The kid is [...]]]> I am struggling. I have this feeling somewhere deep inside of me that maybe we should have another baby. There was a certainty that I was done, happy with my family, and I was complete. But now, now I think about cuddling a little baby and spending that quiet time bonding.

The kid is always on the go. She hugs and then runs off to do the next thing. She’s getting so grown up and independent and I can just see her growing and growing. I’m reminscing.

But every time I think about sharing the love I have for my little girl. Every time I think about splitting my attention between two children. Every time I think about telling my baby girl that she has to wait, my heart breaks a little bit.

I know that other parents do it. I love watching my friends with multiple children and how the kids work together and how they love each of them, and how different the kids can be. That your love grows and that siblings can be a wonderful addition to a child’s life, but when I really stop to think about it, all I can see is my baby girl sad because Mommy has to take care of something else.

I read a post like this and I get to the second child and I break down in tears because I could never, ever, ever make my baby girl, the love of my life, feel replaced.

And I go right back to just not knowing.

————————

I go back and forth the same way, really. I look at our kid and I just know she’d be an awesome older sister. She has a real compassionate streak in her – always asking why we’re upset or saying “it’s ok” if she thinks someone needs a boost (she often says ‘oh goalie it’s okay’ when she sees a goalie laying on the ice during hockey highlights).

I don’t see it as having to share my love in the same way that Amy does. But I do wonder about more tangible things like money, time and room in the house. We’re a good fit as a family right now, finally digging ourselves out from some debt and generally content with things. As awesome as kids are, they ARE a big disruption to silly things like plans and routines and the like. I also worry about Amy’s health and some of the risks associated with pregnancy for her…

But then I think about how awesome it would be to have another little person around here, delighting us and generally being awesome.

It’s not an easy decision.

But holy hell.

Right [...]]]> We are now the proud parents of a two year old. She is absolutely wonderful in so many ways and I think we both love her more than we ever knew was possible. She entertains us and gives great hugs and she tells great stories and laughs and laughs.

But holy hell.

Right now we are in the “No” stage I have heard so much about. She doesn’t want to do anything the first time you ask. I have no idea where she learned that the secret to tantrums was to lie down on the floor and thrash, but she does that too.

The biggest issue for both of us right now is the constant need for Mommy. She always wants me with her. She wants me not Daddy to take her down for breakfast, she wants to come to work with me or stay home with me instead of going to daycare.

Not only is it hard on me to listen to her cry when I tell her I have to go to work by myself and she had to go to daycare, it’s also difficult for Joe who is the Daddy that is never Mommy. She’s upset when he opens her bedroom door in the morning because she’s been calling out for me.

It’s nice to be wanted, sure, but it’s really hard to be constantly wanted.

———-

Sometimes I think it’d be easier if she was always pissed at me. But the weird/hard part is she freaks out when I get her from her room in the morning but is usually calm and loving by the time we get downstairs. One day this weekend she actually kicked and thrashed as I carried her down the stairs so I plopped her down in the living room and walked into the kitchen to make the coffee. Before I had the pot out of the coffee maker she was in giving me a hug saying “Hi daddy!”

I guess it’s like everything else when it comes to toddlers, wait an hour and she’ll be a different kid. Two weeks ago at skating she refused to even try to stand up, last week she was making her way around only needing me to hold one of her hands.

When I’m thinking rationally, I know we’ll get through. But in the midst of a meltdown it’s hard to be rational. She’s certainly not.

I have been back at work for less than a year and it all started out really well. We had routines, we were getting dinner on the table and getting the kid into bed, I was getting exercise and it was fun being at work, surrounded by adults.

She fights when you want her [...]]]> We are suffering from full on toddler in our house. The word MINE is spoken more often than ever before. Where the kid was always pretty easy-going she will now throw a full on, kicking, screaming, ‘NO MOMMY NO’ tantrum for what seem to be the smallest things.

She fights when you want her to put on her shoes, when you want her to clean up her toys, when you want her to get in her car seat. Last night when she didn’t want to go to bed she threw a book at my face.

I love this kid, and I know that this is a perfectly normal stage. She’s realized that she can do things for herself, that she is her own human being. Most of the time she’s her perfectly lovely self. Sometimes she pats us on the back and asks if we’re okay – “Okay mommy?” – and she gives great hugs and kisses. She sings to herself and her vocabulary is growing every day. My heart leaps a little when she strings three or four words together.

I breathe deeply and I let her get it out of her system and I make sure she doesn’t hurt herself. I stay calm.

But sometimes I just can’t. Sometimes it’s one slap or kick too much and I need to get away from her. Sometimes I feel like I hate her. But she’s mine.

 ——-

They have an incredible sense of timing, don’t they? Amy told me about this draft last night (Friday)  but I didn’t get around to reading it until now – about noon on Saturday. In between? Kid slept a full 12 hours last night, woke up in a wonderful mood and she and I had a great morning playing and tidying up the house while Mommy slept. This morning she was the delightful, happy and amazing little girl that melts our hearts and causes us to swell with pride.

We’ve long since figured out that sleep is the biggest factor in whether or not our kid is a total jerk. This week we wore the blame a bit – late night at the hockey game followed by a disrupted week of hotel stays and car rides. But more often than not, her sleep disruptions come out of nowhere.

We’re getting a better sense of when she’s had enough and we do our best to get her down for naps or into bed for the night when we see the signs. We know that if we don’t start the bedtime process by about 5:30 pm she doesn’t go down easily. But even when we’re on our game, sometimes she isn’t playing along.

She’s going to be a toddler for awhile. We haven’t even officially hit the terrible twos yet. But it’s a lot more tolerable when we’ve all had our sleep. This week, none of us did.

At one point during the game, Amy noted that the Sens had introduced cheerleaders of sorts [...]]]> We took the kid to an Ottawa Senators game Tuesday (home opener win over the Wild in a shootout, on the off chance you read this blog for your sports fix. Neil had a huge game, by the way).

At one point during the game, Amy noted that the Sens had introduced cheerleaders of sorts – attractive young women in yoga pants and tight t-shirts doing reasonably-coordinated routines in the crowd. Then awhile later they made their way to our section.

Among the things I heard shouted:

• “Take your top off!”
• “Take your shirt off!”
• “I see that tramp stamp! I know what that means.”

It was late and the kid was pretty drowsy and not really hearing any of it so we largely tried to tune it out. But when the guys in front of us started discussing which one was likely the biggest slut I finally reminded them, as calmly as I could muster given the circumstances, there was a child in the area and they should show a little respect.

At one point in all of this, Amy turned to me and said something to the effect of “thank you for not being an asshole.” And it got me thinking – I can’t even fathom talking to a woman like that (or to anyone for that matter). It’s not that I am cognizant of trying to set a good example for my daughter or trying to avoid upsetting my wife – I genuinely don’t understand how people can talk to people like that.

Then I started thinking about the strong women that I grew up with. I wasn’t raised in a girl power household or anything – feminism wasn’t something that was discussed specifically – but the women in my life were (and are) strong, independent, proud people.

My great grandmother was a school teacher who well into her 90s instilled a love of reading and a deep sense of respect in the three generations that came after her. My maternal grandmother raised 8 kids and can still strike the fear of god in them (not to mention her grandkids) today, though she’s far more inclined to be warm and loving. I didn’t know my paternal grandmother as well but she raised three boys after my grandfather passed away too early and the memories I do have are of a caring, strong woman.

And my Mom, well my Mom is the sweetest most caring woman I know but she doesn’t take shit from anyone. She’s the eldest of the 8 and she can still whip her siblings into shape when she has to. I still feel protected in her presence today and I’m a grown man with almost a foot on her height-wise.

It’s no wonder, I suppose that I married Amy. She’s as strong as any of them.

I wouldn’t want my daughter raised by anyone else.

——–

 One of the things that bothered me the most was watching the man sitting in front of us with his young son do nothing. He didn’t say anything to the men around us about watching what they were saying, he didn’t say anything to his son about it being inappropriate and disrespectful.

A few years ago Joe and I would go to Renegades games, and the team had decided to have the stupidest promotion EVER. Men were given beads upon arriving at the games, and women were to collect the beads by whatever means they chose. These, of course, being Mardigras beads that women usually collect by flashing their breasts at strangers. I sat in the South side stands and watched women flash men, make out with total strangers and do other things that made me sad, angry and uncomfortable. I can’t ever remember what the prize was for having the most beads at the end of the game – maybe $1000?

I watched these women do these things and I saw fathers with their young sons beside them stand up to get a better look. So we have women who were taught that their body should be used and boys being taught that it’s fine to treat women as objects.

And you know what, the men I went to games with? They weren’t standing to gawk, they were yelling at those who were that there was still a football game going on and they were blocking the play.

I too was raised by strong women, my mother and my grandmother, I have known strong women all my life, I am a strong woman and my daughter will be one too.

I’d like to think that she will never encounter the guy who tries to look cool by shouting ‘take off your shirt’ at a pretty girl he doesn’t know, but she will. I just hope she has a great comeback when he shows up. But then, the fact is, that tonight I didn’t have a comeback. I didn’t know what to do or what to say. As a woman I am always aware that by speaking up in a situation like that I may be putting myself in danger. It’s something that Joe might never be able to really understand. If I call the guy an asshole and he is the wrong kind of guy, I could be very suddenly in a serious situation. How do you pick and choose those moments when the offense taken out-weighs the potential bad reaction?

There. That wasn’t so hard.

Amy and I were both in agreement, right from the start, that we weren’t going to try to come up with cutesy names for our child’s body parts – particularly the reproductive ones. When we found out we were having a girl we became even more steadfast in our [...]]]> Vagina.

There. That wasn’t so hard.

Amy and I were both in agreement, right from the start, that we weren’t going to try to come up with cutesy names for our child’s body parts – particularly the reproductive ones. When we found out we were having a girl we became even more steadfast in our commitment. Society does a good enough job of making young girls think their bodies are something to be ashamed of, she doesn’t need Mommy and Daddy obfuscating things by calling it a … (actually, what ARE the cutesy terms for a vagina? I don’t even know. Need a playful penis synonym? I gotcha covered. But as far as women’s parts go…).

Anyway. Vagina.

So I was as surprised as anyone this morning when I dropped the kid at daycare. See, Amy had picked her up a bit early yesterday to take her to see the doctor. She was a bit red and we assumed, correctly as it turned out, that she had a bit of an irritation or infection. Nothing serious or anything, just requires a bit of cream.

The daycare provider asked how things went at the doctor.

“Fine, fine, she’s just got a bit of an infection in… ah… bit of an infection or something.”

“Oh yes, there’s been a bit of a throat infection going around.”

“No no, she’s a bit red in her, uh, diaper area.”

With that last line picture me sort of gesturing awkwardly to my own “diaper area” and making large circular gestures, as though hovering too close to any actual bit of genitalia might cause fainting from the fairer sex.

At this point, the kid had already skipped around the corner to go find some toys so, mercifully, she wasn’t present to watch her Daddy do everything in his power to avoid saying “vagina” to a woman who has been watching kids professionally for the better part of a decade.

But next time she might be.

—————-

I really don’t know how to respond to this. 

I’ve told the kid that this is her vagina in the past and I’ve got a body book sitting on her shelf for whenever she’s ready. My Mom was pretty clear with me, so why not be clear with my kid? Knowing the correct terms for my body parts didn’t make me a sex fiend.

And technically, it’s vulva.

For me, it’s really helpful to hear from other parents and young(ish) families. By being open we connect more than we otherwise would.

And, of [...]]]> It probably goes without saying but Amy and I are pretty comfortable being open about ourselves online. Amy’s way more open than I am but we’re both way above average.

For me, it’s really helpful to hear from other parents and young(ish) families. By being open we connect more than we otherwise would.

And, of course, there’s a bit of ego feeding. We tend to think our kid is pretty special and we love the reinforcement that comes from other people on that front.

But as the monkey gets a bit older, I start to worry more. She hasn’t opted in to an openly-shared life; are we being unfair to her? And are we putting her at risk by sharing her life online?

It feels natural to us to share and we’ve both benefitted immensely from the strength and support of our online communities. But is that fair to her?

This isn’t something I’ve been thinking about as much as Joe apparently has. I talk to enough online moms that have answered this question in their own ways. When I started talking about the kid online I called her the Baby Girl, and I know many parents who always use pseudonyms for their kids to protect them, their identities. Now she’s not a baby and I’ve started calling her The Kid, or sometimes still the Baby Girl, and often by her real name. I can’t seem to help myself because she is so very much Maggie and not really anything else.

I went through the same process when I started developing my own online presence. I went with a nickname at first, and then decided to just go for it and be myself. I put myself out there and I don’t hide from it.

I also think it’s fair to say that the stories on my blog are rarely things that my daughter would want me not to say. But I also know from talking to other online moms that my kid might come to me one day and ask me specifically to not share something, and that’s okay too. What I’m trying to share is my experience as a mother, being totally in love with this being, and creating memories that she will take pleasure in reading as she grows up.