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!
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
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!
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!
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
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...
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...
Thursday, May 6, 2010
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.
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.
who make a difference in their children's lives...
one dirty diaper,
one skinned knee,
one squeal of delight at a time.
Monday, April 26, 2010
The Grocery Store: A Study in Ethics
You and your baby arrive at the grocery store ready for business. You have just a few items to purchase--paper towels, dental floss, milk, and cold cuts. It should be a relatively simple procedure...but you have little time to spare. Already your little one is yawning, and you know a full-blown meltdown--your child's automatic response to nap deprivation--is less than 20 minutes away. Your mission is fraught with danger; each item on your list presents unforeseen obstacles. How will you handle this challenge? And are you willing to do what it takes, run over other customers if necessary, to meet your objectives? Take this quiz to see how you stack up when it comes to ethics in the aisles...
20 minutes to meltdown....
1. You reach the paper towel aisle and grab an economy-size package (enough to last your family for about a week). Unfortunately, your baby has stealthily grabbed a roll of toilet paper from a display and, in one Jenga-esque move, has caused the demolition of an entire toilet-paper tower. Do you:
(a) Walk away quickly and hope that the mess will be blamed on the family of six at the other end of the aisle.
(b) Attempt to rebuild the tower, despite your suspicions that whoever put this thing together had a degree in architecture and a team of union workers at his disposal.
15 minutes to meltdown...
2. You arrive at the dental care aisle and grab some floss. Your daughter is fascinated by the packaging--an irresistible combination of cardboard and plastic. It's the perfect distraction! However, after a few minutes you discover that the packaging is soaking wet. Do you:
(a) Put it back in the aisle for some other sucker to purchase.
(b) Show the cashier the one small spot on the packaging where she can place her fingers without soaking them in your daughter's saliva. And then think of new places to grocery shop.
10 minutes to meltdown...
3. You arrive at the deli line at the same time as an elderly couple. The elderly woman, who is standing (barely) with the help of a walker, begins cooing at your baby, while her husband analyzes the ham and grumbles to himself. Do you:
(a) Wait for the wife inevitably to say to her husband, "Oh, let her go first, she has a baby." (And, just in case the offer isn't forthcoming, tickle your baby to elicit a giggle. Resist that, grandma!)
(b) Let the couple go first, even though you know they will question every sale item, complain about the thickness of the slices, and order about 50 pounds of meat. Face it, they're old and trump you in the obligatory kindness hierarchy.
5 minutes to meltdown
4. You've paid for your items and go to unload your groceries into your car. You suddenly realize that your baby is holding a pack of Altoids that you never picked up and certainly never paid for. Do you:
(a) Dash into the car and speed away. Not only do you have all your groceries, but now your breath smells like crème de menthe. Score!
(b) Go back inside and wait to speak to someone at the courtesy desk. As your baby begins to wail and attract the attention of the everyone in sight, you abashedly admit that your child is a kleptomaniac. (Luckily, with the all the crying, the customer service rep is eager to usher you out of the store.)
If you answered mostly A: Congratulations! You beat the baby meltdown clock with your ruthless efficiency and total disregard for others. You are teaching your child important life lessons, preparing her for a bright career on Wall Street or teaching Sunday School. Good job!
If you answered mostly B: Yeah, yeah, you're teaching your kid all about courtesy and respect. But let's face it: It's a dog-eat-dog world out there. Dig through all the milk cartons, leave your shopping cart in the middle of a parking spot, cut in front of someone on the deli line. If anyone complains, do the adult thing...blame it on your kid. Or, better yet, do the American thing. Blame it on someone else's kid...
Happy shopping!
20 minutes to meltdown....
1. You reach the paper towel aisle and grab an economy-size package (enough to last your family for about a week). Unfortunately, your baby has stealthily grabbed a roll of toilet paper from a display and, in one Jenga-esque move, has caused the demolition of an entire toilet-paper tower. Do you:
(a) Walk away quickly and hope that the mess will be blamed on the family of six at the other end of the aisle.
(b) Attempt to rebuild the tower, despite your suspicions that whoever put this thing together had a degree in architecture and a team of union workers at his disposal.
15 minutes to meltdown...
2. You arrive at the dental care aisle and grab some floss. Your daughter is fascinated by the packaging--an irresistible combination of cardboard and plastic. It's the perfect distraction! However, after a few minutes you discover that the packaging is soaking wet. Do you:
(a) Put it back in the aisle for some other sucker to purchase.
(b) Show the cashier the one small spot on the packaging where she can place her fingers without soaking them in your daughter's saliva. And then think of new places to grocery shop.
10 minutes to meltdown...
3. You arrive at the deli line at the same time as an elderly couple. The elderly woman, who is standing (barely) with the help of a walker, begins cooing at your baby, while her husband analyzes the ham and grumbles to himself. Do you:
(a) Wait for the wife inevitably to say to her husband, "Oh, let her go first, she has a baby." (And, just in case the offer isn't forthcoming, tickle your baby to elicit a giggle. Resist that, grandma!)
(b) Let the couple go first, even though you know they will question every sale item, complain about the thickness of the slices, and order about 50 pounds of meat. Face it, they're old and trump you in the obligatory kindness hierarchy.
5 minutes to meltdown
4. You've paid for your items and go to unload your groceries into your car. You suddenly realize that your baby is holding a pack of Altoids that you never picked up and certainly never paid for. Do you:
(a) Dash into the car and speed away. Not only do you have all your groceries, but now your breath smells like crème de menthe. Score!
(b) Go back inside and wait to speak to someone at the courtesy desk. As your baby begins to wail and attract the attention of the everyone in sight, you abashedly admit that your child is a kleptomaniac. (Luckily, with the all the crying, the customer service rep is eager to usher you out of the store.)
If you answered mostly A: Congratulations! You beat the baby meltdown clock with your ruthless efficiency and total disregard for others. You are teaching your child important life lessons, preparing her for a bright career on Wall Street or teaching Sunday School. Good job!
If you answered mostly B: Yeah, yeah, you're teaching your kid all about courtesy and respect. But let's face it: It's a dog-eat-dog world out there. Dig through all the milk cartons, leave your shopping cart in the middle of a parking spot, cut in front of someone on the deli line. If anyone complains, do the adult thing...blame it on your kid. Or, better yet, do the American thing. Blame it on someone else's kid...
Happy shopping!
Friday, April 23, 2010
More Than Words
I've been reading a lot lately about the importance of helping your child develop language skills at an early age. As an editor and writer, I'm all about exposing my daughter to language in any way possible. Luckily, I've got two baskets full of informative, gripping children's books in the nursery. Let the learning begin!
Mom: OK, Baby, let's read this fascinating book called That's Not My Tractor!
Baby (Grabs book and throws it across the room): Ba ba ba ba.
Mom: No problem! (Picking up another book) This one is called The Wheels on the Bus. Let's give it a try.
Baby grabs book and begins chewing on it furiously.
Mom: How about this one? It looks really interesting. It's called I Love Sheep.
Baby: Thank you, mother, for your attempts to expose me to language and develop my linguistic abilities at such an early age. While I am not yet fully able to communicate my gratitude verbally, please interpret my pulling your hair and throwing my sippy cup on the floor as signs of my utmost appreciation for these early lessons.
Mom: You're welcome, I'm so glad we can have these special mother-daughter moments...
Baby (ripping pages out of book and throwing them like confetti): DA DA!
You know, I'm starting to think this language thing is overrated...
Mom: OK, Baby, let's read this fascinating book called That's Not My Tractor!
Baby (Grabs book and throws it across the room): Ba ba ba ba.
Mom: No problem! (Picking up another book) This one is called The Wheels on the Bus. Let's give it a try.
Baby grabs book and begins chewing on it furiously.
Mom: How about this one? It looks really interesting. It's called I Love Sheep.
Baby: Thank you, mother, for your attempts to expose me to language and develop my linguistic abilities at such an early age. While I am not yet fully able to communicate my gratitude verbally, please interpret my pulling your hair and throwing my sippy cup on the floor as signs of my utmost appreciation for these early lessons.
Mom: You're welcome, I'm so glad we can have these special mother-daughter moments...
Baby (ripping pages out of book and throwing them like confetti): DA DA!
You know, I'm starting to think this language thing is overrated...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
