I’m Getting Him a Leash

Er…I meant a “child safety harness” — I wouldn’t want to get anyone’s panties in a wad by suggesting my son is something akin to a dog because I used the “L” word.

Can you tell I’m feeling a little um…defensive about this topic?

Honestly, I don’t understand why child safety harnesses OR leashes are such a freaking hot button issue. People put their babies to sleep cribs (WITH THOSE JAIL-LIKE BARS! OMG!) and are willing to strap their kids into carseats and strollers for safety reasons without hesitation. So what’s the difference exactly?

It seems to me that if someone is concerned enough about their child’s safety that they are willing to brave such harsh judgment and scrutiny from gawking onlookers who know nothing about them or their child, they must be a caring and presumably decent parent.

So why AM I willing to brave such such harsh judgment and scrutiny anyway? What pushed me to the bleeding edge of parental sanity and into the realm of kiddie bondage?

Let me tell you…

My son (2 yrs) is a Houdini. And a runner. And a handjerker.

Get your mind out of the gutter!

What I mean is that he’s very capable of breaking free of my hand when I’m holding it (and then he runs like the wind, giggling maniacally) or he’ll allow himself to drop and hang by his arm until it feels like I might pull it out of the socket and I look like I’m abusing him when I’m totally NOT!

P can also wiggle out of a 5 point stroller harness as well as a waist-strap in a shopping cart which then frees him up to stand in the cart and even climb out if he so desires. And he DOES desire…

And yes, if I had absolutely nothing else to do when I go out in public but stand next to the cart or stroller and stare at him, waiting for him to activate his special escape powers, then sure I could make sure none of the aforementioned ever happens.

But I can’t. I have things to do when I leave the house. I don’t load up the kids (plural, which means I have TWO kids to watch over) and go places so I can stand guard over my son and get absolutely nothing accomplished.

Unfortunately, being a mom doesn’t mean I get to stop grocery shopping or running errands or walking on sidewalks near busy streets or in parking lots or anything else — although I really wish it did.

My other child needs some of my attention, too, so no, I can’t “just watch him better” to make sure my son doesn’t pull any of his tricks. To me, suggesting that it’s just that simple implies a certain lack of experience with children and what caring for them actually involves, which is a LOT of patience, as well as the good sense to know when regular safety measures (i.e. hand-holding and safety belts) aren’t quite safe enough.

So I’m thinking of getting one of these contraptions. It’s definitely a leash of sorts but it’s disguised as a cute little backpack so as to fool onlookers and spare myself some stinkeye.

I get to hold the tail of the monkey, which is a little weird, but it looks less bondage-y and mean than those other harnesses.

Doesn’t it?

A little?

Come on! Help me out here, will ya?

I have no idea how my son will react to wearing one of these but I have a feeling he’ll be jerking on it until he gets used to it and probably fussing a lot, too.

Trust me, neither of those things is particularly appealing to me but chasing my son through stores, schools, libraries, parking lots, sidewalks and other places or having one more well-meaning person tell me that “allowing” my son to stand up in the seat of a shopping cart is dangerous (NO! Really?) like I APPROVE of it or something is even less appealing.

So even if you think I’m the worst mom on the planet for considering a leash (one in disguise, no less) wish me luck! I’ll report my findings, for better or for worse, after I purchase the Necessary Evil and we have a chance to use it a few times.

Oh, and just to provide a little perspective, read THIS and then tell me I’m a bad mom. (Thanks to Tracey for the link and for allowing me to instantly feel better about my parenting choices and skills)

Of Guilt and Grief…

My God…does the drama of life ever end? It feels like I’ve been knee deep in it lately. This time, however, it’s not really my drama but it’s still heartbreakingly sad to watch someone slowly die, as my husband has for the past two weeks.

My father-in-law had cancer for four years. He thought he’d beaten it after the first two years until they found it had spread. For the next two years he suffered through chemotherapy and radiation, knowing it would never stop the cancer completely, though it gave him some relief from the terrible pain. He endured all of it because he didn’t want to leave his wife of fifty years. If there were ever an example of true love, my in-laws were it.

My mother-in-law took him to endless and seemingly daily doctor appointments and tried, in the face of futility, to make his discomforts bearable.

She catered to his every need and tried to make life as normal as possible, even when he couldn’t stand to eat because the chemo ruined his sense of taste and when he needed help getting to the bathroom several times a night because he could barely walk anymore.

The level of devotion between these two people was so touching. But it was also sad because we all knew how the story would eventually end.

A couple weeks ago he was hospitalized because, unbeknownst to anyone until then, the cancer had spread to his brain. From there it was a quick spiral downward. He was moved to a hospice where he was heavily medicated for pain and literally slept the entire four days he was there before he passed peacefully in his sleep.

I am relieved that his suffering is over but I am sad that he is gone. I’m sad that my son will never really get to know the man who, always sitting in his same chair, would light up when my little boy would stop running around and play with his grandpa’s shoes or or jibberjabber at him in his toddlerspeak.

I’m also feeling guilty for feeling uncomfortable around my father-in-law as he got sicker and sicker. For not stopping by on a lark with the kids like I used to do. For not reaching out and really letting him know that I cared.

This was not the first time I’ve backed away from someone that was ill. I had a friend from college and after I’d left school, we weren’t quite as close as we’d been. I heard he’d gone home to Maine because he had a brain tumor. I had the phone number where to reach him but I couldn’t bring myself to call. I kept saying to myself I would do it. Tomorrow. But that day never came. When I heard he’d died, I felt horrible.

It’s not that I’m afraid of illness or I think that I’ll catch it or anything ridiculous like that. I just don’t know what to say or do. I can’t sit there and pretend everything is fine when it isn’t. I can’t make pleasant small talk like everything is normal when I know someone is dying. I find great discomfort in discussing anything trivial, which most things are, because it feels like pretending. It feels wrong.

And yet, you can’t walk up to somebody with a terminal illness and just launch into a depressing conversation about their fate, about the unlucky hand they’ve been dealt.

I just don’t know how to act and ultimately I end up avoiding the whole situation.

We would go to my in-laws house for holidays or family get-togethers and I would go in the sunroom where he was always sitting and reading, working on his laptop, watching TV or napping and just hope that I wouldn’t have to converse with him alone for more than a few minutes. My son, an ever curious toddler, made it kind of easy, always giving me cause to get up and run after him in the interest of preventing injury or breakage.

Why couldn’t I just talk to him like everyone else did? Why was it so hard for me to look at his hairless head and shrinking frame? I don’t know.

I did always extend myself to my mother-in-law with offers to help with anything she needed and always sent my well wishes through her and in my prayers. But still… I feel guilt.

The only thing that makes me feel a tiny bit better is that while he was in the hospice, I took a few moments alone to talk to him, hoping he could hear me as he hovered somewhere between life and death.

I told him I was sorry that he had to go out that way. I thanked him for loving my children so much and being a wonderful grandpa to them. I thanked him for being a good father to my husband and in turn teaching him to be a good father to his own children. I asked him to try and wake up one last time to say goodbye to his wife before he let go. And I told him I loved him.

All of this has brought back a flood of memories of my own father’s unexpected death three years ago. Thankfully, my husband’s family is not like mine. We are a blended family and there is nothing simple about it.

When my father died, it seems like everyone (mainly my adopted sister, and stepsiblings) acted like their grief trumped everyone else’s. If someone cried too hard or emoted too loudly, they (including me) were made to feel like they were “carrying on” and that it was not warranted; that they had no right to be that grief-stricken or upset. That their sadness was not as important as someone else’s.

It was a horrible, horrible time and because of their strange sense of possessiveness over grieving, over who had the right to grieve most or be the saddest, my sister and I no longer speak.

I know my dad is watching us and probably cursing both of us for being so hardheaded and childish but we are at an impasse. I can’t overlook how she and her husband treated me in the face of a terrible loss and she can’t overlook a slight that never happened except in her very chip-shouldered imagination.

My husband’s family is the complete opposite. They are warm and kind and loving and supportive and would never in a million years treat each other or my husband that way. He really doesn’t know how lucky he is. Or maybe he does now.

And now you know that my sister and I don’t speak anymore, that I have issues with terminal illness and why I haven’t posted in a week.

If I owe you an email or said I would do something and didn’t do it, you also now know the reason.

I’m doing the best I can to catch up now that the funeral is behind us.

I want nothing more than to get back to our routine and resume my regular, boring old life with no more sadness and no more drama. PLEASE.

First MySpace, Then Facebook, Now Harvard? (Edited to Add v.2)

You may recall several months back that MySpace kept removing a photo of a breastfeeding baby from a member’s page (because it violated their obscenity rules) and threatened to remove her from MySpace altogether if she continued re-posting said photo. (You can see one of the “obscene” photos here.)
Now Facebook is doing the same thing. Most people (sane ones) would agree that it’s absolutely ludicrous to deem breastfeeding an obscene act, right? Right.

So glad we’re all on the same page.

But the kicker, one that takes my breath away, is that Facebook hosts, with no compunction whatsoever, over 350 pro-anorexia groups. Yes. 350.

Blogger David Wescott makes an excellent point in his post on this issue:

Facebook has come down on both sides of a “free speech issue” here - once clamping down, once letting speech and organizing go - and in each case it’s come down in a way that arguably sets women back.

Apparently there have been some pretty monumental protests on Facebook over the “breastfeeding is obscene” issue. I’m not sure about the pro-anorexia groups. Either way, if you’re a breastfeeding mom or the parent of a child/children of either gender (boys get anorexia, too) these topics affect you.

I’m asking for all of you (You DON’T have to be a mom OR a parent OR a woman) to take action by writing a post on one or both of these topics. The links above reference more information on both topics. After you’ve written your post, let me know so I can link you here and over at the group blog Moms speak Up.

Awesome Women Speaking Up!

“boobs for breastfeeding = bad! ~ boobs to sell stuff = good!” backward-assed way of thinking in the US. If this doesn’t get you fired up, nothing will.

(Thanks to David Wescott for bringing this stuff to my attention. I’ve been a bit out of the loop the past week or two with a gravely ill family member so I wasn’t aware of these latest slaps in the face to mothers and females worldwide)

Edited to Add: Alex Elliot just informed me that recently a Harvard med student was denied permission for nursing breaks during her exit exams.

Yes, a Harvard med student and mother of a 4 month old was denied adequate break time to pump during medical board exams. (I don’t about the rest of you but it would take me a good 40-45 minutes on a hospital-grade Medela single breast pump just to get 4-6 oz. of milk).
They (those in charge of the national board exams, not specifically Harvard) felt justified in this decision because “because breastfeeding accommodations are not protected under the Americans with Disabilities Act.”

SO WHAT? It’s still totally antithetical to the whole notion of protecting and improving human health which is a pretty important part of being a doctor, no?

You can read the NY Times article here but you’ll have to login or register for free access.

Edited to Add II: David Westcott of It’s Not a Lecture contacted Facebook about all this anti-breastfeeding and pro-ana crap. Want to know how they responded to his questions about their policies? Read it here but be prepared to get supremely irritated.

I’m Internet Dating

No, no, it’s not what you think. Though some would probably cheer me on if I was out looking for a new man, that’s not quite the case.

I’m actually looking for moms to date. Well, not to date exactly but something like that. I want to meet them for kid playdates during the day and for grown-up playdates at night.

I’ve decided that I need to find some local friends as cool as the ones in the little white box on my desk (uh…that would be you guys). My closest IRL friends live in other states and my friendships here with other moms are mostly based on the friendships shared by our kids.

It’s not that they aren’t nice people because they are but I’m not sure I can spend one more afternoon with someone who doesn’t get my sense of humor or weird pop culture references, who doesn’t understand irony or someone who doesn’t appreciate or utilize sarcasm from time to time. Am I shallow or narcissistic because I want to be with people who are more like me?

I just know my tribe is out there somewhere so, at the recommendation of a very lame local mom website, I’ve started perusing Meetup.com and looking for moms or mom groups in my city that sound like my kind of people. This is where it starts to feel like dating.

Let’s see…there are the working moms groups, the homeschooling moms groups, the moms groups identified by their locale, the Christian moms groups, the “Chic Moms” group and the “MILF” moms group, just to name a few.

I’m not sure I fit with most of the aforementioned but I’m intrigued by the MILF group because I’m curious to know what women who identify themselves as such are like. Are they wild and crazy? Fun loving? Exceedingly attractive? I have no idea but I’m betting they’re not gonna be scrapbooking or playing Bunco on Friday nights and that’s a pretty big plus in my book.

The “Chic Moms” are probably not my type at all. I may not be trouncing around in mom jeans or holiday-themed sweatshirts but I don’t own any pricey handbags and I don’t buy trendy, expensive, designer clothing because I’d rather have something like an iPhone or a lot of massages or Thai every Friday night. So yeah…my lack of “chic” might be a turn off for them and probably not lead to second date.

And there’s always The MOMS Club. Nothing against TMC as I used to belong to one and even founded a chapter, but I’m just so tired of everyone putting their Perfect Mommy masks on and never taking them off.

It may not be like that everywhere but here? Those mommy masks are welded on pretty damn tight and I just can’t hang out with people who won’t admit that parenthood is hard and sometimes isolating and frequently all-consuming.

I can’t hang out with people who never swear and never lose their tempers and won’t admit that they look forward to bedtime. Their kids bedtime.

I just can’t.

Is it me? Am I being too picky? Is it wrong to not want to compromise anymore?

When the hell did making friends get so hard and so farking complicated?

Happy Birthday to Meeee, I’m Now For-teeee

Normally, I wouldn’t devote a blog post to my birthday but dudes — it’s the big 4-0!

I feel almost obligated to note the day even though I don’t feel any older than I did last week or even last year (and in some ways, I actually feel better).

“WHAT??? How can that be?” you say! Has she lost her mind?

It’s true, though.

Recent unpleasant circumstances notwithstanding, I feel more confident in who I am now than I did when I was thirty.

I feel more free to speak my mind and I also find it easier to not sweat the small stuff and I feel like I have a much better grasp on what’s truly important in life.

And? I don’t care about cellulite so much anymore. I know…total bonus, right?

Also, please correct me if if I’m wrong, all you forty plus ladies out there, but isn’t this supposed to be about the time we start hitting our sexual peak?

DO TELL

Inquiring forty and almost forty year old minds want to know!

A great big thank you to my friend Shannon of Believer in Balance for giving me a Perfect Post Award for “How I wish.” This is turning out to be a pretty good day after all :)