And so the toddler years begin

I've been thinking about learning how to brew some sort of booze at home. Not because I think it would be fun. Honestly, I have some negative images of people who enjoy home brewing alcohol, based on some questionable characters in my past life.

But, really, I'm thinking about doing it because I have a feeling I'm going to need a large glass of something alcoholic at the end of each day for the next few (16 or 17?) years and I want to make sure it's always available, even if it isn't fully fermented.

It's been one of those days.

Annika purposely dumped her lunch on the ground at the park; soaked through her shorts, threw toys all over the house, over and over again throughout the day; refused to eat her dinner unless she was holding the dish or standing up; dumped food on the floor, purposely and accidentally; stood in the bathtub screaming, tried to climb out before I had washed her, dumped water on the floor; and then ran around like a wild woman tossing books on the floor and alternately crying and laughing until I took her to bed an hour earlier than she usually goes to bed.

And today wasn't even what I would classify as a bad day.

We had fun at library story time this morning. She actually slept long enough this morning so that I could have a luxurious shower and make my coffee before she woke up.

She was adorable and charming. She said, "I luff you," for the first time. Granted, she was just repeating what I said to her, but still, she said it as we stood over the stove making soap.

I was actually able to make the soap, start a scoby, chat with a friend on the phone and make homemade french fries that are sitting cold and barely touched in the refrigerator because she suddenly decided that she preferred peas over french fries.

By 7 p.m. I was exhausted. It reminded me of when I was a kid and my mom used to say, "You have to go to bed because I'M tired."

I always thought it was unfair, especially when she said it and didn't actually go to bed, but sat up reading or knitting, doing things that looked like work to me and I couldn't understand why she needed me to be in bed for her to do them. (Yes, I used to sneak out of bed and sit in the darkened hallway, checking to make sure that it really was necessary for me to be in bed.)

So yeah. The toddler years have begun in full force.

I have a feeling I'm going to really regret complaining about feeling forced to take naps with her.

Here's hoping that first memory is a good one

On Sunday morning as Annika and I rolled out of bed, I went in to the living room, put on a video and said to her, "Mommy is going to lie back down for a few minutes. Okay?" I swear I never do that, but I was really tired on Sunday. Honest. I really don't.

As I flopped back into my bed she ran in and was like, "No Mommy. Gep up."

As I lay there looking at her demanding my attention, something occurred to me. She might actually remember this. Oh shit. I better gep up.

Up until recently I have been operating under the assumption that I am still in my grace period for parental fuck ups because, well, she ain't gonna remember, so if I do something wrong I can still plead the fifth during her therapy sessions after her first traumatic relationship where her therapist starts pointing out the parallels between our relationship and why she lets men treat her like shit.

I'm really looking forward to that.

But yeah. She really remembers shit now and I have no idea when her first long-term memory might kick in.

My first memory is one of me wearing my Cookie Monster pajamas and chasing after my brother to bring him his lunch at the bus stop. My mom says that I wore those jammies when I was about 2. She was surprised that I remembered them.

So, really, do I want Annika's first memory to be of me telling her to go watch TV while I sleep? I can see it now. She's going to be blogging about her childhood and I will be all like, "I swear to all the gods in all the universes, I only did that ONCE!"

I vaguely remember reading somewhere that language and memory go hand in hand. And if that is accurate, then I suppose she really might remember a lot of what's happening right now. She's really speaking in full sentences now, even though a lot of them are not distinguishable to most people.

So I guess my grace period is up. I wonder if that means I'm eligible for health insurance now.

Being single-ish means more than the fact that I'm not getting laid

Being a co-parent instead of the traditional single mom and dad with established visitation means that in some ways, you have to function like a marriage.

Since Toyin and I decided to go the co-parenting route, this means three things. One, I often refer to myself as single-ish when I'm talking to other parents because I don't like the stereotypical image of saying I'm a single mom. Two, I have to consult Toyin on things like when to take Annika to the doctor and how often she brushes her teeth. And three, I still don't have time to date. The latter has more to do with the fact that I'm still breastfeeding and co-sleeping and I have other things to do when I am without Annika, but that doesn't mean I won't make an effort to blame Toyin for it.

Anyhoo, last week Annika was sick and when she gets sick, the dys in our dysfunction flares up and man, does it itch like crazy! 

We tend to disagree on how to treat illness. I tend to take the more laid back attitude of, "Well, we'll see if the rash goes away on its own. If it starts dripping puss, then we can try rubbing some raw garlic on it and if that doesn't work I'll take her to the doctor."

Toyin on the other hand, well, I'll just put it this way. I've taken her to the doctor twice for one cold because he was determined that she was going to die if we didn't inject her with something that ended in dryl or drine and had lots of ingredients that I can't pronounce.

So, yeah. Last week she was sick. She wasn't dripping puss or running a fever, but she was highly uncomfortable.

What was wrong with her is irrelevant, and I'm going to be vague about it because I think this particular problem crosses the line into her privacy and what could potentially embarrass her.

But I thought I had it under control and instead of asking Toyin for advice, I gave him a list of items I needed from the store and assumed he would show up with them.

Instead of getting all of the items on my list, he got two out of the seven items and then some stuff that was actually counterproductive (in my opinion).

I was all, "WTF Dude! Are you fucking kidding me? Don't you have a cell phone? Check in next time."

And he was all, "I don't need to check in with you. I have a mind and I can think for myself. Quit being a beotch!"

Okay, okay, he didn't actually use the B word, but I could see it hovering in his mind. When you get to a certain age, you can almost feel the B word and the C word inside the head of a man. They don't actually have to say it. They just think it and all your lady parts stand at attention ready to retaliate.

Then over the weekend Toyin and I got into a discussion about education, as in, what Annika's education will look like as she is growing up.

Once again, I got all huffy with him and I ended our discussion with, "I can't talk about this right now."

Oh christ. Did those words just come out of my mouth? I am for sure turning into my mother. I just hope I don't forget how to check my voicemail and start doing crossword puzzles.

Since I learned that I was pregnant, I formed a pact with myself that I would not impose the exact same negativity on my child that my parents did with me and my siblings.

My parents fought insanely my entire childhood. Even when they weren't having major blowouts, the bickering was constant.

That was something I never considered as a possible problem. Toyin and I weren't getting married. Sure, we argued sometimes but except for the time when we were an actual couple, the fights were rare. For the most part, we got along.

Then we moved in together and spent the first 18 months as parents under one roof.

Yeah.

I'd say that 80 percent of the time, it was at least, okay. There were some blowouts. It got nasty a few times. I chalked it up to normalcy. I mean, even loving couples argue. Passion often inspires heated moments between anyone and even though Toyin and I aren't passionate about each other anymore, we're still passionate and very, very opinionated people.

But after last week I realized something, our lives will be entwined for a long time. (I know, you're going, really Martha, you JUST realized this?) Somehow I thought that once we moved into separate homes things would change and I would get to start making all the decisions without consulting him. Ever. Okay, no I didn't really think that, but somehow I thought it would get easier. And it has, mostly. We are definitely getting along better again. But even though we aren't married, our lives function that way on some level. We will always have to make decisions for Annika as parents. And boy howdy, the big ones haven't even started yet.

So far, we've done alright. Our biggest decisions have usually started with me going, "I want to try some kooky new age crazy hippie thing." Then he looks at me like I've lost my damn mind. Then I explain and explain and eventually wear him down.

Just kidding. Okay, not really. But most of the time we make rational decisions based on what's best for Annika. And I think we'll do just fine. I'm just looking for a way to do it with less "discussing." And by discussing I mean arguing and bickering.

So, how do people do it? How do you make decisions without arguing? I am not a big fan of compromise, especially on big decisions. I mean, that just seems like you have to take to really fine ideas and then water one or both of them down so that nobody is happy.

If one person wins all the time, the other person is never happy. And really, in situations like this, nobody really wins because family members shouldn't have to compromise themselves to make the other person happy. It's probably one of the main reasons people get surprised with divorce papers. One person was happy and the other person was silently stewing.

So, that's the end. Normally I would try to think of something funny to sign off with but Toyin is due back with Annika. So, go rub some garlic on it and we'll see if it stops itching.

Helping her get her way

It's a common parenting adage to say things like, "You have to teach them that they can't always have their way."

I say poo poo on this idea. I prefer to teach my daughter that she can get her way. Instead of being the bad guy and making up arbitrary lessons to knock her down, I'd like to help her learn when it is appropriate to insist on her own way, and when it is appropriate to step aside, or share, or let someone else have a turn.


I like this idea because I think in the long run, while it may not always make for a well-behaved child, it will make for a more empathic person who knows how to stand up for herself. And that's my goal, to raise a happy, functioning adult, not to have a kid who knows how to mind her P's and Q's, although, that would certainly be a nice bonus.

Yesterday I was stuck on the couch watching a video on an endless loop for about an hour and a half because Annika was exhausted and she fell asleep while nursing, catching me unawares, because she'd already had a nap.


It was late afternoon and she kept asking to nurse. I nursed her in bed for a while, but she seemed bored. So we got up. I thought her stomach was hurting her and I had her lie down on the couch and I covered her up with a blanket, which she seemed to like. But after a couple of rounds of this, she asked me to nurse again.

At first I said, "Oh no, we're done nursing for now. Would you like some water?"

"No!" she emphatically stated.

"Nuse!"

"No, you can have some water or some food. Do you want some yogurt?" I offered.

"Nuse! Nuse!" she cried. Her body stiffened up and she started to cry.

I reached out for her to hug her. She turned away.

I watched her for a minute.

All the different parenting voices shouted at me.

"You have to stand firm. When tell a child no, you have to mean it. Be consistent."

"But she really seems to need to nurse."

I gave in and nursed her. I've been doing that a lot lately, giving in. Letting her "have her way," whatever that means. I don't understand why parents think that if you let a kid win an argument or give in to a demand that is somehow bad parenting. Personally, I think that's a good way to teach a kid that they will never get what they want.

I was so glad I did give in yesterday, because she was on the verge of a major tummy ache, one that lasted all day today. We spent the whole day on the couch, sleeping and nursing. She barely ate. But she nursed a ton. She was having terrible pains throughout the day. When one would come on, I'd rush to her side, or hold her tight if I was already there. And by the end of the day, she started yelling for me, "Mommy!" And reach out to me. She didn't need me to be there. But she wanted me to be next to her.

I like that. I like helping my daughter. I like seeing the proof that she knows she can count on me.

And yes. I like helping her "get her way." I hope she always gets what she wants in life.

I learned the hard way that night weaning does not ensure sleeping through the night

I've given up on night weaning.

This may come as a shock to any of you who have been following my night nursing travails. From what I've written I'm sure that it seems as if night weaning was a relative success and we were now sleeping through the night.

This was true on some level, but I've come to realize that many children simply do not sleep through the night for the first few years of life, no matter WHAT the parents do. My daughter is one of those children.

We had gotten to a point where she stopped crying and asking to nurse. This happened in a relatively short time. I thought that was all it would take. All it should take. Every mom I talked to told me that their kids started sleeping through the night once they night weaned. And if they woke up, they went back to sleep easily with cuddles and/or a drink of water.

Apparently I was talking to all the wrong moms. Or, maybe I was just hearing what I wanted to hear.

But I'm here to tell you, if you think that night weaning solves all your sleep woes, it ain't so.

Say it isn't so!

Let me say it again.

Some of us simply have to accept the hard truth that it takes longer for our wee ones to sleep through the night without any major intervention from us.

A brief synopsis of our night weaning:

In December I broke down and decided to night wean. It went well. The first night was pretty bad. The second night wasn't quite as bad. And the third night she slept for most of the night. This continued, with brief night wakings for about a week until Annika got a cold.

Then she awoke begging to nurse and because of her dry mouth and stuffy nose, along with a spotty fever, I didn't have the heart to tell her no when she asked to nurse in the middle of the night.

We continued night nursing until some time in February when I decided that the worst of sick season was over so we needed to get back on track.

This time didn't go so well.

I don't remember how long it took, but it was several weeks of off and on crying and asking to nurse.

Then she stopped asking to nurse. But in March I realized after a few weeks of continuous waking that Annika was not going to just magically sleep through the night.

She'd wake up and then lie there, tossing and turning and whispering, "nuse," for about an hour. Then eventually drift off.

But I stayed awake.

I realized that if I wasn't getting any better sleep, there was really no reason to force her to lie there for an hour trying to fall back asleep when I could just nurse her and she'd fall right back to sleep.

The good part in all of this is: A couple of weeks ago is when I started night nursing again. Since then her language has had what I consider to be a second explosion.

The first one happened around 16 months when she started saying her words really clearly.

Now, at 23 months she's saying tons of phrases. She was saying random phrases before, but these new phrases are in the proper context.

She tells me, in reference to an object, to "Set it down, Mommy." "Call Daddy." "Go for a walk."

She's also started screaming "Stop!" when I comb her hair.

So, yeah. Night weaning has not solved my sleep problems. Annika clearly needs nursing to help her as she struggles through her developmental phases. Maybe she's needs it more than other kids. That's okay with me. I like knowing that she leans on me. I hope that she always does. I want her to know that I'll always be there for her.

And the cool thing is, I am learning how to deal. These first two years of being a parent have made me tougher than I ever imagined I could be or ever would be.

I thought I had done a lot of hard things in my life. I got married and moved across the world to another country.

I got divorced.

I lived in Detroit. Alone. For several years.

I've done numerous other things here that were hard and scary that I'm not going to mention.

But let me tell you, none of that stuff has anything on being a parent. It's toughest, scariest, rockiest road I've ever traveled. And night nursing was just the beginning.

Dropping in to my life through yoga

I want my life to feel like ashtanga yoga.

About a month ago, I started a yoga class at my friend, Rhonda's, new studio. I went to a couple of classes and then life got in the way, illness, lateness, and our trip to Michigan, so I missed class for a few weeks.

At Yoga Sunya, they teach ashtanga vinyasa yoga, which is characterized by focusing on a dynamic connecting postures. The movement between each posture is just as important as the posture itself.

I went to class on Saturday. I have done some stretching here and there in the past month since my last class, but I haven't done a full hour's worth or even more than a few minutes of yoga at home. But about halfway through the class, my body took over. It was easy. I just did the same thing over and over again. And soon it was easy. It felt good.

I don't mean that it felt good physically, even though, it did feel good physically.

More importantly, it felt good mentally.

At one point, it didn't feel good physically. Briefly I thought I might pass out because I was underneath the heat vent and I got my first glimpse into what menopause might feel like. 

So I moved away from the vent. I continued on. And it was easy. It felt good. I liked it and I want to do it more and more. Instead of stopping, which, part of me wanted to do, after my short stint with fake raging hormones, I continued. And it was easy.

After class I sat down with Steven, Rhonda's husband, and my instructor. We chatted for about an hour because I'm writing a freelance article about their new studio.

He shared how he learned about yoga. He gave me a brief yoga history lesson. And he talked about how his practice affects his life.

When he started doing yoga, he thought it was just another form of exercise. Something to help keep him in shape. After some time, his understanding of yoga morphed. He began to see the connection between his daily practice and his mental state.

After only a few classes, I have begun to see the connection. And now, I'm looking forward to continuing on with it so I can see more long term effects.

The first few classes I took with Steven, I grunted and stretched. He adjusted almost every pose I did. I tried really hard to pay attention to my breath. Inhale, stretch. Exhale, stretch. Oh, crap, I inhaled before I was done with the exhale pose. "Hurry, hurry," my mind said. "Catch up."

I started out like that during this class. Then something happened. I don't know what it was. Somehow, my body took over.

I didn't have any great realization. The only thing I did differently this time was tell myself not to worry.

I told myself to stop thinking that everyone else in the class was noticing how bad I was at this. I chose to tell myself, "It is okay if you aren't as fast or as smooth as the other students. Nobody is judging you. Nobody else cares if you stop or if you do a wrong move." I paid attention to my breath. I did the moves. I stopped over thinking every little thing. I got behind a couple of times and instead of skipping the in-between movement, I just followed my breath. Instead of staying behind, I caught up. Pretty soon I was feeling stronger and more powerful than I had only a few minutes before. I was flowing.

During our interview, I told Steven how my body just took over during class.

When I told Steven this, he smiled and said, "You dropped in."

I didn't ask him to explain because I thought I knew what he meant. Maybe he meant something else, but I interpreted it to mean that I let go of what I was thinking.

I let my body drop into the flow of the movement. I stopped trying to control my body with my mind.

I want my life to look like that.

Whenever I attempt something new, I know what I want to do. But I find myself constantly worrying that it's not good enough. Or somebody will tell me that I'm doing it wrong. Or that I can't do it. Or that I won't be fast enough. I won't be good enough.

But the truth is, I'm the only one telling myself that stuff.

Well, no, that's not true. I didn't completely make it up. My parents told me that stuff during my childhood. I was expected to get A's in school because "You're smart." If had questions, I was told, "Don't be stupid." I wasn't given choices. I was limited on food and television. I wasn't allowed certain activities because of religious beliefs. I was forced to go to church, which gave me a neurotic fear and unhealthy obsession with my afterlife.

I didn't like sports so I always got picked last because I wasn't fast enough, even though in eighth grade I almost beat the fastest girl in track during a fun run. I would have at least tied with her, but when we rounded a corner, out of sight from the teachers, she pushed me off the road. I was slowed down just enough so that she beat me, but I hauled ass right behind her even so. Bitch.

There have been many moments in my life where I had small realizations that I was fast enough and smart enough. But I always talked myself out of that awareness. I told myself it was a fluke. Somebody else wasn't feeling good. I caught a break.

I'm not going to do that to myself anymore.

After my class and interview with Steven, I decided to start doing what came naturally. I decided to listen to what I want. Not because I'm feeling particularly selfish, but because it will help me practice doing what I want in life. 

I went to lunch at Mr. Natural, a local vegetarian restaurant. I'm not a vegetarian, but I have been craving vegetarian food lately. I ate there with a friend last week and the entire week afterward I kept thinking about the milanesa patties with green chile sauce, nopalitos, gorditas and their freshly made corn tortillas. So I went and ate there. I didn't think to myself how I really shouldn't be eating out, or tell myself that I needed to get home and do some work. 

When I got home, what I really wanted to do was watch a TV show and drink a beer. So I did. While I was sitting there, I noticed that what I really wanted to do was organize a space in my living room that has been badly out of whack since I moved in. It's been four months.

It is finally clean. The clutter is gone.

Over the past several months I've been working on organizing my thoughts toward what I want and what I want my life to look like. I've been telling myself that if I just work toward those goals, they will come.

I do believe that is true, but what I've realized that may not work for me because my mind is constantly fighting with me about what I should do.

I am constantly trying to remind myself what I need to do.

But this doesn't work for me because then my needs and my wants start to conflict and I do whatever I need to do in order to avoid the conflict.

Now, though, what I need to do is to stop. Listen to my breath. Watch my inner thoughts and let them flit away. Let the actions arise effortlessly.

I want my life to look like yoga. That is what I want.

Spring: a time for renewing my nursing vows

I think people should make resolutions not once a year, but for every season.

I've always been a big believer in resolutions, even though I don't always stick to them, they are good reminders of things that I want. And in the end, if I want it badly enough and resolve it often enough, I usually do it. Eventually. Most of the time. Sometimes. Okay, maybe not ever. But sometimes, I do. Really.

To that end, my spring resolution is a renewal of my original intent to continue nursing Annika until she is ready to wean on her own. I'm even contemplating going back to night nursing since night weaning hasn't been the cure-all for my sleep ailments that I thought it would.

About a month ago, I began contemplating weaning.

I was sick of the constant clutching at my clothes and rolling around in my arms to position herself at my breast when I was holding her. I was frustrated because Annika would turn up her nose at food, but then two seconds later request to nurse.

So I decided to turn to my trusty mothering books for some answers.

I've been reading, How Weaning Happens, and Mothering Your Nursing Toddler. These books have helped me to realize that most of what I've been feeling is completely normal. Feeling frustrated because she prefers to nurse instead of eat regular food. Worrying that she's not getting enough nutrition. Annoyed because every time we are about to go somewhere she wants to stop and nurse. More annoyed because she wants to nurse before she gets strapped into the car seat after a trip somewhere, even when I tell her we can nurse as soon as we get home. Frustrated because nursing has become physically irritating.

But in reading these books, I have realized that some of my frustration is possibly some of the cause of additional nursing. I had wondered if that might be the case. Nursing to Annika represents not just nutrition, but closeness to me. It is a big part of her support system. Suckling helps her ease her stress during heavy developmental periods. When I tell her no, or blow her off with distractions, it represents rejection to her, thereby adding to her stress.

It's not like I didn't already know that stuff. I did. But it was hard to see it through my gritted teeth and clenched hands during the nursing sessions that were little more than light sucking most of the time. I'd look down at her and say, "You're not even really nursing!" I began to wonder just what it was exactly that she was getting out of it.

It made it even harder to be at playgroups with other kids her age and their moms saying, "Oh yeah, we've completely weaned. It didn't seem to bother little so-and-so in the slightest." Or, "Oh, yeah, she sleeps through the night, no problem."

It seemed to me like most of the other moms I knew in real life didn't have the same issues surrounding nursing that I did.

I felt alone in my struggle and questioning myself about how much she really needed to nurse and was I just creating bad habits.

But these books, and additionally some online friends have rallied around me in support, telling me I'm not the only one. She will eventually grow out of it. And yes, she really does need it. Even though all the stupid parenting experts say she doesn't.

Where did my little girl go?

For the longest time, I thought Annika would be a baby forever.

Of course, that's ridiculous. I knew that logically. But there was something in my brain that couldn't let go of the image of us as mother and baby forever. The idea that she would grow up seemed so far off in my mind that I just concentrated on her as a baby and read books on babies and thought baby thoughts.

Then over the past couple of months, I realized with a horror that she is almost 2!

Two freakin' years old! Where did these past two years go? It seemed like only a few months ago I was still pregnant and then giving birth, cuddling my sweet, soft, newborn.

It's a little early for this post, I realize, since her birthday is not for another month and a half (May 10 if you want to send gifts, LOL). But for some reason, this seemed like the appropriate time to write about it. Maybe it's because I've realized that my memory is never going to be the same again and since I'm thinking about it, I should do it now. There is something about becoming older and having failing body parts that makes you start to really live in the moment. :)

But anyway, Annika has been developing rapidly as of late.

She has start saying, "Cool," and "Cause," as pat responses. She tries to work remotes and she actually succeeds more often than I expect.

She has recently started to bargain with me, which trips me out.

She has gotten picky about what she wears and when she likes her outfit, she pulls at her shirt and says, "Annika cute."

She knows all her colors. She can count to 10 and is beginning to recognize most of the numbers in random spots. She likes to sing the alphabet, although she can still only get up to ABCD, then H, by herself. She also knows XYZ.

She has favorite foods already. She loves cashews and cantaloupe and chocolate. She refuses to eat vegetables even though during her first year she gobbled them down voraciously much to our (and everyone we told) surprise. She requests pizza occasionally.

She's such a, a, a, dare I say it? A KID! Oh my god. And it just happened overnight.

Just like the birds and the bees, parents should talk about race

Annika has been learning her colors for some time now. She learned brown and orange pretty well several months ago For a while she confused all her colors, but in the past few weeks she's really gotten the hang of it. Since she understands now that she knows her colors, she's been excitedly pointing out the colors of things without being prodded.

A mama friend of mine, who is also a fellow Bi-racial mom, told me that her daughter started being curious about her skin color around the age of 2. So ever since Annika's new proficiency with colors and labeling them I've been waiting with mild and somewhat increasing interest in when she notices our skin color is different.

A couple of weeks ago we were sitting in the living room with our dog, Baltar, and she looked at him and said to me, "Baltar brown."

This was new, pointing out his color instead of the color of something inanimate. I wondered if she was going to notice her own skin color, and then mine. I still don't know what exactly I will say to her about our differences. I think at first I will be matter-of-fact about it and then as she ages and the appropriate times present themselves I will delve deeper into it.

Then she looked down at herself and said, "Annika pink."

She was wearing a pink shirt.

Then she pointed at me and said, "Mommy red."

Yep, I was wearing a red shirt.

I wasn't disappointed though. She's a little young to talk to about skin color yet.

But that episode and a Facebook exchange with another mom about brown-skinned dolls led to a reminder of a couple of articles I read last year that I loved and I wanted to share. Even if you don't have children, these articles are good reminders that we, as a society, are still not completely comfortable with the topic of race. But it's good to talk about it, as you will read.

The first article is an excerpt from the book Nurtureshock. The article talks about how children are inherently racist. Not that they hate all people of different color, but they naturally select people who are like their parents, gravitate to them, and unless they are told differently, they believe that people similar to them are the best.

Studies performed at University of Texas, in Austin, showed that White parents didn't want to talk to their children about race. Unfortunately, this is the wrong way to approach it. These parents want their children to be colorblind. Their intentions are admirable. But silence on the topic was found to give the children the opposite idea. The researchers found that these kids, who could clearly see the differences, took it to mean that their parents didn't like Black people, or they thought it was a taboo topic.

The next article is about a Black family who adopted a White little girl and the racist attitudes they encountered, especially the father when he was alone with his daughter.

Hair products aren't black and white

After skin color, the other most obvious difference between the races is typically hair texture.

When I was pregnant I wondered about fixing Annika's hair.

How would I comb it? Would it be easy? Would I mess it up? When do I start using product? Do I really need to use product?


                                                                              Last week we visited Toyin's family in Michigan. One of the mornings that we stayed at his parents' house, I got in the shower with my toiletries from home and realized that my crappy little plastic travel shampoo bottle had cracked and most of the shampoo had leaked out.

I was reminded of why I had actually brought my own shampoo. Even though I had not given it much thought, I had this idea that I wouldn't be able to use the shampoo at Toyin's parents' house. Toyin rarely uses shampoo on his own hair, so it's never been something we have discussed. Plus, well, he's a guy. I have never really talked about hair products with any of the men in my life.

So when I got into their shower, and realized I might have to use some of his mom's shampoo, I examined it and realized that there was nothing much different about it than my own shampoo other than it was for curly hair and I don't have curly hair.

I felt like an ass. This whole hair product myth in my head was just another one of those stupid stereotypes or just flat out pieces of misinformation.

I mean, it has never occurred to me to buy different shampoo for Annika than for myself. Conditioner, maybe, but not shampoo. And the conditioner would only be different because she has thick, curly hair, unlike my flat, limp hair. So why would hair products for Toyin's family be any different than Annika's?

After my shower I got myself dressed and I began cleaning Annika up the for the day. I haven't bought any hair products for her yet, although I've been meaning to, so I decided to look at Toyin's mom's stuff and see if she had anything I could use on Annika.

I tried this stuff called Luster. It worked great. I barely even needed to comb her hair because it smoothed it out so much.

Then, in order to cultivate myself a little further into the world of African American hair products, I decided to see how it would react to my hair.

I dabbed a tiny bit on my palm and smoothed it on the tip of some of my strands. I was like, "Wow, this stuff is great!"

It didn't take much, but it smoothed out my frizzies ever so slightly and made my hair feel silkier than usual.


The next day I tried his mom's shampoo, Creme of Nature detangling shampoo. I really liked it. It was a bit creamier and a little heavier than what I typically use, but my hair was less frizzy than usual too. I'm planning on buying some and I will likely use it on myself as well as Annika.

Deep in my roots I am a bit more of a hillbilly than many White folks, so maybe I'm in the minority, but I grew up thinking that (big deep breath here, please don't think I'm an idiot) Black people's hair was way oilier than White hair.

I have no idea where that idea came from. I'm not even sure I remember ever hearing it from anyone. Maybe it was because it was the 70s and the Jheri curl was a popular hair-do, which to me, always looked wet.

What I've learned from various Black friends over the years is that Black hair is typically drier than White hair. Heavier conditioners and less washing is a must for Black folks, also the reason many Black women wear braids a lot of the time or use hair weave to keep their natural hair from breaking.

I've learned a lot about the differences between the races in my adult life, and now that I have a child, I'm starting to see the similarities.

Success, a Bi-racial baby doll... sort of

We're in Michigan this week visiting Toyin's family, and I knew being in southeast Michigan, which surrounds Detroit, I would likely have a much better chance of finding a brown baby doll. I was right.

Of all places, my friend Tareeshia and I, found a whole shelf filled with Black babies at Big Lots.

When we got home we realized that the baby dolls were actually Spanish dolls, but I don't care. I'm just happy to have another baby doll closer to Annika's skin color.

Kwintshle kwintshle Little Star, I'm finally as important as my car

Annika mixes up her Ks and Ts. When she asks for Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, she says, "Kwintshle, Mama, Kwintshle." When she gets tickled, she laughs and says, "kittle." This has nothing to do with health care reform and the bill finally passing, as this post does, it's just fucking cute.

When I awoke this morning to read that the health care bill finally passed yesterday, I shed a few tears of joy and relief.

I've been without health insurance since Annika was 6 months old. I left my job to care for her at home in the first year of her life and with that decision came a decision to lose health insurance for myself. I was lucky enough to have an employer who would cover me for the first six months after she was born. They were not required to do so, but they did anyway because it's a small company and they felt like it was a good decision for the company and their employees leaving on maternity leave.

My biggest fear with losing health insurance was not for my current health, but for some big unknown in the future. What if I get cancer and my then insurance drops me because it might be a pre-existing condition? 

Now that we have health care reform in this country I am overjoyed at the prospect that I will soon (someday?) be able to pay a bill once a month that will allow me to be covered in the event of a catastrophic occurrence in my life, much the same as if I were to have a car wreck and my car is covered.

I've always thought that insurance was one of those necessary evils. I mean, it's silly to pay into a system that you will never get anything out of unless something bad happens to you, right? In theory and with cars and homes, yes, it is sort of silly, however in such a large society, I suppose it's necessary. The truth is, big companies have more clout than the average American and the reason cars and houses are required by law to be covered is because banks don't want to take the fall for accidents. Human beings on the other hand, can just go piss off.

The odds that my body will fail at some point in my life are greater than my car getting into a deadly wreck before I trade it in for a new one.

My expectations of a great change with this health care bill are not great. It will be months, if not years (more likely) before people like me will be able to expect any great change in their lives. I might even (hopefully will) have some coverage through a job or another network by then.

But it's nice to know that our lawmakers finally acknowledge that people are just as important as cars and houses. Finally.

Finding a Bi-racial baby doll is starting to stress me out

Did you know that they sell hair relaxers for little girls? Yeah, you know, chemicals to make your hair straight if you have curly hair. They are sold in the ethnic section. But the pictures of all the girls are Black girls. I guess that's what ethnic means. (Please note the sarcasm.)

Yet, in those same stores you will be lucky to find a Black baby doll that would be way more appropriate to buy for the girls that are pictured on the side of the boxes of those hair chemicals.

This post has been brewing in my mind since I wrote my last post. The same day I read this article on The Root.

My first thought, to be honest, was, "Wow, they had enough Black Barbies to put them on sale? Where is this store?" (Louisiana.)

Ever since I was pregnant with Annika I have browsed the toy sections at random stores checking for Bi-racial and Black babies. And I am continually disappointed with the lack of baby dolls in colors besides White.

Annika actually has a Bi-racial baby doll, which I happened to come across at a used toy store, quite randomly. But other than that doll, I have yet to see any Bi-racial dolls and rarely see Black dolls in stores.

Now, I'm not a shopper by nature. I admit freely that I haven't done as much checking as I should have.

But this week we spent some time at a friend's house who has a 3-year-old. She has way more baby dolls than Annika. Annika was so absorbed in playing with the dolls, holding them, feeding them, pushing them in the stroller, I realized I need to get her more. She has exactly two, and one of them is White. Thanks Mom.

Spending time with our little friend who is well-endowed with baby dolls made me realize that I have been remiss in searching for some baby dolls closer to Annika's color, so I checked at the few stores we visited this week.

I didn't exactly expect grocery stores and pharmacies to carry a wide variety of dolls, but I figured they would probably have a few white dolls and maybe one shade of brown.

None of them had any brown.

I felt, sad. Angry. I wondered if I should complain to the management, but I didn't really feel like it would do any good. The problem is not with the managers at a handful of local grocery stores in largely White Austin. 

This morning I did a search on Amazon and was sadly, sadly disappointed to find exactly one Bi-racial baby doll. Two things. First off, she costs $49.95 and secondly, she doesn't even look Bi-racial! She looks White with brown curly hair. I found this doll labeled multi-ethnic, when I searched for Bi-racial baby doll. Closer to Annika's color, but she comes with a pretty hefty price, at $98. Oh, and she comes with a storybook and self-esteem poster too! Thanks for assuming my "multi-ethnic" child has self-esteem issues.

So, short story, when I look at run-of-the-mill stores for a baby doll for my daughter, I can't find one. When I search Amazon for Bi-racial baby doll, I come up with "Your search did not match any products." But they give me plenty of White dolls to choose from. A search for Bi-racial doll comes up with exactly three dolls
all priced between $50-$100.

I followed a few other links and found some Black and Bi-racial baby dolls. Amazon has several multi-ethnic dolls. Way to cover all your bases doll companies.

The thing is, I don't like to shop. I don't want to have to research buying a doll for my daughter. But it looks like I'm going to have to. Pretty ridiculous.

I know that there are going to plenty of dolls to choose from once I find them, and I'm sure they won't all be so high dollar. But it sure would have been nice to be able to pick up a cute little $5 bean bag doll at the grocery store.

My daughter is NOT the color of food

I think I finally get it. At least -- as much as a White person can "get it." And I'm even going to attempt writing about it, even though I'm not sure I can explain it.

Yesterday a White woman casually referred to Annika as "caramel-skinned."

She wasn't being racist or malicious. But in some ways that is exactly the problem.

She was reminding me that we'd met before and in her attempt to describe Annika she used the phrase. Likely it's her uber-liberal, supposedly open-minded way of attempting to connect to people of color without using such banal terms as "Black" or "African American."

I'm not a big fan of such terms as descriptors either. Not that there's anything wrong with saying them. What it comes down to is that they're overused, not that they should be changed to something less baggage-filled.

Living in Detroit for nine years, I got schooled in all the subconscious slights that we Whites/Caucasians make toward Blacks/African Americans.

It's not real racism. It's the kind of undercurrent that we (Whites) completely miss. It's so ingrained in us that it's normal that we don't understand some of the hostility we receive. Hell, a lot of the hostility that's doled out is subconscious and ingrained as well.

Toyin and I have had some pretty enlightening conversations about race.

But even so, since becoming Annika's mother, I have been on the end of such missteps by other White folks and actually felt the icky feelings.

When I was still pregnant I overheard a White woman telling a little girl that she liked her "puff balls."

She was talking about her hair.

I'm sure the woman meant no harm, but I was irritated as fuck by it. And I didn't even know the little girl.

Later on in my pregnancy I was taking a trip to see Toyin in Detroit. On the airplane I was sitting next to a White woman about my age and we got to chatting. She was a mother of two, so she was interested in hearing all about my birth plans and the father of my child.

As mothers do, we fell into talking about things that most strangers would not talk about, TMI subjects like poop, childhood bi-polarism, pregnancy sex, and then lice.

I had mentioned that Toyin was African, so she knew that I was carrying a bi-racial child.

When the topic of lice came up, I said, "Ooooh, that sounds gross. I so hope I never have to deal with that."

She replied, "Oh, no, you won't. They (lice) don't like horse hair."

I couldn't breathe for a few seconds. I felt like I had been kicked in the gut. Did she just compare my child's hair to animal hair?

Yes, yes she did.

I stuttered for a few seconds and said something that passed for a response.

She looked uncomfortable. We talked for a few minutes to pretend like nothing had happened. Then we fell into a silence for a time.

She probably didn't mean anything by it. It was probably so ingrained in her upbringing and since I am White, she fell into the trap of saying racist things to other Whites without fear of indignation.

And in case you're wondering, as Toyin did. I did not misunderstand her. It just reminded me that it was a common comparison that I had heard growing up in west Texas.

So, back to the overuse of the terms, African American and Black.

Nothing wrong with it, when used correctly or in the right context. But as Toyin explained to me once when I told him I didn't see anything wrong with using them as descriptors he said to me, "Yes, but why does it always have to be the first descriptor. How often to you describe someone as the White person? You would use the hair color, or height or what color shirt he/she is wearing." 

This might seem benign to some. I can say that at some point in my life, it certainly did to me.

But now, as a mother, I have begun to see how what others think of you can define you in many ways. It takes a strong and mature person to fight against stereotypes and even then, people don't always manage to fight them successfully.

So, really, changing her descriptors to something that sounds sweet or delicious doesn't change the fact that you are using her skin color to describe who she is.

Go fly a Kite

Toyin and I took Annika to the annual Zilker Park Kite Festival today for some fun, sun, and toddler running.

She wasn't that impressed with it. The festival was super crowded. Annika reacts to crowds much the way I do. They slow her down. She gawks at everything. She is overstimulated and can't really enjoy the festivities. So we didn't stay very long.

Once we had made our rounds, we headed back to the car. As we picked our way through the crowds of cars, families, dogs and random kite strings in our path, I overheard a snippet from a father who was clearly at the end of his rope. He was semi-chasing his son, who was around 5 or 6, with a candy bar. Shoving it up against is mouth and loudly saying to him, "Just open your mouth and TAKE A BITE!"

As the mother of a picky eater, I had to laugh. Before I had a child, I might have wondered what on earth was possessing this man to try to force-feed his kiddo a candy bar. I may have even given him a dirty look and then spewed things about terrible parents and child abuse.

But not now. I've never had to force feed candy to Annika. That's the one thing she will gladly eat. But I have been known to chase her with food.

This poor dad, he'd probably been trying to get his kid to eat all day then finally broke down and bought a candy bar, thinking his son would eat that and at least he'd save him from malnutrition for another day.

"But I don't LIKE peanuts!" the son wailed as we passed them by.

"JUST TAKE A BITE! IT'S ONLY PEANUTS!!"

My guess is that dude is having a huge drink right about now.

Anyhoo.

We had parked at Toyin's office building right up the street. Annika really wanted to go inside and go up the elevator. Figures. Take the kid to a kite festival with junk food and bouncy castles, but she just wants to go press buttons in an office building.

So we did that and then we went to eat Chinese food at our favorite Chinese buffet.

The best part of the day was when Toyin made a mini ice cream cone as we left and Annika stood outside learning how to lick the "cream."

Thinking about weaning, and thinking about not weaning

I always thought I would let Annika nurse until she was done. When Annika was an infant, I had no intentions of even night weaning.

But this past week I've been seriously considering weaning completely.

This topic has been no different for me than all of the other choices I have had to make when it comes to parenting. One minute/hour/day/week I want to go one way, then I think about it and I can't decide if that might be harmful for my child. So, I put off making a decision. Then I get frustrated with it all and go back and forth, back and forth.

There are no easy answers for these things.

I didn't read up much on nursing because I thought I knew it all. My mother was a La Leche League leader when I was a kid. Ever since I can remember I heard how great nursing was. I was nursed until I was 3.

I thought my decisions on nursing were set in stone. It was a relief to think that at least ONE thing I didn't have to make a decision about.

The idea of mama-led weaning seemed laughable to me. Until this week.

Annika still nurses as much as seven or eight times a day. She's been sick this week and it has been that much or more on the days when we are home most of the day. I did not think that Annika would still be nursing this much at this age. I had always heard that during the second year kids usually drop down to two or three times a day, usually surrounding sleep. I thought that was the natural progression.

Even in my peer group, where most of my mama friends still nurse their toddlers, it's not typical to see them nursing in public.

Some moms make a point to stop nursing in public in the course of the second year.

I never even thought I would do that. And I haven't so far.

For the most part Annika rarely asks to nurse when we are out and about, which is why most toddlers aren't seen nursing in public. They just don't think about it. If Annika does ask for it, it's because she sees another kid nursing and even then she only nurses for a minute or two. If we do nurse out of the house, it's usually in the car before leaving somewhere.

But lately I have gotten so frustrated with nursing that I started thinking about weaning.

I picked up a couple of books (How Weaning Happens and Mothering Your Nursing Toddler) from the South Austin API book library. It's a local group I'm a member of.

I only read the first page of How Weaning Happens and I started to cry. All of a sudden all my frustrations began to become reality. What got to me was a passage that said weaning was equivalent to a mother's rejection of her child.

It had taken some time, but I realized that what was frustrating me was not that Annika still wants to nurse. I think it's that I'm not doing something right or I'm missing something.

I don't know what it is, or if that's even the case.

But I wonder if Annika is getting all the nutrition that she needs. She must be missing something if she still wants my milk so much. She also refuses to eat enough solid foods. Or maybe I'm not giving her enough attention, or the right kind of attention. Being with a toddler all day is exhausting. It's not the same kind of exhausting as a baby.

Babies are at least easier to interpret. Babies need four things. Food, sleep, diaper change, or holding. Toddlers need those things, but they also need mental stimulation. They want you to sing with them or to them. They want you to dance with them. They want you to give them food. Then they throw it on the floor. They want you to play games and read books. They want to leave the house. But then when you are ready to go they don't want to leave. You spend all day cajoling, helping, stimulating, feeding, dressing and undressing.

And then on top of it all, parenting experts tell you that you have to set "loving limits." What the hell does that even mean??

So I wonder if I'm setting the "right" limits around nursing. I don't want to give Annika the wrong signals. But I also don't want her to think I'm rejecting her.

As I write this I'm still at a loss. A big part of me says that I should just continue down this path and let her determine when she wants to nurse. We've night weaned and even though she still asks to nurse at night, she has stopped fussing and mostly it seems to be mumbling in her sleep out of habit, and not actual wakings.

So that's the one limit I've set and I wonder if I should be setting any more limits. After all, they grow out it.

Right?

Right?

A good relationship with Annika is my "good enough"

Over the weekend I met with my Personal Renewal Group to discuss this month's topic: Good is good enough.

I hastily read the chapter the day before our meeting. It did not resonate with me in the slightest, so I skipped all the questions and journaling exercises. The author was talking about her perfectionist attitudes about always wanting more. Never being satisfied with what was already good in her life.

As I sat listening to my friends talk about how they were hard on themselves, I realized I had misinterpreted the chapter.

In the chapter, the author talks about how she was always wanting more, more, more. How she never felt like she had done enough for a client and always thought the next thing would make her life better.

I am not that much of a perfectionist, so I didn't think the chapter applied to me. I didn't get it.

What it was saying, as my lovely friends explained to me, was: My good is good enough. If something in my life that I have labeled as good, is good, then all is well with the world.

I realized I needed to define my good enough so that when I'm getting down on myself for not having things as I would like them, I have something to fall back on.

Right now my good enough is just having a good relationship with my child. I have other goals for the future, but right now my goal is to set a secure base for Annika as she grows up.

I forget that sometimes and I get irritated that I can't get other things done. Sometimes Annika wants sooo much attention, just sending a quick e-mail or cooking an easy dinner can be an hour-long task.

This week Annika has been sick and it's been like that times 100. The clinging toddler was really starting to get to me.

Then I remembered that I needed to look at what was good today, right now.

Right now I have a good relationship with my daughter. The reason I chose the path I'm on right now is because I wanted that.

My other goals are on my priority list, but I only have a set amount of time to build my daughter up, construct a good relationship with her, and give her a secure base to hold on to when she approaches the world on her own.

So we left the house, and instead of gritting my teeth, I sang a song, I made faces at her in the mirror. I took her to the park. We played and ate. And when she insisted that she did not want to leave the park even though she was bleary-eyed and yawning, instead of getting angry, I held her close and whispered in her ear as I walked quickly to the car. There have been way too many screaming and struggling trips to the car lately.

So what's my good enough? It's always changing. I realize that. But for right now, today and tomorrow and then next couple of years, my good enough is to have a thriving and healthy relationship with my daughter. It's hard for me because I didn't/don't have that. I don't have a good model. So I need constant reminders and I have to read a lot of books to help me along this path.

As she gets older and more independent, I'll have time for other things.

But for now, that's my good enough. The rest of the world can wait. Every day when I get up and I spend time with Annika I remind myself that I'm doing this for a reason.

What's your good enough?

Just one of the things nobody warns you about parenthood...

I've been keeping a mental list of the things that nobody warned me about parenthood. (Okay, okay, I've got a long list documented on my computer just in case I ever find someone to blame.) But ANYWAY this one was just too pathetic not to share.

Yes, I drew that. Being a parent makes you revisit all the things you were really bad at when you were a kid. Let's just say none of my teachers ever told me I should take art classes.

When Toyin stopped by tonight to pick Annika up, he saw this and said, "Oh, Mommy drew a cat."

No.

It's a pig.

I was doing okay until I had to draw the body.

Here's hoping that I never have to write out notes to any of Annika's teachers when she starts school. I really don't want to get red penned for my handwriting again.

Holding puke in my hand, a definitive mommy moment

If I wasn't sure before, I am now. Yes, I am wholeheartedly a mom.

A mom who wipes foul-smelling poop off of another person's butt and makes jokes while doing it. A mom who doesn't bat an eye at human feces on my living room floor. And now, a mom, who in the middle of the night, catches a handful of vomit in my hand and instead of being grossed out, happily holds it as proof to my daughter that I am in control and I will always take care of her.

Well that, and giddy with the knowledge that I won't have to change the sheets.

Annika has a had a nasty cough for the last couple of days so she's having trouble sleeping. Last night she went back to sleep easily after a couple of night wakings, but around 3 a.m. she awoke and informed me that she wanted food. I was prepared. I grabbed a small bunch of green grapes out of the fridge and we sat in the middle of the bed while she munched them down and drank some cool water.

Then she began coughing again. With the coughs up came everything she had just eaten.

It all happened so fast, I can barely believe that my first instinct was to reach out and put my hand under her mouth and catch the puke as it came boiling back up her esophagus.

But I did.

I grinned to myself as I carried the puke to the bathroom sink and told her I was going to bring a towel. It was such a mommy moment.

Really though, the best part was afterward. She stayed awake for almost two more hours, talking, singing, making requests and fighting sleep. Something about catching that puke gave me a pool of patience. I felt like one of those super patient mamas who only has kind words and cuddles for her babies.

The girl in black: I introduced Annika to Johnny Cash last week. She thoroughly enjoyed his music. Today she picked this outfit out. Kinda spooky.

Sleeping at night, part 50 million

I don't really know what number post this is about Annika's sleep habits and I really don't feel like going back and counting them. Annika's sleep has changed again. And as a new mom, this is the kind of story I needed to hear. So here goes:

Annika has been a horrible sleeper since about 6 months old. The first few months of her life she awoke twice a night, usually around 1 a.m. and then around 6 and then slept until about 9. It varied occasionally to 2 and 4 a.m. but for the most part it was great. Sometimes I got the feeling that other parents didn't believe me when I told them that my newborn slept great. But mostly I heard, "Wow, you're so lucky." Little did I know that I'd hit a (really long) stage where I got woken up every hour, or even more often during rough patches.

But anyway, we've reached a new stage. Finally. From what I've heard from other moms and in my own experience somewhere around 18-20 months seems to be a benchmark in sleep changes for babies who are attached and co-sleeping.

Annika is no different. She is finally sleeping harder, more like a real person, without the fluttery light sleep stages that wake up her needing to be comforted back to sleep. She's rolling over and cuddling up to a pillow, and when I get out of bed she's continuing to sleep.

It is sheer heaven!

We started night weaning in December. It went really really well.

The first week.

Then she got a cold and I couldn't say no to her when she asked to nurse in the middle of the night.

When she recovered she was more aggressive about wanting to nurse in the middle of the night. We had several nights, off and on, when she ran around the room screaming. Annika is very intense when she's pissed. She's also tenacious. She digs in and insists that she gets what she wants. It's a characteristic I admire in her; something I hope will serve her well as an adult. As a toddler, however, it's  frustrating. My neighbors upstairs probably think I'm abusing her in the middle of the night.

I've had several nights where I've felt abusive. I've yelled at her. I've gotten up and left the room for a few minutes to calm myself down while she screamed.

I've beaten myself up over this night weaning crap over and over again. I didn't ever plan to night wean. I've heard stories of attached moms who just kept nursing their kids at night until the kid started sleeping.

More power to them. Rock on mamas. I am not that strong.

My back hurts. My neck hurts. My nipples are irritated. I want to be able to get up to pee without a screaming toddler running into the bathroom and demanding to nurse. I want to sleep.

I've also wondered if her own sleep is suffering because she's waking up just as much as I am. She's not eating properly. I've watched her energy drain quickly and I wonder if she slept better and ate more, wouldn't she feel better during the day as well?

But something snapped in her this week. It's like she finally figured it out after being told over and over: "Nighttime is for sleeping. We can nurse in the morning." It's become my nighttime mantra.

Last night I put her to sleep without nursing. I've done it before, but only after an hour or longer of nursing and no end in sight.

Last night was different. After we read books, I turned the light off and nursed her while I sang a few songs. Then I told her we were going to try sleeping without nursing. She whined and I told her that we were just going to try it out.

To my utter and sheer surprise, she agreed and pushed her back into my chest and started whispering. "Cow, pig, sheep." She was listing her animals that were sitting on the nightstand watching over her.

So we listed several things. Animals, Sesame Street characters, Mommy, Daddy, Baltar, Annika, ABCs, colors, numbers. Eventually she drifted off. Her body felt heavy against mine, like a hibernating bear. I don't think I've ever  felt her like that before. Her sleep has always been light and airy and just the whisper of noise or movement awoke her.

When Annika was an infant I used to ask moms all the time about sleeping habits. I wondered when they changed, if they just did, or if there was some magical secret.

Then last night as I lay in bed with my sleeping big girl who is no longer a baby (and it still trips me out that she is so big now) I realized the answer to my questions.

As parents it is our job to give our children the openness and security to explore the world. But when it comes to things that they need, it is our job also to guide them toward it in a loving and (sometimes firm) manner. There's no rule set in stone about when or how it happens. It is our job as parents to get to know our children well enough that we can figure that out.

So, for any new parents out there. It does get better. When you are deep down in it, it really doesn't help to hear that. But you will come through it, torn and tattered, lean and rock solid, ready for the tougher challenges that lie ahead.