It’s amazing to me how a life can change in an instant. It has happened so many times in my life, where within a moment everything changes. Our whole existence is filled with these surprise twists and turns, which most of the time catches us completely off-guard.
I suppose it shouldn’t have been a total surprise to me. For years, I have begged, pleaded, argued, and tried to force our pediatrician to refer us to a behavioral specialist in regards to Hayden. It started when he was about 18 months old, gradually the calm, smiling, social baby I knew started to fade into a running, screaming, uncontrollable little boy. Immediately, the consensus was ADHD, whispered among family members and friends. Our pediatrician quickly dismissed this.
“Almost every child has a form of ADHD, you just have to change your disciplinary tactics.”
So, two years later we’ve blown through every book about parenting and disciplinary technique from every library in a 50 mile radius. Three hundred dollars’ worth of Barnes and Noble, Hastings, and Border’s receipts later we’ve tried every approach, every ideal we’ve come in contact with. Time-out spaces, safe-room spaces, dietary changes, sleeping habit changes, and just about every modern parenting technique proved no difference in our child’s behavior. He seemed oblivious. He still couldn’t speak, he still ran in circles, climbed the walls, ran away in public, stuck his fingers in his ears and screamed, and constantly put himself in danger. Then came the turning point.
Hayden loves to spend time at my parent’s farm. My parents are retired, with 80 acres of roaming space, four ponds stocked to the rim with fish, a huge tractor, a four-wheeler, several trucks, two warehouse-sized work sheds, and just about every tool known to man. My son adores spending time there with his grandparents, “helping” Papa to work on various things, and having their attention all to himself. He spends the night once or twice every few weeks, which gives him a break from our crazy household, and it gives me a chance to catch up on my housework and one-on-one time with my two younger children.
One day in the mid-summer, Hayden was out working with Papa on the farm. My mother was inside, fixing lunch. Dad was intent on what he was doing, and Hayden slipped away. A few minutes later, Dad get’s Mom’s attention inside, tells her what’s going on, and they start searching. They check the house, the yard, the swing set, the barn, the sheds…and then the panic sets in. Hayden doesn’t know how to swim, and doesn’t realize that this is a problem. He’s the happiest drowning child you ever saw. He will drink the entire pool up with a smile on his face. Time and time again at the pool we have to do a quick grab from the side because Hayden’s decided he’s going to try to make like a fish on the deep end. The horrifying thought of him making his way to the pond and trying a mid-summer swim on his own creeps into my parents’ minds.
My dad lets out a whistle that can be heard miles away. My mom runs towards the house, panic-stricken. On her way from the barn, Mom’s heart stops pounding long enough to hear a noise coming from my nephew’s broken-down Probe parked next to the shed. She stops and looks carefully. Inside, peeking covertly out the window is Hayden. She runs to the door, which is locked, and pleads to Hayden to flip the switch. He’s smiling, shaking his head no, and laughing. Mom can see the beads of sweat running down his forehead. It’s over 110 degrees outside, and inside the un-ventilated Probe, sitting in the blazing sunlight, it could easily be 25 degrees hotter. Mom screams at Dad, who runs over from the barn, and struggles to find the key to the Probe. They open the door and pull out Hayden, pasty white, sweating and gasping for air. He’s still smiling. It’s still a game for him. He doesn’t realize at all that ten or fifteen minutes later he would most likely have been unconscious.
That moment, that one experience told me something was wrong here. Hayden had no fear. He had no conception of boundaries, and he lacked the ability to understand when his life is in danger. Something was severely wrong with my son.
So, after strongly urging my pediatrician during a routine visit (and a few follow-up phone calls to annoy him even more) I finally got through to him, and he referred us to a guidance center. The behavioral therapist felt like it was an open-and-shut case of ADHD with some possibility of bi-polar disorder. She sent Hayden to their psychologist for some more evaluating. Two evaluations later, he says we need to take him to Children’s Mercy for an overall evaluation. He wants to rule out autism. He doesn’t believe autism will be the case, but he wants to be thorough. The only way to rule it out is to go through with an evaluation.
We get Hayden on the four-month waiting list with Children’s Mercy Behavioral Center for an autism evaluation. They’re the highest-referred children’s behavioral center in the Midwest. They’re worth the wait, according to other parents.
Three-and-a-half months later, his evaluation takes place. They bring us in, and immediately it’s apparent that he will be thoroughly evaluated, given the fact that I’m sitting opposite of four specialists. I’m at ease, he’s in good hands. A child psychologist begins telling me about the process, and she’s looking through the two home evaluations I completed myself, one as Hayden’s parent, the other as his teacher. He’s home schooled because the preschool wasn’t able to deal with his energy and behavior. She commends me on being so detailed.
Two specialists lead us to another room, while the other two stay with Hayden. Over the course of two hours I can hear them in the room next to us, and at various times I can hear Hayden screaming. The psychologist interviewing us tells me that it’s okay, he’s in good hands, they can deal with him. It’s the first time anyone has told me that they can handle him. I’m so impressed that the rest of the evaluation is a blur. A week later, my husband and I are back, without Hayden. He’s happy hanging out with his grandparents while we get down to the consultation with all four specialists.
His psychologist sighs, looks at us, and begins a conversation that I will remember for the rest of my life. One word rings out in my ears, and for a while it’s all I can hear. Autism. Hayden is an autistic child. She continues to tell me that he has a disorder which, for now, is classified under the autism umbrella, because he has attributes from all over the spectrum. PDD-NOS, pervasive developmental disorder, not otherwise specified is the diagnosis. It falls under the autism umbrella because Hayden displays characteristics which cannot be grouped with a specific type of autism. He’s all over the board, so to speak. But it’s treatable. Hayden can learn to live with his disorder, even thrive in spite of it. But it will take work, and it will take years. It will take changes to our lifestyle, and it will most likely still be with him all his life.
For hours, even days after this consultation, I’m lost in thought. It’s hard to explain what a parent goes through when a diagnosis made. At first I was in mourning of my dreams for my child. You take for granted the idea that he’s going to have a normal childhood. It’s a hard thing to have to let go of that, and accept the fact that special education will be the basis of his first school years. They tell me, if we work hard enough, that by high school he may be able to attend class with his peers.
It’s hard to deny the anger that fills you after you realize that there is no answer to autism. The medical society still has not figured out the cause. So you’re not sure why YOUR child has this disorder, when so many other children lead normal lives. You’re angry that so many other parents have it easy, while your trying to make your home, your lifestyle, your life a better place for your child. For other parents, their child’s happiness is as simple as buying a new toy, or switching on the TV. For us, it’s a long, drawn-out guessing game, playing the process of elimination until hours later you finally figure out what he wants.
It’s hard to understand that my son will probably never lead a normal life.
So I got proactive, sat down at my computer for a whole day, and researched my way into a crash-course education on autism. I connected with facebook groups, support groups, and other parents of kids on the spectrum. I contacted Social Security and got Hayden signed up for benefits, and also got him on the waiting list for benefits through the Department of Mental Health.
I found that other parents are the most reliable source of information, education, and support when it comes to autism. I took great comfort in connecting with people who have gone through the same thing. It’s exhilarating to know that there are people you haven’t even met in person, and they wouldn’t bat an eye about supporting you. Other parents were single-handedly responsible for bringing me through that tough, horrible time that follows a diagnosis of this magnitude.
My husband, however, registered no difference whatsoever. He didn’t break down, he didn’t mourn, he didn’t get depressed. He simply accepted it as a reassuring nod that we knew something was wrong. It amazed me the difference in how either of us took the diagnosis. That one word, for him, was a vindication.
I still strive to understand why this has happened to our family. I’ve researched everything from genetics to vaccinations (which is a whole separate subject entirely.) We have changed our entire parenting technique successfully this time, and even revised our opinions on traditional medicine. This one word has altered our lives entirely. What was at first a shocking epiphany, has now become a proud ballad sang by every part of our lives as parents. No, he’s not normal. But what is normal anyway? My son is unique, my son is incredibly intelligent. This one word is no longer a label to us, it is a message. It is a creed. It is a promise that we will do everything in our power for our children, no matter what. This one word. It’s a life-changer.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
RealMom:The (Un)Kindness of Strangers
One self-righteous stranger can strip the confidence of 100 mothers.
One evening recently I took a walk with my children. With baby in the sling across me, Molly-Ann in the monkey harness, and Hayden holding the hand of a wonderful neighbor, we set out to the convenience store down the block for a bit of fresh air. While we were inside, since my children had minded so well during the trip, I decided to treat them both to a Bug Juice. I step up to the line behind another woman and wait my turn. She notices my little ones and begins a seemingly pleasant conversation with me. My oldest seems far more interested in the ATM machine and the clerk continues ringing up my purchase, while Hayden and Molly-Ann drink contentedly from their juice bottles. I continue my conversation while waiting for the total, and the seemingly sweet woman starts towards the door. In a split-second Jekyll and Hyde moment, she turns to me, and in front of a crowd of spectators blurts out, “great parenting, get your kids all sugared up and full of blue dye before bedtime! What a moron!” She continues to stare at me, looking for a reply as my jaw hangs open and I just stare at her, completely dumbfounded. Here I stood completely shocked and humiliated in front of about 10 strangers and the most she could do is toss her hair and flit out the door. Not that she didn’t have a point, she most certainly did. I should have thought twice about how close to bedtime it was, but who honestly can afford the jacked-up prices of natural juice? It wasn’t that she didn’t have a point, it was the way that she made the point that bothered me.
I was half a block away when the shock came off of me and the anger set in. I was hurt, I was embarrassed. Most of all, I was upset that I hadn’t thought of something snappy to come back with. Seems like Murphy’s Law that every time a situation like that comes up all I can do is stand there like an idiot. I should have turned around and said, “So I probably shouldn’t buy them beer and cigarettes either, huh?”
I actually spent the rest of the evening obsessing over what I should have said. And the truth of the matter is that I don’t need to say anything. I don’t need to let some stranger shake my faith that I am a strong, capable RealMom. But the terrible truth is that this is far too common in our society. Struggling mothers are offered terrible advice, even condemnation and public humiliation every day because someone else thinks it is their job to right the wrongs they see.
My solution? Ignore them. Better yet, ask them to kindly shove it. It infuriates them when they don’t get the upper hand. They figure if they can get to you, they have an effect. What they don’t realize is that they do have an effect, an incredibly negative one. Moms that don’t have enough confidence can become emotionally vulnerable from horrifying experiences like this. Emotionally vulnerable mothers who are upset about someone’s opinion can experience trouble feeling adequate again. Be it from an encounter with a stranger at the supermarket that tells her to put a muzzle on her child for pitching the all-too-common checkout aisle candy fit, or from someone she loves that flippantly remarks about her ability to mother, she may lose her self-esteem and confidence as a RealMom.
I think this is a grave injustice. We RealMoms try hard enough to make every day for our children better than the last. We go through enough every day without some pompous, egocentric moron telling us how horrible we are as a parent. I say, if you see something wrong with the way a mother is acting towards her child, keep it to yourself. A swat on the butt in a checkout aisle is not grounds for calling the parenting police down on a mother. Now physical abuse and anger control is a problem, and I believe we should all do our part against it. But a plain swat on the butt or a stern word or two does not warrant you butting in. I personally do not spank. It doesn’t work for my family, having a high strung son and a daughter that picks up on bad habits immediately. But I was spanked as a child. And I applaud my mother for it because it made me mind my manners and behave the way I should have. She was successful and there are parents out there that can use the occasional corporal punishment and it can be an effective, healthy method for them. Parenting purists are going to hate me for saying this, but I was spanked and I didn’t become psychologically confused about it. I messed up, I got disciplined. There wasn’t much to be confused about. Sometimes that small swat can still be a healthy method in the right hands, literally.
I once witnessed an older woman publicly humiliate a young mother because her infant was out without a hat. My personal reaction to that? If I was the one noticing the missing hat, I would comment about how I always forget hats at home and ask if I could purchase a hat for her baby. I would tell her that I had just seen one in the baby aisle that would look adorable, and that it might help her out a bit with the chilly weather. If she says no, then I respect that, I tell her congrats on the baby and say something like “she’s adorable!” Then I would kindly go my way. If I was the young mother being publicly scrutinized, I would have told her that if she felt so strongly about it, she was more than welcome to purchase a hat for the baby, or shut up. I would demonstrate how I cover my child in blankets each and every time we step out the door. I would say how a hat is easily forgotten (what with all the diaper bag items and the accessories that come with taking an infant out of the home) and unnecessary in a 73 degree store. I would tell her to keep her criticism to herself unless she wanted some pointed back at her.
RealMoms need to stand up for themselves at this time more than ever. Every mother is a RealMom, it’s about realizing how great you are at this 24/7 job. And every RealMom needs to pass along the confidence and support to other moms. Together we are stronger. Together we find a way, not to just survive, but to thrive.
One evening recently I took a walk with my children. With baby in the sling across me, Molly-Ann in the monkey harness, and Hayden holding the hand of a wonderful neighbor, we set out to the convenience store down the block for a bit of fresh air. While we were inside, since my children had minded so well during the trip, I decided to treat them both to a Bug Juice. I step up to the line behind another woman and wait my turn. She notices my little ones and begins a seemingly pleasant conversation with me. My oldest seems far more interested in the ATM machine and the clerk continues ringing up my purchase, while Hayden and Molly-Ann drink contentedly from their juice bottles. I continue my conversation while waiting for the total, and the seemingly sweet woman starts towards the door. In a split-second Jekyll and Hyde moment, she turns to me, and in front of a crowd of spectators blurts out, “great parenting, get your kids all sugared up and full of blue dye before bedtime! What a moron!” She continues to stare at me, looking for a reply as my jaw hangs open and I just stare at her, completely dumbfounded. Here I stood completely shocked and humiliated in front of about 10 strangers and the most she could do is toss her hair and flit out the door. Not that she didn’t have a point, she most certainly did. I should have thought twice about how close to bedtime it was, but who honestly can afford the jacked-up prices of natural juice? It wasn’t that she didn’t have a point, it was the way that she made the point that bothered me.
I was half a block away when the shock came off of me and the anger set in. I was hurt, I was embarrassed. Most of all, I was upset that I hadn’t thought of something snappy to come back with. Seems like Murphy’s Law that every time a situation like that comes up all I can do is stand there like an idiot. I should have turned around and said, “So I probably shouldn’t buy them beer and cigarettes either, huh?”
I actually spent the rest of the evening obsessing over what I should have said. And the truth of the matter is that I don’t need to say anything. I don’t need to let some stranger shake my faith that I am a strong, capable RealMom. But the terrible truth is that this is far too common in our society. Struggling mothers are offered terrible advice, even condemnation and public humiliation every day because someone else thinks it is their job to right the wrongs they see.
My solution? Ignore them. Better yet, ask them to kindly shove it. It infuriates them when they don’t get the upper hand. They figure if they can get to you, they have an effect. What they don’t realize is that they do have an effect, an incredibly negative one. Moms that don’t have enough confidence can become emotionally vulnerable from horrifying experiences like this. Emotionally vulnerable mothers who are upset about someone’s opinion can experience trouble feeling adequate again. Be it from an encounter with a stranger at the supermarket that tells her to put a muzzle on her child for pitching the all-too-common checkout aisle candy fit, or from someone she loves that flippantly remarks about her ability to mother, she may lose her self-esteem and confidence as a RealMom.
I think this is a grave injustice. We RealMoms try hard enough to make every day for our children better than the last. We go through enough every day without some pompous, egocentric moron telling us how horrible we are as a parent. I say, if you see something wrong with the way a mother is acting towards her child, keep it to yourself. A swat on the butt in a checkout aisle is not grounds for calling the parenting police down on a mother. Now physical abuse and anger control is a problem, and I believe we should all do our part against it. But a plain swat on the butt or a stern word or two does not warrant you butting in. I personally do not spank. It doesn’t work for my family, having a high strung son and a daughter that picks up on bad habits immediately. But I was spanked as a child. And I applaud my mother for it because it made me mind my manners and behave the way I should have. She was successful and there are parents out there that can use the occasional corporal punishment and it can be an effective, healthy method for them. Parenting purists are going to hate me for saying this, but I was spanked and I didn’t become psychologically confused about it. I messed up, I got disciplined. There wasn’t much to be confused about. Sometimes that small swat can still be a healthy method in the right hands, literally.
I once witnessed an older woman publicly humiliate a young mother because her infant was out without a hat. My personal reaction to that? If I was the one noticing the missing hat, I would comment about how I always forget hats at home and ask if I could purchase a hat for her baby. I would tell her that I had just seen one in the baby aisle that would look adorable, and that it might help her out a bit with the chilly weather. If she says no, then I respect that, I tell her congrats on the baby and say something like “she’s adorable!” Then I would kindly go my way. If I was the young mother being publicly scrutinized, I would have told her that if she felt so strongly about it, she was more than welcome to purchase a hat for the baby, or shut up. I would demonstrate how I cover my child in blankets each and every time we step out the door. I would say how a hat is easily forgotten (what with all the diaper bag items and the accessories that come with taking an infant out of the home) and unnecessary in a 73 degree store. I would tell her to keep her criticism to herself unless she wanted some pointed back at her.
RealMoms need to stand up for themselves at this time more than ever. Every mother is a RealMom, it’s about realizing how great you are at this 24/7 job. And every RealMom needs to pass along the confidence and support to other moms. Together we are stronger. Together we find a way, not to just survive, but to thrive.
RealMom: The "Why" of Natural Parenting
One of the choices I made a few years ago was that, as a new mom, I was going to be open to new ideas. I’m not ready to say that I have perfected the method of parenting even now, so I still welcome new ways to make myself better as a RealMom. One of the little joys of my day (and also a great way to catch a mental break from the kids) is sitting down with a good cup of joe and reading parenting magazines like, well, Parenting, Family Fun, Baby Talk, and American Baby. Reading helpful ‘zines like these keep me abreast of the latest in parenting, pediatrics, child development, and research.
I recently came across an article about Natural Parenting. I laughed at first because the initial image that popped into my brain had something to do with disintegrating diapers, organic baby wipes, and solar-powered toys. Don’t get me wrong, I think finding ways to reduce our footprint on the environment is incredibly important. But many of the new “organic” baby ideas can be chalked up to being an expensive fad. See, I’m all about improving the parent-child bond, and that’s where my heart is at 99 percent of the time. Plus many of the organic baby items on the market right now are extremely expensive and cannot be ruled an economic choice.
So you can imagine my assumptions as I began to read what I was sure was just an article on the recent fad.
I was wrong.
Natural Parenting is a method that promotes the healthy growth of the child through an incredibly connected bond between parent and child. Natural Parenting promotes activities like attachment parenting (or baby-wearing,) breastfeeding, co-sleeping, and the gentle guidance approach to discipline. After researching a little more on the subject, I found out that this new Natural Parenting idea was another way of describing what mothers (including my own) had been doing for years. It wasn’t a new idea, it was a revisited one.
Somewhere along the way of becoming a young mother we’ve developed this complex that having a close-knit bond with our children while they are young is going to prevent them from being responsible, independent adults. We envision them 30 years old, living in our basement without a job, while Mom and Dad pay for their Xbox 360 subscription. This notion is ludicrous. More studies done on Natural Parenting families are beginning to show that when a child is raised in a close, secure, safe environment they are more likely to become courageous, independent young adults.
Because society tends to stress the “me, me, me” mentality, mothers have been taught to put their infant down at any given chance. Instead of building a bond over the course of time by extending the nursing or feeding sessions and allowing baby a chance to get to know Momma’s face, voice, and expressions, we’re taught that we will spoil that baby if we hold him too long. I’ve never heard such nonsense. One whole aspect of natural parenting is baby-wearing, where baby is in a sling, carrier, or in the parents arms for most of the day. This allows baby the chance to feel secure with either parent, and allows Daddy a chance to develop the special bond with baby that Momma did during the first nine months. It can be a powerful, effective relaxation tool. When baby is close and feels secure, he’s happier, he’s quieter, and (some studies say) he develops faster. Happier baby means happier parents. Of course there is another side to it. Goodness knows you can’t wear baby when you are cooking, cleaning, or, God knows, using the facilities, but the idea is sound. Keep baby close, in a bassinet, a glider, or a bouncy seat. Talk to him. Make him a part of your every day. Allow him to sleep close to you, in the room where the family is so he becomes used to the sounds of the household. The method is a fantastic way to bring a peace and sense of closeness to young families. When it comes to me, anything is worth trying once if it means a happier, healthier family.
For information about studies done on attachment-parenting families, http://babyreference.com/ is an extremely interesting website with excerpts from Dr. Linda Palmer from Mothering.com.
I recently came across an article about Natural Parenting. I laughed at first because the initial image that popped into my brain had something to do with disintegrating diapers, organic baby wipes, and solar-powered toys. Don’t get me wrong, I think finding ways to reduce our footprint on the environment is incredibly important. But many of the new “organic” baby ideas can be chalked up to being an expensive fad. See, I’m all about improving the parent-child bond, and that’s where my heart is at 99 percent of the time. Plus many of the organic baby items on the market right now are extremely expensive and cannot be ruled an economic choice.
So you can imagine my assumptions as I began to read what I was sure was just an article on the recent fad.
I was wrong.
Natural Parenting is a method that promotes the healthy growth of the child through an incredibly connected bond between parent and child. Natural Parenting promotes activities like attachment parenting (or baby-wearing,) breastfeeding, co-sleeping, and the gentle guidance approach to discipline. After researching a little more on the subject, I found out that this new Natural Parenting idea was another way of describing what mothers (including my own) had been doing for years. It wasn’t a new idea, it was a revisited one.
Somewhere along the way of becoming a young mother we’ve developed this complex that having a close-knit bond with our children while they are young is going to prevent them from being responsible, independent adults. We envision them 30 years old, living in our basement without a job, while Mom and Dad pay for their Xbox 360 subscription. This notion is ludicrous. More studies done on Natural Parenting families are beginning to show that when a child is raised in a close, secure, safe environment they are more likely to become courageous, independent young adults.
Because society tends to stress the “me, me, me” mentality, mothers have been taught to put their infant down at any given chance. Instead of building a bond over the course of time by extending the nursing or feeding sessions and allowing baby a chance to get to know Momma’s face, voice, and expressions, we’re taught that we will spoil that baby if we hold him too long. I’ve never heard such nonsense. One whole aspect of natural parenting is baby-wearing, where baby is in a sling, carrier, or in the parents arms for most of the day. This allows baby the chance to feel secure with either parent, and allows Daddy a chance to develop the special bond with baby that Momma did during the first nine months. It can be a powerful, effective relaxation tool. When baby is close and feels secure, he’s happier, he’s quieter, and (some studies say) he develops faster. Happier baby means happier parents. Of course there is another side to it. Goodness knows you can’t wear baby when you are cooking, cleaning, or, God knows, using the facilities, but the idea is sound. Keep baby close, in a bassinet, a glider, or a bouncy seat. Talk to him. Make him a part of your every day. Allow him to sleep close to you, in the room where the family is so he becomes used to the sounds of the household. The method is a fantastic way to bring a peace and sense of closeness to young families. When it comes to me, anything is worth trying once if it means a happier, healthier family.
For information about studies done on attachment-parenting families, http://babyreference.com/ is an extremely interesting website with excerpts from Dr. Linda Palmer from Mothering.com.
RealMom:The Power of a Natural
Disclaimer: this info-journal is honest. Some things I talk about may not be what some people are wanting or ready to hear. This is about personal growth and a RealMom cannot grow unless she feels she needs to. Plain and simple, you may get offended. But know what I say is said in love. It’s said in truth and in love and to help other mothers dig deep, feel good about what they do well, and to help them address the areas they need work. There are things a mother does not need to feel condemnation about. I believe that correction in love is far more effective than condemnation. But there are some things that require more serious attention than others, and some actions that require more serious correction. It is in that spirit that mothers should read this. And they really should. My mission is to dispel society’s picture of the self-centered, want and need-gratified woman. I’m sick of it. And I’m not alone. In response to questions and comments I have had in the way I hold my marriage and raise my children I have started this journal. Not because I think I am perfect (far from it,) but because I believe mothers and wives have things that we all can learn from each other. This is my contribution.
“The Power of the RealMom”
If you are reading this blog, you’re probably thinking, “who on earth is this woman, what is a RealMom, and what makes her qualified to say anything about it?” Well, as my college English professor said, start with the introduction then eat the elephant one bite at a time.
My name is Erin Lloyd. I am a 26year old mother of three, former single mother, and currently a stay-at-home mom. I’ve been married to the love of my life, a Marine named Joshua, for three years. I am the proud mother of a four year old boy named Hayden, a two-year-old girl named Molly-Ann, and a one-year-old baby boy named Josh Jr. My husband is a correctional officer, a protector, and a provider for my family. Our life is good here. It wasn’t always…but it is now.
So what is a RealMom and why am I qualified to talk about it? Let me answer that for you:
You know what I’m sick of? I’m sick of seeing live-in nannies glorified on TV. I’m sick of watching a show that depicts parents without their children most of the time. Don’t get me wrong, I think the feminist movement did fantastic things for the fairer sex. (Yes, I did just say the fairer sex. We are prettier than men, we are more fair, I.e.: we are the fairer sex. If you are offended by that, quit reading.) I’m sick of being made to feel like since I am a stay-at-home mommy without a career to drain me every day that I’m not worth anything as a person. I believe that choice, the choice of career or stay-at-home, is something every mother must decide for herself. What is right for me may not be right for others. But I have the ability to stand back and look at it and tell it like it is. That’s why I want to write this blog. Not because I think I’m perfect (if I thought I was perfect, it’d be called a “Perfect Mom” not a RealMom.) My sister, my mother, they both would have stories to tell you about how un-perfect I am, and they would be right. I’m not a perfect mom, but the difference between being a perfect mom and being a “RealMom” is this: RealMoms try harder. RealMoms strive every day to be better about everything. We’re better than perfect moms, because we earn it. Perfect moms have everything handed to them. Their children behave, their bills are paid on time, they have everything they could want, need or desire. They drive fancy cars, their houses are clean and their husbands buy them diamond rings on a weekly basis with money to spare. That is NOT my life. My life is this:
5:30am, baby squalls, roll over in bed, try not to fall out while pulling him out of his co-sleeper. Try to be awake enough to decide which breast to nurse first. Get it wrong and get a wet shirt. Decide not to chance waking baby up again and just deal with it. Gradually fall back asleep.
7:30am, awaken by two children, one a 4-year-old boy who stands at the side of your bed staring at you intently until you feel it and crack an eye open. And the other a one-and-a-half-year-old girl who stumbles up next to him and then the smell of two-week-old dead skunk hits you and you realize its coming from her diaper.
7:45am, after pulling on an oversized tee and baggy sweatpants over your twisted up and breast milk soaked (again) wifebeater you wore to bed last night, you calmly try to sit on the floor to change said one-and-a-half-year-old baby girl. She decides to kick and scream to make the situation more interesting. Mission accomplished, you take the WMD of a diaper to the trashcan. Repeat process on three-month-old baby boy who smiles at you and makes your heart melt despite the fact that your eyelids are so heavy you feel like you need to staple them to your hairline.
8:15am, prepare breakfast of equal portions of grain, fruit, dairy, and protein. Baby girl eats little bites of each then immediately dumps the rest on floor. Repeat process and try to spoon feed her. Get frustrated and swear she won’t eat until lunch. Make her a promise and this time you are going to stick with it. Drink two cups of coffee.
8:25am, give baby girl first apple slice of the day.
8:47am, second apple slice. You still smell that skunky diaper and realize in the kicking and screaming some diaper gunk stuck to your shirt and is completely encrusted on. Change said shirt.
9:07am, two packages of fruit snacks and five crackers later you tell yourself that, “well, at least she’s eating healthy things.”
10:32am, the “troublesome twosome’s” first meltdown of the day following brother’s desperate sneaky attempt to confiscate the chocolate bar hidden in the back of the cupboard. He takes after his mother, he can sniff it out. You take it away, tell them no candy until after lunch. They cry. And cry. And cry. And kick the cabinet.
10:33am, first time-out of the day. Still crying…
10:36am, time-out over, apologies made.
10:37am, crying for candy begins again. You tell them no, no candy until after lunch. You’re going to stick with it.
10:38am, first piece of candy of the day. One for them, two for you.
10:42am, second piece for them, third, fourth, and fifth for you.
10:57am, catch dog and pry leftover chocolate from her teeth.
11:32am, start lunch consisting of all major food groups.
12:02pm, clean 3 major food groups from under the highchair….
And I’ll stop there, as you get the idea. My main point is that whoever came up with the idea that you either need to be a force to recon with in the workplace, or a blue-ribbon Mrs. Cleaver in the home should be shot. So I started this blog, because other mothers I know ask me how I get through every day with three very young children, a home, and a husband. I feel we all have things to learn from each other as mothers. We all can draw from other RealMoms’ experiences. And I believe we all are RealMoms. Just saying it out loud is powerful. Go ahead, say it. “I am a RealMom.” Say it every day. Say it every time you feel discouraged, frustrated, angry, depressed, even when you are happy. Say it over and over. Because being a RealMom is as easy as just trying to better yourself as a mother, as a wife, and as a woman every day. Tell yourself what you do well, then tell yourself where you want to improve. Make it a part of your every day experience. Wake up, look in mirror, tell self I am a RealMom. I had to. I felt so bogged down and so much of a failure that I literally had to grab myself by the bra straps and get out of the slump. And it worked!
So this blog is dedicated to mothers everywhere who want a little extra guidance, who want someone to talk to, to share ideas with, and even someone to give advice to. I am always looking to learn new things.
“The Power of the RealMom”
If you are reading this blog, you’re probably thinking, “who on earth is this woman, what is a RealMom, and what makes her qualified to say anything about it?” Well, as my college English professor said, start with the introduction then eat the elephant one bite at a time.
My name is Erin Lloyd. I am a 26year old mother of three, former single mother, and currently a stay-at-home mom. I’ve been married to the love of my life, a Marine named Joshua, for three years. I am the proud mother of a four year old boy named Hayden, a two-year-old girl named Molly-Ann, and a one-year-old baby boy named Josh Jr. My husband is a correctional officer, a protector, and a provider for my family. Our life is good here. It wasn’t always…but it is now.
So what is a RealMom and why am I qualified to talk about it? Let me answer that for you:
You know what I’m sick of? I’m sick of seeing live-in nannies glorified on TV. I’m sick of watching a show that depicts parents without their children most of the time. Don’t get me wrong, I think the feminist movement did fantastic things for the fairer sex. (Yes, I did just say the fairer sex. We are prettier than men, we are more fair, I.e.: we are the fairer sex. If you are offended by that, quit reading.) I’m sick of being made to feel like since I am a stay-at-home mommy without a career to drain me every day that I’m not worth anything as a person. I believe that choice, the choice of career or stay-at-home, is something every mother must decide for herself. What is right for me may not be right for others. But I have the ability to stand back and look at it and tell it like it is. That’s why I want to write this blog. Not because I think I’m perfect (if I thought I was perfect, it’d be called a “Perfect Mom” not a RealMom.) My sister, my mother, they both would have stories to tell you about how un-perfect I am, and they would be right. I’m not a perfect mom, but the difference between being a perfect mom and being a “RealMom” is this: RealMoms try harder. RealMoms strive every day to be better about everything. We’re better than perfect moms, because we earn it. Perfect moms have everything handed to them. Their children behave, their bills are paid on time, they have everything they could want, need or desire. They drive fancy cars, their houses are clean and their husbands buy them diamond rings on a weekly basis with money to spare. That is NOT my life. My life is this:
5:30am, baby squalls, roll over in bed, try not to fall out while pulling him out of his co-sleeper. Try to be awake enough to decide which breast to nurse first. Get it wrong and get a wet shirt. Decide not to chance waking baby up again and just deal with it. Gradually fall back asleep.
7:30am, awaken by two children, one a 4-year-old boy who stands at the side of your bed staring at you intently until you feel it and crack an eye open. And the other a one-and-a-half-year-old girl who stumbles up next to him and then the smell of two-week-old dead skunk hits you and you realize its coming from her diaper.
7:45am, after pulling on an oversized tee and baggy sweatpants over your twisted up and breast milk soaked (again) wifebeater you wore to bed last night, you calmly try to sit on the floor to change said one-and-a-half-year-old baby girl. She decides to kick and scream to make the situation more interesting. Mission accomplished, you take the WMD of a diaper to the trashcan. Repeat process on three-month-old baby boy who smiles at you and makes your heart melt despite the fact that your eyelids are so heavy you feel like you need to staple them to your hairline.
8:15am, prepare breakfast of equal portions of grain, fruit, dairy, and protein. Baby girl eats little bites of each then immediately dumps the rest on floor. Repeat process and try to spoon feed her. Get frustrated and swear she won’t eat until lunch. Make her a promise and this time you are going to stick with it. Drink two cups of coffee.
8:25am, give baby girl first apple slice of the day.
8:47am, second apple slice. You still smell that skunky diaper and realize in the kicking and screaming some diaper gunk stuck to your shirt and is completely encrusted on. Change said shirt.
9:07am, two packages of fruit snacks and five crackers later you tell yourself that, “well, at least she’s eating healthy things.”
10:32am, the “troublesome twosome’s” first meltdown of the day following brother’s desperate sneaky attempt to confiscate the chocolate bar hidden in the back of the cupboard. He takes after his mother, he can sniff it out. You take it away, tell them no candy until after lunch. They cry. And cry. And cry. And kick the cabinet.
10:33am, first time-out of the day. Still crying…
10:36am, time-out over, apologies made.
10:37am, crying for candy begins again. You tell them no, no candy until after lunch. You’re going to stick with it.
10:38am, first piece of candy of the day. One for them, two for you.
10:42am, second piece for them, third, fourth, and fifth for you.
10:57am, catch dog and pry leftover chocolate from her teeth.
11:32am, start lunch consisting of all major food groups.
12:02pm, clean 3 major food groups from under the highchair….
And I’ll stop there, as you get the idea. My main point is that whoever came up with the idea that you either need to be a force to recon with in the workplace, or a blue-ribbon Mrs. Cleaver in the home should be shot. So I started this blog, because other mothers I know ask me how I get through every day with three very young children, a home, and a husband. I feel we all have things to learn from each other as mothers. We all can draw from other RealMoms’ experiences. And I believe we all are RealMoms. Just saying it out loud is powerful. Go ahead, say it. “I am a RealMom.” Say it every day. Say it every time you feel discouraged, frustrated, angry, depressed, even when you are happy. Say it over and over. Because being a RealMom is as easy as just trying to better yourself as a mother, as a wife, and as a woman every day. Tell yourself what you do well, then tell yourself where you want to improve. Make it a part of your every day experience. Wake up, look in mirror, tell self I am a RealMom. I had to. I felt so bogged down and so much of a failure that I literally had to grab myself by the bra straps and get out of the slump. And it worked!
So this blog is dedicated to mothers everywhere who want a little extra guidance, who want someone to talk to, to share ideas with, and even someone to give advice to. I am always looking to learn new things.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
RealMom: A New Beginning
Dear Readers,
I recently begun this new blog, after realizing that a failed name means a failed experiment. You see, I started blogging under a different title. SuperMom. And all was well and good. Until I realized, you know what? I don't have superpowers. I can't fly through the air, save innocent bystanders from impending danger all while ironing and cooking the perfect meal. I can't even get my four year old to mind. I'm not super. I'm just real. Plus, technically the name Supermom has already been taken. They can have it. I'm all for something better.
So the transition has started. And shortly hereafter there will be more posts, helpful posts, in collaberation with parts from the book I'm writing. My mission: to support parents. Plain and simple. You want happy, healthy, balanced children? Give their parents total and unwavering support, admiration, and validation. Our society totally lacks that. We tend to have such high expectations of parents, no wonder the rates of women with post-partum depression keep rising higher and higher. The blog says "RealMom." But this isn't just for moms. Dads, grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, brothers, sisters, friends, and everyone else in between can find some good in this totally wonderful philosophy. Traditional parents, modern parents, same-sex parents, God-parents, and foster and adoptive parents are in my heart right now and I really want to make a difference in anyone who has a child in their life. Because confident parents raise confident children.
So I look forward to sharing with you. And if you have any questions, ideas, or just want to chat, do not hesitate to contact me. I'm looking forward to it.
If you would like to read some of the SuperMom blogs, they can still be found at
www.thesupermomexperiment.blogspot.com
Thanks so much,
Erin
RealMom-In-Training
I recently begun this new blog, after realizing that a failed name means a failed experiment. You see, I started blogging under a different title. SuperMom. And all was well and good. Until I realized, you know what? I don't have superpowers. I can't fly through the air, save innocent bystanders from impending danger all while ironing and cooking the perfect meal. I can't even get my four year old to mind. I'm not super. I'm just real. Plus, technically the name Supermom has already been taken. They can have it. I'm all for something better.
So the transition has started. And shortly hereafter there will be more posts, helpful posts, in collaberation with parts from the book I'm writing. My mission: to support parents. Plain and simple. You want happy, healthy, balanced children? Give their parents total and unwavering support, admiration, and validation. Our society totally lacks that. We tend to have such high expectations of parents, no wonder the rates of women with post-partum depression keep rising higher and higher. The blog says "RealMom." But this isn't just for moms. Dads, grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, brothers, sisters, friends, and everyone else in between can find some good in this totally wonderful philosophy. Traditional parents, modern parents, same-sex parents, God-parents, and foster and adoptive parents are in my heart right now and I really want to make a difference in anyone who has a child in their life. Because confident parents raise confident children.
So I look forward to sharing with you. And if you have any questions, ideas, or just want to chat, do not hesitate to contact me. I'm looking forward to it.
If you would like to read some of the SuperMom blogs, they can still be found at
www.thesupermomexperiment.blogspot.com
Thanks so much,
Erin
RealMom-In-Training
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