Thinking Outside the Triangle

Recently two events occurred that made me stop and think. The first transpired during an innocent walk down a sunny street in Westchester. My mother-in-law and I were walking with my daughter, who was sucking her fingers while we pushed her in her stroller. A rather benign older couple walked by and suddenly stopped us with pleasant smiles. (All exchanges between strangers in Westchester tend to be pleasant and mildly uninteresting, albeit in a deliberately unoffensive and polite way.)

"Your daughter sucks her fingers the same way our daughter did," the wife exclaimed, referring to my daughter's somewhat unusual habit of sucking her pointer and middle fingers with her palm turned upward.

"And she turned out to be a talented musician," the husband interjected proudly. "You'll see. That one's going to be creative."

I smiled and thanked them, but something was troubling me. However, it was a beautiful day, so I chose to repress the storm clouds that were beginning to form in my mind.

But then, the other day, something else occurred. My daughter and I were playing with her shape sorter. I gave her a circular block, and she pushed it through the circular hole. I, of course, was quite proud of my progeny. Then I gave her the triangle block. She attempted to stick it through the round hole; when that failed, she tried to stick it through the triangle-shaped hole, but she couldn't quite get it in. Undaunted, she turned the shape sorter over until she found the toy's general opening, where you can remove blocks from inside or insert them for storage. She shoved the triangle block through the opening and then, without a second thought, promptly moved on to her next task: emptying her sock basket onto the floor.

I was somewhat taken aback. My daughter had found a creative solution to the problem that wasn't expected or traditional, but worked just as well. She had thought outside of the triangle.

And that got me thinking. What if the pleasant couple was right? What if my daughter is indeed destined to be an artist, or a musician, or a writer? The prospect made me wonder: Do I want that life for her? Sure, I want her to be creative in her approach to problems, and have a creative outlet like writing or art that brings her joy and reduces her stress. But, in all honesty, might I have been happier if that couple's daughter had grown up to be a doctor or an accountant? As a writer myself, I hate to admit it...but, well, maybe.

When most parents dream of what they want for their children, they think big: an astronaut, a basketball star, the president of the United States. No mother dreams of her child growing up to be a middle manager. But middle managers have some nice perks...health benefits, vacation time, salaries and relative stability. They also, in general, tend to avoid some of the drama that accompanies more artistic pursuits: constant rejection, unstable income, the inability to qualify for a mortgage or a lease on a car. As a book editor, I've seen many an author struggle to pay his bills while waiting for his meager advance check to arrive. Yes, I know the greatest things in life are those things you work to achieve. I guess I just don't want my daughter to have to work so, well, hard.

Ultimately, of course, I will support my daughter in whatever it is she wants to do, whether she wants to be a computer programmer or a world-famous composer. I want her to be happy and fulfilled. I guess I just hope, right or wrong, that she'll prefer to use that creativity to be the next Steve Jobs rather than the next Vincent Van Gogh. And in the meantime, I think we'll move on to Mega Blocks. You never hear about architects cutting off their ears.

Let's Hear It for the Boys

So, it's Father's Day, and I've been thinking about how incredible fathers are. I normally write about the trials and tribulations of motherhood. But this week I want to express my gratitude to all of the wonderful fathers out there whose feats of love, daring and agility continue to amaze us moms and delight our little ones. We moms are eternally grateful to those dads who can:

• Swing a 20-plus pound baby through the air without breaking a sweat, while baby squeals with delight as she defies gravity, safe and secure in the arms of her superhero.
• Walk into a room and bring an instant smile to the face of a baby who was just howling in pain after hitting her head on the table for the tenth time that day.
• Babyproof the entire house...and then babyproof it all again after baby has figured out how to circumvent all of those so-called safety devices that somehow only manage to keep Mom out of the drawers and cabinets.
• Wipe away baby's tears and keep everyone calm when baby gets a cut or bruise, kissing the boo-boo and making everyone (including Mom) feel better.
• Go to the grocery store and pick up every item on the list...and a few extra treats to reward everyone for working so hard all week.
• Go to baby's checkups and hold her while she gets her shots, because Mom can't watch without crying (although we suspect you're holding back a manly tear or two).
• Still find Mom attractive after she's been changing diapers, wiping runny noses, and cleaning spit-up all day (even on those days she doesn't quite make it to the shower...)
• Work hard to provide the necessities of life...and even harder to leave those worries behind and laugh, play, and love with your family.
  

Happy Father's Day to all the hard-working, always-loving, and impossibly dedicated dads out there!

The Party of No

It's happened. My daughter has achieved that Holy Grail of toddlerhood, dreaded by parents everywhere: she has learned how to say no. And suddenly there is very little that fails to elicit a negative response. Baby, do you want a banana? NO! Baby, do you want to go to the playground? NO! Baby, do you want to tear up some books and bang on the computer? NO! Baby, do you want to take a nap? NO! NO! NO!

At first I thought that her interest in that particular word had more to do with mechanics than meaning: the word is easy to say and the head shaking apparently pleases her to no end. However, I'm starting to think that she enjoys saying no because she hears the word so much. There is no limit to the amount of times we say no during the day. Here is a partial list of acts that elicit a NO! from Mom and Dad:

• No hitting.
• No chewing on the iPhone.
• No chewing on the DVDs.
• No chewing on the week-old piece of cheese you found behind the kitchen table.
• No touching the computer.
• No touching the dirty diaper.
  
• No touching the remote (unless you're attempting to block ESPN...in that case, carry on).
• No walking on the road.
• No walking with the dirty tissue you found on the road.
• No walking with the cigarette butt you found under the dirty tissue you found on the road.
• No eating sand.
• No eating rocks.
• No eating Mommy's right shoe.
• No eating Mommy's left shoe.
• No eating food out of the garbage can.
• No eating paper towels out of the garbage can.
• No eating last week's mail out of the garbage can.
• NO EATING ANYTHING OUT OF THE GARBAGE CAN!

You get the idea. But maybe we could be more positive with baby. Perhaps we could give her a list of Yesses she can apply to her daily life:

• Yes, eat your broccoli.
• Yes, give Mommy a great, big kiss.
• Yes, try out your new walking feet all around town.
• Yes, squeal with delight when Dad reads your favorite board book.
• Yes, giggle uncontrollably when Mommy tickles you.
• Yes, give your stuffed animals lots of cuddles and kisses.
• Yes, learn something new about the world each day.
• Yes, always remember how much we love you!
  

Now that's a party line baby can appreciate. Even without all that fun head-shaking...

Moms & The City

Last week I went with a group of moms to see Sex & The City. While the plot and the dialogue weren't nearly as impressive as the outfits and the handbags, there was one scene that resonated with me. (And I hope I'm not giving away too much here for those readers who haven't yet seen the film.) It was a scene between Charlotte and Miranda, where, over cocktails, they admit their deep, dark secrets about motherhood. For Charlotte, it's her guilt over sometimes needing a break from the family she tried so hard to have. For Miranda, it's her realization that motherhood "isn't enough." She loves her son but also loves and needs her career.

There's nothing necessarily new or shocking in these revelations. Most of the mothers I know have struggled with the work-versus-career decision, and we all know how difficult a mother's job can be. You know, those days when you're scrubbing some funky-smelling bodily fluid off the carpet for the third time that day, or you discover that your phone isn't working because your baby has used it as a teething ring, or your normally darling toddler bursts into a screaming fit that is so loud you swear she's snuck in some of her friends to join in the Disgruntled Baby Chorus. (They're probably hiding under the giant piles of talking stuffed animals, sippy cups, and shape sorters that have declared squatter's rights on the carpet.)

Yes, we all know these things. But it's hard to talk about motherhood in tones that aren't overtly sentimental and joyous. Many of us shun any conversation that even suggests we might be struggling; after all, to fail at being a mother is unthinkable. And that includes the journey into motherhood. I always loved Charlotte's storyline, as she brought out of the darkness the fact that for so many women, starting a family is more than just deciding you're ready, lighting some candles and buying a pregnancy test--but rather a difficult journey that can break your heart and test your deepest bonds. I didn't understand how harrowing this process could be, until I experienced my own ups and downs trying to conceive. My road wasn't as long or difficult as that of Charlotte, or many other women I have met, but it was an emotional journey nonetheless. Suddenly women (and men) started coming out of the woodwork to share their own struggles. I realize now that while the baby pictures and the school projects are easy to share, what goes on behind closed doors is often off-limits--even to those who love us most. Even Miranda and Charlotte had to get drunk to share their feelings.

We all need a support group--whether we're trying to conceive or conceiving ways to save our sanity. Maybe motherhood would be easier if we could open up to each other more about what we're really feeling. I'll start: The truth is I didn't love Sex & The City 2. I found it all a bit silly and hated the ridiculous caricature that used to be my dear, brave Charlotte.

You know, that felt pretty good. And I didn't even need a cocktail.

We Have a Walker!

It's finally happened: my little baby has started walking. I've never been prouder of my baby--now a toddler, I suppose--but I've noticed that walking brings with it some side effects I wasn't prepared for:

• Have hands, will carry. Now that baby's hands are no longer required for movement, they are free to pick up and transport everything in sight--remote controls, cell phones, rocks, three-day-old crumbs of food on the floor. This "stuff relocation program" is certain to be an adjustment. But I'm sure I'll eventually see the wisdom of storing the TV remote in the Tupperware cabinet.
  
• Falls. Yes, I read the books warning me of this phenomenon and, yes, I saw other people's toddlers become intimate friends with the floor. But watching baby's repeated spills is tough on my motherly heart. And yet there is no shortage of things to trip baby up: feet, toys, pots, pans, gravity, a cool breeze. But each time, she gets back up, eager to try again. No adult I know has such resilience. Or so much padding.
  
• My shadow: Now that baby can walk, she can follow Mommy around the apartment with ease...into the bedroom when Mommy is dressing, into the bathroom when Mommy is brushing her teeth, into the office when Mommy checks the computer. It's like having a two-foot bodyguard. A bodyguard in a onesie...I've never felt safer!
  

And so, the next stage of our adventure begins, as baby explores the world from a vertical perspective. And I prepare to leave behind her infancy, those days when she saw the world from her back, from her bottom, from her knees. Every step she takes is another step toward the person she's becoming, and another stride in my journey as a mother. And as we take this journey together, she knows that each time she falls, I will be there to pick her up. And I know that eventually, much sooner than I would like, she won't need me to. But that's OK. Eventually we will walk side-by-side. I couldn't ask for a better companion.