Tag Archives: stress

To Liz, On Having her Second Baby

Posted on by Amy Pybus
11

Many families in my day care program have had babies over the years (and then I automatically get new customers!). But I didn’t have a blog then. So Liz, you’re the lucky one who gets to hear this lecture. I look forward to the arrival of your new baby with love and excitement! (And I know you can’t wait to get it the heck out.)

I remember expecting my Younger Son. I was thrilled and excited and so much more confident than I had been the first time around.

But I was also consumed with the thought that I was ruining his older brother’s life. Towards the end of the pregnancy my belly was so big that I could barely even hold him in my lap, and it killed me that I couldn’t give him the attention that he craved. That child who had been the center of my universe was going to have to adjust – big-time – and I thought he would hate me for it.

It was probably mother nature preparing us all for the baby who would be in my lap nursing for hours. And Older would have to cuddle next to me, instead of right on my lap. I knew the transition would be hard for him, but it was hard for everybody.

Well, when is having a baby NOT hard?

And when the baby was done nursing and tucked away in his bouncy seat, Older could have me all he wanted. Life would go on, and we would find new ways to enjoy each other’s company.

The best thing I heard while expecting Younger was that when you have your second child, “the hardest part is giving yourself over to parenting.” I thought, what have I been doing for the past three years of spending 24/7 at the beck and call of this child? Was that not giving myself over? Was that not going to be ENOUGH?

But if you have two babies, you might as well have ten, because that’s how big the difference is (I’m sorry to put that so bluntly – don’t be afraid). There is never a time when you are not needed by someone. The laundry and dishes multiply tenfold. It’s much harder to enjoy a quiet naptime (because even if your first is young enough to still nap, they’ll never do it at the same time). Even sneaking away for a few hours gets more difficult. Plenty of friends are willing to hang out with your one child. But a toddler and a baby? Not so much.

There’s the fear – as long as the baby was in my belly I knew he was safe. But as soon as he was out, and I was saddled with him in a car seat or stroller or nursing, and my toddler went running off into the woods, what would I do? How would I keep both of them safe? Just keeping one alive was hard and stressful enough.

Then I had the thoughts of, will it be my last baby? My day care provider at the time had two boys, it’s all she wanted, she was done and happy and so sure of herself. I was jealous of her confidence and always torn about making a commitment to another child. Then Younger got to be about three years old and I said yeah – that ship has sailed. But you’ll know when you know, it’s as simple as that. If times were different I’d have five kids, but this is what my lifestyle fits. And I am more than blessed and eternally grateful to have two fabulous, healthy, kind, caring boys who were meant just for me.

In fact just the other night I had a dream that I was nursing a baby and I woke up with a shudder. I told Dave and he said, “That’s disgusting.” (We’re joking, Leche League.)

Oh, and some good practical advice is to try to minimize how much the baby needs you when your older child does too. Of course that sounds impossible but you don’t want to bring home this squirmy, loud, smelly thing who’s getting all the love and attention while your older child mopes, and then to top it off keep reminding them that they can’t have you anymore because now you belong to the baby.

The best trick I found for doing that is saying something like “My hands are busy right now. I’ll help you in just a minute I promise.” Try to avoid “I’m busy with THE BABY.” Your child is going to be so sick of that damn baby – try not to point out that you’re neglecting them to play with the one who they think is replacing them.

Let her come to her own opinion about the baby. Don’t force her to play with it or say how much she loves it or help you change diapers – yet. The time will come when she’s interested (and maybe that will be right away, who knows), but let her set the pace.

And read Siblings Without Rivalry by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish, it will save your life I guarantee. It’s also probably a good idea to stock up on “The new baby is coming!” books from the library so you can talk to her about this in a non-in-your-face way.

I remember the first night in the hospital with Younger. Everyone had gone (remember the first baby, when Daddy’s hovering over you every moment? By the second one he’s home sleeping before the nurses tell you lights out) and it was just me and this beautiful, scrawny, pruney, stunning, perfect baby. I grabbed him out of his cradle and scared him to death – I was used to handling a wild 2-1/2 year old toddler boy.

I held him tight and told him, “We’re going to be great friends.” I felt a warmth I hadn’t had with Older, because for that poor boy I was just in a slightly constant state of panic and confusion. For this one I knew exactly what I was doing and it made the ride all the more precious.

When I look at my boys now, the unit, the inseparable pair, the brothers who have a bond I can’t even fathom, I know any worry I had was a waste of time. They have that sibling relationship that is so vital through life. You may love or hate your sibling, but there is no one else in the world who shares the same experiences and history as you. And as my friend once told me, “Everybody needs a sibling to gang up on your parents with.”

My second child was a gift to my entire family, one that I probably still don’t quite understand the magnitude of. I can’t remember what life was like before he came. I know I wondered how I could love another baby as much as I loved my first, and then I found out that my own heart had depths I couldn’t have imagined.

What More Can I Say But…WWE

Posted on by Amy Pybus
5

OK. I’ve done it. I’ve been to the dark side…and come back to tell the story.

I went where I swear I would never have gone, and had no desire to go, in my whole life – if I didn’t have two sons in it.

A real-life WWE cage match.

This is just the latest thing I banned from my kids’ lives and they insisted on having, so eventually I caved. Just like how I said there’d never be war toys in my house and now we have an arsenal – literally. There are so many guns and swords that they had to be moved into their own room (you know, the office/guest room/armory).

BUT, as I learned with the guns, the toys you play with don’t make you who you are. It’s how you treat other people. And teaching my boys how to treat other people has nothing to do with toy guns. So I do my usual daily work of guiding and teaching, and I let the WWE seep in. Or come crashing in, literally and figuratively, as it did for my boys. And we continue to talk about how you don’t resolve your problems by throwing someone through a wall.

Older Son was angry when I told him how I felt about professional wrestling. Here he’d found this awesome, intensely cool thing that spoke to him on a level I can’t understand, and all I could do was say how bad it was. I told him I can’t stand to see people beating on each other.

He put his hand on my arm, looked in my eyes, and in a tone of real concern asked me, “You do know it’s fake, right?”

I had to admit it – he’s a pretty smart kid. So I let it play. In a matter of months they’ve obtained toy wrestling rings, a collection of action figures, and a soundtrack that must be cranked whenever we’re in the car. So Santa decided it would be fun to take them to a real match (against my will). I decided to look at it as a sociological experiment (which I guess is pretty much how I see most of my life these days).

I figured the crowd would be entertaining and boy was I right. There were a few who were really downright scary – you could see the security guards keeping an eye on them (and in real life they’re probably the sweetest people but put them in the right situation and they look terrifying). The 65-year-old lady and her 35-year-old son gesturing wildly to each other when the announcer said the next live match would be in March. The (again, adult) lady behind us yelling and screaming and making the most hilarious comments – to people who don’t take the WWE seriously enough (“Oh yea, he’s dirty like always!” “Look out behind you!! The chair!!! HE’S GOT THE CHAIR!!!”). Full-grown men wearing WWE championship belts.

And I loved how the wrestlers had security guards escorting them down the aisle to the exit. You, John Cena, man of muscle, who just lifted a 275-pound 7-foot tall man on your back and slammed him to the ground AND won the match, need this scrawny dude to protect you from the weaklings in the seats?

The wrestling actually looks more fake in real life than it does on TV (sorry everyone who believes it’s real – and there are SO MANY of you out there). But even I gasped and covered my eyes several times when people were being body slammed or worse. And of course there were moments that got the teacher and protector-of-children in me going, like when they showed the video montage of the WWE’s anti-bullying program.

Really? A sport that is based solely on bullying, and they’re sending the stars out there to tell kids not to do it to each other? They actually had the nerve to say “It’s all about respect.” Because when you kick someone in the face, that’s respect!

And the fact that they kept making a big deal out of their shows being “PG.” What’s PG about people slamming other people’s faces into walls or smashing chairs into their bodies? Michelle told me, “The G is for Guidance, and as a Parent, that’s WHAT YOU DO.”

I told her to shut it.

And then we got in a divas cage match right there in the car on the way home from the show.

Embracing the Chaos

Posted on by Amy Pybus
8

Here we are: the week before Christmas and I really, honestly, truly feel like my head is going to explode. There is literally not enough time for me to do everything I need to (and those are just the things I can remember I have to do), so it’s just time to start accepting what I can’t. Bye bye, dusting. Clean the boys’ room – out of the question. Tidy up the yard – please. My family will have to accept that it’s a sloppy Christmas.

But this is nothing new, really. As a child care provider, mother of two boys who both play three sports, writer, small business owner, and wife, my life is pretty much constant chaos. Go go go go go it never stops. Needless to say, a lot slips through the cracks. And I spend a lot of time being hard on myself because of all the things I’m failing at.

When my mother calls to see how I’m doing I often start listing everything that’s hanging over my head: “Well Older needs new basketball shoes but we can’t get to the store before his next game because I have a meeting Wednesday night, and I had to go to school and pick up Younger because he was sick, so I didn’t get to write my article at naptime because I was entertaining him so I have to write after they go to bed tonight, and I won’t have time to cook dinner because we have to be at tae kwon do at 6:00 so they’ll have to eat grilled cheese again and the insurance agent called me for the fifth time to schedule the inspection but my phone died when I left it in the car overnight and speaking of which, I still haven’t gotten that rusty spot painted over and winter’s coming.”

And my mother will say, “I’m concerned that this surprises you.”

And I’ll say, “It doesn’t surprise me, it’s just my life, I’m used to it. But I still feel like I have to explain to you why everything’s in a shambles all the time.”

And she says, “You have to learn to embrace the chaos.”

Now that is a powerful sentence.

I had a mental picture of giant arms wrapping around a maelstrom of laundry, children, messy beds, lost shoes, spilled food, and undone paperwork whipping around like snowflakes in a blizzard.

I guess I embrace it in a way, because I have no other choice. I always say the most important task rises to the top, and it gets done, though maybe half-assed. I’ve had to learn how to get what I need done while cooking dinner, spelling words and shouting out multiplication answers for homework help, and trying not to trip over the cat who hasn’t been fed all day.

And that’s annoying. I want a block of quiet time to unclutter my brain. It’s frustrating not being able to sit down with a cup of coffee and plan the day in front of me: here’s what I need to get done, let me pay these bills, oh what a nice article in the paper, look at email/facebook/texts, make sure the appointments are on the calendar, check off done done done on the to-do list.

Ha. I wouldn’t even have a spot to sit down.

And even if I did, I’d hear “Mommy!” within 46 seconds.

But then I remember what Pam said one time when I was running off to a baseball game and had forgotten a plan we’d made. Instead of being mad she just told me, “I miss all that.”

And I knew exactly what she meant. Someday I will be organized and my house will be spotless – because it will be uninhabited by children. So I’m really, honestly going to embrace this chaos and just keep smiling.

Socialism in Day Care

Posted on by Amy Pybus
1

I heard myself telling the kids today, “This is a socialist day care.” It just popped out but after I said it, it amused me for so many reasons.

First of all I imagined a mob of angry tea partiers arriving at my door, wresting the children away from the evil influence they were getting in my care.

Then I thought it’s only logical, because we’re not really a democracy. No one gets a vote because I make all the decisions.

Then I realized, it’s a tyranny! Because I am the all-powerful leader of this nation.

Ooo, I like the sound of that.

Anyway the reason I’m instituting socialism is because I have mostly girls. I know it sounds preposterous (Girls are angels!) but hear me out. Every day I have four or five girls, and only one toddler boy. The girls spend most of their time reporting on what the boy is doing.

And when they’re not reporting on him, they’re busy keeping a close eye on what everyone else is doing. And, they own everything.

They may be playing in a totally different room, perfectly happy doing something else, or it may be a toy they haven’t touched in weeks. But as soon as someone plays with it the shrieking begins: “Nooooo!!! Nooo! That’s Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-nuh!!!!!” (Imagine that in a very high-pitched, very loud, two-year-old girl voice. Have I mentioned that I often wear earplugs?)

In fact, it’s gotten so bad that I said to a friend the other day, “Good Lord. Now they’re fighting over imaginary toys.”

It’s true! When they’re riding bikes in the driveway I send them to the grocery store to buy me things, and one day someone brought me a lollipop. The protest came quickly: “Noooo!!! It’s MYYYYYYYYY lollipop!”

I’ve tried explaining, we share, we take turns, I even resorted to the timer, which I haven’t used in a long time (but did seem to work well for a while), and now I’m just tired of fighting the same battle again and again.

So my newest tack is this: nobody owns anything here (well, technically as the dictator, I own everything and I am so kindly sharing it all with you that you should feel the warmth of my benevolence). Everything is to be shared by everyone.

See? Socialism.

I know it won’t work but at least it’s fun to amuse myself while they’re screaming at each other. I need to find myself a military uniform.

Mom. Trust me.

Posted on by Amy Pybus
Reply

Well here we are, middle school. And that means that my Older Son wants his freedom. We weren’t a week into school when we had our first professional development day and the kids were out at noon.

Older and his new friend were all over me the moment they got off the bus: can we ride our bikes downtown and go to the convenience store and hang out at the playground?

My mind was spinning. Yes, I want you to have this freedom. Yes, I’m still worried about kidnappers and molesters no matter how many times people tell me it’s safe. Yes, I know you are old enough and can handle it. That you are perfectly capable of crossing streets safely and coming home when I tell you to. You should have this opportunity to spread your wings. And, I know the crowd of kids who hangs out down there, and you are still just ten years old.

He wanted me to just say yes so badly, but also had the understanding that this was a big deal. And maybe a little teeny part of him was asking me to say no, because he was nervous too. He pointed out that “Mom, Jason told me he wanted to go to the old movie place and I told him ‘I know my mother won’t let me go that far.’”

Smart boy. He knows me. And he knows that this show of responsibility will sway me. What he doesn’t know is that I was so proud because he had the guts to say this to his new, cool friend. He wasn’t even giving me the full begging treatment, he really was trying to discuss it rationally. (This is new for me.) I really wanted to let them go despite the knot in my stomach.

Luckily, Jason’s dad was just as chicken as me about letting them roam free. He said they could go if his mother could tag along (to which his son bristled, but agreed), and then she’d take them back home for a while.

Phew. I was really pushing myself, really trying to let him go and not worry. Even Dave thought he’d be fine. I don’t usually involve him on after school hangout choices but I needed backup on this one: is it OK to let our 10-year-old ride around town?

I wish that it was. But every mom I know agrees – it’s still too soon. It’s still too scary. And we were all riding our bikes freely around town by age ten. And then we wish that we lived in a different world, and go on with our forced over-protective parenting lifestyle.

So off they went with Grandma and had a great time. They did that in-and-out thing all afternoon: back to Jason’s, back to our house for a game, back to Jason’s, loving the freedom of riding bikes and being trusted. Knowing that there was at least this little something they could do without parents watching, even if it was only down the block and not downtown. And maybe they felt safer that way too.

I got a phone call about an hour after they left for their adventure. “Hello, this is Older calling from Jason’s house.” I said, “Hello this is Mommy, we’ve met before.”

“I’m worried that you don’t know exactly where Jason lives and I want to make sure you know how to get here when you come pick me up.” I indulged him, though I’ve known where Jason lives since they were in kindergarten. He gave me directions and even corrected himself when he made a mistake, and I just said “Yes, got it” the whole time. “Thank you, sweetie. Now I know where I’m going. I’ll be there a little after 5:00.”

Older told me later that I should know I can trust him. I told him that Daddy and I do trust him, but we were concerned about the situation and there’s a difference. I think he got it. It’s interesting to watch him process (and, miraculously, understand) my answers and reasons instead of instantly flying into a rage at “No.” We are definitely at a new phase in our relationship. Middle school, rational discussions, showing responsbility. (Now if he would just do his chores, my work here will be done.)

At 5:05 my phone rang. “Mommy, it’s 5:05 and you’re not here yet, I’m just wondering if something happened.”

I explained that my bike tire was flat and we’d be there as soon as we could. This time I wasn’t sure if he was being responsible or worried, another huge aspect of his 10-year-old, just-starting-middle-school existence. He doesn’t even like for me to be out of his sight for too long these days.

I guess this phase is just like every other aspect of development – one step forward, two steps back. He flies a little but still wants to come back to the nest. We worry about each other and that’s OK. I like having a ten-year-old protector, and I think he likes having a forty-year-old one.