Runaway Baby on the Brooklyn Bridge, NYC
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Eighteen months ago, I didn’t really know unconditional love. I did not know quite yet that Pitocin was the Beast, and Epidural the Beauty. But I was told I was in for a happily ever after, and that part was actually true. Eighteen months ago I did not know my feet would remain swollen for another 2 months before I could wear flip flops again, let alone dressy shoes. There are so many other things I did not know… How much 7 pounds and a few ounces can rock your world. How long it would take me to fit in my old clothes again or if I ever would. How much time I could handle being away from the new center of my sleepless universe. Until I realized I was back to being alone in my body again. How much long it takes for a baby to sleep through the night. (I wish it had been before 9 months!) How many more reasons my husband and I would find to bicker. How much one can obsess over human milk, the infamous liquid gold. From output to transport, storage and handling. How quickly a baby starts smiling. Sitting up. Standing. Crawling. Walking. Talking. Eighteen month ago a mother was born. In me.  Petit Poisson This morning my son looked back at me in the rear-view mirror for the first time. And he smiled at me with his largest grin, with a low giggle as he stretched his neck just a bit more to see the rest of my face. I cannot share a picture of it, but this image is now trapped in my memory for ever. It was wonderful. We laughed a bit more as we continued to look at each other through the mirror. It was yesterday that I’d realized I was always turning back to him to see him, when I could use the mirror! It was then that I had reoriented the rear-view mirror slightly so that I would see his beautiful face, his blue eyes scanning the world around him. Warning: Looking at your child in the rear-view mirror is not necessarily safer than just turning your body around. On our short ride back to the house yesterday, my eyes were riveted to him, not so much to the road! I was much more disciplined this morning, looking intensely at him while we were stopped at a traffic light, or waiting for a car to drive by before we could make a turn. Of course, back when Poisson was an infant, I had hooked one of those headrest mirrors to the backseat so that I could watch him. But quickly the mirror had detached and found its way to the trunk until I took it out of the car all together. When he was about 14 months is when I finally turned the car seat around — because of the way my car was shaped I could no longer drop my 25-pound little boy so swiftly (nor gently) in his seat in the rear-facing position, though it was by far my favorite (the safest place for children under two is the back seat AND in the rear-facing position). Hard to say who enjoyed that switch the most — him looking at the road ahead, at me, at the traffic ahead of us. Or me, just turning around to catch a glimpse of him, make a silly face and stroke his leg. As I looked in the mirror today, I could see a grown little boy, not a baby any more. He will be 18 months at the end of this week. His hair longer, combed to the side, his eyes watching my face and his own ‘words’ responding to my prompts, understanding every word I said, I am sure of it. On my way back, after I had dropped Poisson off at daycare, I thought about the cliché “watching your life pass you by in the rear-view mirror”. How it relates to the events we have lived and the memories we have created, and how we see them accumulate to form our experiences, behind us now, paving the road of our past. Today, as I looked in the rear-view mirror, my past did not reflect on the road behind me. It did in my son’s eyes. Along with our future. We were out early, Poisson and I, to head out to the fair this morning. The main attraction? Farm animals. Yay! So exciting. Let me stop here for a second; I was born and raised in a farm, taking my son to a fair and pay $5 to give him the privilege of petting some goats and cows was not something I ever envisioned doing back in the days — when helping move the cattle at 6 in the morning was such a chore! We met up with friends and their son of the same age, and the first thing we did was to head over to the pigs race scheduled for 10am. Culture shock hit me again. To put things in context, this is election season. Therefore before you get to the animals and the rides, you must pass a multitude of booths with a political agenda — each trying so hard to win you over with a balloon or a sticker. But because my die-hard Republican husband does not read my blog (I have proved this before) and was sleeping in this morning, he will never know we had a red Democratic balloon tied to our stroller the whole time we were there. And so we watched the piglets race around a very short track surrounded by over-excited children of all ages, rooting for their favorite. It was fun. Not sure PETA would have agreed. Then it was all over. We walked over to the nearby pens with a few intriguing lamas. Hang out there for a while. Most of the crowd had moved on to see the rest of the animals. I heard people walk back down from a hill behind us and say in a loud voice: “He’s not in the woods”. That’s when I knew something was wrong. Those words were directed at a mother behind a stroller carrying two little ones. She is calling people out, telling them a little boy has gone missing. Not her son, her friend’s son. He was just behind them, and then they turned around, he was gone. The mother is over there, talking to the rangers, alerting as many people as possible, while scanning the surroundings. The friend continues to recruit everyone who can help. Brown track pants, a white T-shirt. He’s two, his name is L. Many parents including my friends and I switch gears, the fair can wait. We all scatter and look for the missing boy. Call his name. I am not letting go of T. I’m holding him a little closer in my arms as I continue to look around. We all agree the little boy just took off and got lost; he will be found soon. But we can’t help to think of the other scenario. All it takes is a crazy person. I loop back around the small race track to look in the parking lot. On my way back to where the boy was last seen, I see the mother, shaking, and crying. I offer her some pointless words of comfort. He is here, we are going to find him, he cannot be very far. There is no way he is leaving the fair without her. She brings a hand to her belly, and I realize she is pregnant, probably just 4 or 5 months. As her friend nears, she asks the devastated mother if she’s called her husband. As they walk away from me, the mother’s tears drown her voice “No! How could I tell him that!” For a second I felt her pain as though it was mine. And it was the worst feeling of loss, guilt, fear and love. Another few excruciating minutes passed as the tension continued to rise. Eventually… we heard the boy was found at the entrance of the park. He had walked all the way back and was holding on to a fence, not wanting to let go until his mom would come to get him. Sighs of relief. We all started breathing again, and released slightly the tight grip on our children. And just like that, life went on. We checked out the cows, the goats, the chickens… Not your typical day at the fair. Be careful what you mean with the title “mommy blogger”For the most part, bloggers with children will at times include their parenthood-related tales in their posts; that does not mean their blog is about their kids. Yet there is a widely-used term coined for these reality bloggers that generates lots of debate: mommy blogger. It consists of bloggers who often reject the label all together. Because they aren’t just that. Maybe we just need to think this through a bit more with this read: Top 10 Misconceptions About Mommy Bloggers (Mashable, Jan 16, 2009) Reality checkAfter I posted about the typical blogger struggle in my recent guest post The Bulimic Blogger, I saw several bloggers comment that this post was about them! It’s clear we all put a lot of our time and soul in this blogging business. (And I mean business as “busy-ness”, we aren’t all in it for the money.)
Many stories are encouraging us to “blog and profit” and some are compelling enough to keep the “mommy bloggers” dreaming a little longer, and so we continue reading and nod: Why Top Mom Bloggers Have Greater Earning Power (Sept 16, 2010)
Truth is, most of the blogging power we exercise — whether we’re a daddy or mommy blogger — is not rewarded with money. It might be sad, but *breaking news*, it’s true: Mommy Bloggers: Mighty Force but Not Big Moneymakers (Technorati, Sept 1, 2010)
When the best blogging comes out of those who get firedA typical success blogging story (though not ultra common, don’t get me wrong!) looks like this: Working Mom Saw Writing on the Wall and Blogged to Financial Freedom (Sept 16, 2010) This is also true of Pat Flynn, a proud dad whose passive income experiments are blowing my mind and are definitely worth following. None of this would have happened if had not been laid off. Meanwhile there are many others who actually lose their job because of their blog — for example 7 People Fired For Blogging (May 29, 2008) – getting fired does not necessarily put you on the road to success; but occasionally, it helps. To wrap it upMommy bloggers often dream of generating income from their blog. But they have too many responsibilities to take miscalculated risks. Those of us who are working outside the home must keep the bill-paying jobs. Those of us who are blessed with homework (stay-at-home mom or dad) can’t possibly find enough time to focus on their venture. However, while we continue to spend many hours moonlighting on our blogs, the money we are never going to see will not replace the new friends we find! And sometimes? Blogging is just about supporting one another, like this wonderful project, Band Back Together initiated by Becky whose writing will give you chills. All of this? For free. There, you’ve got your money’s worth. Do you make money from your blog? What have you gained from blogging so far, beside money? Very excited to announce… my very first guest post was published today at my friend Jackie’s blog, With Just a Bit of Magic. It deals with cookies & frustration… I will leave it at that! Please check it out and post your comments there! In bonus, I posted a picture of my son giving me the devil look. But you have to click on the above link to go see that post, and read until the end! Every time people tell me “your son looks so cute”, all I tell them is that “I did the best I could”. And it’s true! Not bad for a first try! Guest posts are a fantastic way to reach out to another audience, but also introduce you, my loyal friends, to another blog worth reading. And to a new friend! Can’t wait to read your thoughts! And guess what? Tomorrow, I’m doing it again! Stay tuned… Day after day, my toddler’s tendency for destruction within our house makes irreversible marks. My son poisson is not a year and a half yet. Until now he’s been pretty good, limiting damages to wet burps on the carpet and food thrown onto the floor. Nothing too permanent. It actually started with this; see how he left his mark (literally) in his bedroom just 2 months ago:  Permanent Mark Poisson was playing with the shade at the window (as in, he was holding on to the bottom edge, pulled then released by accident; the shade suddenly rolled up all the way to the top, like in a cartoon), then fell, hitting the window seal and leaving the imprint of his top teeth on the wood. And then in the past week alone, he broke 3 things: a glass, a terracotta planter, and a pie dish (the one I featured in my apple tart post!). I know it only gets “better” from here, which is why I’m very scared!! You can blame my neglect for leaving those items within his reach if you’d like, but that would not help me very much. Instead, why don’t you share with us the extend of the damage at your house? I want to hear all about it! We’ve already traveled a fair amount with our son — we’ve flown to the West Coast, up north to New England, to France more than once, driven upstate New York and now down to North Carolina. Every time it’s possible, we also take the dog. Just to spice it up. And because Venga is family of course. Yet every new trip as a family redefines vacation for me. Let me clarify. A vacation with a toddler isn’t a vacation at all. It’s a nice change of scenery, but not exactly a vacation. This one started with 8 hours in the car for what sh0uld have been a 5-hour trip. Add some traffic, a detour for work, a break for lunch & some stretch time… and this is how a long car drive becomes a very long one. It’s our first beach vacation with T, who is not even 2 yet. What a blast! For the past two days we’ve been on a routine that includes going to the beach twice a day (it’s a block away; the house we rented has a nice view of the ocean, and I don’t even take my flip flops to walk over, that’s how close we are), showering a lot, playing in between, and eating a bit more randomly. Let me stop here for a minute; I know you can’t force feed a child, but what if all he wants to eat is fruit, yogurt and bread? (and occasionally, sand) What do you do? At home I tend to hide some protein in his other foods, but being away makes this very difficult. Sorry, I did not pack the blender along with everything else. Plus, I feel I should be past the puree stage by now! Unless of course he gets pasta a la bolognesa for dinner for the next 2 years, I need to figure this out. Help! So where was I again? That’s right, “vacation” with a toddler. I know I won’t be getting the peace and quiet — let alone the rest – that is often associated with a holiday. Still, we are having a wonderful time chasing seagulls, jumping in the waves, playing in the sand with our dog. But you know what I would really, really like? I hope the little memories we’ve already made over the past two days will stay with me forever – ultimately I know this is not realistic; there is only so much your selective memory can capture. But I am trying to trick the system to remember a few of these special moments and keep them inside me. Today, as I was laying on the beach with my young son tip-toeing around me with his bucket, I suddenly recalled how as a kid I had been playing on the beach on the Mediterranean coast, at my grand-parents’; I remembered the small beach where, summer after summer, I learned the taste of the sand, the tenacity of the waves and the sweetness of right-on-time lollipops. For some unknown reason, there are certain moments that stuck with me, though they are uneventful for the most part; and as trivial as it may sound, I am now starting to realize the memories I’ve been making are my son’s as well. And though my vacation isn’t bringing me much rest, it’s definitely become the source of an inestimable joy. I have a confession. I am not looking to spark any controversy, but I’ve got to get it off my chest. I despise processed meals such as Gerber Graduate Entrées, I called them Lean Cuisine for babies. I actually don’t have a problem with Lean Cuisine meals. Adults can make their own “culinary” choices, that’s totally fine. But for babies? That is not right. The ingredients are actually not the worst things about these processed, albeit convenient, meals: Water, Peas, Corn, Butternut Squash, Zucchini, Carrots, Tomato Puree, Yellow Zucchini, Tomato Paste, Tomatoes, Cooked White Chicken Meat (White Chicken Meat, Water, Salt, Modified Cornstarch, Tapioca Starch), Enriched Vermicelli (Durum Wheat Semolina, Egg Whites, Niacin, Ferrous Sulfate, Thiamine Mononitrate, Riboflavin, Folic Acid), Cream, Celery, Onions, Sugar, Olive Oil, Modified Cornstarch, Salt, Nonfat Milk, Garlic, Soy Lecithin, Natural Flavor. Sure, there are a few things on there I’m not super comfortable with — what exactly is modified cornstarch? The worst problem is the amount of sodium. Young children are not equipped to handle salt, and it is harmful to their kidneys. Read here for more details on why it is not recommended to add salt to your baby’s foods. On another note, the Gerber meals for toddlers and preschoolers look very different from what the photo suggests and they do not taste good. The smell alone is a turn off for me. The test every parent should take is the following: If you would not eat it yourself, don’t feed it to your baby or toddler. And for $3 a serving? You can afford more varied options of better nutritional value. There is another problem: by conditioning your child to eating different foods than yours, you are doomed to serve a double menu for the next 15 years. And I could not deal with that. It’s hard enough as it is now! By the way, I never bought those meals for my son; the little one who comes to our house as part of our nanny share eats them every day. And every day I wonder why it is so hard to feed your baby the same food as you, with tweaks as necessary. Don’t get me wrong, I know what it’s like to “make” meals, often I’d rather hit a button on the microwave. Just like millions of others out there, I am a working parent — so swamped it turns out that I outsource my own ironing chores. I know what it’s like to have a difficult toddler hard time with meals these days! Turns out my 16-month old is not always interested in eating the healthy things I would really like him to eat. But I just keep trying. And I change things up. And I even find new foods to try for myself! What do you think? Are Lean Cuisine for babies too convenient to pass, or too unhealthy to keep? Recommended uses of hospital swaddling blankets, in that order:
Who knew all 71 of your stolen free hospital swaddling blankets would come in that handy? Come on, we’ve ALL done it, time to confess. Any other uses I may have overlooked? By the way, if you get tired of the same old, same old blue-and-pink stripes blankets, I highly recommend these swaddling blankets; they are so pretty and durable, and considerably larger — so you can swaddle even longer… No shoe polishing with these!
 Best Swaddling Blanket |
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