Tag: self-care

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.