The Mommies' Diaries…Parenting, One Blog at a Time.

Catchy title for the Easter holiday, don’t you think?  Clearly, I did.  Anyhow, this isn’t going to be about Easter at all, but rather a philosophical discussion that I hope you’ll weigh in on.

My kid is sensitive.  She is delicate in emotion, clingy to mom, tender-hearted and compassionate.  She prefers being held, and whines when she is not picked up within seconds of her request.  I pick her up within seconds of her request.  She is the type of kid, who at almost 20 months old, still needs to be rocked to sleep and HAS to be kissed and hugged goodbye (like a handful of times) before leaving her in the care of others.  DJ is a kid who needs to be introduced to new people and new things slowly, with a lot of assurance that I am there waiting in the wings should she need a boost of familiarity.

DJ is also fearless, adventurous, a thrill-seeker, and seemingly unfazed by consequences to dangerous stunts.  She is quick to explore, happy to play alone and doesn’t often wait for someone to tell her it’s OK for her to follow her impulses.  Her favorite things are motorcycles, monkey bars and swings – but only when daddy pushes her.  When I push her, she incessantly asks for “more,” meaning higher (which I can’t stomach because I am the only cautious one in this family of three).

When DJ was born, I was flooded with emotion.  The overwhelming love was almost unfathomable – except it was happening to me without any control of my own.  I embraced motherhood as if it had been long estranged from my life – it was that missing piece.  I felt complete.  Still do.  And while I know that I’m certainly not the only mom to be completely taken and transformed by this great love…..the way I translated this feeling has me wondering – what came first, the chicken or the egg?

There was barely a minute in the first several weeks of DJ’s life when she was apart from my arms.  She slept tucked close at my side, she fed from my breasts, and she snuggled against my chest in her Ergo carrier while I did just about everything.   I was so in love with this child that I couldn’t bare to be separated from her.  The phrase “attachment parenting” was unfamiliar to me, and something that only hippies practiced.  I had really negative connotations in my mind whenever I heard someone coin my parenting style as such.  However, once I finally decided to arm myself with a defense by understanding what it really meant – I found relief in knowing that there were a ton of other families who were practicing what I was instinctively living.

I realized very early on that DJ had quite a sweet disposition, and I rarely let her cry when she needed me.  While we certainly experimented with allowing her to “cry-it-out,” and a variety of other things that “experts” assured would make an independent, self-soothing child – we painfully realized that these methods did not work for our daughter.  When her pediatrician assured us that vomiting induced by traumatic cry sessions was a harmless act of trying to get our attention, we opted to allow DJ to have just that – our attention, before the puking became a necessary tool in her tiny arsenal.

So, my question is this…..did my coddling make her sensitive?  I mean, is that possible?  It’s not like she’s 5 years old still being spoon fed by me…..but, yes, I will admit that I still cook breakfast with an almost-two-year-old swaying from my hip.  She enjoys being part of what I do, and if she asks to be held, then I hold her.

While I absolutely want my daughter to be strong and independent (which she absolutely shows signs of inherently being), I also want her to continue relying on me to meet her needs – whether they are physical, or emotional.  I am choosing to believe that my daughter was born with an incredible character, harmoniously tying the sweet in with the strong.  I am choosing to believe that I have just been attuned to that from the first days of her life, and that the bond we are creating now will be the very thing that keeps DJ feeling safe and confident to tell us the truth as she gets older, to know that she can absolutely ask the tough questions, and that she will never be afraid to come to us with her perceived failures.

I think that DJ is pretty amazing, and I feel that it would be totally arrogant of me to claim responsibility for her attributes.  However, if we are to blame for spoiled, bratty, bullying and irresponsible children, then I guess I have to admit that I could be to blame for some of DJ’s annoying habits of whining.  In either case, I should be totally clear – I have no regrets.  I am just curios as to what others believe…..did the need come before the response, or did the response form the need?

Yesterday was what our household of three refers to as a “Baby Day.”  A Baby Day is a day in which most of the day’s activities revolve around “baby.”  (As I type that definition, I realize I have just described most days!).  Anyhow, more specifically, a Baby Day means that responsibilities take a backseat to fun, and that we’re very deliberate in our planning – always keeping DJ’s interests in mind.

We started off by going out to breakfast near a train station.  DJ munched on sourdough toast with butter (her new favorite combo) and giddily bounced in her booster chair as the “choo choos” passed by.  After breakfast, she and my husband watched an hour of motocross (I’m certain I’ve previously mentioned DJ’s obsession with dirt bikes), while I took a closed-door shower!  Can I just tell you what a difference it makes to start the day off with a long, hot shower without a game of peek-a-boo around the shower curtain?  Heaven.

After motocross (and the slight trauma caused by the administration of a glycerin suppository because of some mean constipation – DJ, not me), we headed out to Happy Hollow with some great friends who were kind enough to endure the kiddie chaos.  DJ was almost as fascinated by the Meerkats and Lemurs as she was by the pebbles she gathered in her hand along the way.  She rode a Merry-Go-Round for the first time, noshed on a Hebrew National, and even pet some food-crazed goats.

When we got home, DJ got to take a nap with me – all cuddled up in my jersey knit sheets.  When we woke up, we went to REI and got a baby seat for my husband’s bike, along with some new shoes for DJ.  We assembled the bike seat, bundled DJ up, strapped on her fashionable helmet adorned with a cupcake design, and headed off for some dinner burritos.  DJ absolutely loved the bike ride, and even threw a tantrum when we parked the bikes for dinner (she also refused to remove her helmet throughout dinner).

As we were cruising home, sky darkening and breeze increasing, I was absolutely overwhelmed with joy.  I kept thinking, “This is what life is all about.”  And it is.  For me.  This is what my life is all about – family moments, making memories, embarking on new adventures, seeing my baby girl beaming with delight.

For several hours yesterday, the financial stressors vanished, the to-do list faded into the background, the tension from an earlier lover’s quarrel was forgiven, and all felt absolutely right in the world.  Our priorities revolved around creating a good time – and once we let go of all the things that typically prevent us from unabashedly laughing our tails off, the fun was more organic than it was planned.

All I know is that we need to weave more “baby days” into our lives – they’re good for our souls.  It’s so nice to be reminded of the most important things in life, like coming together to giggle over silly things, eating dessert before dinner, and making it a point to escape our “adultness” for the good of our longing spirits.

What will your “baby day” consist of?  Plan it now!

Sometimes, as Monday approaches, I am chomping at the bit to sit down at my computer and blog about some crazy experience, or “ah-ha” moment from earlier in the week – and other times, I sit at my computer with a blank mind.  This is one of those times.

It’s been a pretty uneventful week, and I’m grateful for that.  However, an easy breezy life doesn’t make for very good writing!  As I toss ideas around, I keep coming back to the same thought – I am so enjoying being DJ’s mom right now. At 18 months old (my gosh, almost 19 months!), DJ is an absolute blast.  She’s my little sidekick.

And so, today I have decided to list 18 (of the million) things that I am absolutely loving about DJ (because she’s 18 months old).  Consider it a love letter to my daughter, as I’ll be writing directly to her.

(I encourage you to write your own list of things that you love about your kid/s, spouse, best friend, etc. – and share it with them this sunny day!  I am learning how quickly time passes, and these lists help to preserve memories).

DJ, I love:

1.     The way you hold my hand when we walk around town, through the grocery store, toward the slide at the park, down the street….

2.     All the new words that you’re learning, and the ways you pronounce each one.  My current favorite is “nando,” for “candle.”

3.     When you point to me and say “Mum Mum” as you nod your head up and down – as if to add certainty to the fact that I am, indeed, your mommy.

4.     How you are so eager to help around the house, and I’m especially grateful for your new chore of feeding the dogs.

5.     The way you say “Baby, Baby” every single night right as I scoop you up out of the bath – as it’s your way of requesting that we sing “Rock-a-bye baby.”

6.     How you lay down on your back in the sandbox at the park each and every time we go there to play.  I always like seeing you so relaxed in the midst of kiddo-chaos all around you.

7.     The ways you love our cats and dogs.  You are just so sweet to them as you pet them and play ball with them.  (How you love animals in general, really – including snails, squirrels, and birds).

8.     When you pucker up your little lips and give mommy, daddy, and your baby dolls kisses.

9.     How you look forward to “naked time” every night when we let you run around the house in your birthday suit before bath time.

10. When you do your “happy dance!”

11. That you never say no to yogurt, goldfish crackers, or strawberries.

12. How you pretend to be sleeping, and with squinted eyes say “Nigh nigh” while pulling the covers over your head.

13. How absolutely and incredibly fearless you are.

14. Your new bangs, and how your soft hair looks in pig-tails.

15. Speaking of pigs, I love how you say “Piggy” every time you see coins because you want to put money in your piggy bank (smart girl, keep saving!)

16. How your eyes light up whenever you see something that amazes you (which happens daily, multiple times a day).

17. The way your hair smells, and your head feels against my chest as I rock you to sleep.  BEST THING EVER.

18. When I bring you into bed with us, and you lift my arm up and over you – molding my grasp to hug you tightly.

You’re simply the best, my baby girl. I love you, and I love being your mom!

It’s been a long morning – the kind of morning lead by gross imagination, by negative stories, and by worst-case scenarios.  I have only just exhaled.

A few weeks ago, DJ had her 18 month well-check.  As you know from reading my blog, her shots were traumatic, and her growth was slow.  While I am still taking steps to manage her growth, I have also finally made peace with the fact that she is just small.  She is small – and totally healthy.  So, I can cross that worry off my list.  For now.

However, since getting her shots that wretched afternoon, DJ has been steadily complaining about her knee.  She whines, holds her knee and repeats, “knee, knee, knee” in this gentle, yet tearful voice.  For the first few days, my husband and I chalked it up to pain related to her shots, along with the enjoyment for the sympathy we readily showed.  Every time she’d complain, we were quick to offer her knee kisses and sweet, warm touches to her leg.

Fast forward two weeks, and DJ is still complaining about her knee.  Her complaints are now mixed in with her tantrums.  So, last night, after throwing herself to the floor and sprinkling complaints about her knee in with her newfound growl – we decided it was time to take her in.

Her doctor asked a few questions, made a few harmless speculations about what was likely causing the pain (if in fact it was really there, and not a trained response to hoard more compassion from us).  And then she said, “But, I think we should be thorough and do a few blood tests.”  “A few blood tests?  For what?  What would we be looking for?”  “Honestly, Gina, worst-case scenario, leukemia.  Leukemia causes bone pain.”

The world stopped.

For several minutes.

“OK, can we do that today?  How long will I have to wait for results?”  Oh my gosh.  Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh.  Is this really happening?

“Yes, go to the lab now.  I will have results in 1 hour and will call you.”

I have been to that hospital a million times and suddenly forgot where the lab was.  I did a few laps around the main entrance before I remembered what I was doing there and where I was going.  We entered the lab, and my heart sank.  I had promised DJ a dozen times that morning that she wouldn’t be getting any shots today.  I was sick.  I had to break that promise, and I knew that having her blood drawn would be far more traumatic than getting an immunization.  DAMNIT.

It took two nurses, a tourniquet, and a previously untapped strength to get through the blood draw.  “Be strong. Don’t cry.  Be strong.  Don’t cry,” I kept telling myself.  It was horrific to see my baby girl so scared.  She was a trooper though, and stopped crying immediately after we left the sterile room.  I, on the other hand, cried all the way home.

I waited. And waited. And waited.  I stared at my phone for an hour and a half.  Paralyzed and unable to do anything but wait.

My husband called.  The doctor had called his number instead.  “Everything looks great, Gina.  She’s just waiting for one more test to come in, and she’ll call you once she has all the results.  So far, though, nothing to worry about.”

In between his call, and the doctor’s call – I logged into my health account and pulled up DJ’s results.  Some of the numbers were outside of the “normal” range.  I did what my husband has warned me not to do seven thousand times before, and turned to Google.  In reading other cases, and what this and that meant, I had convinced myself that DJ’s bone marrow was abnormal.  I had diarrhea.

Then, my phone rang.  The doctor.  “Everything looks great.”  She went on to explain everything she tested for, what the results meant, and even confirmed that my fears about the abnormal results.  DJ’s numbers were in fact, more favorable than the normal range!  I felt like she was talking forever, and I couldn’t comprehend any of it.  I finally interrupted, “So, she’s OK?  Not a chance of leukemia?”  She reassured me – not a chance.

Oh, thank you God.

DJ is napping peacefully now.  She is healthy.  My baby girl is healthy.  Our plan is to lay off the “knee sympathy” this week, and then return for a possible x-ray on Friday if the complaining doesn’t subside.  I can deal with hairline fractures, pulled muscles, or strained ligaments.  I can totally deal with that.

Today, I realized that there are some moms who get the call that their babies are actually sick.  Today, my heart absolutely ached for those moms.  I had ever-so-briefly put myself in their shoes and realized that they posses a strength and grace that I pray I will never know.  Today I realized that we are all in this parenting thing together – and that while my baby isn’t sick, I now have a sense of empathy that I wouldn’t have ever had if our pediatrician hadn’t said the word “leukemia.”  As of today, I will never be able to see, read about, or hear of a child with a life-threatening disease without thinking of the two miserable hours I waited to hear news about my own child.

I am stopping myself from being consumed by what-ifs, and I’m instead devoting that energy to praying for the sick children whom I know of.  I hope you will all do the same.  How wonderful to imagine a community that stops and prays, or sends positive energy, or well wishes, every single time we hear of a family suffering?  Let’s be that community. Our babies are so, so precious.  I will be holding mine close today.

DJ had her 18 month check up last week – and it was awful.  I wish I could say that the shots were the worst part, but they weren’t.  Well, not to me anyway. I am certain that if DJ could talk in sentences, she’d fight that one to the bone!  I do have to say though, that for some reason, this round of vaccinations were traumatic for her.  She cried – wait, she wailed, for what seemed like hours.  She also took full advantage of the situation and is STILL (3 days later) making me kiss her “knee” – the only word she knows for the anatomy of her leg.

So, what could have possibly been worse than the giant needles jammed into her innocent skin?  THOSE DAMN PERCENTILE CHARTS.  Damn those wicked, debilitating, fear-mongering percentile charts.

DJ has always been small.  She was 6 lbs 7 oz when she was born, and while always healthy, has just never grown exponentially.  When I look at her, I see perfection of course – and it’s only when her pediatrician mentions her ranking against “other kids” that I begin to panic.  Can someone tell me who these other kids are?

Leading up to DJ’s appointment, I was feeling incredibly confident.  I had suspected that she had gained weight, and had even been getting taller.  Because I have always been slightly obsessed with her size because she’s always been ranked below the tenth percentile, and because people always comment on how petite she is – there was a lot, in my mind, weighing (no pun intended) on the numbers from this doctor’s visit.  I was telling myself that I would finally put this obsession to rest when the doctor was able to reassure me that DJ’s numbers went up.

“Well, she’s actually lost weight since her last visit 4 weeks ago.”  Wait, what?  I felt my whole body tense up, and I froze.  Well, everything except my mouth froze – and I began rattling off how this couldn’t be, and what did it mean, and how worried this all made me.  DJ’s doctor told me that she wasn’t concerned for a number of reasons – because DJ was going to be petite based on genetics (my husband and I are both shorties!), because developmentally DJ was ahead of the gang, and because she “looked wonderful.”

We left that appointment with another check-up scheduled in 2 LONG months (yes, I will be obsessing over this for the next 2 months…..daily) – and with me on the very edge.  I was so snappy with my poor husband – and later had to apologize, then admit that I was just so, so stressed out.  I had never prepared myself for news other than that DJ was soaring UP the growth charts.

I took DJ to the park when we got home.  I was texting my good friend (and fellow worrier) while I was watching DJ walk up the playground stairs and slide down the big kid slide.  I was desperate to find comfort, encouragement, support – even if just through a simple text.  While my friend was amazing, and said all the right words, I still vomited this story all over the first mom who even looked my way.

“She just had her 18 month check up.  She’s in the first percentile for weight.  I’m devastated.”  This poor mom was probably thinking, “Get a grip, psycho – and stop airing your dirty laundry.”  However, the really amazing thing about her was that she poured out all these candy-coated words of wisdom and assurance, and sprinkled them in with a little humor, “At least she’s not short and obese – that’s a yucky combo.”

My laughter must’ve been the green light for a playground dad to interject.  He told me that two of his three children were always under the tenth percentile for height and weight – and that by the time they both turned 5, they had caught up.  He was so sweet, and helped me reason through some of the inaccuracies associated with a percentile chart.   He even made it a point to comment on how much more advanced DJ was then either of his daughters were at her age – and even compared his 16 month old son with DJ, noting how she seemed leaps and bounds beyond his capabilities.  I was super touched that for a moment, this dad was willing to say that I had the smarter, more agile kid, because he knew how desperately I needed to hear it.

When I got back home, not only was I in a better mood – but, I was ever so slightly less anxious about the appointment.  I also remembered that DJ was in all of her clothes, shoes, and most likely pee-filled diaper at her last appointment.  This was an important detail to me because I remember briefly celebrating her weight last month, only to think “Oh, well, she is wearing a few pounds of clothes.”  So, really, I don’t think DJ lost weight from her last appointment – which was my greatest concern.

I can’t pretend that I haven’t been tossing “failure to thrive” around in my mind every other hour these past few days, but I am feeling more and more confident in DJ’s individuality.  She is never going to be a big person – there are no big people in either my or my husband’s family (by that, I seriously mean no one over 5’7”).  So, really, what do I expect?  If the doctor isn’t worried, why am I?

I will keep buying every toddler recipe book that I see, will keep up the butter-on-everything approach, will keep my cookie cutters readily available to make sandwiches and fruit more attractive, and will continue allowing a scoop of whole milk ice cream here and there in combination with all the rest of the uber-healthy food that I prepare fresh for DJ everyday – oh, and will keep surrendering my fears.  In my gut, I know she’s fine.

My baby girl is perfect – and I am so, so grateful for the strangers in the park a few days ago who were selfless enough to let me have the most perfect kid on the playground that evening.

P.S. I stayed awake until 2:00 this morning making food charts, lists of calorie-rich foods, and even new snack recipes.  Whether or not there’s something to worry about, taking control makes me feel like a better mom.

She likes us. She really, really likes us.

Last weekend, my husband and I had an impromptu afternoon snuggle session on our bed with DJ. As she was turning back and forth between us, being sure to face each of us for a few seconds at a time, it occurred to me – she likes us. I said to my husband, “She won’t think we’re this cool forever.” My heart welled with sadness, and soared with joy while I allowed that thought to really resonate.

On Saturday, DJ turned 18 months old. We celebrated her half birthday with all of her favorite things. It was a small-scale party all day, minus the guests and gifts. One of my dad and stepmom’s favorite stories to tell is about the day I woke up crying on one of my half birthdays because there was no party. As legend goes, I kept saying with a tiny, sad voice, “But I’m half-and-a-two.” So while DJ couldn’t quite comprehend the reason behind her candle-topped scoop of vanilla bean ice cream – I knew we were celebrating another six months of incredible love, growth, and memories.

DJ is amazing, and she thinks that we’re equally as great. That kind of blows my mind. As I get caught up in my daily insecurities, fighting off lies about not being fit enough, not keeping the house clean enough, cooking the turkey meatballs for too long, not being fashionable, not remembering important dates, etc. – I am reminded that my precious daughter overlooks all of that. She sees me as a fantastic mom, her favorite playmate, and someone who is brave, compassionate, consistent and dependable. She thinks I’m a great cook (minus the days when I try to feed her peas), and couldn’t care less about how often I vacuum.

As parents, we always talk about the wonder of seeing the world through fresh eyes again as our children make discoveries, observations, and draw conclusions. We discuss our renewed trust in all things good, and we might even marvel at the way water runs through a gutter. Our children make us see the simple beauty that surrounds us each and every day. They force us to stop and pay attention to the things that we have taken for granted – the things that, over time, we have just stopped seeing.

It makes me wonder, when’s the last time I really saw myself? When’s the last time I stopped and took inventory of the woman who DJ sees in me?

DJ likes me. She really, really likes me. And not just because I’m her mom, and she has to – but because she thinks I’m awesome for a million different reasons. Have you ever seen that bumper sticker that reads, “I want to be the person who my dog thinks I am?” Well, I want to embrace the person that my daughter knows I am.

Recently, I was in conversation with someone about the various stressors in life.  To my surprise, they had a very snarky reaction when I said that I often feel stressed – implying that my life as a stay-at-home-mom doesn’t merit feelings of pressure, anxiety or worry.  My reaction was a visceral one.  I felt the anger boil from deep within, and I literally began shaking with the utter sadness I felt from being misunderstood, undervalued, and slightly disrespected.

I have thought long and hard about how to clearly convey my thoughts about the unglamorous side of life as a stay-at-home mom.  My mind keeps circling back to a column that a friend posted on her Facebook page over a year ago.  So, with a little help from Google search, I was able to relocate the original source of the column.  I will apologize now, for today’s post is mostly unoriginal – but shares a message that couldn’t be more personal to me.

I also think it’s important for me to say that the hardships of being a stay-at-home-mom are no greater than those of a working mom, or dad, or guardian.  My goal in re-posting this writing by Carolyn Hax is not to claim my role is mightier than anyone else’s.  In fact, I am still baffled by the balancing act that working mothers must maintain…..how on earth do you work 10 hours a day, completely love your kids up, and find time to do the laundry and grocery shopping?  Amazing.  My purpose in posting the below is to potentially shift the perspective of anyone else out there who might underestimate the hard work that goes into “playing all day.”

At the end of the day, we all have stress.  We just need to remember that no one else’s stress is either greater, or less than, our own – because it’s what we are personally experiencing and living…..it’s all that we know in the moment.  Let’s be mindful of what the other is experiencing, and try to broaden our thinking so that we may practice compassion and understanding.

TELL ME ABOUT IT

By Carolyn Hax

The Washington Post

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Carolyn:

Best friend has child. Her: exhausted, busy, no time for self, no time for me, etc.

Me (no kids): Wow. Sorry. What’d you do today?

Her: Park, play group . . .

Okay. I’ve done Internet searches, I’ve talked to parents. I don’t get it. What do stay-at-home moms do all day? Please no lists of library, grocery store, dry cleaners . . . I do all those things, too, and I don’t do them EVERY DAY. I guess what I’m asking is: What is a typical day and why don’t moms have time for a call or e-mail? I work and am away from home nine hours a day (plus a few late work events) and I manage to get it all done. I’m feeling like the kid is an excuse to relax and enjoy — not a bad thing at all — but if so, why won’t my friend tell me the truth? Is this a peeing contest (“My life is so much harder than yours”)?

What’s the deal? I’ve got friends with and without kids and all us child-free folks get the same story and have the same questions.

Tacoma, Wash.

REPLY:

Relax and enjoy. You’re funny.

Or you’re lying about having friends with kids.

Or you’re taking them at their word that they actually have kids, because you haven’t personally been in the same room with them.

Internet searches?

I keep wavering between giving you a straight answer and giving my forehead some keyboard. To claim you want to understand, while in the same breath implying that the only logical conclusions are that your mom-friends are either lying or competing with you, is disingenuous indeed.

So, since it’s validation you seem to want, the real answer is what you get. In list form.

When you have young kids, your typical day is: constant attention, from getting them out of bed, fed, clean, dressed; to keeping them out of harm’s way; to answering their coos, cries, questions; to having two arms and carrying one kid, one set of car keys, and supplies for even the quickest trips, including the latest-to-be-declared-essential piece of molded plastic gear; to keeping them from unshelving books at the library; to enforcing rest times; to staying one step ahead of them lest they get too hungry, tired or bored, any one of which produces the kind of checkout-line screaming that gets the checkout line shaking its head.

It’s needing 45 minutes to do what takes others 15.

It’s constant vigilance, constant touch, constant use of your voice, constant relegation of your needs to the second tier.

It’s constant scrutiny and second-guessing from family and friends, well-meaning and otherwise. It’s resisting constant temptation to seek short-term relief at everyone’s long-term expense.

It’s doing all this while concurrently teaching virtually everything — language, manners, safety, resourcefulness, discipline, curiosity, creativity. Empathy. Everything.

It’s also a choice, yes. And a joy. But if you spent all day, every day, with this brand of joy, and then, when you got your first 10 minutes to yourself, wanted to be alone with your thoughts instead of calling a good friend, a good friend wouldn’t judge you, complain about you to mutual friends, or marvel how much more productively she uses her time. Either make a sincere effort to understand or keep your snit to yourself.

Bedtime is getting easier these days.  DJ isn’t fighting it quite so much, and when she does, I am not giving in so easily!  As I’ve said before, we’re both growing up.  And now that we’re not battling so hard, I am really enjoying the special moments just before I kiss DJ’s soft head, say “good night,” and exit her room as quickly as possible.  (Because no matter how tired she is, when I leave her room, she makes a huge fuss before wearing herself out).

There was something really special about last night.  Zach put new batteries in DJ’s Twilight Turtle Constellation Night Light, so her room was glowing.  The green and blue stars and moon illuminated the walls, and she looked around with such wonder in her sleepy eyes.  I felt myself crawl into the moment with her, forgetting about our schedule, and never-minding the things that I was anxious to get to once she fell asleep.  I let her stand up in her bed, and touch the walls gently, moving her hands through the lights and babbling on and on about what she was experiencing.

After several minutes, she laid down on her back, in my outstretched arm – snug against my side and tucked under my armpit.  We both looked up at the ceiling and began singing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”  For the first time, DJ had specifically asked for this song using the hand motions that we use along with our singing.  It was amazing to me that she had connected the lyrics of the song to what she was seeing.  We sang quietly, stretching our fingers in and out from the palms of our hands, emulating flashing lights.  After two repetitions of the song, rather than making my break for the bedroom door, I thought a good ol’ bedtime story was in order.

I told DJ about a time when I was young (“but not as young as her”) and had a campout on my front deck with a girlfriend.  I shared all the details with her, how the weather was so hot out, how we were a little scared to be outside, and how the neighbor’s cat absolutely terrified us when he jumped onto the top of our tent!  I giggled, and although DJ didn’t find the humor in it – the moment was so, so sweet.  Magical, really.

I had become a mom who was telling my child stories about my own childhood.  How surreal.  I AM A MOM.  Sometimes I am absolutely overtaken with emotion when I think about that…..I am a mother.  Wow.  The responsibility, the pride, the love….being a mother is humbling, powerful, absolutely life-altering and soul-transforming.  A little being that was created by love, and grew inside of me, lays beside me resting her head on my arm.  Her hair so soft from her bubble bath, and her tiny footy-pajama’d body warm from our snuggling….the most perfect being I have ever known, all mine to mother and care for.

I just love DJ so much.  I love being her mom.  I feel more privileged that I ever have – more than I could have ever imagined.  It was just one of those reflective nights, I guess…..feels good.  Life feels complete.

I am finally getting caught up on some of my reading.  I had three issues of “Parents” magazine stacked up on my desk that I was anxious to get to.  Late last week, while DJ napped and I committed to a little “soul care” (no laundry, no dishes, no menu planning, etc.), I slipped into an afternoon bath (heaven!) with my January edition.

When I flipped to page 79, and the headline read “Kids Who Won’t Eat,” in big bold letters, I thought, “Now this is the article for me!”  I was assuming that it was about picky toddlers, who as I’ve said before, seemingly live on air (and yogurt and Goldfish crackers).  Much to my dismay, the article wasn’t about children refusing vegetables, but children refusing food altogether.  This article was about kids with eating disorders…..kids, with eating disorders.  I can barely wrap my mind around it.

Now, reader beware – this week’s post from New Mommy isn’t going to be fun and games.  I feel compelled to share the appalling statistics that I read in an effort to raise awareness about this heartbreaking epidemic.  I truly believe that as parents, especially those of us with daughters, we have an absolute responsibility to do all that we can to end this phenomenon.

This issue is particularly important to me as I struggled with eating disorders at a very young age.  I can recall feeling insecure about my body as young as middle school, and still cringe when I think back to some mean remarks other kids would make about my weight.  By the time I got to middle school, and high school – I had developed a very bizarre relationship with food.  There were times when I would go without eating altogether, times when I would binge and purge, and still other times when I invented crazy rules about what I was allowed to eat.  For instance, I was once on a Cheerios, Diet Coke and boiled chicken diet my junior year of high school.

Anyhow, without getting into all of the details, I was able to overcome my eating disorders.  What I have learned though, is that although I am now able to control the physical actions associated with an eating disorder, I still fight to control my mindset.  I still struggle with a distorted image of my body.   And now that I have a beautiful, perfect daughter – the thought of her ever enduring such paralyzing insecurity absolutely crushes me.

So, when I read that the Agency for Healthcare Research and Quality reported that the number of children under 12 years old who were hospitalized with eating disorders more than doubles between 1999 and 2006, and that the typical onset of anorexia used to be 13 – 17, but has now dropped to 9 – 13, I couldn’t help but feel obligated to uncover this dark secret.  The article went on to say that doctors are seeing girls as young as six, six years old, with severe eating disorders.  Six year olds who have to endure intensive therapy.  My heart breaks.

Why is this happening?  “Parents Magazine” uncovered a few very insightful theories, like the fact that not only are celebrities thinner these days, but that they’re also younger, leaving kids with idols that are closer to their own age, and thus causing image comparison much earlier in life.  However, I am going to talk directly to mothers for a moment, as the information that I feel the most urged to share is about the responsibility we have to set a healthy perception of self for our daughters.

“Parents Magazine” specifically mentions the importance of avoiding the ”D” word around our daughters.  Talking about the need to diet in front of our young, and impressionable girls, can have a very powerful affect on their own self-image.  Let’s remember, our children look up to us.  Girls see their mommies as beautiful and strong, and if they hear us slamming ourselves, their eyes will inevitably begin seeing their own bodies in a negative light.  It destroys me to think that I could ever do anything to cause DJ to see herself as anything but the amazing creation that she is.

I’m not going to lie, this is an actual challenge for me.  Constantly wishing I was in better shape means that those words are often on the tip of my tongue.  I am always reminding myself not to let those words leave my mouth in the presence of DJ.  I know she is watching, listening, and learning so much about being a girl by watching me be a woman.  There are moments when this even requires me to feign confidence – and I actually think that’s ok.  We’ve all heard of faking it until we make it, right?  Well, sometimes we need to fake contentment with ourselves for the sake of our children’s healthy self-image development.

Of course, kids also need to see us eating well balanced meals, being active, and even treating ourselves to sweets here and there (when kids witness us cutting foods out completely, they can’t always decipher that it’s because that particular food is bad, and often begin seeing that food, in general, is bad.  So, indulge here and there!)  They need to see that while we’re making a huge effort at leading a healthy lifestyle, we are not obsessing over it.

If you’re concerned about your child and their relationship with food, here are “Six Signs of Trouble” to look out for : 1. She’s constantly looking in the mirror or running her hands over her body, 2. He is frequently constipated, 3. She won’t stop moving (compulsive exercise, or constant fidgeting in a chair), 4. She suddenly becomes a vegetarian, or starts restricting herself from certain food groups, 5. She doesn’t get her period, 6. She checks out certain websites that give tips for starvation (I know, it is soooooo disturbing that these sites even exist).

Bottom line, childhood eating disorders are real, and deeply, deeply sad.   We have to begin setting better examples – as mothers, parents, and a society as a whole.  We’ve got to begin teaching our children the true definition of beauty – and we’ve got to believe in it ourselves.  The health of our kids’ body image lies largely in our ability to accept ourselves just as we are, and to be proud of our uniqueness.

My baby is growing up.  Sure, she’s only 17 months old – but we’re being catapulted toward the future, and I’m not sure I’m ready for all of this.

On Saturday, we took DJ to an Open House at the pre-pre school that one of my Godsons attends.  I have long known that he loves the school, and held it in the back of my mind that DJ might follow him there (and end up in the same class as my other Godson!) when she was old enough.  I guess I just hadn’t realized how quickly the “time” would be upon us.

The pre-pre school program starts at two years old, which DJ will have turned just days before the next school year starts (seriously, my stomach just contorted into a knot as I typed the word “school year”).  We need to submit our application to hold her place in the program – and I am having a really hard time accepting that I am already filling out applications and touring schools. I guess I thought I had until her sophomore year in high school before all of that started!  I’m only half kidding.  I cannot tell you how thankful I am to have another 7 months to get used to the idea.

The school is a co-op, and meets only once a week.  That means that I will be there each time DJ has a school day, and will be able to cry over her as I watch her experience things like Play-doh, a class pet, and cubbies.  Ok, ok – so I’ll try not to be that mom, but I’m not gonna lie – it’s gonna be rough….for me.

As DJ gets older, I am able to see her budding personality more clearly.  One of the things that stands out to me the most is her strong sense of independence.  While we have practiced a “modern version” of attachment parenting (I just made that term up), DJ is really confident in who she is, and is seemingly less and less worried when I leave her in the care of others.  Quite honestly, I’m the one who still struggles with separation anxiety.  However, because of the adventurous, fearless and curious girl that DJ is – I know that I need to step out of her way and let her do the things she’s developmentally ready for….like school.

Not too many months ago, I was discussing this whole school thing with my best friend (the mother of my Godsons).  I said, “How do you know all of this?  I am super overwhelmed by the details.  Just tell me where I need to be, and when.” (Referring to the Open House, etc).  I looked at her in wonderment, as she knew so, so much about this next phase of grown-up kid life.  I was slightly insecure about it all, not convinced I would ever actually sound like an expert on this sort of topic – school, enrollment, classroom rules, parent/teacher relationships, or how to make cute bunny-shaped sandwiches for class snacks.  I guess I saw myself as that one flakey mom who was always outside the circle, showing up on school holidays because I hadn’t read the “closed” memo, or forgetting the photo of our dogs for show-and-tell day.  But, tonight, something magical happened.  The topic of pre-pre school came up with a friend of mine, and after I finished babbling some, she asked, “How do you know all of this?”

It happened.  Without even trying, I became the mom I was scared I couldn’t be.  I had retained the details, and I actually sounded like a mom in the know. Maybe we’d be OK after all.  Maybe I’d even end up hosting a favorite craft project in a corner of DJ’s big new classroom.  Maybe I’ll be a mom who guides other mothers who aren’t quite ready for this whole growing up thing, either.

Yes, DJ is still my baby – and she always will be.  But, what never ceases to amaze me about this mothering gig is how it also affords me to grow.  DJ and I are constantly growing up together – learning new things, stretching beyond our comfort zone, letting go, and maturing along each of the “next steps.”  At the end of the day, I want her to be as proud of my growth as I am of hers.  (And, I should probably warn her now – I will likely be the kind of mom who embarrasses her by chaperoning her dances.  I can’t let her get too wrapped up in this whole “independence” thing!).