Copying Mom's method of sunglass storage
Friday, August 25, 2006
Monday, August 21, 2006
Transitions.
I get so wrapped up in things. But yet then not. Like, I get all those email notifications from BabyCenter about the development of your child. And while some of them kind of amazed me in the past, because they would send me an email that had me feeling like they had peeked in my windows that week and were writing about exactly what was going on with Sami. Then I started noticing all their advice and reassurances were actually kind of getting on my nerves with their smarminess, and I got tired of being told not to worry about something that I wasn’t going to worry about anyway. You know?
So when Sami was around 18 months, and I got one of their damned emails that just all of a sudden and without warning made me feel like I should have had Sami weaned off her bottle, I’ll just admit I questioned myself. Instinct seemed to have gotten me along so well through those first 18 months. And then all of a sudden they go popping this on me. And I was like, “Well, shouldn’t someone have mentioned it a little before this so I could work in this direction, for god’s sake?” But anyway, so I suddenly felt like I just had to get Sami off the bottle. That and a young woman’s comments while we were out shopping one day. (But that’s a story for another time. It still stings. And the snappy comeback that would have been PERfect hit me only moments after walking away. Alas, timing was everything.)
But then I told myself, hey, Sami has always been a stellar sleeper, and is so sunny, and she’s right where she’s supposed to be when we visit the doctor, and oh so many good things. What the hell do I care if she still wants a bottle of warm milk right before her nap and bedtime. Why would I upset something that is working so well for us? Well, I wouldn’t. That’s why.
And that’s when I really started earnestly dismissing canned advice. I realized that even though I remained childless and child-avoiding right up until the age of 42 when I had Sami – this stuff pretty much comes to me in of itself.
I knew—just knew—that the time wasn’t right for us. Just as much as I was confident I would know when the time was right for us.
Heh. Heh. Only I didn’t. Know, I mean.
Ack! Sami weaned herself off the bottle not quite 2 weeks ago. We didn’t talk about it. I didn’t see it coming. No big fuss. Just all of a sudden, she didn’t want it at bedtime anymore.
Coupled with about a week of difficulty going to bed. Isn’t that odd? At a time when she was acting frightened—or something—of going to bed and in my mind should have wanted the additional comfort piece of having a bottle, she dismissed it. I’m still scratching my head over it. Bad dreams? Her dad was on vacation from work, and we all got to enjoy extra time together and so we were all doing fun things most every evening and she didn’t want to go to bed and miss out on fun? I don’t know.
But then after about 3 nights of me offering her a bottle and her saying, nonchalantly, “No,” I stopped offering. And it hasn’t come up again. I waited about a week, shuffling them around in the cupboard to get at the sippy cups. But still nothing. So 2 days ago, I got them all out, and all the nipples and tops and whatnot, and because I’m not THAT brave, I put them all into a bag and chucked them into the storage room in the basement under the stairs. (Or maybe I did it because growing up on a farm you were constantly but only occasionally going to need a baby bottle to feed an orphaned lamb or calf, and so you always kept a few around. Odds of running across stray lambs or calves in the city? Uh. Yeah. Oh well.)
And then when I was coming back up the stairs, and on the wall I saw the black and white photo of her when she was just days old. And I got all sappy and teary on myself, and realized again that she’s not a baby any more. Like seriously.
Like, we’re approaching 2 you know. In a few days. I remember when she was just that teeny infant-y stage that isn’t so, you know, rewarding, or entertaining. They’re so, um, needy. And I remember thinking about what she would be like when we got to 2, and thinking about how fun that would be. And well, guess what. It is. It is just the best thing ever.
Her constant, “Whassis?” I literally got to watch her “get it.” Get that everything – and that means every thing - has a name. Coupled with listening to her try to say each of those names too. Oh, is there anything so sweet as this time?
Other moms tell me, “Oh you wait. It just keeps getting better and better.” But I’m skeptical, because how can it get cuter and better than this? (Okay, I’m not really skeptical so much as I’m afraid to think that way because I like NOW so much, how can it possibly get even better but I really do believe them, and I can’t wait.)
Just think of all the things I get to watch her “get.” Oh delight.
But then, in the tiny little fissures where some dark ink seeps through if I’m not careful to hold it at bay, then I also have to think about how someday someone might laugh unkindly at her. Or break her heart. Or lie to her to hurt her. Or that she’ll lose a pet or a person she loves. And I can’t stand it.
But all those things happened to me. And they do to everyone. And I made it through all that to find love and happiness and joy in my life.
So I feel this very overwhelming responsibility to arm her to cope with everything life will deal up to her. Now how in the hell am I going to do that?
Maybe BabyCenter will send me some advice.
So when Sami was around 18 months, and I got one of their damned emails that just all of a sudden and without warning made me feel like I should have had Sami weaned off her bottle, I’ll just admit I questioned myself. Instinct seemed to have gotten me along so well through those first 18 months. And then all of a sudden they go popping this on me. And I was like, “Well, shouldn’t someone have mentioned it a little before this so I could work in this direction, for god’s sake?” But anyway, so I suddenly felt like I just had to get Sami off the bottle. That and a young woman’s comments while we were out shopping one day. (But that’s a story for another time. It still stings. And the snappy comeback that would have been PERfect hit me only moments after walking away. Alas, timing was everything.)
But then I told myself, hey, Sami has always been a stellar sleeper, and is so sunny, and she’s right where she’s supposed to be when we visit the doctor, and oh so many good things. What the hell do I care if she still wants a bottle of warm milk right before her nap and bedtime. Why would I upset something that is working so well for us? Well, I wouldn’t. That’s why.
And that’s when I really started earnestly dismissing canned advice. I realized that even though I remained childless and child-avoiding right up until the age of 42 when I had Sami – this stuff pretty much comes to me in of itself.
I knew—just knew—that the time wasn’t right for us. Just as much as I was confident I would know when the time was right for us.
Heh. Heh. Only I didn’t. Know, I mean.
Ack! Sami weaned herself off the bottle not quite 2 weeks ago. We didn’t talk about it. I didn’t see it coming. No big fuss. Just all of a sudden, she didn’t want it at bedtime anymore.
Coupled with about a week of difficulty going to bed. Isn’t that odd? At a time when she was acting frightened—or something—of going to bed and in my mind should have wanted the additional comfort piece of having a bottle, she dismissed it. I’m still scratching my head over it. Bad dreams? Her dad was on vacation from work, and we all got to enjoy extra time together and so we were all doing fun things most every evening and she didn’t want to go to bed and miss out on fun? I don’t know.
But then after about 3 nights of me offering her a bottle and her saying, nonchalantly, “No,” I stopped offering. And it hasn’t come up again. I waited about a week, shuffling them around in the cupboard to get at the sippy cups. But still nothing. So 2 days ago, I got them all out, and all the nipples and tops and whatnot, and because I’m not THAT brave, I put them all into a bag and chucked them into the storage room in the basement under the stairs. (Or maybe I did it because growing up on a farm you were constantly but only occasionally going to need a baby bottle to feed an orphaned lamb or calf, and so you always kept a few around. Odds of running across stray lambs or calves in the city? Uh. Yeah. Oh well.)
And then when I was coming back up the stairs, and on the wall I saw the black and white photo of her when she was just days old. And I got all sappy and teary on myself, and realized again that she’s not a baby any more. Like seriously.
Like, we’re approaching 2 you know. In a few days. I remember when she was just that teeny infant-y stage that isn’t so, you know, rewarding, or entertaining. They’re so, um, needy. And I remember thinking about what she would be like when we got to 2, and thinking about how fun that would be. And well, guess what. It is. It is just the best thing ever.
Her constant, “Whassis?” I literally got to watch her “get it.” Get that everything – and that means every thing - has a name. Coupled with listening to her try to say each of those names too. Oh, is there anything so sweet as this time?
Other moms tell me, “Oh you wait. It just keeps getting better and better.” But I’m skeptical, because how can it get cuter and better than this? (Okay, I’m not really skeptical so much as I’m afraid to think that way because I like NOW so much, how can it possibly get even better but I really do believe them, and I can’t wait.)
Just think of all the things I get to watch her “get.” Oh delight.
But then, in the tiny little fissures where some dark ink seeps through if I’m not careful to hold it at bay, then I also have to think about how someday someone might laugh unkindly at her. Or break her heart. Or lie to her to hurt her. Or that she’ll lose a pet or a person she loves. And I can’t stand it.
But all those things happened to me. And they do to everyone. And I made it through all that to find love and happiness and joy in my life.
So I feel this very overwhelming responsibility to arm her to cope with everything life will deal up to her. Now how in the hell am I going to do that?
Maybe BabyCenter will send me some advice.
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