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.

Diapering: The Art of Negotiation

Lately getting my 13-month-old daughter to lie still for a diaper change has become a challenge. The second we even approach the changing table, she begins plotting an escape that makes the jailbreak from Shawshank Redemption seem like an amateur operation. Rather than get frustrated with the situation, I prefer to view it as our simply having conflicting goals. As such, we should be able to resolve the problem using the fine art of negotiation:

Step 1. Understand each party's motivation. This can be accomplished by clear, open communication:
Mom: Baby, I know you want to wander around naked, but until you learn to use the toilet, you need to wear a diaper.
Baby: Mother, you fail to understand my inherent need to assert my individuality and achieve the most basic of human rights, freedom. It's incumbent on me to...Wait! (spotting a previously unseen piece of plastic) What's that over there? Why is it not in my mouth? Who's responsible for this oversight?!

Step 2. Make an offer.
Mom: Look, it's Mr. Mouse doll! (Wiggling doll in Baby's face while making a ridiculous squeaking sound.) Isn't he INTERESTING? Isn't he FUN? Isn't he the best mouse in the entire world?
Baby: Well, as far as rodents go, I'm sure this one is acceptable. And since you're making such a valiant effort, I'll give you 30 seconds to do your business...but then all bets are off.

Mom frantically removes baby's diaper and begins cleaning the mess. Midway through the operation time runs out...

Step 3. Up the ante.
Mom: Look, it's a paper towel roll! What could be more interesting than a paper towel roll? It's all yours...but remember, no eating paper.
Baby (grabbing the paper towel roll with glee): A paper towel roll! Sweet, beautiful paper! First, I'm going to make confetti and throw it all over the floor. Then I'm going to see how much paper I can unroll. And then, the very best part of all...

Baby begins stuffing pieces of paper in her mouth and chewing with noisy contentment.

Step 4. Bring in the heavy.
The last resort, but always a winner. In comes Dad, the ultimate distraction. Perhaps he'll rationally explain to Baby why diaper changing is so important. Perhaps he'll distract her with a discussion of the ramifications of credit default swaps. Perhaps he'll stand on his head. It really doesn't matter what he does; he's Dad. Face it ladies: nine months of pregnancy, many more months of nursing...and nothing is more exciting than an impromptu appearance by Dad. But that's OK, because two minutes later, and Baby is diapered, dressed, and ready to tackle her next mission, rearranging the Tupperware cabinet. The negotiation has concluded, and everyone is a winner. Now go clean up that paper towel confetti!

My Wheels: Now and Then

After living in cities for many years, I'm back behind the wheel of a Honda, driving to the mall, the gas station, the supermarket, the gas station, McDonald's, the gas station, my parents' house, the gas station. Looking around my car, I can't help but notice that the clutter filling the interior has changed somewhat since the last time I had a car in the suburbs, 1994. Here is a comparison of the junk inside my home-away-from-home, now and then:

1994: Crushed tape cover for Ini Kamoze's epic single, "Here Comes the Hotstepper," covered with ink stains and splatterings of Diet Dr. Pepper.

2010: Wrinkled Babies R Us coupons, splattered with Diet Dr. Pepper and baby drool.

1994: A dozen empty water bottles.

2010: A dozen empty water bottles.

1994: A copy of Sassy magazine, opened to an editorial on the joys of creating a mix tape about the joys of vegetarianism.

2010: A copy of What to Expect: The Toddler Years, opened to a section on how to discourage your child from using the dish full of gourmet food you painstakingly prepared as a Frisbee.

1994: A flannel shirt left in the back seat by someone who apparently didn't shower very often.

2010: One size 2 sandal for which I just spent a half hour searching the apartment, finally building up the courage to look under the couch, where I uncovered a teething ring, a long-lost sock, a finger puppet, and a Tic Tac.

1994: A copy of an essay comparing the themes of Camus' existential classic The Stranger with the alienation and angst of Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit."

2010: A stuffed animal that, after connecting it to my laptop, can recite my daughter's name, favorite animal, social security number, some stock recommendations, and five more Leapfrog products she should convince Mommy to buy her.

Of course, nothing compares to the biggest change of all...the passengers inhabiting the back seat:

1994: Whichever BFF failed to call "shotgun" quickly enough to grab the passenger seat...or some friend of a friend in need of a ride to the mall.

2010: The most adorable BFF I've ever had, who accompanies me everywhere, never complains about my playing the same Journey song three times in a row, and never fails to pipe in with a unique insight or the best word in the English language: "mama."

Here's to my favorite back-seat driver!

The Woes of Weaning

This week I ended a very special ritual with my daughter. I've finally weaned her from the breast and onto the cup. According to my baby book, it's an optimal time to do it. (And if the book says so, I believe it...I haven't followed anything so precisely since the instructions for assembling my IKEA dresser.) And so, we've been weaning for weeks, dropping one feeding at a time. Mother's Day was to be the final nursing session. I chose that day partly for its symbolism, and partly because it always seemed so far away.

And then it wasn't.

And now this relationship has ended. The first of many endings to come in our mother-daughter relationship, and realistically, probably not the most dramatic. I imagine other endings will hit me harder: the first time she doesn't want to hold my hand in public, the first time she spends a night away from home, the day when she stops finding my Poison CDs cool and "retro." But this is the first time I've had to let go, to grant her some independence. And for me it's a glimpse into part of what motherhood is: putting what's right for your child ahead of what's necessarily comfortable for yourself. I have to be honest: she likes her cup. She likes her new source of milk. She doesn't seem to notice that anything's changed.

But I've noticed. I miss that moment, after I've nursed her and she looks up at me with those drowsy, contented little eyes, and radiates with a smile that no one else sees. In that moment of silent, clandestine communication, I bend my head toward hers and rub her tiny nose against mine, eliciting a giggle and a smile of delight. And now, I've been replaced by a cup and a cow...and probably one of those irritating California cows from those annoying milk commercials. It's not that I begrudge my daughter her sippy cup. But it's hard to nuzzle with a baby who's chugging like a pledge at a frat party. She seems happy enough, but it's not the tender mother-daughter moment I've grown accustomed to.

Before I started nursing, I didn't know if I'd make it three months. Now it's been thirteen months, and I'm sad to let it go. But I'm trying to focus on the special moments ahead of us. The first time she lets me read her a book. Our first time baking cookies. The first Mother's Day she hands me a card she's written all by herself. One day I'll follow her lead and blissfully move on from those cozy cribside moments where we bonded for so many months. Until then, watch out sippy cup. Hell hath no fury like a Mommy scorned...

Mother's Day Countdown

Mother's Day is fast approaching. It's my second one with my daughter, who was about one month old when we celebrated our first Mother's Day together. Here are the top ten things I've learned in the past year:

10. Ah, shoes. Laces to chew, Velcro to chew, rubber to chew. The only thing better than a pair of shoes is a closet full of shoes...who can ever get enough of that yummy, shoey goodness?

9. The trifecta: transferring a sleeping baby from the car to the changing table to the crib without waking her. Practically an Olympic event.

8. After many hours and several classes in engineering, I can now remove a new toy from its packaging without bloodshed, tears, or obscenities. Ten more hours and I get my certification.

7. I was prepared to choose between working and staying home. Instead I make that choice every day, watching my daughter's bewildered expression as I leave the room, her tiny arms raised toward the slowly closing office door. After a year, I'm now able to get at least some work done before sinking into a spiral of guilt and despair.

6. All that karaoke has come in handy. Show me the crying fit that can withstand Def Leppard or Ini Kamoze.

5. I thought the cabinets were properly organized. However, my daughter has demonstrated at least a dozen alternative ways to arrange each unlocked space.

4. I can fit a stroller, a pack & play, six bags of groceries, and a booster seat in the trunk...and still have room for a body, if necessary. Or a spare tire.

3. I've gone from being able to lift a slice of pizza with a couple of toppings to being able to lift a 23-pound baby with one hand (because the pizza is in the other one).

2. After intensive military training and repeated readings of Sun Tzu, I've discovered the secret to outmaneuvering other mothers with strollers (and the occasional person in a wheelchair) onto the elevator at the mall. Hey, that sale at Gymboree is one day only!

1. It's possible to grow a little every day, be amazed a little every day, and fall in love a little every day. It's possible to learn from someone who can't speak, be moved by someone who can't walk, and be awestruck by a tiny pair of brown eyes looking at you with innocence and love. There is no job more wondrous, overwhelming or perfect than motherhood.

Happy Mother's Day to all the Mommies
who make a difference in their children's lives...
one dirty diaper,
one skinned knee,
one squeal of delight at a time.