Lost in Gestation

Lost in Gestation

I know now that I am an old lady. I didn’t find out through AARP. I found out at a baby shower. I had a baby 16 years ago, so what do I know?  Evidently, not much. Things have completely changed in the baby shower universe.  And there’s a new lingo.

Today’s young mothers take a “baby-moon”, which is an extravagant trip to a 5 star resort where they get a personal butler and daily massages. Its like a honeymoon, but before the baby comes.

Then, after the baby is born, right there in the delivery room, the husband presents the new mother with a “push present”. A “push present” is a piece of jewelry that costs more than the engagement ring. In economic terms, that is more than 3 months salary, unless Dad is really in debt and, in that case, according to the e-magazine I consulted, Momma’s gotta give him a break –and why wouldn’t he be in debt after that babymoon?

Non-pushers needn’t have to worry, Wikipedia is quick to point out that “although indicative of a vaginal delivery, (the push present) does not exclude those women who have given birth through a C-section.” I think a lawyer wrote that entry. She probably dictated it to her butler while on her “baby-moon” so that it would be there when her naive husband Googled “push present”. Smart woman.  I admire that kind of forward thinking.

And then there is the “Gender Reveal”.  It involves a party.  After the ultrasound, the doctor writes down the baby’s gender on a piece of paper and puts it in the sealed envelope.  The new parents take the envelope to a bakery and the baker opens it and bakes a pink or blue cake and then hides the color with icing.  Then its party time…the new parents throw a party and when they cut the cake, everyone finds out the gender. I also learned that the mama-to-be will need a new phone–specifically the iPhone 5c, which young moms like to get in either blue or pink as a more public “gender reveal”.

At this point I was lost.  Thankfully, I was informed by the girls next to me that a “gender reveal” is a “thang”. All this time I thought a “thang” was an undergarment akin to a thong, now I’m pretty sure it just means “thing”. Nowadays, saying “thang” makes you either seem young and hip or sound like you are chewing gum, I’m not sure which. You have to draw out the “ang” sound so it actually takes longer to say than “thing” and I am all for being efficient so I will stick with thing! 

Here comes the part where I really show I’m old and complain—In my day, no one took a babymoon. And my “push present” was a cheeseburger from the cafeteria downstairs. Oh, and a gorgeous healthy baby, there was that. And in the words of Dana Carvey, “we liked it, we loved it!” 

But can I retroactively take that “baby-moon” 16 years later?

The Evolution of Pre-Snowstorm Grocery Shopping

The Evolution of Pre-Snowstorm Grocery Shopping

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First Storm

You make a detailed grocery list list, get to the store two days early and beat the crowd.  You have everything you could possibly need on hand including bottled water, flashlights, and batteries. You even bake cupcakes to make the storm more “fun”.

Your children watch every single “Local on the 8s” forecast for 36 hours straight and constantly check their Twitter feeds to see if school is closed.

 

Second Storm

You shop the day before and wait forever in line. While you are waiting,  you end up buying four tabloids (because you just need to see more stars without makeup) and a copy of Real Simple that promises to finally get you organized. You get home to discover you forgot something, but oh well!

Your children watch a couple of “Local on the 8s” forecasts and constantly check their Twitter feeds to see if school is closed.

 

Third Storm

You don’t make a list. You stop off at the store just as the flakes start to fall and they are out of the milk you normally buy so you spend $9 on a gallon of organic milk only to get home and discover that you already had an unopened gallon of milk in the fridge. Who is going to drink all of this milk?

Your children watch one “Local on the 8s” forecast, but continue to constantly check their Twitter feeds because they are teenagers and that’s what teenagers do.  Oh, and that is how they find out that school is closed.

 

Fourth Storm

Screw the storm! Your kids can fight it out cage match style for the last slice of bread. The power goes out. No one knows what happened to the flashlights and batteries from Storm #1.  Mom has officially had enough! The dog has had enough! The kids are sick of Twitter.  Everyone has had more than enough of the “Local on the 8s” and those pesky Weather Channel storm nicknames.

 

Fifth Storm

UGH…seriously?  We have to do this again? Your form of protest: you don’t even go to the store. Good for you, you really showed them!  Ramen noodles for everyone!

When is Spring going to come?!

Later that spring, you recycle that Real Simple from Storm Two. You never even opened it. So much for finally getting organized!

Pursuing Perfect: Body Image, Grades, Poltergeists and Love

Pursuing Perfect: Body Image, Grades, Poltergeists and Love

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When I was about thirteen, I thought that if I could be perfect, all of my problems would disappear.  I would look great and feel great, I would be confident, I would have tons of friends, and my parents would get back together.  I’m not sure why I thought my parents should get back together, but I thought that was what perfect was–a mom and a dad together.  Oh, and to be perfect, I needed to look like my best friend.  She had boobs, she was thin, she was always tan, she wore bikinis to the pool while I was still in my awkward one piece swim team issued suit. Boys loved her. Did I mention she had boobs?

Now I have kids and I realize how silly all of that thinking really was. No one is perfect.  You can’t be perfect. And I want to make sure my kids learn that earlier than I did.  Okay, the rational side of me knows that they have figure that our for themselves. A friend recently told me that her elementary school aged children had been talking about the “f” word.  But it wasn’t that “f” word, it was the other “f” word. As in “fat”. And suddenly I realized that that particular “f” word hasn’t really come up in my house and my kids are much older than hers. I’m not sure that I have ever addressed the issue of weight with my teenaged daughter.  Sure, we have talked about how loving someone has nothing to do with looks and everything to do with personality and feeling. And about how the number on the scale isn’t always an indicator of how healthy or fit you are.

I think I haven’t addressed it because I am afraid of going overboard.  I don’t want to create a problem.  Many parents struggle with the issue of talking to their kids about body image and the other “f” word.  And it doesn’t help that it comes along at a time when we are coming to the realization that our own bodies don’t look like they used to –wrinkles, belly fat, cellulite, saggy boobs. As with everything, finding the balance is the challenge. And I don’t know what “the balance” is. I keep hoping it’s like a looking for a four leaf clover and all of a sudden it will appear in the mass of green and I’ll will see it and be able to pick it out. And it will be perfect. It’s such a cliche, but parenting is so hard!

And the other “f” word isn’t the only thing out there. So much of what our kids hear is about perfection: “she has perfect grades”, “he has perfect SAT scores.”, “that was the perfect triple axel”, “that soccer/lacrosse/field hockey goal was a perfect shot”, “that’s the perfect prom dress”, etc. I have read that we should not focus on looks, but instead emphasize things like intelligence. But what if telling your child that they are smart rings hollow? What if being smart isn’t his or her “thing” and he or she know that?  As adults who have been out in the real world, we all know that grades are no indication of smarts. And of course our kids have talents we can encourage.  But we can’t escape that kids see grades as their indicator of how smart they are. Except for that one person who is ranked first in the class, everyone else is not number one. And the person who is #1 seems perfect. The truth is that no person on this Earth is perfect, not even the person who is #1. But, still the search for perfection marches on. And somewhere in there, for some of us, pursuing perfection can become unhealthy and destructive. It’s like that closet in the movie “Poltergeist”.  The door opens and there’s a vortex that sucks you into another dimension. Lets put a deadbolt on that door, right?

Raising a teenager, there is this hollow echo in the back of my mind: “please don’t get an eating disorder”.  I hear it.  Personally, I have never had an eating disorder and I consider myself lucky. But, I fear it.  I had three friends with various eating disorders that ruined parts of their lives. Two got help and struggled through treatment and finally came out the other end in a great place. One left college and we never heard from her again. I have often thought about why that didn’t happen to me. I have OCD and in college it hit new heights. Wasn’t I ripe for developing an eating disorder? What was so different about my upbringing over theirs? There must have been some secret reason and if I can figure that out, I will be able to protect my kids from it. Was it that I had never had a full length mirror in my room? Was it because my father, who was quite “rotund”, skinny dipped every morning and every night in our pool and therefore thought nothing of being naked? Was it because I was an athlete and I saw lots and lots of different body types? My mother was a public figure and there were constant comments about her weight and rumors floating around that she was pregnant when she wasn’t. It was painful for her. How did that fit in? I don’t know. I’m still confused.

On the surface, it seems like it should be easy.  We can stave off this eating disorder thing by teaching them how to eat right. Teach them to eat healthy stuff and this will never happen. We can do that and everything will be “perfect” for our kids! That is so simple! Wait… no, it turns out that it really isn’t that simple. I recently read about a new eating disorder called orthorexia, where people become so obsessed with healthy eating that it becomes destructive. And it is just as dangerous and unhealthy as other eating disorders. And the cases are growing in number. There is such a push to make sure our kids eat well, how do we keep from setting our them up for that?

How do we strike the balance of teaching them not to obsess over something? There is a delicate pendulum swinging there and I want so badly to keep it from swaying too far either way. I don’t know how to do that. I would love to say I can do it, but I know better. They are hardwired already, in ways yet to be discovered. I can’t protect them from everything, right? When my kids were little, I once jokingly said that I wanted them to put them in a padded room so that nothing would hurt them and my brother, who is a crazy smart statistician and analyzes whether or not product is statistically hazardous for a leading consumer safety group, told me that the padding may not be safe. There is off-gassing and chemical leaching and possible lead! There is whole boatload of stuff out there that is potentially dangerous and out of my control.  I have educated myself on what to look for, but that may not be enough.  At some point I have to let go and let them make their way on their own…yikes!

Here is the best I feel like I can do: I have a son leaving for college in the fall and my daughter will be gone before I know it. I am at once indescribably excited and scared to death about what the World with a capital “W” has in store for them. I really only wanted one thing for my kids and it wasn’t smarts or money. I wanted them to know love. So, I try to make sure every day all the time that they know how much I LOVE them -every them, all of the time no matter my mood or theirs–happy, angry, sad, or just feeling regular.  Some days I do a good job of letting them know, other days not so much.  But when they leave my house, I hope they take this with them:

I love the well mannered him and the naughty him,

I love the her that encourages me and the her that rolls her eyes at me,

the him that loves junk food and the him that learned to like salads,

the her who shined so brightly in her homecoming dress and the her in pajamas who really needs to take a shower (she got that look from me, it’s my signature look),

the zitty him and the clean complexioned him,

the her that likes me to come in and sit on her bed and talk to her about her day and the her that shuts the door because she needs to be alone,

the him that still comes in my room every night to say he’s home and tells me to sleep well and the him who doesn’t answer my repeated texts to tell me where he is,

the her that baked cupcakes and the her that left the kitchen covered in confectioner’s sugar,

the him who admitted he tried a beer last night and the him who stayed sober last weekend and drove his friends home from the party and made sure they were okay,

the her who feels both love and pain so deeply,

the him who liked a girl and was on top of the moon and the him who had his heart shattered into a bazillion pieces and spent a weekend in bed.

the them who set a big goal and achieved it and the them who fell short of their dreams,

and the her that loves her brother and the him that loves his sister.

The truth is that most of the time they won’t feel perfect. Hopefully they will still feel loved. And if one of them ever get sucked down deep into the vortex, there will be a little light there and maybe they will know enough to seek it out without embarrassment or feeling of judgement and say, “I need your help”. And, I don’t know, maybe I will be strong enough to walk them through it. I know that it might not make things perfect, hopefully it will be enough.