pick. So needless to say, that trait does not bode well when I encounter a situation that I don’t necessarily agree with or favor.

That being said, it seems it may be time to set boundaries with my little Ivy. Now seven months old, Ivy is developing a very strong personality. She has always fought sleep since the day we brought her home, but now that she is more aware of being put to bed, she fights with a vengeance. Until now, I have rocked her to sleep nearly every night, with her falling asleep in my arms and then me transferring her to her crib. Baby books say not to do this. They say to put them to bed before they are asleep. I say, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” My baby sleeps twelve hours a night; something many parents would kill for. However, there may be some merit to the baby books, because some nights when I lay her in her crib after several minutes of sleepy time rocking, she burst out into a wail and I have to console her and make sure the paci is still in. (You probably call it a binky. I call it a paci.) Sleeping with the paci is yet another practice the books look down upon. But you know what? Bite me. The paci works.

However, the point is that there are times when she needs to go to bed and I need to enforce that. A conversation from our two month well child check-up still surfaces in my mind whenever I start thinking about our “night-night” routine.

“If I put her to bed before she is asleep, she cries,” I said to the nurse.

“Well if she cries, she cries,” said the nurse. “You establish the bedtime, especially as she gets older. Who is the parent here, you? Or her?”

Touché.

I am the parent, but so far, it’s been incredibly difficult for me to put her in the crib and let her cry. Most times, she fusses a bit and goes to sleep. But if she really cries, I pick her up right away. Just can’t help it.

That is, until last Wednesday. Wednesday was a stressful work day. And a stressful Ivy day. I finished up my work day and came out into the living room. Ivy was fussy and wanted me. I held her and played with her for awhile, but then I had things to do. I could tell she was getting tired because of her whining and the way she was rubbing her eyes. I decided to put her down for a nap, and took her to her crib.

The second she realized it was nap time, she began flailing her arms, kicking her legs, and crying loudly. Usually, this is hard to take. But for some reason, it didn’t phase me. I just knew I needed to walk way. So I did. I turned on her monitor, shut the door, and went into my bedroom to begin picking some things up. I could still hear her through the walls, but it didn’t send that sense of stress through my body like it usually does. All I know is that I was so worn down emotionally that the crying didn’t even faze me. And within five minutes, she was asleep. I checked on her and she was out cold. In fact, she slept for an hour, woke up, ate again, and went back to sleep.

Does anyone else have thoughts or advice on this? Do you let them cry, like the Ferber message suggests? Or do you go ahead and comfort them, knowing they will fall asleep eventually?

So although minor, that was my first lesson in baby boundaries. And truth be told, it’s probably been a long time coming. Now, if I could just set those boundaries with my mother….

Of course I laughed, but the fact that I refused to let her sleep on her stomach baffled the grandmas, great-aunts, and pretty much everyone who raised a baby prior to the 1990’s. I pointed out the SIDS rate has decreased significantly since the American Academy of Pediatrics recommended putting babies to sleep on their backs. Yet I still repeatedly got the response, “I put all my babies to sleep on their stomach and they were just fine”.

In addition to sleep advice, I’m told how often to feed her, to limit the pacifier, and what bottles to use. The list goes on.  If she is barefoot, I’m told her feet are cold. If she has socks on, I’m told she is too hot.   And no matter what size I buy her pajamas, they are always too short. I can’t win.

All of this well-intended direction bothered me and made me feel like a child, until I realized that those were my choices, and not anyone else’s. So with six months of motherhood under my belt, I have instituted a new principle: My baby, my rules.

After all, it’s my baby and I’ll do what I want to.

If the My Little Lamb is a Cadillac, then the Baby Einstein Magical Musical Jumper is the Baby Vegas. Much like Vegas, the Baby Einstein Musical Motion Activity Jumper is supposed to provide hours of entertainment.  With bright lights, vibrant colors and a bouncy jumper seat, it’s really a mini version of the Stratosphere Big Shot. It also has it’s own piano (think piano bar) and even a blue monkey. Two more of those guys and we have a Blue Man Group for baby.

So of course I was completely willing to drop ninety smokes on the one of these, considering the raving reviews I heard from other moms. From the sound of it, I could leave Ivy in the exersaucer and actually go to Vegas and back before she knew I was gone. That’s how entertaining these things are supposed to be.

Sadly, I’m finding that Ivy is less interested in Baby Vegas and more interested in the remote control.  I understand Vegas can be overwhelming, and a little Vegas goes a long way. So it’s no surprise to me that after 15 minutes in Baby Vegas, she’s ready to leave. And I find myself asking if it was worth the money. Coincidentally, that is what I ask myself every time I leave Grown Up Vegas. And every time, the answer is no.

When the first grandchild comes along, there just isn’t enough of the little bundle of joy to go ’round. Grandmothers pull out all of the stops to be the best “Nana” or “Mimi”. (In my mother’s case, her first Grandma years were marked by passive-aggressive antics and attempts to trump her arch-nemesis, Nana. But that is another story.) And EVERYONE wants to babysit.

But by the time the third (or fourth, or fifth) kid comes along, the grandbabies are not the novelty they once were. You see one gurgly, cooing, crawling baby, then you’ve seen them all. With more grandkids, time has to be split among several rather than just one. And offers to babysit? Few and far between.

But still, even after six months of figuring this out, and now a solid understanding of “If you’re not first, you’re last”, I am still extremely disappointed in my mother’s response when I asked her if she could help out with Ivy one day a week for the next two months now that our niece-nanny is going back to school and my travel schedule begins pick up steam.

“What about my back?” she asked after I broached the babysitting subject.

“What about it?” I asked her.

“Well. It’s bad. Ivy weight sixteen pounds. And after I carried her last weekend, I ended up bent over because it strained my back! I couldn’t walk!”

I could see where this was going.

“Never mind.” I replied as my heart sank a little. “We will figure something else out.”

“Well,” she shrilled, “if your father is here and can help me with her, and if we are available, then maybe. But, you know, I also have a job!”

Right – she has a job. For three days a week. The other two days? Pretty free, judging on her shopping habits. So, I’m thinking one day a week for two months is not a lot to ask. After all, she did keep my niece full time for her first year. No questions asked. In fact, she offered. True, it was seven years ago, and since then three more grandchildren have joined  the family, mine being the last.  But she is my first child, and I  don’t ask my mom to keep her often. Three times times in the past six months, I think. So really, is one day a week for two months too much to ask?

Obviously for my mom, it is.

So mom, enjoy your two days a week away from your job. Go on your merry way to Ross, Tuesday Morning, and TJ Maxx. Be sure and relish your free time, and don’t bother calling when you are “in the area and want to drop in and see Ivy.” Because see, I have a job. A busy, demanding, full-time, stressful job.

And when I’m not at that busy, demanding, full-time, stressful job, I have a family to take care of and a home to keep in order. So your time with Ivy? Not on your terms anymore, and not my priority.

Like I said, if you’re not first, you’re last.

At six months, she rolls all over the place, sits up, smiles, babbles, and actually interacts. Every day there is something new and exciting, for her as part of her development and for me as her mother, watching her change right in front of my eyes.

What has not changed is how tired I am, and how there are never enough hours in the day. I’m not sleep-deprived tired, but just flat out exhausted from go, go, going non-stop from 6:30 a.m. to 9:00 p.m., or later. Trying to find the balance between a career and family is challenging, for sure. But I’m not sure it would be an easier if I were a stay-at-home mom. I could focus on just Ivy and my family if I didn’t work, without the distraction of conference calls, deadlines, meetings and travel. However, just based on what my weekends are like or even the days I took off to spend with her, there still isn’t any so-called “down-time.” Any down-time I have is basically lying on the floor with Ivy on a quilt, playing and talking. When she does finally take a cat nap, then I’m running all over the house trying to load the dishwasher, sort laundry and pick up in general. Forget actually cleaning. I know the cat has run out of water three times in the past two weeks, and I think I forgot to feed the dog again this morning. That little phenomenon called “Mommy Brain?” Yes, it’s totally real.

It’s been the fastest, craziest, most stressful six months of my life. But also the most amazing, rewarding, and inspiring. I know I will never get it all done and so there are many things that I put on the back burner or ignore altogether. I’m learning, though it’s hard, that what matters is just being present for Ivy and not becoming overwhelmed.

My house is not perfect, my highlights need touching up, I still have ten pounds to lose if I can find the time to work out. I still have three months of photos to get into a photo album. But that’s okay with me. All I hear from moms is how quickly the time flies. So I just try to cherish every day with Ivy; taking the next six months, the next six years, heck, the next twenty years, one day at a time.

It’s been a struggle; trying to find the balance of being a new mom and keeping my career, but it’s getting easier.  Being away for several days at a time is by far the hardest part.  And although I have had a few long day trips closer markets, this is the first overnighter.  Mike is keeping me updated by sending me pictures of Ivy to my phone and text messaging updates.  Yay for technology!  Apparently, she’s been a good little eater today and took all of her cereal and peas.  That’s my girl!

One thing I can already see is that having Ivy has significantly changed my perspective about work.  I still strive to do a good job, but I no longer worry as much.  I don’t let the little things get to me, I don’t fret about what others are thinking about me and obsess about potential conflicts that could arise.  When things go south or start getting a little tense, I just think about that little bundle of joy and suddenly I’m not caught up in the rat race anymore. All I care about is doing my job to the best of my ability so I can help provide a good living for my family.  My family is the priority, and I am working for our greater good….rather than to please everyone else. So far, this is the lesson I least expected, but it’s been one of the most valuable.  The upcoming months will be interesting when my travel schedule picks up significantly. With the addition of three Tennessee markets that were assigned to me when I was out on maternity leave, my travel will be heavier than it’s ever been in the eight years I’ve been with the company.  I’m not going to lie.  I’m not looking forward to it.  Mike and I will have a lot of “juggling” to do since he travels for his job as well.  But for now I will focus on the fact that I have made it through the first trip easier than I had anticipated, and tomorrow night I fly home to Mike and my little cuddle bug.  Can’t wait.