First Birthdays are Big Birthdays

My son will be two tomorrow. We’re late to the baby game; most of the kids who have called me Auntie over the years are approaching double digits, about to be preteens. And since the first of them was born (15-ish years ago), I’ve had one Auntie Rule: I only attend first birthday parties. That’s it. There are so many kids in my family that if I attended everyone’s parties, all I’d ever do is sit at Wunderland and eat at Chuck E. Cheese – two places that make me want to drink copious amounts of alcohol and jump off the side of a building. So, you get me at your baby’s first birthday, where I’ll photograph cake smashes and bring fun presents; and then I don’t want to be invited to another birthday ever again.

 

Surprisingly to other people, but unsurprisingly to me, I feel the same about my own child. I was really excited to have a big, fun, themed and decorated first birthday party last year, and now I don’t want to be invited anymore.

 

Oh wait; he’s my kid…I have to do the inviting. Dammit.

 

For a planner like me, the actual planning of the big, crazy, themed first birthday wasn’t stressful; it was actually pretty fun. Grant was obsessed with Curious George at this time last year, so we went with that them and held the party at a local park that had space to fit our giant family and all of our friends. I ordered the perfect little smash cake, knowing full well he’s a neat and tidy kid who would never smash a cake in his pristine little fingers (spoiler: I was right; he used the monkey cake topper as a fork and didn't even need his face washed when he was done). I picked up balloons, ordered primary colored tablecloths and paper products; we even made goodie bags for the other kids, even though I hate goodie bags and think most other parents do too. Like, here, have a bag of crap I found at the Dollar Store (just kidding, it was from Amazon); don’t worry, it’s red & yellow so it’s themed! But it was his first birthday, and it was really important to me that he get the day all of his cousins got on previous years – all of them together, having fun, eating cake, playing at the park.

 

The less fun part of planning a birthday party, is that your kid’s first birthday isn’t necessarily a priority to everyone, so much as it’s a priority for you. I was really disappointed by how many of Grant's cousins weren’t there, especially after all of my years of showing up to first birthday parties (sans child of my own) to celebrate with my own cousins and their kiddos. Don't get me wrong, we had a great party and a great First Birthday Week; there were lots of friends and family who were there to celebrate with us - but there were a handful of people who didn't show up, and I had some feelings about it.

I still have some feelings about it.

That feeling left me wondering; are you really throwing the party for your one-year-old, if you’re going to be bummed out when people he doesn’t even really know don’t show up? Or are you throwing the obligatory event because you know that’s what moms are supposed to do, and then a year later, your feelings are still a bit hurt and your now almost-two-year-old doesn’t even remember he ever liked Curious George because now he only cares about horses and moo cows? Grant didn't know it was his birthday, didn't know why we were giving him cake, why we were singing to him or lighting a candle in his face, why we were opening a mountain of toys; he cared specifically about exactly one thing: the swings. He is not the one with memories of the cake topper or the "I'm one" tee shirt saved in his memory box; I am.

I don't think I know anyone who didn't throw a party for their baby's first birthday, or who doesn't plan to throw one. I also don't know any child who now remembers turning one or having a party. But I am willing to bet that moms everywhere would think you were a total psychopath if you didn't through your baby a first birthday party. I've had numerous people ask why we aren't throwing him a second birthday party, in fact.

Well for one, we're in the middle of a global pandemic, and I am trying to not catch a Coronavirus, you lunatics.

None of this is to say that birthdays after turning one are not a big deal. I am actually the queen of going all out for birthdays; I just think parties are not the way to go all out. I'd prefer Grant share his birthday with a small circle, on an adventure that he'll love. Besides, I have the First Birthday Rule, where only first birthdays get big themed, color coordinated parties. We do birthday adventures now. Tomorrow we are taking Grant tomorrow to a local, family-owned farm to have a tour and feed some animals, which will be the adventure of his lifetime at two years old. We'll go get a cupcake at Fat Cupcake too, and I'll probably shop online at Carters with his birthday coupon because he's a giant and growing like a freaking weed. I hung horse and moo cow streamers in the dining room windows last night, and he's thrilled by them - we may have to keep them up for the whole year, in fact. His grandparents & Uncle Tony are coming over tonight for cake - a cake which I decorated myself to look like a muddy barnyard - and ice cream with raspberries. We didn't even get him a present this year - he has too many toys already and really only plays with 3 things anyway: Grandma Horsey, one baby doll, and two green plastic cups from his play kitchen. What else is there, am I right??

Anyway. Have a birthday party. Don't have a birthday party. Risk Covid-19 to prove you're a good party mom, or maybe don't. Buy a six dollar chocolate cake and a bag of candy, and have at it; anyone can be a cake designer in 2020! This topic strays a bit from mom shame brought on by everyone else, and brings to light the fact that moms also tend to invite a lot of shame onto themselves.

There is no reason to do that. Mom shame is unacceptable from other moms, unacceptable from other humans, and is also unacceptable from yourself.

You're a good mom whether or not you throw parties, whether or not you remember to pick up a candle, whether or not you fail at cake design. No one year old knows who was at his birthday party; no two year old likes anyone enough for them to come over and have a birthday party. You're doing just fine, despite what Pinterest tells you about your lack of theme-ing for your parties. You're a good mom because you love your child, because you work hard every day to celebrate his existence, because you provide him with everything he needs to be happy and healthy in the world...even his own face mask, which he absolutely will not wear. You're a good mom because you go to sleep every night only after brushing his teeth, reading him a story, watching the same movie for the 87th time, giving him all of the snuggles and all of the smooches, and scooting yourself to the edge of the bed because he prefers to have his head and all of his hair on YOUR pillow, not his.

These are my reasons; the reasons I know I am a good mom, even if we never have another birthday party in our lives.

Think about it, and add your reasons to the list.

What makes you a good mom??

I promise you, it's not birthday cake and matching balloons.

#endmomshaming

 

 

 

Nurse Eyeliner, At Your Service

If you came to meet Grant at the hospital, I have almost no memory of your visit. I know that Blake watched my catheter bag fill up with pee, and I remember Kattie brought me the best Jamba Juice I’d ever tasted. That’s about it. 

Sweet, sweet postpartum medications.

Grant was born at 12:18pm on June 19th, and we were back in our room by about 1:30; I know I had visitors that afternoon and evening, and the next day as well - my mom and dad, my brother, Karen, Stacey & Blake, my MIL and FIL, and my BIL and SIL - but I don’t really remember anyone being there. I was so uncomfortable, so scared, so excited, so in love, and in so much pain. I had a catheter and was trying to get my baby to latch and wanted to get up and was terrified of accidentally seeing my own incision. I was starving and numb and my arms hurt; I was swollen and cold and shaky and sweaty. 

I had a new baby! I had to take care of him and keep him alive on the exterior of my body now...holy shit!

To say I had a few things on my mind, is an understatement. 

My overnight nurse was a real bitch; the epitome of mom shame. She was a nurse who should have never become a nurse; she lacked empathy, had terrible bedside manner, and wore far too much winged eyeliner for 3:00 in the morning. I hated her so much that I begged to go home a day early, just to avoid having to experience her being a crappy nurse through one more night. Look, I appreciate nurses as much as the next person, but if you are unable to look at a woman whose body just endured serious trauma and avoid yelling at her, you should drop out of nursing school, immediately. 

She was extremely judgmental about my lack of milk production, among other things. Did you know that it’s your fault if your tits don’t immediately turn into udders after you never even go into labor because you chose to have a c-section? It’s not that your body still thinks it’s pregnant because you haven’t released any labor hormones, no; it’s because you’re a bad mom.

Just ask that nurse and her eyeliner.

Anyway. I’ll get into the shame surrounding breastfeeding versus bottle feeding in another post, I promise. Today, I’m talking about the judgment you can expect when creating your birth plan and arranging hospital visitors. Because remember, while you’re bringing new life into the world, it’s not about you or your comfort...it’s about the people who want to be able to say they met your baby first.

If I were to have another baby (and we won’t), I’d do the hospital thing much differently. Just us. Well, us and my mom - my mom was very helpful getting us prepped and scrubbed up for surgery, took some great photos, and quite frankly, adult or not I wanted my mommy as I was prepping for surgery. But as far as visitors, I think I’d just say no, and use the time to sleep and stare at my baby. Hospital visits are awkward in the first place; everything is one paper gown away from being exposed, no one is sleeping or showering, a nurse is coming in every three seconds to touch something or check something or look at something; they want you to try and feed the baby while your in-laws are sitting there. 

Add to it that you’re already being actively judged, and it’s a recipe for disaster.

I somehow talked the hospital staff into releasing me a day early, and managed to escape a third night with Nurse Eyeliner. We packed our bags as got a ride home, and on the way, I found myself suddenly terrified. I could barely stand up by myself, needed help buckling my seatbelt, and was being allowed to take another human home with me. My BIL drove us home, and I was nervous and jumpy every time he changed lanes, accelerated, decelerated, stepped on the gas or the brake. We made it home, and moments after I settled in on the couch to hold (and admire) my perfect little nugget, Grant choked on what we later determined to be amniotic fluid. He flailed his arms, made that awful choking baby gasping noise, and I swear my life flashed before my eyes as Karen flipped him over and swatted him til he literally slimed all over her. The contents of his tiny belly covered her shirt and arms, and she just kept patting his back and cooing at him. Clearly not her first day.

He took a deep breath and started to cry. As I exhaled for the first time in minutes, I also started to cry. I didn’t know what I needed to do, and asked if I needed to call a doctor, or 911 or something...I was clearly terrified. For the record, this is the only time I’ve suggested calling 911 in the past two years.

Karen, still holding my baby, still covered in his slimy vomit, leaned into me and assured me he was okay; that I was okay.

My SIL laughed at me for “overreacting.”

Instantly, I learned that mom shame comes even from those closest to you; from those who know you’re unsure of yourself, those who are supposed to support you, those who should be the most helpful. It was this day - Grant’s third day on the planet - that I started a mental list of the people I knew I’d never be able to count on to help me grow as a confident mother, versus those who would lift me up, offer sound advice, and help me raise my awesome kid.

There is nothing wrong with your birth plan, nor with your plans for visitors. It’s okay for you to welcome guests right away, just as it’s okay for you to want them to wait. If you want your mom to hold your hand before you deliver, that’s okay. It’s also okay for you to ask a friend to bring you a smoothie, if only so you can muster the energy to demand your nurses treat you like a human as opposed to a milking machine. It’s also okay to find your voice and demand a new nurse - you don’t have to convince yourself to go home before you’re really ready, just because you hate the one you have. 

It’s also totally okay to send a letter to the hospital admin staff once you’re home and recovering, letting them know what a nasty bitch they have ruining the nights of new moms in the maternity wing. 

That’s what I did. 

#endmomshaming 

Many Happy Returns (to Target)

Let it be known that I hate baby showers.

I also hate gender reveal parties.

While we’re in this super negative head space, I also hate bridal showers. 

(That’s neither here nor there, though.)

There is something incredibly awkward about opening gifts in front of a bazillion people, especially when you’re huge pregnant and uncomfortable, feeling unlike yourself, worried about every photo being taken…

Oh god please don’t post that on the internet, I’m as big as a house. I’m also hot and sweaty, and also I’m drinking a mimosa, so lord knows I’ll get dragged through the mud for drinking while I’m pregnant. 

Side note: if you want to have a fucking mimosa at your baby shower, DO IT. Anyone who is potentially judging you for that, you literally shouldn’t even be friends with anymore. Uninvite them immediately.

When it was time to plan my baby shower, I had one request: no opening presents. I didn’t want to sit in front of 50+ women and unwrap 50+ gifts for 50+ hours. It’s weird and antiquated, and I’d just as soon play another silly game. More than one person gave me shit about that decision. The more I looked into it though, the more commonplace I found it was becoming with moms in 2018. And so, I demanded it. I asked that people not wrap their gifts; instead, add a card and bring it unwrapped to the shower, and add it to the table at the front of the house - this way everyone can see the cute baby stuff, without my having to awkwardly open any of it.

As a reminder, mom shame is everywhere. You can’t escape it, you guys. I didn’t do my baby shower right, if you can believe that (I didn’t even host my own shower, but I still managed to be wrong). In addition to not opening gifts, I had a mimosa and played Pictionary instead of Smell the Melted Chocolate in a Diaper. I also had a food truck, because my cousin hosted and her neighbor owns a food truck...HOW COULD ANYONE BITCH ABOUT A BABY SHOWER WITH A FOOD TRUCK?!?!!! 

As new parents do, I created a baby registry based on what my then-boyfriend and I wanted for our son. 

I also did that wrong, apparently. 

I wanted to wear my baby, so I registered for an expensive baby carrier. 

I also didn’t want to lug around a 20 pound infant car seat, so I registered for a convertible seat that was good for a baby weighing 5-65 pounds. It was expensive, but it was the only seat we’d need.

I took a lot of backlash for these two items. I literally had no idea you could be shamed over a fucking gift registry, but you sure can!

When I got home from my shower and started to unpack gifts and put things away, I found that one person in particular had given me a ton of gifts, but none from my registry. Only later did someone else tell me that this person had said my registry was “ridiculous,” so she bought what she believed I needed.

To be clear, all this did was create extra work for me, as I returned ALL. OF. IT. I took a cart full of stuff I didn’t ask for, back to Target the day after my shower, and exchanged it for the rest of the items I had registered for...since that’s what I actually wanted. I don’t feel bad about it; especially after learning she did it on purpose. Like, why?? 

Tearing apart a new mom’s baby registry means one of three things. One, you’re an insensitive ass hole. Two, you’re an absolute moron. Three, you think you just know better than she does, how to be a mom, how to raise a human, how to be prepared for a baby. Likely it’s a combination of at least two of these three things, but for sure it’s shamey and mean. A mom-to-be puts effort into a registry beyond just clicking ‘add item to list’ - she has done her new-mom research. Which car seat is safest? Which carrier is best for a postpartum back recovery? Which monitor can I travel with easily? Which crib sheets match the nursery I’m creating on Pinterest, and how do I plan to balance nursing, pumping, and bottle feeding? What is the best binky, which stroller will take us on the greatest adventures? A mom’s registry is well thought-out; it’s a packet of things she’s thought a lot about and read a lot of information on, and likely she’s had a lot of conversations with other mom friends to make her decisions. Your choosing to “know better” and making a purchase contradictory to her registry, is a clear message that you know better than her, and that her instincts are wrong.

Everyone has favorite baby items. And experienced moms are a great resource for new moms as to items that are amazing, items that are useless, items they love and hate. It’s all in the way experienced moms present information: just be nice! 

And when a new mom doesn’t immediately drop her own thoughts to follow your exact path, don’t decide she’s a fucking idiot - trust her to trust herself, and then buy her a present she actually asked for. You can always tell her “I told you so” in a year, when she still hasn’t even opened the baby spa tub she wanted because the baby likes the kitchen sink just fine.

(Mom) Shame on You!

Recently, I found myself in a Facebook argument over an incident of public mom shaming. The argument started when I vocalized my frustration over yet another outside observer, blasting a mom on social media for not disciplining her “bratty” kid The Right Way. 

Everyone is such an armchair expert these days. Everyone knows how to do parenting right; how to make a child behave, how to limit screen time, how to discipline in public, how to make a kid eat vegetables. Everyone knows better than you do.

The people who know the actual best, for the record, are perhaps not the Baby Boomers, who raised a generation of people now trying to do it entirely different and in our collective opinion better than the Baby Boomers. Just saying. 

Anyway. So I got myself into this argument, and I felt so wildly defensive of this other mom - a perfect stranger to me - that it got me thinking. Why am I so mad? Why am I so protective of this mom I don’t even know? Why can I literally not remove myself from this argument? 

I was mad because it could just as easily have been ME that this Boomer was dragging through the mud; it could have been ME he reprimanded in public, shaming me in front of an entire audience. It could have been me, as easily as it was her; because everyone knows how to mom better than moms do.

Except for you don’t. 

You especially don’t if you’re a man, because being a mom is not in your wheelhouse. So please, just sit down and shut up.

Mom shaming is certainly not a new phenomenon; mothers in law have been shaming the mothers of their grandbabies for generations, shitting on them behind their backs for every misstep. Moms have told their daughters “that’s not the right way to do that” for years, I’m sure. But social media has allowed for an entire new audience - you can now be mom shamed by complete strangers, for posting the wrong photo. You can have a friend of a friend criticize you for choosing formula or using disposable diapers. Strangers can rip you to shreds for not perfectly aligning the car seat chest clip, or for taking too long to pull away from the school drop off. You can (and will) be dubbed the worst mom in the universe, at any time, by anyone, for anything.

Congrats, New Mom, and good fucking luck!

Mom shame doesn’t even wait to kick off until you have given birth, by the way; it starts long before that. Again, thanks to social media, mommy blogs, and online mom groups, you can be shamed all throughout your pregnancy for eating the wrong thing, not giving into your cravings, drinking caffeine, working out too much, working out too little, dressing too casually, wearing heels, going on maternity leave before baby’s arrival, working too close to your due date...

You name it, someone will give you a fucking hard time about it.

And it isn’t just your frenemies or overreaching aunties either; you’ll likely run into at least one nurse, OBGYN, lactation consultant, or pediatrician in your 40 week pregnancy, who thinks you are the World’s Shittiest Mom-to-Be...and they’ll be sure to convey that memo to you as professionally as they can muster! You’ll be pressured  into breastfeeding, questioned about your birth plan, yelled at when your baby doesn’t latch or if you don’t wake up the second he cries; you’ll be cringed at for packing a binky in your hospital bag, you MONSTER. 

As my son approaches two years old - still somehow in one piece despite having never been spanked and refusing to drink enough water while watching YouTube and napping with the cat - I find myself eager to speak my piece on the perils of mom-ing in the age of social media and public mom shaming. Being a mom is really hard; really rewarding and amazing and special, but really fucking hard. And as I count down the final ten days with my one year old before celebrating his leap into year three, I wanted to share some of this journey with the world.

So with this I give you, Grownup Tantrums: New Mom Edition. For the next ten days, I’ll walk you through a new mom milestone (a new one each day) - how I celebrated it, how I was judged for it, and how I came out of it still knowing I’m a damn good mom. 

#endmomshaming

Not Every #BabyDaddy is a Deadbeat

I'm not a mom. I've never been a mom.

I have no experience co-parenting, good or bad, with my own child.

I did, for three years, live with a boyfriend and his child, so I do have a limited frame of reference as far as experience in co-parenting with someone else's child.

I don't claim to know anything about being a mother (or a father either, really).

However, I am also not a fucking idiot.

Why is it that women - and yes, I am going to go out on a super sexist limb here and come down hard on my own gender - cannot treat the fathers of their children with any respect?! I'm serious. You all are a bunch of bitches.

I get it. There are a lot of deadbeat, bull shit sperm-donating dads out there, a lot of guys who make a baby and then do nothing to help raise it. I understand that the number of deadbeat dads likely outweighs the number of deadbeat moms in the world. But those are clearly not the ones I am talking about. I'm talking about the guys who have stepped up, paid child support, asked for more time with their kids, remained actively involved in parenting their child. Those guys. The ones you are lucky are dads to your kids. The ones you should be thanking, not berating on the internet.

Not a single day passes where I don't see something on Facebook, posted by some mom, bitching about her child's dad. It's a daily thing on social media. Rant after rant about everything these guys are doing wrong. They didn't feed them the right thing, or they dressed them wrong, or the kid got a little bit of a sunburn or missed his nap, or he stayed up late or got up too early, or he let her watch the wrong movie, or whatever other insignificant, minute, stupid mundane thing you feel like being an ass hole about. Nobody wants to see your #babymamadrama blasted on Facebook. It's rude and disrespectful, and it makes YOU look like the idiot. All of us who see your drama, know you're the one making life difficult for yourself. We know that in reality, your kid's dad likely is just doing his best to help you raise a child, and you're being a control freak about how he's "doing it wrong."

For the record, outside of negligence and abuse, I'd argue that there's really not much of a "wrong way" to parent a child...but that's for another day.

Listen bitch. Be a little more grateful that the guy keeps your kid clothed, comfortable, and safe. You don't get to be such a jerk and tell someone else how to raise your kid. You're raising this child together, and you may not be doing it exactly the same way, and that's really not a big deal. If you want to be the be-all-end-all decision maker in the life of a child, literally try to make yourself one all alone and see how that works out for you. My mom and dad did not parent me exactly the same as each other - and guess what, I didn't die. My brother and I are now two functioning adults, despite the fact that my mom spanked us and my dad didn't. or the fact that my mom said no and my dad bought me a car. It's not going to kill your kid that you and your ex don't do things exactly the same. It really doesn't matter. Your kid will be fine.

I got into it recently with a single mom, who is famous for posting condescending, passive-aggressive deadbeat-dad memes on Facebook, like at least once a week. I know her, and I know her son's dad. Neither of them is a bad parent. They are both effectively parenting; but they sure as shit don't make it easy on each other. I finally just had to say something - girl, your kid's dad is a good guy, get off this tirade! Was he a great boyfriend to you? Doesn't sound like it. Was he making some poor choices earlier in this kid's life? Could be. But to be honest, you maybe were too. Because  *shocker* neither of you is perfect. Just let it go. Open your eyes and see what he's doing now, and stop hanging on to your past drama. You look petty, and you also look mean. And a little bit pathetic, to be frank.

I just honestly, have had enough of seeing women bash and chastise these guys on such a public forum, when they're really just trying to be a damn dad to their children. He's likely not doing it perfectly, but guess what bitch, neither are you. There is no perfect parent out there, no perfect way to be a mom or a dad to a kid. All of you moms who are demanding perfection from your child's father based more on your own fucking ego than anything else, please take this as a reality check. You are being an ass hole. You look like an idiot every time you post something mean about him. You're doing a disservice to your child every time you say something nasty about their daddy. You're the one your kid will grow up to resent for putting them in the middle.

Just seriously, stop it.