Thursday, January 22, 2009

Bye Bye Babies

These past two weeks I have been working on taking apart Joshua's room to redecorate into a race car theme, which he is obsessed with. He is now that proud owner of a race car bed. When I was a kid, I was a tom boy and wanted the big, red race car bed. Just like Ricky Schroeder had on the show "Silver Spoons". I was not a happy kid when my parents didn't agree with me on what I "had to have" in my bedroom.

Anyways, as I was taking down the crib (yes, he is almost 3 and was still in his crib. No judging!), I was untying the knots on the bumper pads (yes, they were still there. I didn't want him to bump his precious head in the middle of the night!) and right then I started having flashbacks. I realized that I had delicately tied those knots onto the crib over 6 years ago. When I was pregnant with Samantha, the doctor was not 100% sure it was a girl, so we got unisex baby bedding. Then when I had Joshua, I kept the same bedding. I loved it, my mom spent WAY too much on it as a gift, and just couldn't part with it. Those memories of 6 years flooded my brain. As I was putting the bedding up, Sammi came in the room and saw the crib taken apart and commented on how excited she was that Joshua is getting a big-boy room. Right then, the tears started flowing. My very concerned daughter immediately asked me why I was crying. Goodness, she wouldn't understand why her mom was a bumbling idiot full of tears when I told her the reason?! I told her anyways and she just stared back at me with a blank face.

Jason and I have had many discussions about if we will have any more kids, and we decided long ago that we are far blessed with the two we have and will not have anymore. So putting up the baby furniture to sell has been sad for me, even though I am 150% sure I do not want anymore kids. It is just the baby things that I will miss....rocking a baby to sleep, carrying a baby in my beloved Baby Bjorn (why couldn't I be the one to invent that goldmine?), baby lotion, and all of the loot that goes with babies. What I won't miss: sleepless nights!

The day after my crying debacle, I received this email from my mom. The timing was eerie. I cannot relate since my kids are not fully grown, but I can to a lot. If you have kids, please read will be glad you did!

Anna Quindlen, Newsweek Columnist and Author

All my babies are gone now. I say this not in sorrow but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction in what I have today: three almost-adults, two taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people who read the same books I do and have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors closed more than I like. Who, miraculously, go to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food from plate to mouth all by themselves. Like the trick soap I bought for the bathroom with a rubber ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through the unreliable haze of the past.

Everything in all the books I once pored over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach., T. Berry Brazelton., Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education, have all grown obsolete . Along with Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories.What those books taught me, finally, and what the women on the playground taught me, and the well-meaning relations --what they taught me, was that they couldn't really teach me very much at all.

Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test, then becomes multiple choice, until finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless essay. No one knows anything. One child responds well to positive reinforcement, another can be managed only with astern voice and a timeout. One child is toilet trained at 3, his sibling at 2.

When my first child was born, parents were told to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last arrived, babies were put down on their backs because of research on sudden infant death syndrome. To a new parent this ever-shifting certainty is terrifying, and then soothing. Eventually you must learn to trust yourself.Eventually the research will follow. I remember 15 years ago poring over one of Dr. Brazelton's wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane? Last year he went to China . Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk, too.

Every part of raising children is humbling, too. Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been enshrined in the, "Remember-When- Mom-Did” Hall of Fame. The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad language, mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool pickup. The nightmare sleepover. The horrible summer camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, and I responded, "What did you get wrong?". (She insisted I include that.) The time I ordered food at the McDonald's drive-through speaker and then drove away without picking it up from the window. (They all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons. What was I thinking?

But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them, sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night.
I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.

Even today I'm not sure what worked and what didn't,what was me and what was simply life. When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I'd done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be. The books said to be relaxed and I was often tense, matter-of-fact and I was sometimes over the top. And look how it all turned out. I wound up with the three people I like best in the world, who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity. That's what the books never told me. I was bound and determined to learn from the experts. It just took me a while to figure out who the experts were.

Now, aren't you glad you read that?

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