As a mother of both boys and girls, my personal experience tells me that it’s not always true – at least when it comes to how they interact with Mommy. Most girls have their Spice to Sugar ratio wildly out of whack when they hit the tween and teen years. And it’s the Little Boys who know how to turn the sugar on.

My nine year old son Nicholas is the master of diplomacy when it comes to my age, my weight, and even my jokes. Oh, I know he’s just kissing up, but I don’t really care. When I compare him to my 13 year old daughter Bridget who has a knack for, well, being a girl and telling it like it is, I especially like a little pandering. While this honesty will serve her well when she has to deal with a boyfriend herself, frankly I could live without some of her input. Some of it is definitely NOT NICE.

Bridget: Mom! Aren’t you breaking your diet?

Nicholas: Oh come on Bridget! Mom’s so skinny! She is!

Bridget: Not if she keeps eating McChickens for lunch.

Or this: Bridget: You don’t have wrinkles everywhere Mom. (Short pause while I silently ponder “who asked?”, and brace myself for the other shoe.)

Bridget: Just on your face.

And there it is. To the rescue?

Nicholas: But she still looks younger than Dad, right Mom?

The fact that I’m a year older than him makes that remark particularly sweet. The only way it could have been better is if Dad could have been standing right there to hear it. I’ll just publish it here instead.

Sadly, all Little Boys get bigger, and my eighteen year old son conveniently demonstrates that it’s the pre-teen behavior you should be cherishing. When these lovely little fellows dive into the hormonal teenage abyss they decide overnight that they certainly do not want to marry you like they did when they were five, and that you are also quite possibly the most annoying and clued-out person on the entire planet. How do I know this? As an experienced parent, I draw on my keen observational powers. I’ve witnessed the eye rolling, the palpable condescension, and the subtle avoidance techniques he deploys when I enter a room he happens to be in (leaping over couches, darting around corners, cowering behind kitchen counters).

All of this is still pretty calm compared to my oldest daughter, who, upon seeing me put on make-up before we leave the house can be heard muttering “It’s not like anyone is going to look at you anyway, Mom.”. It’s then that I know the nursery rhyme definitely lists the ingredients of Sugar and Spice in the wrong order. Perhaps I’m being too literal. Besides, what is a Snip anyway? And why are poor innocent Snails given such a bad rap? I quite like them myself. Had some in garlic butter last night as a matter of fact. And yes, that was breaking my diet TOO, Bridget.

“I need your help,” she moaned. She told me she needed a blanket. Except it was a question. Like, “I need a blanket?” Then she got angry. “Right? Don’t I?” Then angrier. “Answer me! Don’t I need a blanket? Doesn’t my baby need a blanket?”

“Yes!” I said. “He does.”

“See!” she said. “I knew that. I knew it. Fuck this shit!” She started laughing hysterically. Or she was crying, I really couldn’t tell.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “You sound a little…you know…”

She took a deep breath. She’d been having a good day, she said. She’d slept late and decided to go to Babies “R” Us to register for her baby shower. She thought it would be fun.

Then, reality. This being her first baby, she had no idea what to get. There were things that needed batteries. Pumps. Swings. Cribs. Rockers. Gliders. Tables. Chairs. Slings. Carriers. Strollers. Jumpers. Heaters. Coolers. Tubs. Soaps. Lotions. Creams. Clippers. Sprays. Juices. Oatmeals. Diapers. Frames. Rugs. Bumpers. Sheets. Swaddlers. Nipples. Brushes. Diaper bags. Pads. Inserts. Warmers. Mirrors. Mobiles. Monitors. Rubs. Squeaky toys. Rattles. Rugs.

“I have no idea what a baby needs!” she wailed.

One thing was clear: She knew he needed a blanket.

“Don’t I?” she asked again. “But the kid’s coming in the summer. If it’s hot do I need to cover him? Unless the air conditioning is on. Does he need those pajamas with the feet? Does he?”

Rachel’s experience reminded me of my own first trip to Babies “R” Us—that flashy monolith of stuff—when I was pregnant with Junior. I’d gone on my own, like Rachel, to register for my baby shower, and I’d left the store completely fucked up. I might have run screaming.

There was so much. I suddenly had the feeling that everything I’d amassed in my 35 years of life wasn’t enough. I needed more. So much more. I needed everything. The message was so clear: your baby didn’t need you; your baby needed a continent’s worth of shit.

I told Rachel it was okay. I told her about the rectal thermometer women. I told her that the only thing her baby needed after he was born was her. She could buy him a blanket, but he’d probably love one she already had because it would smell like her.

“Like a dog would?” she asked.

“Exactly.”

She promised she’d take it easy the rest of the night. She promised she wouldn’t let her experience unnerve her, but I’m not convinced. I bet when I see her registry, it’s going to have 2,675,987,256 things on it, many of which will wind up in the closet.

I don’t know when the Baby Gear Movement started exactly, but it’s done horrible things to motherhood. When you falsely believe that you cannot mother (or father) without the right apparatuses, you remove everything that is powerful about yourself as a mother. You remove the innate.

Worse yet, if you buy into the belief that if you don’t have gear A, B, or C something terrible will happen to your baby, you invite fear into the mothering (or, of course, fathering) experience. From what I’ve seen, parenting from fear is a rotten way to raise a kid.

I wanted to tell Rachel all this. I wanted her to trust herself.

Instead I told her she could prank me any time she wants.

She snorted and hung up.

Do you feel special when you’re pregnant? Well, step aside, Lady, because a baby is here and people love babies. The dilemma that comes with having this little rock star in your home now is that billions of people will want to come visit it. Some will be helpful some will not.

So here are a few handy tips I’ve picked up along the way so you’re able to show your magnificent little miracle off to the world like Simba in the Lion King.

Don’t let anyone stay with you that you can’t cry in front of or you can’t tell to “shutup”.

There may be a few people that offer to stay with you when the baby comes. This can be a Godsend or a shitshow. Really think about that person and how much you want them to see behind the curtain. You may be too tired to delicately say, “I know she’s not latching properly but I’m just trying to get the hang of it” and instead say, “See off? You need to fuck right to it!”.

Decide carefully about who you want to be around 24/7 when your inner filter isn’t working at full capacity.

Spread out the visitors

People love to see the baby immediately, that, or they feel obliged to see the baby immediately. Either way, try to spread them out as much as you can so you can get settled and enjoy everyone’s company long after the fanfare typically dies down. Try not to book too far in advance either, you seriously may feel great the day after you give birth and feel like a back alley crack whore by week two.

Go to people that you think will over stay their welcome – don’t have them come to you

Sometimes this really isn’t their fault. I was one of these people before I had kids because I had no idea how tiring a newborn can be and would sit there gabbing on about some new bar I’d been to while staring into the vacant doll-like eyes of my best friend holding her newborn. I’m sure she wanted to tell me to shut my cake hole and get the hell out of her house, but just didn’t have the energy.

These are the people you should meet for a coffee or go to their place.

First of all, newborns are very portable because they eat, sleep and poop and that’s about it, so take advantage of this window when you can cart them anywhere and they don’t care. Secondly, it’s all on your terms when to pull the chute and you won’t have to drop the little hints that go unnoticed. By the way, some of these single people, elderly uncles, etc. are fantastic to be around because they are often just as self absorbed as a newborn and it’s sometimes strangely refreshing to talk about something other than babies.

Put them to work

Some people are just itching to help when you have a baby and you know what, let them. These people are like damn border collies and if you don’t give them a task, they get destructive and are liable to chew the leg off a chair or worse, start throwing stuff out. Let them do dishes, tidy up, clean the bathroom, take out the garbage, take your other kids to the park, whatever. Don’t want them seeing your gross underwear? Throw it in your closet and let them deal with the rest of the pile.

Just leave *your* to-do list out and if they ask if they can help, just point them to it and tell them to help themselves if they feel like it. Not everyone is comfortable around babies but really want to help, so give them the satisfaction of doing something for you and just enjoy it and thank them profusely so they don’t start installing a sprinkler system.

Tag team

Remember the first point? That kind of applies to visitors as well. If they aren’t the kind of person you can lose it in front of, then have a buffer person with you to entertain or deflect if you need to pull a batsmoke. Just have these people over when your partner or close relative or friend is around in case you need to excuse yourself for an hour to cry on the bed for no particular reason (I did this…twice).

Partner plays the bad cop

If you think you’re second string to the baby, just imagine how your husband feels. As I mentioned in the New Dad Survival Guide, this is his chance to shine because I can gua-ran-tee you that there will be some tricky situations when visitors come; like the cousin that announces he’s just getting over the flu in passing conversation while holding your 3-day old infant. Or the great Aunt that insists that the baby needs to be brought out in a snow storm to meet her bridge club. Or the nephew that drops by and could “really go for a sandwich”.

Dad (or partner, or side kick), it is your job to step up and say, “Oh, hell no.” You know why? Because everybody thinks a protective father is cute and everybody thinks a protective mother is nuts, so do everybody a favour and unhinge.

This is also a perfect opportunity for an Al Pacino impression.

Make them bring food

As my friend’s Jamaican grandmother used to say, “Don’t come wid you two long han”. Which loosely translated to don’t be an asshole and show up empty handed.

Not only should you stagger these people, but try and get them to bring you food. I featured a brilliant website called MealBaby where people can pick a date where they bring you a meal. Not only do you get a dinner that you don’t have to cook, but you get to decide what dates are available so you can control the flow of people. Have them pop it over or sit down and share it with them, either way, they get a baby fix and you get some lasagna. I say win-win.

Treat it like an Out-of-Office Reply*

Sometimes people think it’s nice to pop in to see how a new mother is doing if they haven’t had an immediate response to a message they left an hour ago. This actually isn’t too bad for the people you can tell to “shut up” because you can tell them if it isn’t a good time and their feelings won’t get hurt. For the rest of the population it is not cool to arrive unannounced at a new parents front door because there is no telling what kind of Stephen King nightmare is going on that day.

To avoid these awkward moments, I like to treat it like a vacation. Change your voicemail and your email to let people know you’re kind of off the grid. It may seem like a no brainer to you but some people feel the need to constantly “check in”. Just have an auto-reply that says, “Thanks for your email (call). We’re just getting the hang of parenthood so forgive me if it takes a little longer than usual to get back to you. Don’t worry, we’re just fine and loving every minute of it.”

I know this may be a little over the top and may feel like the equivillant of adding the dog’s name to Christmas cards (I love that actually) but it’s an easy way of letting them know they’ve been heard.

* Obviously, if you’re alone and live in the woods in wolverine country, disregard this advice and be grateful someone is checking to make sure the cat isn’t eating your corpse.

Pre-Prep

Do you think Aunt Kelly is going to be a problem? Get your responses thought out NOW or start laying the groundwork NOW. If you think she’s going to show up on your doorstep the day you give birth then start telling her the story of a co-workers mother-in-law that showed up the day she gave birth and how awful it was and how you’re so lucky that your family just *gets* that you need a couple of days to settle in. Get an email ready saying, “Aunt Kelly, we can’t wait for you to see the new baby! I’m just getting the hang of it so can I give you a call when I come up for air so you can come over and meet her?” then hit *send* when she fires off the first email.

Go with the flow

Does Aunt Kelly still show up? Does your Mother-in-Law that you’ve never met fly in from the Ukraine and set herself up on your couch? Does your sister drop in everyday to tell you about the disgusting brunch she had or everything about her wicked pilates instructor?

Roll with it and save your energy like a solar street light on a dimming switch. Ask Aunt Kelly to hold the baby while you go have a shower. Say “Diakuju” when your mother-in-law makes dinner then go lie down with the baby. Tell your sister she needs a fucking punch in the throat then apologise and blame it on your hormones while savoring the good vent.

The best thing you can do with visitors, a new baby, and I suppose life in general, is just roll with it.

Even though you are now regarded as the remaining husk that brought this precious, perfect gift into the world – you will be asked how you feel as a courtesy but no one gives much of a shit how you are now so try not to ramble – it’s still your show, honey. So remember, choose your visitors wisely and enjoy the little star that everyone wants to see shine.

]]> http://www.honestbaby.com/handling-visitors-after-the-baby/feed/ 0 http://www.honestbaby.com/is-piercing-your-babys-ears-shallow/ http://www.honestbaby.com/is-piercing-your-babys-ears-shallow/#comments Sat, 12 May 2012 13:48:09 +0000 honestbaby http://www.honestbaby.com/?p=27100 Today’s top family news!

When one mom shares her decision to pierce her six-month old daughter’s ears, she is barraged by negative comments. Wanting to pass on the tradition of her Nicaraguan husband, she is surprised by the words people used to describe her actions; “provincial, low-class, controlling, shallow, sexist…”

Thank you for reading and please fan us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.

The Honest Scoop archive

My point is – we are not knew to the Disney franchise. So when we heard that Delta was coming out with the Delta Disney Princess Twin Bed I knew it would not be long until we had one firmly ensconced in a bedroom in our home. Since my little one is about to outgrow her crib she was the lucky winner and now has the bed of her dreams.

The Delta Disney Princess Twin Bed adds a lovely touch to any room. It features colorful scenes with iconic Disney Princesses and elegant detailing. A great bonus with this bed is that the headboard is reversible so if you prefer a little subtlety in your little girl’s room decor you can simply turn the headboard around and it looks like an elegant little pink and white bed frame.

In my experience, Delta furniture is sturdy and well made and this bed does not disappoint. It has solid wood construction and guard rails to keep your little princess safe throughout the night. And for those real Disney enthusiasts, Delta offers a Princess 3-Drawer Chest and Princess Night Stand with matching Princess bedding options.

The Delta Disney Princess Twin Bed is a perfect way to transition your little girl from her crib to her “big girl bed”. What little princess doesn’t want to drift into dreamland with fairytale scenes dancing through her head?

Enter to win your own Delta Disney Princess Twin Bed (Retail value: $269.99)!

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This week some asshat neighbor made her cry by yelling “No Coke! No Coke! Bad for Baby!” at her, as my already-hormonal sister carried her one Diet Coke of the day to work.

Lydia’s toddler put these stickers on her without Lydia really noticing. And then she walked around town like this.

We can so rock the hats-and-gloves look.

“But I am breastfeeding. I pumped and this is what came out.”

Mother’s Day this year was a little strange. It’s two days later and I’m still scratching my head over it. If I had to pick a color for the day I’d pick something like pea green or fuchsia. You know, one of those slightly off colors.

Chuck was out of town working all weekend; he didn’t get home until mid-Sunday morning, so sleeping late wasn’t in the cards. After the kids awoke at 7 a.m., I texted 12 of my friends who are mothers and wrote, “Happy Mother’s Day! I hope you’re still in bed.”

Seven of them texted me back to tell me they weren’t.

SEVEN.

At 9 a.m. I turned on Sunday Morning, one of my favorite shows, and was pissed to find that instead of producing a fabulous and touching show about motherhood and mothers—really, the topic is ripe for introspection and storytelling—they decided to open with a story about breasts—specifically how they are “inspiring and vulnerable.”

What the fuck? Inspiring to whom? Men? Vulnerable to whom? Children’s teeth?

Good Lord! It was Mother’s Day. Couldn’t they do better than boobs? The last thing I wanted to hear about— after years of having my breasts fondled, grabbed, shoved into clothing, shoved into my children’s mouths, and accidentally kicked by children —was breasts. I once had a lactation expert pick up my breast and squeeze it like it was a bath toy.

I wanted to be reminded of that?

No, I wanted a vacation from my breasts. Instead Sunday Morning wanted to tell me about the history of the bra, how men/society/men are fascinated with breasts, and how there is a “disagreement over whether [breasts] evolved for food or sex.”

How titillating!

I clicked off the TV and spat on the ground. The recent Time magazine cover may have added to my ire just a smidgen. (Incidentally, I’d rather eat nails slathered in skunk shit than dignify their “Are you mom enough?” cover with a response.)

So yes, the morning wasn’t off to a glamorous start.

Chuck came home at 11 a.m. with flowers and a declaration: I could do whatever I wanted for the rest of the day. I should have gotten into the car and raced around Connecticut, baring my inspiring and vulnerable knockers to the state’s fine residents, but I couldn’t get out of my fuchsia funk.

I couldn’t come up with an answer. What did I want to do on Mother’s Day? I already got what I wanted. Now what? Champagne and oysters? A picnic on the lawn? A pool boy and whips?

What?

Noon came and went. Then two. I may have been abducted by aliens around 2:45 p.m. because before I knew it, it was 4:30 p.m. and we were talking about dinner options. Soon it was bath time. Bed time.

As I lay in bed that night I told Chuck I felt detached—apathetic even—to the hoopla that’s supposed to be Mother’s Day. I said I felt loved every day. I told him how lucky I was to have two beautiful children who clearly think the world of me.

“Maybe it’s like Christmas,” I said. “After a while the commercialism gets you and you just feel blah…”

Chuck put his head on my shoulder and told me it was okay. He reached out his hand and waved away my uncertainty. Then his hand wandered downward, ever so slightly, and started to make its way toward my most inspiring and vulnerable of places.

“Chuck, ” I said. “I’m never watching Sunday Morning again.” Then I kissed him, rolled over and went to sleep.

As if that wasn’t enough, BabyLegs takes it one step further with BabyNoBugs arm warmers and legwarmers which will keep those pesky bugs from biting. Treated with Insect Shield {which is EPA-registered}, they repel disease-causing insects like fleas, ticks, mosquitoes, and more! And you can be confident it will last the summer since it’s guaranteed for 70 launderings. A stylish solution, our favorite kind. www.babylegs.com

Kids love to express themselves and what better canvas is there than their shoes? Addatoos lets kids put fun removable tattoos on the front part of their sneakers which, lets be real, is just asking for decoration. Jennifer Worley, the creator of Addatoos, says she got the idea after she saw one too many Converse shoes come home decorated in Sharpie marker. Addatoos are much more fun than a sharpie. Kids can choose from tons of creative designs like flowers or insects to their own poetry.

Super easy to apply and remove, kids can change their decorations depending on their mood.  And we all know their moods can change in a heartbeat. Trust us when we say Addatoos are sure to be the next craze. Grab your addatoos now! www.addatoos.com

Rainy days are made for jumping in puddles and the perfect rain boot is a big part of that. With Western Chief rain boots kids can choose from their favorite designs. From Hello Kitty to Thomas the Tank Engine, you would be hard pressed to not find a style your child wants. Made of rubber with cotton lining, all of Western Chief rain boots feature pull handles for easy on and off. A great way to weather spring showers!

Crazy?

Nope, it’s called pica. Which is defined as the persistent and compulsive cravings to eat nonfood items for a period of at least one month at an age that would be developmentally inappropriate. (So, if you can say, “pass me that yummy bucket of sand”, you’re probably too old to be eating it.)

It is actually quite common in pregnant women and the cravings can range from dirt, clay, burnt matches, stones, charcoal, mothballs, ice, cornstarch, toothpaste, soap, sand, plaster, coffee grounds, baking soda, and sweet, delicious cigarette ashes.

Of course no one knows for sure why this happens, but it is thought to be linked to a iron deficiency and it’s your body’s attempt to obtain vitamins or minerals that are missing in your normal diet.

Obviously this can get dangerous. After all, some of these items would be dowright toxic and snacking on a bag of rocks sprinkled with dirt isn’t going to go unnoticed at the dinner table, so it isn’t always something you give into like a tub of ice-cream.

Most sites recommend you get your iron levels checked. They also suggest that you make sure your cravings aren’t poisonous or potentially full of parasites (thanks for the tip), and that you don’t interrfere with your regular food consumption (like protien, veggies and kettle corn) – as some proffessionals wonder if often the iron deficiency is caused by the pica instead of the other way around.

I didn’t find many suggestions to curb your cravings. Chewing gum seemed the most popular but I don’t know how great a replacement that is if you want to eat the contents of an ash tray. The other suggestion was to have a friend stop you if you think you’re going to give into a craving. I can just hear the call at work, “No Kathryn, it’s not worth it. Don’t eat the coffee grounds and toothpaste, you’ll regret it!”

What about you? Did you crave anything weird? If you’re too busy eating the gravel in the driveway to comment I can wait.

I’ve decided that this is only possible reason. It is my firm belief that motherhood literally makes female human beings lose their minds. Somewhere between the double lines of the pregnancy test and having a cantelope-sized head make its way out of our private parts, we go crazy.

Think about it. It makes total sense. Were human beings really designed to not sleep though the night for 2+ years? No. The amount of worry that swirls though a mother’s mind (is my baby sick? is he teething? should I vaccinate? will vaccines kill him?) coupled with the lack of socialization during those first few months, then mixed with sleep deprivation, malnutrition, and the insecurities that go along with the responsibility of raising a fantastic citizen of the world…is it any surprise that we can’t function without properly?

People, I’ve seen some things. I’ve seen some crazy ass mom behavior and I’ve decided that instead of trying to make sense of it or becoming angry, I just need to accept the fact that when the placenta was expelled from most women’s bodies, brain matter went with it. “That’s so mean!” you shriek. Calm down, psycho. We should embrace our special status. Lobby for “mom brain” to be included on the medical board’s DSM of diagnosable disorders. We are sick. Say it with me, “We are sick!”

Look at your mom and tell me she isn’t a bit loopy. That’s your fault. Now look in the mirror. I guarantee that you will be twice the nut job that your mom is due to one simple factor: the Internet, ladies and gentleman.

Not only do we have to deal with our immediate social circles and influences, we now have access to enough conflicting and changing information to make our frontal lobes explode in a sea of red foam. Don’t believe me? Type “I’m thinking of circumcising my son when he is born” into your Facebook status and let the shit storm fly.

There’s no medicine for this ailment that we all suffer from. There’s no vaccine (V-word!) other than condoms and abstinence. Embrace your inner wacko. Buy almond milk because you’re afraid cow’s milk with give your three-year old boobs. Join La Leche League and quit two weeks later because that shit is just way too intense. Make your home a “no plastic” zone. Jump into the pool of crazy head first because that’s the only way to do it. Don’t forget to splash on the rest of us.

I fully expect big pharma to start advertising a little pink pill just for moms. The commercial will feature a woman running through field of daisies while babywearing, breastfeeding, working at home, and tending to her organic garden. I’d take it.