Mothering my mother

Last week it became clear to me that I am now a part of the sandwich generation. The sandwich generation is the time of life when you are taking care of children and elderly parents. Some of you may have wondered where the heck I've been. I've been at the hospital. Not literally all week, but during much of my usual down time, I've been there, or at my parents' house, helping prep it for her convalescence.

My mom has been in the hospital for a couple of months now.... If you'd like to read more, please visit: http://www.momsoap.com/2010/10/mothering-my-mother/

The tempestuous 2.5-year-old

Annika is going to be 2.5 soon, and it shows. I've heard from various parents that during the toddler years, the half years are when the kiddos show dramatic personality development. And by dramatic personality development, I mean, they start doing new shit when you are least expecting it.

Now, I try to be fair when writing about Annika and I don't want to be one of those mom bloggers who snarks about her kids. But Bejeezus! Annika has been turning the tables on me for the past few weeks. Her autonomy is rearing its head, for sure.

Normally, I try to take the playful approach when trying to get her to do something. But lately it hasn't been working.

And it's getting old, really fucking fast. And we're still early on in the game. I need a new approach. And fast.

A few days ago we were getting ready to head out for the day, but I had some trash to throw away so we walked down the sidewalk to the large trash bin sitting in the parking lot of our apartment complex.

Lately, every time we do this, she's been asking to stay on the grassy patch under a tree, just across from the trash receptacle. I can still see her, so I have been okaying it. So, I hurried over to throw the trash away and came back to where she was running in circles around the tree. I told her it was time to go.

No, she didn't want to go.

Okay, so I let her play for a little while longer.

Okay, it's time to go.

Here's where I screwed up.

Usually I can get her to follow me by saying, "Chase me, chase me!" She'll come running after me. We have a fun little game and then we can move forward. So I did this, and when I turned around, she wasn't there.

I went running back to the grass patch only to see her running in the opposite direction, across the parking lot to the tree on the opposite side of the parking lot.

I won't deny that it made me really angry. Maybe I over reacted, but she knows that it's not okay to walk in the parking lot by herself. She knows this.

I snatched her up and took her screaming back inside. Where we had a long tearful discussion about the rule of "Annika doesn't walk in parking lots or streets alone." And I made up a new rule. "When mommy says it's time to go, you come with me."

Even as I was saying it, I thought, "Don't be a jackass." But I couldn't help myself. I am just sick of the constant, "It's-time-to-go-It's-time-to-go-It's-time-to-go." 

The second rule seemed to take much longer to sink in. She kept agreeing to it, but when I'd ask her to repeat it, she just said, "Annika doesn't walk in parking lots or streets alone."

My little lawyer. 

"I a'int agreeing to shit Mommy. You can't make me say it. I'll defer to you on the first one, but that second one, uh uh. No way."

I think I am expecting too much from her. Now that she's verbal, it's hard to know exactly what she's capable of remembering. And even if she remembers it, can she always avoid the impulse? Probably not.

I went to the South Austin API meeting after this instance and the speaker was Bethany Prescott, a local parenting coach. During the Q&A portion of the meeting, I asked her what to do when the playful stuff stops working.

She said, (and I'm paraphrasing, because I wasn't taking notes), 'It's okay to give a simple, definitive no. In fact, at this age, toddlers are looking for you to set clear boundaries.'

I felt a bit of relief because I had been feeling kind of guilty for all the nos I had been doling out lately.

No, you can't keep playing when you're exhausted and it's 30 minutes past your nap time. It's time to go.

No, you can't push the grocery cart because it would take way too long to finish the shopping and you'll get bored and I'm not chasing you around the grocery store with a half full cart of groceries.

No, you can't just take stuff from other kids.

No, you can't boss strangers.

But, even so, I still think it's good to say yes as much as possible.

Yes, you can run around and around the tree once we get the groceries loaded into the car.

Yes, you can stay in the car and "drive" while I unload the groceries.

Yes, we can play kick ball after your nap.

So, I'll keep using the playful method, but when it doesn't work, I suppose saying no won't hurt her. As long as I'm consistent with my reasoning.

For those of you who have traversed the treacherous waters of the 2-year-old, I'd love to hear from you. What were some of the methods you used to keep the peace without losing your sanity?

A closer look at maternal violence: Part XI: A Series on Attachment Theory, a summary of A Secure Base

Thus far, chapter five of A Secure Base, by John Bowlby, has proven to be the most interesting to me. In the last part of the chapter we learned that childhood anxiety, rejection, abandonment, and simply fear of abandonment, can affect dramatically a person's likelihood to abuse their own children.

It makes more sense to me now that I have my own child. But as a young person, I always assumed that people only became physically violent if they grew up in physically violent homes. Now we know better. So on we go.

If you're new to this series and want to catch up, click here.

The (next) part of chapter five on violence in the family.

Even though Bowlby studied violent mothers, he never treated one. But one of his patients, whom he calls Mrs. Q, came very close to becoming a batterer. Here is her story.

Bowlby met with a new patient at a well baby clinic. She was concerned because her 18-month-old son was refusing to eat, and was losing weight. She was, and had been since his birth, anxious and depressed. She was worried that her son would die, so she had been pestering him to eat. She had felt urges to throw her baby out of the window. She also had battered his carriage and smashed dishes. While talking to Bowlby she fully expected him to become angry with her. He suggested weekly psychotherapy.

During therapy she gave him fragmented bits of her own childhood, but her story remained consistent enough that he was able to piece together the picture. He learned that her childhood, which is typical of abusive mothers, was filled with parents who fought angrily and often. They assaulted one another and threatened murder. Her mother threatened to leave repeatedly. Twice, Mrs. Q had come home from school to find her mother with her head in the oven. And her mother often pretended to desert the family by disappearing for half days. Mrs. Q was terrified that if she did anything wrong, her mother would leave. Her mother made things worse by insisting that the family keep quiet about these events.

Mrs. Q had been a successful technician before motherhood. She was skilled person, friendly, and a sociable neighbor. She made every attempt to be a good wife and mother. Her violent outbursts were puzzling to herself. Bowlby concluded after much therapy that her outbursts were the result of her deeply held anger toward her mother that she had never been able to express growing up.

This type of theory has been expressed by many other professionals in the field of psychology, but its simplicity is not all appreciated by many. This theory also fits a situation where a husband abuses his wife and she turns her anger toward her children. 

The effects of personality development in children who have been assaulted are usually not the only problem. Along with physical abuse, these children are also often rejected, verbally and physically. The results vary depending on the consistency of the outbursts.

These children are often described as depressed, passive, inhibited, dependent and anxious, and also as angry and aggressive. These children do not play and show little or no enjoyment. Expressions of feeling are often barely noticeable or very ambiguous and contrary. Crying is prolonged and unresponsive to comforting. The children are easily angered, and the anger is not easily resolved. These patterns tend to persist.

Some literature suggests that the reason some parents become abusive is because of a child's prematurity, ill health, or negative temperament. Bowlby does not believe these are reason enough for abuse. He says they may be factors that encourage the cycle, however. The cycle is more likely to continue, he says, because of lack of support and a negative upbringing.

Abused toddlers often present as a picture of frozen watchfulness, as if waiting to see what might happen. But these children are often hyper sensitive to their parents' needs.These signs show potential for the argument that children learn early on how to placate a disturbed and potentially violent mother.

I'm going to stop here. There is still much left in this chapter, but I don't want to gloss over it because it is all very fascinating. Also, it's late and the words are blurring on my screen. My apologies for the late post, it's just been that kind of week.

Motherhood is a sweet anxiety

I think all new moms go through some sort of anxiety/PPD. Some recent discussions on my mom forums have gotten me to thinking about my new days as a mother. I didn't realize it at the time, but I think I had a mild case of postpartum depression. One thing I thought for sure was that I was a changed person. It's crazy, the kind of havoc hormones can wreak on a person's psyche, not to mention outlook on life.

But eventually those hormones fade and you realize that you're still the same basic person, only this time, you've got to try to overcome all the crap you hate about yourself that you come to realize is still there, and also find a way to incorporate all those wonderful new feelings into the crappy old you. Post-natal hormones are like drugs that permanently alter your outlook, but the ecstasy goes away, leaving you with all sorts of anxiety about how you are going to mesh your two universes together.

I'm in a personal renewal group and this month's chapter in The Mother's Guide to Self Renewal is on motherhood as a spiritual journey. I'm leading the chapter on Saturday. We alternate leading the group. I chose to lead this chapter because I felt so strongly about the shift in my persona when I had become a new mother. I even had several months to prepare for it. I imagined all the insights I would share with my group, the hills and valleys I thought I had crossed.

Then when I read the chapter and began musing on what I thought I had to say, I realized that there was nothing I could share with this group of women that they had not experienced for themselves. Truthfully, the women I meet with monthly, are all seemingly way more self-aware and spiritual than I am. I'm sure I will learn something from them. Them from me? I kind of doubt it.

Motherhood isn't spiritual. Not really. Unless you are a spiritual person. Which, I am, depending on the day. But lately I haven't felt very spiritual. Kind of bad timing.

Over the past couple of weeks I've been experiencing a downward turn. My brain feels like mush. I can't concentrate. I don't feel hungry, but I eat anyway. I can't sleep at night, but in the morning, my body can barely move. I'm not really enjoying things that I normally do.

I can't say that is anything new for me. In a way, I wish this was something new and it was freaking me out. But it isn't. These feelings are a very familiar to me. It's depression. Pure and simple. It's par for the course for me since I can remember. Motherhood hasn't changed that. It'll go away. It always does.

In my first days as a mother I experienced such highs and lows, it was dramatic, and at the time, it felt different than anything I had ever experienced before. Staring into my newborn's sweet, soft face, marveling at her beauty. Then moments later, being overwhelmed with the task before me: Raise This child and Don't Fuck It Up.

Then after two years of missing lots of sleep, my brain has just started to shut down randomly. I forget things. I mean, completely forget. For all I know, I've already written this exact same post and it's buried somewhere in the archives. Luckily for me, most of my readers are moms, so they've probably forgotten about it too.

It's just tiring. Motherhood, that is. It's wondrous and tiring. It's sweet and anxiety-inducing. It's the best drug you'll ever take. It can be a spiritual journey, if you want it to. I suppose, anything can. It changes you, and it doesn't. It is relentless.

My sexy muffin top

Yep, she isn't happy about it either.

I have never been overly concerned with my body --until now. Having a baby has definitely changed me, and not all of it is pretty. In fact, one particular part of it is extremely gross.

I consider myself to be lucky that I've never had a weight problem and with relatively little effort I can used to be able to maintain my average-but-good-enough-body.

Like most American women, I have certain parts of my body that I hate. My stomach, has always been what I've considered my "problem" area. But let me tell you ladies, (and men, if you're still reading, by the way, does this blog make my ass look fat?) I have a fupa!

A fupa, you know, the fat upper pussy area. 

You know what I mean. The bulgy little area right above your lady bits where that pooch juts out when you sit down, and the part that folds over your panties or two-piece swimsuit after you've had a baby.

And let me tell you, it is hot.

Yeah.

And it's not just that. It extends upward and meets up with the muffin top that's been slowing expanding over the past few months.

Before I had Annika I always heard how your body changes after a baby. I was expecting this big dramatic shift in my body parts. When that didn't happen, I considered myself lucky. I breastfed, so the first 30 pounds (out of 40) of baby weight pretty much dropped right off within a few weeks (yeah, it was crazy) even though I was eating everything in sight. I still had  bit of a muffin top, but I figured that would eventually go away.

Well, it didn't.

It got bigger and flabbier.

I don't have any serious body image issues, and because I'm sorta lazy, I go through phases where I don't exercise a lot.

Pre-baby, this was no big deal. I might gain a few pounds, but it dropped right back off after taking back up with my old exercise regime of walking a few miles and doing a few sit ups.

Well, over the winter, I got lazy for the first time since Annika was born. And now, I have a fucking fupa. And it doesn't stop at the pooch area, it extends into nice fat rolls around my midsection.

Yeah, fupa plus muffin top, equals GROSS!

Lovely.

It's been there for awhile. But I've been in denial. I kept telling myself that with a little bit of walking and some sit ups, it would melt right off. But I've been doing that for a couple of months now and it's still there.

For the first time in my life I'm going to have to step up my exercise game.

It's either that or resign myself to keeping this fupa and buy a whole bunch of new pants. But that's not really an option. For one, it's ugly. For two, it's uncomfortable. And three, I ain't made of money.

I know some women complain about big butts. Not to belittle anyone whose problem area is a big butt, but personally, I would prefer a big butt. It's more socially acceptable and easier to complain about. And as far as I know, it doesn't fold over anything, it just sticks out further.

And at least some men find big butts attractive. I don't think I've ever met a man who said, "Hey baby, nice fupa! Oooh, that is one sexy muffin top!"

If I jump really high, can I reach the top?

Annika was not planned, but I'll be honest here, I've always felt like she was meant to be. It's not something I can explain.

 And no, I did not purposely get pregnant.

I did not want children. I didn't like children. Before I had my own child, when women with newborns were in my presence, I tried to busy myself or pretended to be sick because I did not want to hold them. It felt awkward. I'd look down at the tiny baby and wonder just what the fuck people saw in them. They were not cute to me. They smelled funny. Their heads were floppy. They cried. I was annoyed by them.

Lest any of my mom friends reads this and is freaked out because she let me hold her baby, I'd like to also say that I do not feel this way anymore. I absolutely love babies. Now.

So, keeping that in mind, back to the topic of fate, I wonder if Annika was simply meant to be. And I was meant to be her mother. I cannot even imagine life without her or this world without her.

I've always struggled with whether I believe completely in fate/destiny/divine intervention, or do I believe that we have complete choice over our lives. 

It's pretty logical that I would be pulled between these two sides. I grew up in a family with a mother who was/is a die-hard Christian. She absolutely believes in the Bible, literally, figuratively and all the crappola in between. To her, the Bible is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. If you believe in the Bible, it is necessary to believe that at the very least, you are not in complete control over your life.

My father, on the other hand, is an atheist.

Right. (I shrug my shoulders.)

Oh, yes. They are still married. I don't know the answer to that question in your head, so I am just going to skip on over that and keep going.

So, are our lives destined to be, or do we have free will?

Most intelligent people I know, including myself, would likely say, it's probably a little of both. Sure, we can make choices, choose our paths, set goals, etc. But ultimately, we are swimming along in the sea of life where at any moment a great white shark can swoop down on us and swallow us whole, completely taking us off course.

But, that's not good enough for me.

Lately I've been tripping out on Annika, watching her grow. It's amazing to see her turning into a real person, with her own thoughts and desires.

But, I've also noticed how much she mimics us, and everything else she sees.

Yesterday we were out for a morning walk. Before we left, I told her we were going to look at the pretty flowers. As we were walking, we came upon a lilac tree, she pointed at the flowers, way high up in the tree and told me she wanted to pick some. I told her they were too high. I couldn't reach them.

Then she told me that if she jumped really high, maybe she could pick the flowers.

I was floored. Wow. She thought of that herself?

Then later, she was watching a video, Max and Ruby's Christmas. She's already watched it several times.

They were putting up the Christmas tree and when they were finished, Ruby notices that they forgot to put the star topper on. The tree was done and there was no way for them to put it on without messing up the other decorations. Ruby says, "Maybe if I jump really high, I can reach the top."

Ah. So, that's where she got it. I was sure of it as I watched her reaction to the scene. She jumped up and down excitedly and told me that Ruby was going to jump really high.

Watching my child grow up has made me -- an already reflective person -- wonder more and more about life. What it is that we decide? What it is that we think for ourselves? And how much is simply a matter of following along the course of our society and our families? Do we really decide anything for ourselves?

I don't expect to find the answer. There isn't one to get. Not from any human being. But I wonder.

I try really hard not to put things onto Annika. After reading Unconditional Parenting, I am careful about the messages I send her. But it's impossible not to send some messages to your children. In this world that we live in, there are so many expectations to follow, it's impossible to live an unburdened life.

So I will continue to wonder and be impressed with my child. It's amazing, watching a human being evolve. At least she chose to pull a positive message out.

Maybe if I jump really high, I can reach the top.