An Open Letter to Naps

Dear Naps,

You are beautiful, wonderful, magical things. You make weekdays more bearable, weekends more relaxing, and improve physical and mental health. You are heroic and benevolent, and marvelous.

So, I ask this question with complete sincerity, a heart full of disappointment, and a brain that needs more sleep: why have you abandoned me? Is there a nap-fairy that I have offended? Did somehow becoming a mother disrupt a cosmic balance in my life that once made me worthy of you, Naps? Because, honestly, I need naps now more than I ever did. Sometimes, when I am so exhausted that I can't stop crying, I think about what I would be willing to do for just a little more sleep.  Naps, do you want to know what would I do for a Klondike bar? Very little. Want to know what I would do for you? No, you don't--because those grand gestures would land me in an institution...though perhaps I would see more of you there.

The truth is that you discriminate, Naps, and I am calling you out on it. You are wasted on the ungrateful young, but turn a blind eye to their needy and hopeful parents, kind of like a unicorn. A mean, mean unicorn. Don't believe me? Please turn your attention to the following example:

This picture above is of my son, Henry. He is napping. This is insignificant without the background information, which I will now explain. Naps, Baby Henry had already rejected this nap, not once, but twice! Finally, he collapsed into a sleeping puddle in his father's arms, and you allowed it! After you had been scorned and rejected, you still awarded him a nap. Now, as an adult I never scorn or reject you, but still my visits from you are few and far between. Naps, I speak for all parents when I plead with you to find your humanity and stop this injustice and award naps and well rested-ness for all!

I love you, Naps. Please, please love me back.

Love,
Miriam

Infertility in a Time of Babies

*Dear, wonderful readers of my blog.  You are fantastic people who consistently read my words out of the sweet goodness of your hearts, and I appreciate you immensely. I would like to show my appreciation by being consistent-- a mommy blogger you can count on to always be there for you on posting day. Last week (and a few other weeks in the past) I failed you. Please understand, last week was a rough week for me. An illustration of the difficulty is that I wore the same pair of maternity shorts every day last week. I'm not pregnant. I fit into all of my non-maternity clothes just fine. I just couldn't resist the ease and comfort of that elastic band. So, I wore them. Every. Single. Day. This is not something that I'm proud of. As I glanced at my fifth-day-in-a-row maternity shorts, and my very long to-do list I decided that I needed a break. I hope you can understand. Love, Miriam.*

In my life it is the time of babies. A sweeping glance over my Facebook feed will show you that. Literally one in three posts is about the children or grandchildren of friends. It is fun and full of joy and empathy--truly glorious. The posts are loud and bright, so much so that the contrasting non-posts of other friends is so quiet I almost miss it--but not quite.

As much as my heart fills with joy at the happiness of my friends with baby-filled homes, it breaks deeply for those lovely and dear friends who have not been blessed with that opportunity in spite of their best efforts and most sincere prayers. Some blog about their experiences, but it is a private, painful thing, and I think many of these blog to put an end to all of the uninvited and personal questions about their family planning. Others stay silent, and their own posts contain other happy things in their life. I cannot imagine how it must feel to struggle with infertility in the time of babies...but I can guess.

After my first pregnancy ended so abruptly I was bitter. I would never wish such a tragedy on anyone, but as I scrolled through a never ending list of pictures of pregnant woman cradling their beautifully swollen bellies, and the stunningly gorgeous shots of my friends' infants the perceived injustice of it all stung.

Soon enough, I was posting beautiful pictures of my own, and overjoyed with my blessings. It was suddenly so easy to live happy  thoughts. But sometimes I imagine what it might have been like to be crushed and yearning for a child every day for months and years, possibly without end while daily viewing the happiness of others who had been blessed with the desire of my heart. Then my imaginings are interrupted by my rambunctious son, who is incredible and the perfect embodiment of my own prayers and wishes, and I breath a guilty sigh of relief that I have only had a small, theoretical glimpse into that disappointment.

My point is of course not that the only value in being a woman is bearing children, or that it is impossible to be happy without them. My aforementioned friends are evidence that both of these ideas are completely false. Neither is my point that those of us who have been blessed with growing families should stop posting so much joy, as if we are rubbing it in. My point is that we mothers shouldn't let our joy and comraderie leave others forgotten.

I have noticed a division in church and our society as a whole between the child-blessed and the childless. How many of you with children regularly spend time with childless women from your church? Based on my experience, not too many.

I have no desire to shame anyone, but I do urge you to change. Often I have heard justifications like these:
"We don't have that much in common," "I'm just in a different stage of life right now," "It's much easier to coordinate with women who have children the same age as mine, and I am terribly busy." These excuses make sense, but they do not justify excluding a childless woman. Linda K. Burton, the General Relief Society President of my church offered the following advice: "First observe, then serve." (You can read her entire address here: https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2012/10/first-observe-then-serve?lang=eng). This principle is simple, and powerful. If we each make it a priority to take notice of others around us, including those not currently part of our circles, and then act on those observations we might find that we can provide comfort and friendship to those suffering from infertility in the time of babies. Every single one of us is important, and the number of children we have does not increase or decrease our value and shouldn't make us more or less relevant to each other. We are all women, we should reach out and care for each other-- extending kindness and friendship to all.

The Value of Staying Quiet

This week, an incredibly unpleasant man at the grocery store helped me to develop a skill that is greatly undervalued in our society. The skill is biting your tongue--and I mean literally biting your tongue, which I did three times during this encounter (he was really that nasty).

I think everyone has experienced a confrontation, and immediately after its conclusion thought "this is what I should have said." It's incredible how easily the most articulate and cutting words arrive in our minds just after it is too late. This did not happen to me. I knew instantly exactly what I wanted to say, and how I wanted to say it (hence the tongue biting). I also knew that I was right. The problem is, that being right doesn't matter all that much. A wise professor I once had said, "It isn't enough to be right. You have to be right with your brother." 

It seems that our society has confused standing up for yourself with saying whatever you want to say. These are not the same thing. You can't stand up for yourself if you lose who you are because of the things you say. Giving someone a well deserved piece of your mind is not worth sacrificing your integrity. Taking the high road is seldom easy. For me it was really, really hard!  But as I pushed my cart away with my tongue still clamped between my teeth, and looked into my baby's eyes and the eyes of the other bystanders I realized that engaging in an argument with Mr. Grumpypants would have affected each of them. I felt truly grateful that I had no reason to feel ashamed of my conduct. That unpleasant man could be unpleasant to his heart's content...by himself.

Biting your tongue and turning the other cheek is not weakness--it doesn't mean that you need to become more assertive. Being kind and patient is heroic. Those who bite their tongue and choose to speak only with calm and kindness are the unsung heroes of our world. They are the parents who choose the words they say to maintain a peaceful home. They are the leaders who prevent our organizations and countries from collapsing with their diplomacy. They are the teachers who make a difference. They are the people who make a difference. By employing compassion and peace and kindness they spread it, and our world needs much, much more of these things.

I hope that we can all choose kindness more, and I hope that when the kind words don't come we have the strength of character to bite our tongues.

Gravity and Babies

It seems that Henry has given up on ever getting teeth--who needs 'em anyway? Teeth are for squares!--and is instead focusing on learn to walk, and climb, and leap. all. at. once.

Example: Henry is learning to walk, but he's at the awkward fumbling stage where his movements are shaky and short (like a baby giraffe). Wednesday he decided to give sprinting a try, and sprinted from our ottoman pillow to the couch. Three whole steps--a new record. Of course, it's all fun and games until you hit the hard side of the couch at your full baby-speed.

My little bundle of energy seriously lives for the adventure that comes from being "tossed" in the air (false throws only, people. I've put far too much into this child to carelessly break him), held upside down, and spun in circles. But even that is not enough. Henry takes matter into his own hands whenever he can by climbing up onto things, and then hurdling himself off of them.

This is so nerve wracking for me, and I can almost hear the mothers of Henry's future friends saying, "If Henry Monette jumps off a cliff, does that mean you will too?" Not to make a point, the way my mother used the cliche, but rather as a valid question caused by genuine concern.

I've talked to a number of other parents, who all report that their ten-month-olds exhibit the same behavior. This does not make me feel better. I have this paranoid worry that other parents think I am exaggerating about Henry's adventurous tendencies, and so telling me that their baby is "the same" doesn't mean much. I'm not just a biased parent. This is based on chasing my babbling son around Sunday School while he walks enthusiastically about the room by grabbing the backs of chairs, and more often than not using the backsides of other class members to pull himself up. Meanwhile, the supposedly equally crazy child is sitting quietly on his blanket playing with a board book... for an hour. This makes me wonder: which one of us is actually exaggerating?

I catch my tiny adrenaline junkie in mid-air at least once per day, but usually more like three times. It is amazing! Yesterday he learned how to climb onto the couch without getting a boost from a pillow, or box, or toy. We're already down to just his little, mighty muscles pulling him up. My biceps are getting pretty strong as well, but I'm starting to worry. Will my Love Bug ever understand the consequences of gravity?

Maybe not...but probably...eventually. It is possible that he will mellow out in a few years. It is also possible that he will be in a five point harness every time we go out until he turns ten. In any case, he has got the independence thing down, so that's something--teeth or no teeth.

*If you have, or have had an adrenaline junkie baby please comment. I promise I won't assume you're exaggerating!*

Chivalry Wouldn't Be Dead if We Stopped Killing it.

Last weekend I read an article titled "What we wish every wife knew about her husband" which had been floating around my Facebook feed. This article lists 7 things that the author believes would improve marriages if known by wives. Most of the listed items had some merit to them, but the first one has bothered me non stop since I read it:

"We're not Prince Charming - we're your husband
We don't like it when you expect us to be Prince Charming. In fact, it feels objectifying. Not all of us know how to ride a horse or fight dragons. Not all of us are as dashing or debonair as Prince Charming, either, so don't expect us to be. Some of us would rather read books, work on cars or play video games. That doesn't mean we're defective. It just means we're a unique person. Please love us for who we are."

I will acknowledge that any married woman who still looks at a prince charming figure the same way she did when she was five, is probably not looking at her own marriage in a healthy way. In fact, that woman might need psychiatric intervention. But, I don't know anyone like that in my personal life. In addition, I am fairly certain that dragon slaying is not an actual option in our day and age (unless virtual dragon slaying counts), and furthermore horseback riding, while cool, is not as impressive or useful as it once was.

The article contains another link to a previous article all about how expecting a man to be prince charming is harmful to relationships because of the unrealistic and flawed character that he is. My problem with this is that the things that make Prince Charming so great have nothing to do with his outfit, wealth, ride, or looks.

Here are three qualities that Prince Charming has that every husband should have too: 

• He is there when his princess needs him-- every time. Charming is paying enough attention to know when his princess needs help, and when she doesn't. He offers the necessary support, comfort, or protection in a situation.

• He puts his princess' needs before his own-- Okay, do I even need to explain this? This is one of the basic principles of happy marriages. Prince Charming has to go to extreme measures that threaten his safety, but modern husbands generally don't need to do that. It's a lot easier for you, so instead of whining about how you don't like slaying non-existent dragons, maybe you should just start living this principle.

• He makes a special effort to let his princess know she is special-- Prince Charming does some pretty corny things. You don't necessarily have to sing a song or dance, or say flowery words, but you should communicate something. Or pick up flowers every once in a while. Or take your wife out on a date from time to time. Or take out the garbage. Really, there are a multitude of options (none of which include dragon-slaying). In fact, modern dragon slaying looks a lot like coming home after a full day of work and helping with the kids.

See, the words I read are "Some of us would rather read books, work on cars or play video games. That doesn't mean we're defective. It just means we're a unique person. Please love us for who we are." But what I'm hearing is "I'm just a guy who likes what I like, doesn't care about what would make you feel happier, and doesn't care to improve, so just love me the way I am, because this is who I was when you fell in love with me in the first place." All the while ignoring that being a modern, improved Prince Charming is well within your reach.

On the other hand any wife who is expecting her husband to be Prince Charming, had better be a princess, who reciprocates each one of these qualities!

When you walk into my tiny apartment, it certainly doesn't look like a castle--but it is one because we make it one. At the end of the day when I'm covered in whatever messes my baby has wiped on me, and tired, and grungy I sure don't look like a princess, but I am one because of how I live and treat others, especially my prince. And believe me, my husband is Prince Charming. He might just be the most charming Prince Charming out there too. And he reads, works on our car (a bit), plays video games, and I can't recall him ever slaying a dragon. He is a unique person, and I love him the way he is, and I also love him for always trying to be a little bit better. He makes me want to be better too.

The Non Post

Dear lovely people who visit my blog, the Monette's are sick this week and I find myself too foggy and fuzzy to write a coherent post. In any case, I would only be complaining that the one age group incapable of blowing their own nose (babies), is the only age group without cold medicine. So, I will get better and write a smashing post for next week. In the mean time live the happiest thoughts you can this weekend!

Crib Prison and other Confessions of a Sometimes Mean Mom

Henry has enjoyed the co-sleeping plus program since his earliest months. The plus means that he almost never slept without being held...like ever. And while my arms are now nice and strong, I couldn't wait to improve the arrangement. Since moving to our new apartment Henry has napped exclusively in his beautiful crib, and the improvement to my quality of life from that change alone is incredible. In addition, I can now get him to start the night in his crib, but he doesn't fall asleep in it, and he doesn't stay in it all night long.

I set about to change this, but there is a catch: Henry is a patternless sleeper! Nap times are unpredictable and there seems to be no correlation between his second nap time and bed time. Wednesday I worked very hard to get Henry to nap at times that would put him in bed by 9:00p.m. I had high hopes because his schedule from the day before had matched up with this.

Based on the instructions that I should put him in his crib when he was drowsy, but not asleep I closely monitored him for drowsiness. 9:00 came and went. Then 10:00 came and went. Finally it was 11:00 and we were still not in the same neighborhood as drowsy. Correction--I was well past drowsy, but Henry was crawling around at what seemed a million miles an hour and didn't seem ready to stop anytime soon. I'm not ashamed to say that I cried from exhaustion and frustration. When he finally passed out at midnight, I set him in his crib where he slept for several hours before moving into the bed with me. Shortly after that transition, and I mean very shortly Henry awoke at an obscene hour. I expected to see a sleepy baby wanting to nurse, but instead I got a bright eyed baby with a playful smile. "No", I hissed, "go back to sleep!" He giggled. I tried everything in my arsenal, with no luck. Finally I resolved to ignore him and create a sleeping human barrier than prevented him from launching himself off the bed (one of his greatest aspirations in life). He wiggled around playing and laughing for a while, and then apparently got bored, so he started pulling my hair.

Now, I am a pretty patient person and a very patient mother. I always feel calm and in control when dealing with Henry messes. I most often rationally conclude that they occur because I have left something in his reach. I am a nice mom. In fact, I'd have to say that Henry has a pretty awesome mom, but he doesn't have a perfect one.

Mean mommy arrived at the scene as I weighed my options. I was too tired and too irritated to get up with him, but the hair pulling was not working for me. I did the only other thing I could think of--I sentenced him to crib prison. I gently placed him in his crib, and then went back to the bed and ignored him for a few minutes of rest. Then when nice mommy was able to come back I retrieved him and he went back to sleep.

The truth is I can't always be a tra la la and games and songs and stories mom. I have limits. I have thought about mean mommy a lot since becoming a mother. I occasionally am a mean mom, and I write this post so that any other mothers who also experience mean mommy moments may know that they are not the only one.

Henry has totally recovered from his brief time in the big house, but this mischievous little love of mine will certainly meet mean mommy again, and that's okay because mean mommy loves him just as much as nice mommy does--it's just tough love.