Category: progress

The Holidays: the start of a New Year, the start of New Goals

The holidays.  Christmas.  Truly my favorite season of the year—and I do mean “season” because in my household, it’s at least a 6-8 week timeframe of nothing but baking cookies, wearing Christmas sweaters, watching Christmas movies on repeat, indulging in Christmas parties and sweet treats, sharing drinks and elaborate meals with new friends and old, drinking cocoa on cold mornings, having everything be peppermint flavored, lighting fires in the fire place, and praying for snow.  The season of perpetual hope—the season for loving and giving, family and friends.  I love it all.

The holidays sure flew by this year.  When they were over, I found myself conflicted: both sad that the festivities were over yet also exhausted and ready to get back into a more “normal” routine.  I found myself, more than once this season, dreading some of the tasks that come along with all of that festive joy.  For example, our “Elf on the Shelf.”  Last year I was pregnant and nauseous, and since I spent most evenings praying at the porcelain throne, I did a very iffy job with our elf, whom we named Clark.  I basically just moved him every night from one shelf to another.  There was no creativity or extra effort.  I felt like he was a burden in my nightly routine of getting home from work, putting the kids to bed, throwing up, and then putting myself to bed.  I vowed to do better this year.  And so, I did.  This year, Clark went on all sorts of adventures—he made a swing out of an old paper towel tube and some twine, and went swinging from our chandelier.  He made himself an “igloo” out of a discarded tissue box with cotton balls stuck to the outside.  He hid candy canes around our house for the kids to find when they woke up.  He wrote them notes.  He drew smiley faces on our bananas.  And as the pièce de résistance, he went swimming in a bath of chocolate candies inside a candy dish.  Clark had quite a season indeed. 

Yet while I felt better about my effort this year, as the days wore on, my ability to be creative in designing Clark’s next great adventure waned.  I was turning to Pinterest for ideas.  I was sitting down on the sofa at night only to stand back up again, begrudgingly, because I had forgotten about Clark and needed to move him. 

And aside from the nightly Clark adventures, I also needed to buy gifts for the kids school teachers, the gymnastics coach, the Sunday School teachers, the mailman, the relatives, etc. and also ensure that the Christmas cards got addressed and mailed, ensure the kids were signed up for a visit to see Santa and tell them their little hearts desires, and also RSVP for the 19 different Christmas gatherings that we’d been invited to (I’m not exaggerating), and figure out which ones we could attend, what child care we would need, etc.  I needed to wrap all of the gifts.  I needed to ship some of the gifts (meaning a visit to the always unpleasant post office).  I needed to get the kids to their rehearsals for the Christmas pageant at school, and the totally separate Christmas pageant at Church.  I needed to go to the grocery store and make sure we had ingredients on hand to make cookies over the weekend.  I needed to figure out whether the kids had special outfits for Christmas Eve service, and if not, go shopping to buy them something so that we could get a great family photo.  I needed to DO things, every night.  My perpetual to-do list, instead of shrinking each time I completed a holiday task, just seemed to expand.   (And this doesn’t even include grading papers for my law school students because the semester had ended, or working my day job of being a divorce attorney, or pumping milk for our 8 month old baby, or the cleaning, the laundry, or any other of life’s circuitous tasks… and there was certainly no time for myself, to sit and write something meaningful for this hobby of mine called “The Forgotten Trimester.”  My mind was too busy swimming with thoughts of holiday to-do’s.)

Everything about the season was fun at the beginning; burden by the end.  It was too much.  The season, my normal time of joy, was stressing me out!  And in case everyone is wondering—of course I had help from my wife.  We divided and conquered as much as we could.  But the ability to just sit and watch the twinkle of the Christmas tree lights while having adult conversation with my wife over a glass of cabernet sauvignon disappeared.  And I felt oh-so-guilty about not being able to create holiday magic 24/7, and not enjoying every minute of every task.

Fast forward, and we survived.  Our Christmas photos may not have turned out picture-perfect, we inadvertently left a few people off our Christmas card list, and didn’t make all of the cookie recipes we were planning on making, we only made it to about 3 Christmas parties, our middle daughter faced backward for the entirety of the Christmas pageant so we never saw her face, we dealt with a round of Strep Throat, and we were up until midnight on Christmas Eve (despite promises that we would get everything done well in advance) wrapping Santa gifts and putting the finishing touches on everything for the big day.  But we made it.  And I’m sure if you asked my kids—they had a blast. 

The rest of our time off from work and school flew by, and New Year’s Eve was a blur.  Before we knew it—January 1, 2020 was upon us.  Back to reality and routine.

As I walked into my office in the New Year (after being out of the office for approximately 2 weeks enduring the flurry that was the holidays), I opened my email, to find one of those emails you’re never prepared for and hope to never receive.  One of my clients, a troubled man with alcoholism, had committed suicide, leaving behind a 5 year old daughter.

My heart broke.  I left to go for a walk to clear my head.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the holidays, however stressful they may be, are made bearable for me because I’ve got a loving family and friends.  My children and my wife are my greatest joys.  Coming home to them every night, and having those little moments of reading a book as a family before bedtime, or snuggling up with a cup of cocoa in front of the fire after sledding at the park—those are the real joys of Christmas and the holidays.  What if I didn’t have those moments?  What if I didn’t have my kids or my wife at the holidays?  It would be lonely.  Oh-so-lonely.  And depressing.  And hard to get through.  And in the case of my client, literally impossible to get through.

So for next year, I vow to do better.  I’m not talking about doing a better job with Clark’s “Elf on the Shelf” adventures, which was what I vowed to do better this year.  No… I’m talking about doing better by those in need.  Those who are lonely and depressed and without family or friends to help guide them through what is supposed to be the season of perpetual hope.  Being there for each other, saving each other, is what the focus should really be… after all, wasn’t that the reason for that darling Baby Boy lying in a manger?  To save us all. 

I won’t be able to save us all… but I will try my best to do my bit this New Year.  Because everyone goes through their own “Forgotten Trimester” at some point in life; and yet no one deserves to feel “forgotten,” especially at the holidays. Let’s all do as Ellen DeGeneres suggests and “be kind to one another.” We all deserve that.

No one can do it like you.

No one can raise your child like you can, quite literally, because no one is you.  And yet, you know what?  It will be okay.

This is something that I have to constantly remind myself of, as recently as this morning. 

You see, our daughter turned 6 months old over the weekend (I can hardly believe it), so we decided it was time for our Au Pair to begin giving her food during the day. 

As a disclaimer before anyone jumps in with advice about introducing a baby to solid food– we started giving her a tiny bit of food about 6 weeks ago—just for fun, and for exposure to potential allergens (like peanut butter, eggs, soy, etc.).  As I may have mentioned in prior posts, my wife is a pediatrician—so we know how to do it safely, and understand that it’s not for nutrition (nutrition is what my seemingly endless hours of pumping at the office and at home are for—that liquid gold!)

Anyway…

Last night we “trained” our Au Pair on how to give our sweet baby food, what spoon she prefers, where the bibs are, how to ensure at least some of it gets into her mouth (as opposed to being on her face, the floor, her hands, etc.) and what foods we know she likes thus far.  Our Au Pair smiled and nodded, and confirmed that she understood what to do.  It’s not rocket science, so I told my type-A worried mind to relax, and that her endeavors to feed our baby some food today would probably go swimmingly.

Wrong. 

First, I got a text message asking which bib to use—to which I replied that it really didn’t matter.  They were all washable anyway.  Then, I got another message with a picture, showing our baby girl eating with the wrong spoon—it wasn’t her favorite spoon, and wasn’t even a baby spoon.  It was a standard soup spoon.  Finally, after the meal was completed, I got a message that our sweet baby girl wouldn’t take any of her bottle, which is what pushed me over the edge (in my mind, not outwardly).  Outwardly, I responded with a polite text simply saying “next time, please ensure she gets her bottle first, before you try any food.”  My inward thoughts, however, were not so calm.  I immediately launched into “Of course she wouldn’t take any bottle!  You filled her up with tons of prunes and spinach first, so there isn’t any room left in her teeny tiny stomach!  This isn’t rocket science!  And clearly you weren’t listening to the instructions last night, which included a specific disclaimer that milk always needed to take priority, and she should have a bottle before her food; not after!” 

Rage was happening in my mind, and I soon spiraled into other thoughts of guilt:  No one can do it like I can do it.  I should be at home feeding her and not working/having a career.  Maybe we should just feed her at dinner, and not have our Au Pair ever try to feed her.  Even with being spoon-fed the instructions (pun intended), our Au Pair still managed to mess it up.  Now our baby girl (who isn’t great about taking her bottles to begin with) was essentially behind an entire 4-5 ounces of milk for the day.  She might get dehydrated.  She might get constipated.  I wonder if I can sneak in another bottle at some point this evening to make up for the missed bottle.  Etc. etc.

And then I paused on one of those thoughts; specifically, the “no one can do it like I can do it” thought, because it’s something that was extremely hard for me when going back to work and leaving our baby in the care of someone other than me (or my wife), and it’s something I still struggle with.  Some people call it “mom-guilt” or some variant thereof—I call it being a control freak.  (Hey, at least I have insight into myself.)

I slowed down and tried to remember that “no one can do it like me… literally… because no one is me!”  Even my wife and I probably have slightly different methods for feeding our daughter.  And you know what?  Her methods work just fine, too.  Just as our Au Pair’s methods will likely work fine with a little fine-tuning.  I needed to provide the feedback about giving the bottle first, before food, and maybe tell her to use a baby-appropriate spoon next time, but the rest I needed to let go.  Because our Au Pair is not me, and doesn’t do things like I would do them, and that’s okay.  In letting these small things go, I’m teaching my daughter that others can care for her.  And that it’s oaky to be flexible, and not do everything the exact same way every single time.  Life isn’t perfect and doesn’t have to be perfect to be good.  She can still have her needs met, even when I’m not there (or my wife isn’t there), which I firmly believe to be a crucial lesson.  And, while I may think that I have everything to offer, I know that isn’t true—there are so many things our Au Pair can offer on a daily basis that I can’t.  Like speaking Spanish.  Exposing our sweet baby to a different culture.  Different music.  Adorable Pinterest crafts that I wish I had time for, but just don’t.  She’s learning things that I can’t teach her, and being exposed to wonderful enriching things, which is a gift that outweighs the small critique of using the wrong spoon and being behind on 4-5 ounces of milk for one isolated day.  It’s all okay; and, in all likelihood, I will get home tonight to find what I always find: a happy baby, anxious to see me, who is safe, healthy, and has had nothing but love and attention all day… and hopefully more milk. 😉

So, to all the other Mama’s out there thinking “no one can do this like I can!” You’re not alone.  And you’re right.  And yet, it will be okay.

How to not “forget” your other children during the “forgotten” trimester.

One of the hardest things, that I did not correctly anticipate, was how hard it would be to spend time with my older children once we welcomed our new baby girl.  While I relished snuggling a sleeping newborn, and I couldn’t quite seem to get enough of that newborn-baby-smell (it was more powerful than even the strongest pain meds for me!), I was also hurting inside—and I’m not just talking about the physical recovery after a c-section.

Why was I hurting?

Because I missed my older kids!  There is so much pressure on a new mom to bond with her baby, to breastfeed on command (if you’re a nursing mom), to cluster-feed 24-7, and to otherwise comfort and be with your new baby.  And while all of these things are precious, and the newborn phase is fleeting in the grand scheme of life, it doesn’t mean that your other kids can just be “put on hold.”

I could see how excited our 4 year old son and 2 year old daughter were to have a new sister, but I could also see that they couldn’t quite understand why I wasn’t around anymore.  To them, I’m sure it felt like they had been replaced.  Whenever the baby was sleeping, I needed to sleep (or pump, or shower, or do one of a million other things that I couldn’t do while holding a baby).  And whenever she was awake, I needed to have skin-to-skin time, or breastfeed her.  We all lived in the same house, and yet for the first couple of weeks, I felt like I rarely saw my two “big kids.”

Don’t get me wrong– we tried the best we could to make sure they still had time with me, and that I still had time with them.  My wife helped out as much as she possibly could, both with our older children and with the baby.  It still didn’t feel like enough.  I felt like my older kids were being “forgotten” in the forgotten trimester.

How did we fix the issue?  Honestly, the most helpful “fix” was just the passage of time.  Now that our sweet baby girl is 5 months old, I can look back on those first few weeks and reflect that there’s not much I could have done differently, or would have wanted to do differently.  Our newborn needed me.  Period.  I showed my other kids as much love and attention as I possibly could for that phase of life.  And now that we are through that phase and into the next, and now that our sweet baby girl is sleeping through the night, taking predictable naps, and having greater lengths of “awake” time, it’s easier to budget time so that everyone feels like they’re getting their “mama time.”  When our baby girl is napping, I make a concerted effort to just play with the older kids (as opposed to using the time to work, cook dinner, do the laundry, etc.) 

I also try, once per week, to pick up either my son or my older daughter from school just 30 minutes early, and walk home.  It’s amazing how much they’ll tell you, and how valued they feel, from something as simple as holding your hand and getting 30 minutes of undivided attention.  Sometimes we stop off for ice cream on our walk home—or pass by their favorite park and play for a while.  Whatever it takes—because no one should be “forgotten” in the forgotten trimester—particularly children.

While not everyone can have all of your time, you can make time for everyone.

Self-care.

After the two weeks that I’ve just had, it’s time to take a pause and discuss “self-care.” 

I know what you may be thinking—it’s a very in-vogue term that is actually unattainable (or maybe that’s just me.)  It’s kind of like the term “work-life balance.”  It’s the parenting goal a la mode.  It’s something that everyone wants, and struggles to achieve, yet it means something completely different to everyone—and everyone who is striving for it perpetually feels like they’re not quite “there yet,” or are “still working on it.” 

So, what is self-care?  Is it making sure that you’re eating right?  Exercising enough?  (Or in my case, exercising at all?)  Drinking enough water?  Getting that manicure/pedicure that you’re desperately wanting?  Getting your hair cut and highlighted?

Or is it taking 5 minutes in the morning to make that Nespresso latte that you crave?  Or taking an extra 15 minutes at night, when the whole house is asleep, to read a few chapters of that book that you enjoy but seem to never be able to finish?  Or taking a 10 minute walk around the block when you’re at work for no reason other than getting some fresh air?  Or maybe it’s writing a blog post, to vent some of your thoughts/feelings/emotions that are taking up so much space in your mind that you need to clear them out to make room for new thoughts/ideas…

Whatever it is, self-care is necessary, and attainable; albeit not necessarily in the “perfect” way envisioned (but, channeling the message of my last blog post—I’m striving for progress, here; not perfection). 

Let’s take it back a step and examine my last two weeks in a nutshell:

“Hellish” would be barely scraping the surface of how the last two weeks felt.  We had some landscaping done at our home, which required coordinating on my part, our son started speech therapy, which threw off our morning routine, the kids were transitioning from their “summer” school schedule to their “fall” school schedule (differences in meal times at school, and differences in required wardrobe for the day, and supplies, etc.), our sweet baby girl started working on her solid foods (homemade pureed butternut squash for the win!), I jumped back in to teaching a legal writing class one night per week, we had a bout of either food poisoning or a stomach bug at our house, our Au Pair informed us that she would be leaving later this year (prompting a search for a new Au Pair, pronto!), my wife’s medical institution went through the reaccreditation process (a splendid treat that thankfully occurs only once every 10 years, that requires many early mornings), I was on trial for a divorce case involving millions of dollars that required a little weekend work, and I hate to give up my weekend time, (have I mentioned I’m a divorce attorney?), I had my semi-annual partner review at work, our kids started their fall gymnastics classes and fall Sunday School classes at church, we took our annual family photos which required everyone to be up early and looking their best on a Sunday morning, and then there was all of the “normal” stuff like Amazon returns, routine dentist appointments for the adults and kids, cooking, cleaning, laundry, and still trying to fit in family time.  My wife and I were like ships passing in the night.  Every day my brain felt achy from the amount of logistical gymnastics performed throughout the day, making sure that everyone in our house made it to where they needed to go, and accomplished what they needed to accomplish.

And then there was the unexpected—I’ll skip the details, but I had some symptoms suggesting that I should really see a gastroenterologist, thanks to a strong history of colon cancer on both sides of my family.  My response when my wife told me to go see a specialist was literally, “I don’t have time.”  Accurate?  Yes.  Acceptable?  No.

And that’s when it hit me: sometimes self-care is literal.  It’s not about being able to get the manicure you want—it’s about taking care of your physical health! 

So often as mothers we prioritize everyone and everything else above ourselves.  We prioritize our kids (for good reason), and our spouses (also usually for good reason).  We also prioritize our friends, family, bosses, jobs, commitments, schedules, and never-ending to-do-lists; yet so often we fail to prioritize our own most basic needs—the need for health care, for example.

Why is this?  Is it cultural?  Or does it have to do with personality type?  For example, if you’re type-A like me, does that make you more prone to wanting to be superwoman and wanting to “do it all?”  Or is it situational?  Maybe there are times in life when self-care is just not a viable part of the weekly plan? 

I think the answer, like so many things in life, lies somewhere in between all of simple clear-cut possibilities.  Sure, being a type-A personality doesn’t make self-care easier, but it’s circumstantial and a part of our culture.  Americans tend to strive to be self-supporting, not dependent upon anyone else, make the most out of everything, and want the best for everyone in their lives.  In other cultures, they’re more open to accepting help (the topic for an entirely separate blog post at some future time) and do a better job enjoying the moment.  Maybe “self-care,” and “work-life-balance” and other similar terms are so in-vogue right now for a really simple reason: because we, as a culture, used to naturally work things into our lives that took care of our basic self-care needs (for example- women in the 1950’s taking hours every week to get their hair permed; men in the 1950’s coming home and having a cocktail while relaxing before dinner), and in our “go-go-go” and “must-do-more” society, we forget or otherwise don’t make time for these simple moments of self-care.

While I don’t have all the answers as to why “self-care” is such a struggle for some of us, my challenge to all of us today (mostly myself), particularly in this forgotten trimester, is to make time for self-care at least once per week—ideally every day—even if only for 10 minutes.  Whether it’s a long walk to clear your mind, sitting down to write a blog post, having a cocktail before dinner, taking that exercise class you’ve been thinking about, reading a few pages of a good book, or (in the busier weeks) something as simple as prioritizing getting yourself seen by a doctor, let’s all get out there and do some “self-care.”  Define self-care however you need to today or this week, depending on your circumstances and daily logistical gymnastics game; but just get out there and do it!  We will all thank ourselves for it, and we’ll all be better mothers/spouses/employees/friends, etc. because as someone wise once told me, “you can’t give that which you do not possess.”  In other words—you can’t care for others if you can’t care for yourself.

Progress; not perfection.

This has been one of those weeks.  You know the kind I’m talking about—when you’re simultaneously proud of your ability to have a case set for trial (have I mentioned that I’m an attorney?) but still be present for your kids in the evenings, complete the pre-school enrollment forms, remember to buy baby oatmeal so that you can start testing foods with your infant, make it to the dentist, juggle your pumping schedule, complete your mid-year partner review (phew!), take your son to speech therapy before said partner review and before said trial, attend that mom’s group happy hour that only comes around once per month, teach that class that you committed to once per week at the law school, get the laundry done, and make sure there are (semi) nutritious meals for your kids for dinner… but you’re also disappointed in yourself for not making a PowerPoint presentation for the class you’re teaching, not remembering to prepare show-and-tell until you’re rushing your kids out the door, arriving 5 minutes later at your office than you wanted to (even though no one checks on me or cares what time I arrive), snapping at your spouse for something small and insignificant, not getting the kitchen counters cleaned this morning before you left the house or taking the trash out, only practicing your son’s speech therapy exercises with him 4 times this week instead of the recommended 7 times per week, running out of time to make homemade baby food, and for not writing that blog post that you so desperately want to write, because it’s your way of releasing tension?  My list could go on and on…

It’s during weeks like this that I have to remind myself of two things: one, to breathe deeply.  And two, that it’s okay to strive for progress and not perfection. 

So many of us want to be perfect parents (or to be perfect people ourselves, or to have perfect lives, perfectly clean houses, etc.)  It’s easy to lose sight of all of the good we’re doing, and the positive forward progress we’re making. 

For example—last night we forgot to practice the speech therapy exercises with our son at dinner, like we usually do.  We were too stressed and distracted by our baby girl trying solids for the first time, and by me having a meeting that I needed to get to once the kids were in bed.  But you know what happened?  Our son (age 4) reminded us during bath time that we should practice.  And having our son be able to demonstrate this small step toward independence was big—actually, it was huge!  It was progress.

Not having time to make homemade baby food this week?  Our daughter still got to try her first foods, and practice her oral motor skills.  It was progress (and we’ll make the baby food this weekend!)

Not making a PowerPoint for the class I teach once per week?  My students actually engaged in better discussion with each other, and with me, without the PowerPoint.  And, they still grasped the points I was trying to make.  It was progress.

And not getting all of the counters wiped down before I left for work?  At least I got a few of them done.  My kitchen was cleaner when I left it than when I found it.  It was progress.

Juggling a pumping schedule in between being at the courthouse and the office?  It was my perfectly timed 3-hour increment schedule.  But it was progress toward my end goal of nursing/pumping for a year.

Not sitting down to write that lengthy blog post that I’ve been thinking about for days and days?  At least I sat down right now and wrote this post.  It may be fraught with typo’s for all I know. But at least it’s progress.

So sit back and breathe.  Sometimes we need to just cut ourselves some slack in this forgotten trimester, focus less on aiming for perfection, and recognize the progress we’re making in our lives. 

Soak up all of your own progress as parents… and don’t forget to soak up your kids’ progress, too.